1000 Posts

I never imagined that I would be writing my 1000th blog post when I was introduced to this passion for writing. My eldest daughter Lynda created a blog for me and convinced me to begin sharing some of my ideas and adventures with others. I never knew who the others were and as far as writing well, I have come a long way, captivated by the writing experience.

The writing experience gave me an opportunity to relive the good, bad, emotional, and valuable memories. I suppose that some of the stories and memories that I have written about are somewhat different than the facts but they constitute my memories, and mine alone. Over the past 75 years many things have changed and how these changes have impacted our lives is important to me. Perhaps the few passions I had - the environment, education, friends and family, politics and religion - have stayed with me throughout my whole life.

Some, if not all, were the result of living as a member of a large family with limited economic power but unlimited in courageous values that are part of the heritage of our family. This may be a long way off the topic of blogging but it is the background for the opinions I have written over and over again. I may not write another 1000 posts but I shall continue to write about topics that interest me and hopefully share with people who may gain some value - even if it is only a chuckle or a silent nod of interest about my world.

As I view this beautiful sunset I realize that many of the topics I choose are from the past. I try not to dwell on the past, but rather pull little nuggets out of life experiences that come to mind as I sit down to write. It seems that I never lack topics although I repeat from time to time. My excuse is that it must have impacted me more powerfully than other memories. I am just completing two books that could not have been written without the experience I gleaned from blogging.

Mom's Flox

I left home at a young age to make my way through life but I never turned my back on my past years in Cape Breton. One of my fondest memories was learning to love gardening through helping Mom look after her flowers and small kitchen garden. Our soil was poor as it was contaminated by mining debris and pit stone. Through years of building up the soil Mom and Dad developed a great potato patch and a vegetable garden.

Mom was most proud of her flowers, and the one in particular was her flox. Mom got her first flox from a woman who sold them from her home in Bras D'or. This lady had a spectacular showy flower garden. Mom planted her flox around our yard and they were multi-coloured. In the early sixties I had a home visit and before leaving Mom gave me a few roots from her flox.

With instructions as to how to make them flourish I packed them in the car. I was living in Pembroke at the time and with good soil the flowers made a great showing immediately. One year they were hit by rust and I phoned home and Mom gave me the answer as to how to get rid of it: move the plants every couple of years. It seemed to work.

When I moved the flowers moved with me and now I have one small clump in the back yard. This year they are beautiful with a nice colouring. My flox change colour  every so often but always return to the pink eventually. I trust that I shall be able to keep these flowers alive and well and able to pass them on to one of my family. Flowers are a beautiful reminder of someone as dear to you as your Mom. Our lipstick vine is really putting on a show this year as well.

Charlie Brown - My Dad

Imagine having a Father whose name was Charlie Brown who had a Dalmatian dog named Snoopy. That was my Dad. Dad came by the dog when it wandered into his yard one day and stayed despite the best efforts to find its owner. Dad built Snoopy a dog house and yes, Snoopy slept on the roof.

My Father could not be described in a simple blog as he was a very complicated person. He and his family lived in a place called Cranberry in the shadow of the largest submarine coal mine and when he was in grade eight was pulled from school and became a boy miner. He worked beside his father as a helper and received  practically nothing for his labour.

This early start for physical labor probably was the reason he grew to be the strongest man I knew for his size.He was a bright student his teacher told me as she taught many members of our family and my very favorite teacher of all time.Working in the mine never curbed Dad's thirst for learning and if he had the opportunity he would have made an excellent engineer as he had a natural ability to fix everything. He was never stopped from taking on projects and one year he built a hay baler from plans in the Family Herald.

He loved sports and played football and was an excellent skater and made his own skate blades from files. He skated with the seniors well after eighty and taught many to enjoy the activity.

