Chapter 17
My last chapter contained an account of so many of the small discomforts from which pioneers are apt to suffer, that I think I must hasten to enumerate some of the many offsets, or compensations, which made, not only my humble self, but many another pioneer, cling with devoted attachment to the new country.
In my own case I think perhaps the sense of personal possession had something to do with it. I had lived now for a long time in other people’s houses; comfortable houses, and kind, loving friends, but not one’s own home. This shack, with its two rooms divided by a curtain, was my own. I could do what I liked, hammer in nails, even make a rocking stool, to Graham’s disgust and amusement, of half a log, with the home tanned skin of a muskrat tacked over it. Another very happy circumstance was that after being “below par” for so long, I now felt really well, and my head had forgotten how to ache. There was an exhilaration about the air, which I never felt elsewhere, and it seemed to put new life and energy into one. A third thing was never ending joy to me, with my intense love of nature, the wild creatures small and great around us. I am not referring here to flies and mosquitoes, but to the squirrels and chipmunks, especially the latter, the birds of all kinds, from the gay yellow or red winged blackbird to the prairie hen with her brood of young, feeding round our door.
Perhaps the flocks of blackbirds were more of a joy to me than to my brother. With much hard labor, and endless irritation from Buck and Bright, who would stop to eat grass every second minute (until in desperation we made factory cotton muzzles for them), he had about ten acres of wheat coming up nicely. Then came the birds in huge flocks, and each bird plucked up its grain and devoured it, till we felt our share of the crop would be small and slender. It was a very real trial and I remember how comforted I was by the words, “And God feedeth them”. If He chose to feed them on our wheat, He would feed us on something else. The promise was sure. One morning Mr. Harvey planted peas, and having sown all he had, went to dinner. When he returned, not one pea was left. Graham seeded his patch of wheat a second time and had in the end a very good crop.
Speaking of wild animals, I remember one morning my brother calling me hastily to come, and there were two enormous elk, such wonderful horns they had. They stood gazing at us in wonder for a few moments and then bounded away. We used to hear wolves too at night, weird, unearthly cries they make, quite alarming until you know what it is.
When my work was done, the house in order and dishes all washed from dinner, I used to go and wander in the woods at the back of the house, finding every day new treasures in the shape of flowers and ferns. I never once thought of planting a flower garden; the woods were so infinitely more interesting. As the summer wore on I had berries to pick; strawberries first and then raspberries, followed in the autumn by the abundant crop of high bush cranberries, which made such excellent jelly. I was proud of my little stock of jam, very small certainly, but all picked and prepared by my own hands. I had no preserving kettle but I boiled it in a milk pan. One had recourse to many expedients.
We had one exciting evening during the early summer. We had had a “bee”, to finish the new horse stable I believe. Mr. Christie and his English friend Mr. Raper were there (he was a lawyer and not much Be at farming), Mr. Bredin, the life of the party everywhere, dark silent Charley Wright, Hunter, who lived a couple of miles away and bore an unusually bad name, and one or two others. Tea was over and I was busy with the dishes and the boys outside the door were amusing themselves with the pony, when someone suddenly exclaimed, “Look at that bear”.
True enough, in our garden immediately opposite the house, stood a large brown bear. The actions of the young men were characteristic. Bredin, who happened to be on the pony, tore off for his rifle. Two or three said it was getting dark and they must go home. Graham, Christie and Wright took their guns and pursued the creature, which was making its way through the potato field. I was left alone with Mr. Raper. “Are you not afraid?” he asked. “Not in the least,” I replied. “Have you not pork in that barrel? Bears are fond of pork,” said he, “let us at least shut the door,” though he added, “that door is no protection, let me put the ladder up to the beam and we can both go up there.” “I really have not time,” was my answer, “but why don’t you go up?” “Oh, I could not leave you alone,” he said gallantly, “I think you had better come.” By this time Bredin was back and rode across the garden and potato field, much to my brother’s chagrin, but no one got a shot at the bear. Indeed it was getting so dark they were obliged to come back.
