I was born in an old log shack right on the farm in Southern Manitoba. In he morning we would have to melt the ice in the pail from which we drank. The outhouse was outside alright, and the only toilet paper was that shiny old T. Eaton catalogue. Milk was always fresh because we did not have a fridge, because we had no electricity, so we ate after we milked the cows. We went to the chicken barn to get some eggs for breakfast and ate flattened oats mixed with corn meal. We were happy then, and if we wanted to get really warm on a cold winter day we went from this little house to the barn where the animals were kept, and it was real nice and cozy there. We could lay down and have a nice snooze on a pile of hay or straw. We knew who we were then, and we knew that we had to find a way to entertain ourselves with hand made games and each saturday we would get in a home made tub to have a bath, in the best order, from the cleanest kid to the dirtiest, because we only could heat so much water in one afternoon on our little black stove. We grew up respect in the fact that if you worked hard, mowed the garden, hauled in some firewood, and fetched a pail of water life would be good the next day. The only entitlements we had was the knowledge that if we did the same thing next day all over again we would survive the winter. We were fortunate to have both a mom and a dad who never ever said they loved us, but we knew they did, because when there was not enough food to go around and not enough feather ticks to sleep under, they would make sure we were protected, and they picked up the slack. Love was not what they said, but what they did. There were no parades to honor them, and there were no handouts from the government when things went wrong. We were happy then. We did not even know we were poor because so was everyone else that we knew. We were happy then!
Posted on: Sat, 15 Jun 2013 23:21:24 +0000
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