As a father he helped the boys to love fishing and took us to secret places when we were young so we could enjoy the sport. He tied his own fish flies and shared them with friends. Dad also built the boats we fished from and built some for friends.He showed his love for the family in small ways. Always a good provider and hard worker he showed devotion by example. There was never a time when I heard the phrase that he was too tired to do anything. People sought his help and he was there for them.

Being the Father of nine children gave him a sense of pride by making sure we had that which escaped him, an education.When grand children came along and there were many Mom and Dad softened up and became different people. They were able to share emotions that they missed as younger parents. Dad had time to pass on many of the skills and tricks that made him a happy person and was granted the love and affection from his family.

There are few days that go bye when I do not think of Dad when I approach a task and would love to be able to phone him and ask for help as I did when I built my double garage with his guidance. Charlie Brown would smile now for sure if he was able to see the huge family he led and left as his legacy.

Mother's Day

Every year I write about Mother's Day as I have such fond memories of this day back in Cape Breton. Being from a large family it is difficult to  have all the attention you needed or wanted. Mother's Day provided us an opportunity to reach out to Mom on her special day and seek and find a few moments when you related to her personally. On this day all the family joined in  and made a fuss over the person who made life possible and worth while.

As we age we profile our Moms in a different manner. Your Mom becomes a much clearer leader and influence as you realize the tremendous effort she made to look after nearly a dozen people. All my memories are positive now and my little regret is that she passed away before I had a real chance to reward her for all she had done for us and the result that her devotion had made on so many.

Mom's living legacy is in the lives of her children who have achieved so much. The fact that Mom was a proud person and demanded so much from us that we now pass on the values she instilled in each of us. For me one of the constant reminders I have is when I cook. She had a number of dinners and items that I still love today and feed my children these special but simple foods that have become traditional.

Mom was known to hear that the minister was coming down the lane unannounced and she would have a pan of squares ready when he stepped through the door. We had some laughter in our kitchen when Mom burned the steak or was so busy she forgot something but it was never anything but empathic and in good fun.

Noon hours were special times for us as we always walked home for noon recess. Our favourite noon lunch was corn cake or Johnny cake, hot with butter and molasses. Squares large and inviting sent us back to school with a full belly ready to take on the school work of the afternoon.

Cape Bretoners loved their fish and Mom used to bake fresh cod and vegetables. I could never replicate her recipe but the smell and taste is still there. This seems much about food but when you live in a home with a dozen people the communication time is around the table. We were well served with all the wonderful treats we received at that table and the advice and wisdom shared by Mom and Dad. There were times when the topics caused much chatter but we always seemed to manage.

On Mother's Day even yet I have a special little time when I shed a happy tear recalling the time shared with Mom and Dad around that kitchen table and seeing once again my brothers and sisters seated in their assigned places and listening to our betters help us to grow up to be good citizens and worthy Canadians.

Coal Miners

Rita McNeil had her yearly Xmas concert the other evening but it turned out to be a visit with the Men From The Deeps. It was a moving musical treat for those who have a connection with the coal mines in Nova Scotia and Cape Breton in particular.

My Father and grand parents before him all worked the coal mines of Cape Breton. What makes these coal mines distinct is the fact that many were submarine mines meaning they were digging the coal which was out under the ocean. Princess Number 1 was the largest coal mine  which took coal for a hundred years from under the Atlantic Ocean.

Dad would get up at 5.am and catch the man car to the mine. He had to travel down hundreds of feet in a elevator like cage where he mounted a box mounted on tracks to travel many miles to his work. This was called a man rake and held up to several hundred men.

Beyond this he had to walk to the long wall where the coal was mined. As a loader two men had to cut, shoot and load coal from a solid wall 40 feet by four feet and 6 feet high. All this was during a 8 to 10 hour shift. After work the reverse travel took more than an hour and then shower and take the man car home. This was really a 11 or 12 hour shift.