About this time, just after the rains, I began to suffer from toothache. Night after night I lay awake with it. I used to get up and cowering over the candle forget my misery in Oliver Twist, which I then read for the first time. One evening Bredin told us a doctor had come to a homestead about ten miles away, and he suggested that we go and see him, and perhaps he could take out the tooth. He would come and show us the way. So the next day we set off. He brought one of his oxen harnessed to the little country cart, and in this I rode in state. It was a lovely drive, the country was not prairie but rolling land, with streams and clumps of bush, a good land and a fair. About noon we spied the doctor, a big stout English gentleman, dressed in trousers and undershirt, and surrounded by his sons. (Dr. Pennyfather always reminded me of the Swiss Family Robinson father.) He said he could not possibly take out the tooth. His instruments were at the bottom of a trunk and the trunk was the other side of the river and it was in flood. He thought I needed a tonic and he would write me out a formula. Take plenty of beef tea he said and eggs. We had a good laugh when out of hearing, as we wondered where the beef tea and the eggs were to come from and who was to make up the tonic. We ate a lunch of bread and butter and syrup pie and then made the best of our way home. What the reason was I do not know, but I had no more toothache.
My clothes had been a real trial to me ever since I reached Beaconsfield. The dressmaker had insisted on making me two “wrappers”; she said they were “nice to work in”. My mother believed her and I was allowed no voice in the matter. The contraptions were made of Gray wincey and had trains, for what purpose I cannot tell. They were very full and not having any kind of belt would continually bob against the stove, besides sweeping up all the dirt and wet which was so frequent during the rainy season. I endured them as long as I could and then cut the bottoms off bodily so they were quite short, and wore a belt. They were still clumsy, so I decided to make a dress of some blue denim my brother had. It was my first attempt and I had no pattern, but I had a nice little sewing machine kind Lady Robinson had given me, and after making many blunders, I really fashioned a garment which was at least comfortable. My slight shoes went all to pieces on the rough trails, but one of the young men going to Emerson bought me a pair of copper-toed boy’s boots, and they lasted well.
I needed strong boots, for I was constantly on the go. As will be remembered, my brother cut his foot while getting the first load of wood for summer use so we had none in readiness and I was somewhat in the condition of the Israelites, who had to hunt for straw. Fortunately the logs for the horse stable had been squared and the pieces which had been hewed off were lying around. My business was to collect these pieces for burning. I had two baskets, and many, many times a day I toiled from the house to the stable with my baskets. I can feel the bright summer sunshine now and fancy I am a girl again, gathering those chips, followed always, backwards and forwards, by my faithful Punch.
Punch deserves more than a passing word. He was a present to me from Mrs. Cooper, the son of her Russian cat and also yellow and white. He was very tiny when he came and missing his mother would cry at night. Graham threatened to shut him up in the stable, so I took him to bed with me and he always slept with me afterwards. As he got a little bigger he would play with the chipmunks and mice which infested our little dwelling, until one day Graham killed a mouse and gave it to him. Once the spirit of the hunter was aroused he soon cleared the house of “mice and such small game”. I was sorry to lose the chipmunks, who migrated to the stable, they were so very tame and sociable. I have seen as many as nine sitting up around the kitchen while we were at supper, waiting for crumbs, and occasionally they would come on the table. I longed for one as a pet and caught them again and again as they scuttled round my shelves, helping themselves to what they liked best. But I never could make a cage sufficiently tight to keep them in. I remember one who escaped from me, leaving his tail in my hand. I was horrified, but he did not seem any the worse and I often saw him again. To return to Punch, he was my constant companion. I never went anywhere, except on the pony, without him. He always followed me to the woods when I was berry picking, and would stand and mew in front of a good bunch of berries. You don’t believe that but it is true all the same.
We often had visits from Indians, tall fine looking men, in their long blue blankets and painted faces, their hair long, black and coarse, loosely plaited up with anything they could find to ornament it, from a lamp burner to a tailor’s thimble. One man bore the modest name of Okemow-Monema-taka. He often came. They never knocked but entered softly with their moccasined feet and looking up I would see a tall figure gazing at me. Sometimes Okie, as I used to call him, would bring his family. The poor squaw, with her baby in his birchbark frame on her back, had to stand, while her lord sat on the only chair. One day he brought two stalwart sons and we invited them to dinner. It was a great event, I am sure, and it was more than funny to see the father instructing them in the use of, knife and fork.