The men were hearty and strong and suffered working conditions that by today's standards would be brutal.Dad never complained but made sure none of his 4 sons became coal miners. Dad was a person who loved the pit ponies and I still remember him talking about one pony in particular named Samson. This pony was so strong and was worked in an manner that was brutal and even though some of the miners were caring the ponies were an expendable commodity.

I loved the Men of the Deeps rendition of a song so dear to Cape Bretoners called A working Man I Am. Everywhere this choir travels this song gets the greatest applause.Rita McNeil sings with this miners choir every chance she gets and is always very popular

A Walk To Church On Thanksgiving Day

There was always a special service in our Carmen United Church on Thanksgiving. We as a family walked to church together  on this day. We were a large family by today's standards but back in the forties we were about average . Getting ready for church was quite an undertaking as we had to measure up to our Mom's inspection before getting out the door. Polished shoes for the boys and best clothes for all ,we must have been quite a sight as we walked up the lane.

We lived in a house ,last on the lane and as we walked up the narrow pathway we passed most of our relatives who also lived close by. Nearly all of our extended family also attended our church. As we crossed the railway tracks we were in a different place. Our town was divided by two sets of railway tracks. One was the mainline CNR which was so busy during the war carrying material and men to other places in Canada and the smaller rail line owned by the coal company. These tracks often became a barrier when the trains stopped, blocking our free passage so we had to wait or crawl under to get home.

Mom usually walked with the girls but as we approached the church she gave us final instructions, specially to we boys about our behaviour. We could hear the church bell ringing, warning us that service was to begin in fifteen minutes. We hurried along an approached the steps forming a line as we entered the church chamber. The organist was playing the pipe organ and we filed down the right side and with the help of the usher filled the fourth and part of the fifth pews. We always sat in the same place. Mom quickly shuffled us around so she could keep an eye on us during the service.

On this Sunday the church was decorated with flowers and coloured leaves. There was a special feeling and every seat was filled. Our beloved old minister J W O'Brien cleared his throat and began the service. After the extremely long prayer and children's hymn the young ones filed out. This year I was able to remain because I was 11 years old. The rest of the service was pretty boring with the minister having a terrible time with his voice and he kept reaching down to find his glass of water. He prayed for everyone in several ways, spoke kindly about everything and told us how thankful we should be for all the blessings bestowed upon us by a caring God. I was impressed but my head was full of thoughts about all the people I knew who did not have much to be thankful for.

Service was over and we filed out with the adults thanking the minister for a wonderful service and we children were given a kind pat on the head much as you pat your favourite pet. What I was looking forward to was the Thanksgiving dinner with roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, turnip and carrots and Mom's apple pie or sweet squares.

As we cleared the church we boys bolted from the area and never stopped until we reached home. As we entered our house we were transformed into another world by the wonderful smells of Thanksgiving Dinner. I still have this memory and it is replicated every year when we get together to keep the tradition alive. What a wonderful feeling.

Cottage Visit

My daughter and her husband purchased a cottage up north on a beautiful lake. They are very proud of there digs and have had many people travel there to enjoy the quiet life and experience a few days with peace and an opportunity to observe nature.

We were pleased to be invited and travelled the two and a half hour journey through country side ans lakes galore. Immediately we were aware of the complete silence disturbed only by the birds and small animals rustling the leaves.

I owned a cottage some years ago not too far north and my children had some experience with the cottage life. It seems almost an obsession with big city folk to have a place where they are free of all the noise and activity which comes with living in an urban environment.  Theresa and I felt the natural atmosphere and just sitting on the deck and watching and feeling the beauty was enough to make the trip worthwhile.

Good food served in the outdoors and company with your friends adds to the enjoyment.We hope to have an even better experience next year when we return to help with some renovations planned to improve the northern retreat. Our journey home took us through different country and we had an opportunity to re-visit Magnetawan, my home for two years when I was beginning my educational experience.  It was a great couple of days for us and will be put in our memory bank.

Truro Get Together at Donald's

Donald, AKA "the Duck" has been at the center of our class reunion for as many years as it existed.He is an old class mate of mine starting at grade one in the old Red Brick School in 1941. We more or less travelled through our educational journey in tandem although he was a better scholar and gained the attention of the teachers by his positive contributions. I had similar experiences with some of my teachers although I was demonized by a few who never took the time to understand my needs and untapped ability.

We attended teachers college and were in the same class along with 25 others and were even twinned for our long term practise teaching in Cape Breton. We go along way back and still communicate in a special way.When visiting Truro, Theresa and I become house guests and love our shared time with The Duck. This year there was a smaller number of people coming to the reunion. However when it came time for us to get tickets for the banquet and dance there were none available. Donald in his own way decided to turn in his ticket in a move to make a point.

A couple of well intended classmates jumped to the rescue and found some tickets and asked us to purchase them and keep the class united for the important final event of the reunion. I in my stubborn way did not accept the kind offer and instead decided to take Donald out for supper and join the group at his house immediately after.

The mood of our group is always great and this year it was no different as we usually think of our reunion as the pre festivities hosted by a class member. This year we visited Yarmouth and had a wonderful time experiencing the special hospitality in spite of the famous Yarmouth fog.

We are coming up to our 60th year and are trying to decide how to celebrate. With the exceptional celebrations our class has experienced over the years we will be hard pressed to match or exceed the past events. Our class is solid and whatever is decided I can assure you that it will still have that wonderful warm feeling you get when we share time together.

Project Helper

For some time now I have working on a project in my basement room. I wanted to rid myself of the old wall unit which did not serve my need any longer. Firstly I had to get the unit out of the way, so I needed help. My son came along and did all the heavy lifting and cleared out the area so we could begin building.

I drafted a rough plan that fitted our needs and purchased the necessary materials. While my son was here we were able to cut the material into workable sizes. I painted the material before having it moved downstairs and that was a good decision. We were able to start by erecting the base and first shelf. Basements are not always perfectly square so measurements were a challenge.

While I was working at the wall unit my room was a mess and the pool table held all the electronic components as well as the treasured clutter that was exhibited in and on the old unit. It is amazing how much junk you can show in a relatively small space.

With Theresa's help we managed to place the whole new structure in a proper place without permanent fastenings. My helper returned yesterday and we were able to put the structure together. I was a spectator and gopher as my son worked on the electronics.Basically he managed to guide all the sound from the electronic devices through two large speakers. This gave a wonderful stereo tone. I could never have done that as I rely on my family to help Theresa and I with these chores. We rely on the same people for Computer encounters.

During the next few days I shall complete stage three of the wall unit and then the really difficult part emerges. I have hundreds of treasured clutter. Each treasure has a story and each one is important to me.I have agreed with Theresa to make this wall unit beautiful without clutter. I must make choices and that will cause me stress. As an example I had need of a short straight edge yesterday. I immediately went to the fireplace mantle and picked up a beautiful brass ruler given to me when I left PSPS. On one side it said, "from the perfect secretaries Betty and Nora" and on the other side, "to the perfect principal". That triggered  warm memories of days gone by and I did have a great visit vicariously with my fellow educators. How could I get rid of such items?

I shall box all the extra treasures and from time to time trade them off with the selected choices. I only have to find space to store those boxes. I was so happy to have my son once again help me with a project as it gave us time to talk and share our skills while just enjoying each other's company

65 Years Ago

Back 65 years ago we celebrated with a migration to Groves Point. Because few people had cars the only transportation that could be mustered up was to get Buck Ashe to clean up his huge truck and carry us out to the Point for a picnic and swim.This truck was a ten ton job with an open box which could hold up to 25 people. He would take us out on the 12 mile drive, drop us off and return in the evening to take us home.

The drive was fun and as we arrived at the beach site everyone would run to get the choice spots under the big trees for shade. Blankets were laid out and the boxes laden with the lunches would be stored close by. We children would find a convenient place to change into our bathing suits and we would be off to the beach for hours of sunshine and swimming.