We had other visitors too. Bredin often ran in. Sometimes he would say, “I have been baking”, but it was hardly necessary as he would be covered with flour and dough from boots to finger nails. Christie and Woods came too, at times to “change work” with Graham. Christie always kept a pin and used to employ spare moments over what he called “extract of wild rose”. The land was not prairie, but covered with bushes, especially roses, and these had to be got rid of before the first plowing or breaking could be done.
There was a great difference between the farmers’ sons and the gentlemen. The former would come in from work, off with his coat, run for a pail of water, and without thought of shame, have a thorough wash in the basin on the shelf beside the stove. The gentlemen’s sons, abashed by the unusual sight of a lady, would take the last drop of water and give a dab to their hands and never think of carrying in either wood or water. So on the whole I appreciated the farmers most.
Perhaps our roughest visitors were two young men who arrived one evening. One was tall and lanky and lacked one eye. He said his name was Irwin. His companion was short and stout and bore the name of Jacobs. They had supper, eating next to nothing, and then begged a bed. They had walked I do not know how far and were looking for homesteads. We could not refuse them a bed, so gave them each a blanket on the kitchen floor. They were our guests for nearly a week, such rough diamonds as they were, and the respect and I might say tender care which they gave me, I cannot describe. Graham let them dig a drain from the cellar to the slough, to run off the water which had filled it since the rainy season. At last they picked out their land and very good sections they got. Then they said goodbye and away they went.
The haying was quite an event during the summer and lasted some weeks. We owned a beautiful hay meadow some distance from the house. Of course we had no “mower”, but Alf Woods came to help and the lads cut a great quantity of hay. I used to go down and carry them a lunch every afternoon and sit about in the lovely new mown hay, not helping much I fear. Mr. Raper used often to come and visit us. He was the one idle man in the township and Christie used to complain bitterly of how little use he was, but I fear he much preferred sitting watching me make the butter, or giving me a Latin lesson, which he often did, to turning over the hay in the hot sun. I used to be much exercised over all these young men, not one of them with serious thoughts. I longed to turn their thoughts to better things, but it seemed so hopeless. Every morning when my house was tidy, I used to have an hour for reading and prayer and how earnestly I used to pray for the lads.
One Saturday Graham came in saying that a young Englishman named Mr. Ashby was going to have a service in the next township on Sunday afternoon and suggested we should go. I was very glad to go anywhere to hear something good. I was hungry for a little Christian fellowship, so we agreed to go. I remember what a time we had getting “tidy”. Graham possessed one white shirt and insisted on wearing it, or perhaps I was the one who insisted, but he had no studs. We got over this difficulty by using rivets. I rode Dick the pony and a number of the boys walked. It was a long way, the congregation was but small; “religion” in any form was avoided I fear. Mr. Ashby was quite young but a real Christian. He read the English Church service and then Graham maintained that he read a “Brethren tract”; it did sound rather like it. I was disappointed in the service and I did not get a chance to speak to Mr. Ashby as I would like to have done.
Every week we had one excitement; on Wednesday afternoon the mail arrived. It was brought by a mail carrier with a horse and buggy, though sometimes it was all he could do to get through. What a joy the letters were, and how good my friends were to me. My dear mother and sister never missed a week once, then Sophie wrote and Lily Reid, who was playing the role of mother’s help at Mrs. James Cartwright’s. Neen Checkley too wrote quires to me from her distant post in Holly Spring, Miss., and occasionally I even heard from some of the English friends. Then my mother had subscribed for the Montreal Weekly Witness, which gave us reading matter, and I had “The Young Believer”, edited I think by Dr. Schofield, and you may be sure they were of great pleasure and profit. Occasionally parcels came, and you may be sure they were always welcome.
The mosquitoes lessened as the summer went on, and I had some pleasant rides over the lonely hills and dales, but I did not extend my acquaintance to the next township. When the harvest was all in, I suggested we should have a party. My invitations were well received and I did my best to make a good meal. It was hard to make cakes without eggs, but I had milk and cream in abundance, and syrup pie was much appreciated, and tartlets with cranberry jelly. We ate out of doors and the main trouble was to provide seats, but one way and another we contrived these and it all went off very well and proved a great success.