The adults would sometimes swim or group on the sandy beach keeping watch over we children. I would break away from the group and sneak up the nearby Glenn and follow a trial to a small waterfall. Usually we would see deer along the way and on the way back we would take a different trail and emerge near the beach.

Mom and the adults would move away from the beach and prepare the lunch. A loud voice would call us together for lunch.An open fire made smokey tea and Mom's salad with her special mustard dressing was always served. Potato salad and ham on plates balanced on shivering knees caused by the long time spent in the cold water was our table. It seemed everything we ate had a special taste and the good humour among the family and friends made the day memorable.

After lunch games were played on the open field. Usually a pickup game of ball kept us interested and entertained for some time. Everyone joined, even Mom and we all laughed when funny things happened.

The sound of music caught our ears so we gravitated to the fire which became larger as we kids gathered driftwood to feed the flames. A banjo, a violin would appear out of thin air and the singsong would begin. Shouts from the people seeking their favourite song made us forget about time. Hot dogs and marshmallows were produced and with hastily cut branches the party was nearly complete,

The beep of the horn from Buck Ashe's truck reminded us that the day was over.Sadly we packed up and crawled into the truck box, The little ones wrapped in blankets nearly sleeping from the day's activity saying that we should do this again next weekend. We arrived home tired and completely happy with having a great day at Groves Point with family and friends. This routine was followed many times during our young lives and remains even today one of those memories that stand out as just perfect.

Project Beginning

Today was the beginning of my basement project. I wished to build a wall unit in my basement museum but was unable to due to my surgery.With Father's Day on the weekend and my son unable to come to see us we decided to get together today. My son worked his early shift getting up at 2am and working to 10.30 am decided to come for a visit. He had dinner with us and we went to work.

There was a time when I directed him as my helper to become a very proficient worker around the house and in earlier times on our boat.Henry now directs me as I am amazed at the ability he shows in building skills. We set out today to just rip out the old wall unit and prepare the space for new construction.

I had all the material ready in case we did a little of the new work. On the hottest day of the year we went to the garage and set up for cutting materials and designing my unit. I had drafted plans for the construction but he helped to make changes that improved the design and we were off. During the next five hours we worked together sharing ideas and working with careful cuts with our power saws and ended by completing the first phase of the wall unit.

It is such a pleasure to work with Henry as he is cool and works quietly but with authority and we made progress for beyond what I expected. During our work together we had the usual father and son conversations but on a more equal level. I respect his ability and strength to carry out tasks that I no longer can do at this time in my life.

It always brings me back when I worked with my Dad and I remember the difficult and hard work of loading coal on weekends and helping with whatever jobs Dad took on. I learned many things about my Father when I worked with him and now as a senior citizen I realize the importance of working and demanding quality service when working with young people.We do no good service to our youth by not expecting them to contribute to family. Lessons learned from Mom and Dad are life lessons and stay with you all the days of your life.

My time with my children and grandchildren are precious times and I only hope that they value the work ethic and rewards one receives from honest efforts and a sense of pride from work. Today was just one of many with Henry and I am thankful for that privilege.

Oh My Papa

The older you get the more you look back at your life journey. Although my Dad has not been with us for many years I find myself reflecting on my relationship with Buddy Brown. Everyone called him Buddy but his name was Charles. Dad began his life in a little house in the shadow of Princess Colliery, a coal mine in Cranberry, Cape Breton.

His Mom died shortly after he was born so he was raised by his two sisters. He attended school at a small 2 room building in Queen Pitt. He was bright by all accounts and in grade 8 at the tender age he was taken away from school and began work as a boy helper. He was a small boy and life was difficult as he worked 10 hour shifts without much monetary gain.

Mrs. Farnsworth was Dad's teacher and she became my teacher some years later. Mrs. Farnsworth told me the story of how she tried to convince my grandfather to leave Dad in school but was unsuccessful. My memories of Dad are very mixed as I was one of many children seeking attention from Mom and Dad. Dad was the strongest man I knew for his size and attempted to make all the boys the same. We worked along side of our father whenever tasks were to be performed. Haying, gardening and shovelling coal when we were not in school.

Dad placed a high value on education and encouraged us to do well. He demanded much from us but gave back so much more. Today I credit my success in life to the parents I had. The work ethic was driven into us at a young age. Dad used to say that there was no work too menial but approach it as an opportunity. We did every type of work as kids and were proud to contribute to our well being.

The finer things Dad did for we children gave me life happiness. Fishing; dad was a happy fisherman. He tied his own flies and was happiest when fishing a brook with us. Dad was an athlete and as a young person he played football {rugby} and hockey. An excellent swimmer and skater up to his eighties. He played the accordion with a Cape Breton flavour and passed on the love of music to us.

Dad drove us everywhere: to picnics, school hockey and summer camp. He came to my graduation when I passed through Teachers College in Truro. All in all he did more than expected, along with his many jobs. As he aged and Mom passed on he came to visit me in Ontario. One time I wanted him to come for a visit so I told him I needed help building a double garage. He was over eighty but came and practically built the place by himself.

Finally I saw a great transformation in my Dad as he shared time with his grandchildren and left a lasting impression with all of them. I wish he was here today to experience the wonderful family he started and the legacy he left behind. My memories today are all positive and I share them with all who will listen. My Dad did the very best he could under very trying circumstances. I am sure all of our family share this strong feeling of our love for our father.

Church Point Get Together

Our grade xii class at SMH were about to be graduates and the class was looking for ways to get together before our Prom.We were a small class and actually 12 members of our class began grade 1 together and now were leaving the system for bigger and better things. After looking for an event we decided to have a cook out and swim at Church Point. A dozen or more signed up for the trip and my Dad provided the transportation.

Dad's old coal truck was in use every day hauling coal but that night it was all clean and washed. Dad was to pick us up at 7:30 pm and drive us out to the point, about 15 miles. He would then come back at 10.30 pm to drive us home. We were excited and just to make matters better the weather was hot and calm.

We all packed into the old truck and sang and had a great time in the cramped quarters and arrived to begin a great evening of fun and frolics. We built a huge fire and after swimming in the cool June water we stood around the  fire and warmed up. Hot dogs and marsh mellows were cooked, burnt to perfection and we settled down to some of the most memorable conversations we ever had.

We remembered the good things and the sad things that occurred along our educational journey. We were a close knit group and as we talked of the future everyone of us except one were off to higher learning in the fall. Like all graduates we swore to keep in touch and mostly we did. Sixty years later we are smaller in number but still a robust gang.

The evening seemed to go so quickly and we ran out of time to say those special words to our special friends as Dad blew the horn calling us together for our drive home. We carefully put out the fire and it was almost symbolic as the flames went out so did our high school life. Rather than being happy we felt sad on the way home and we were very quiet. Thoughts screamed through our minds as the real true meaning of our future became a reality.

As Dad dropped off each of us at our home there were the good bye's as Dad went from home to home to make sure we safely delivered. When the last person was let off and Dad and I were alone in the front of the truck Dad asked me how the evening played out. I told him it was fun but sad as we were moving on. He said he wished he could have the opportunities we kids had as there was a wonderful world out there for us....one he never ever had the chance to experience as he became a miner as a boy helper. What could I say? Sorry Dad and thankyou for the wonderful evening, everyone enjoyed it.

Trout Fishing With Uncle Alex and Dad.

Dad had a few brothers but the one closest to him was Uncle Alex. He lived in our town and we were regular visitors to their home. One thing Dad and Alex had in common was their love of fishing.Uncle Alex was a large person and took up a lot of space when we went fishing. On one unforgettable trip down north to Breton Cove we travelled in a half ton Ford.

As the trip was a long one in the late forties with the roads not so good and a ferry to cross we left very early in the morning. As we picked up Uncle and he squeezed into the cab I was left with little room. Uncle Alex was a nervous passenger and the road over the  mountain was winding and although Dad was a good driver it was a problem if you met a logging truck.

On nearly every turn Alex would grab my knee and squeeze so hard it actually became uncomfortable. Both Dad and Alex smoked. Dad and uncle lit up when we began the trip and never ceased to let their pipes stop the relentless smoke all the way. We had to cross two ferries and waited for each nearly half an hour. This was the time when I could get out and have some fresh air. I loved to fish as well so I knew better than to complain.

All the talk was about fishing and the big ones that never made it into the boat, Between stories and laughter I knew the old folks were having a good time. Alex loved a locally made pop called Iron Brew. He had a six pack and he offered me one and it was good. I became a fan of that pop after that trip.

We finally arrived at the turn off spot and carefully drove down a narrow pathway to the ocean shore. There was the glory hole for speckled trout. Separated from the ocean by a rocky beach made up of perfectly rounded stones which made such music with every incoming wave you had to just take a moment and fill your mind with this landscape.

It was early morning and the only sound was the ocean waves and some seagulls fighting over some washed up  fish. We had a small row boat that Dad built and carried it in the back of the half ton. We were all business now as fishing was on our mind. In minutes we had the boat in the water and all the fishing gear at the ready.

Alex and Dad had other thoughts. A fire was started and tea boiled and they ate some breakfast. I already had my line wet and declared a bite but it might have been a bottom fish. I came back to the warm fire and had some toast burned over the fire and boiled tea.Soon we advanced to the boat. I saw nothing but trouble as the question was how were we to fit into that small boat. As I mentioned Uncle weighed at least 300 pounds and with Dad and me as well???

Dad got in the middle and took the oars, Uncle sat in the back and nearly sunk the boat and I curled up in the bow. Dad was not concerned as we pulled away from shore. As a joke Dad said we had a heavy load so keep the gum in the middle of your mouth. They laughed and I worried. Dad rowed to the other side of the pond and dropped his favourite anchor -  a stone on a rope.

With pipes lit to keep away the mosquitoes we began fishing. Every cast we caught a fish. These trout were all about the same size and were fun to catch. I used a alder rod which I cut as we prepared to fish. Every time Uncle got a bite or a fish he yanked it so hard it landed in the boat and the tiny boat rocked dangerously.

I could not reveal the number of trout we caught but in those days we filled the pail in no time. Dad lifted the anchor and released the stone anchor and rowed back to shore, I jumped out and so did Dad but poor Uncle had difficulty getting our t as he sat too long. He sort of rolled out not on land but in shallow water. Dad managed to help him up to our laughter and we all joined in knowing it was in good fun.

That was a special day for me and the next time I fished with Uncle was when he moved away to Ontario and so did I. I met him forty years later on Muskrat Lake near Cobden and he was fishing. We had a visit and he reminded me of that time when we caught all those trout and he caught a wet bottom. We laughed as we did that day when I was ten years old and Uncle and Dad were young as well.

Planting Spuds In Cape Breton

Every May 24th weekend was potato planting time when we were kids. It was a family affair and no member was exempt. Mom had the job of cutting the seed potatoes. With her paring knife she would slice through the seed potatoes and manage to get several good seeds from one potato.

Meanwhile Dad and his favourite horse Lady with one of the boys would plow a row about 8 inches deep. All the family would take up positions along the row and with Mom's seed potatoes in a container would place the seeds 1 foot apart at the bottom of the row. Dad would walk along the row with a rake and close the furrow and cover the seeds. Another plow row and the the row for the next seeding.

This planting would take several hours and after the last row was covered we would prepare for dinner. Meanwhile Dad and Lady would harrow the field and make it look great. Lady would get a rest and some extra oats and be turned out to pasture. We as a family sat down to Mom's stew and corn bread. All the talk was about how good the crop would be and eventually we asked about our picnic plans at Groves Point.

On the holiday we tried to get in the water for a swim even thought the water was cold. There was something special about a big family working and playing together. We were not rich but had a wonderful experience because of the dynamics of eleven people living together. Large families  can lead to rewarding experiences.

Mothers

Everyone has a Mother. This makes mothers the most influential group of people in the world. Even in countries that have little regard or respect for women  their role makes them so important in bringing up a nation and guiding the youth in acquiring their values.

Mothers are honoured every year in May and a special day is declared. People chose to celebrate in many different ways but flowers and gifts seem to be the most common in North America. In our large family we had a routine which was repeated every year. We would attend church in the morning, wearing a flower. Red if your mother was alive and white if she was deceased. I remember one time making what I thought was a smart remark when I suggested that pink would be appropriate if your mother was sick. My Mom straightened me out in a hurry.

After church we would walk home to dinner prepared by our father. He never much cared about church attendance but he could cook when necessary. Immediately after dinner we boys and sometimes the girls would run down to the Big Pond forest and look for May flowers. These tiny pink and white flowers were the provincial flower of Nova Scotia and usually bloomed in May.After we picked a bunch we would grasp them tightly in our hands and race home to present them to Mom.

It always amazed me how excited she would be as we each in turn presented her with our lovely flowers. Mom acted excited with each offering and carefully placed them in water. They only lasted a short time but these flowers represented the love and respect  we held for our Mom. Time went on and soon I was married and the father of four children. My children used to make Mothers Day special for their  mother. I always felt a special inner glow as my kids honoured her and  I thought of the happy times I had on Mother's Day when I was a child.

Mothers are special and were more women in charge of more responsible positions in this world it would be a better place by far.

Arlyss Is On His Way

The slumber room at the undertakers is quite large and designed so that people will come in, view the body, and then mill about and talk about the deceased. Well Arlyss did not agree. The room was as I described but the dynamics were quite different. Arlyss was down at one end of the room with a sort of half smile, and I kind of knew what he would be thinking if he were alive.

In life, Arlyss was a person who came into a room and mingled but never stood out. Today he shone the whole time. As in life, he was quiet and almost unnoticed but today the throng that filled the room were laughing and talking - and on every lip was a Arlyss story. He was the star and every person in that room mingled and met, some for the first time in years and  and the topic was Arlyss.

Maybe hundreds were there during the three viewings. What a term, "viewing" which opens up the idea of examining the body, but Arlyss had other ideas. He knew that by designing this celebration this way, that everyone who cared would come and re-unite in celebration of his life. He knew that the people who cared would be there - and they were. Friends, teachers, students and people who had been the recipient of his generosity all came out, and although he was not a vocal participant, he was there also.

Arlyss stories came forth and everyone had a happy face and a cheerful smile as the time was shared with the memory of this teacher and friend who touched so many. The two stories that bear receiving the printed word are as follows:

Arlyss loved cats and owned many. He lived on Mary street so word around the city was that Arlyss had the best CAT HOUSE in Pembroke.

Arlyss loved dogs and when his dog LUCKY died he buried him in the back yard. On one of Arlyss' visit to a flea market he found a stone to place on LUCKY'S grave. His mother came to visit and in her wandering about the yard, she found the grave. She was curious and leaned in closer to read it. It read.. "In loving memory of mother".  His mother was upset and when approached, Arlyss explained that although it was not appropriate, the price had been right.

The whole time we shared in PEMBROKE was immersed with memories from time shared from an earlier era and as we drove back to Oakville, my kids and Theresa felt that this celebration of life was truly an Arlyss moment.
  

Brown's Grocery

That picture brings me back a few years. That picture was probably 1974. Gas was 37.9 cents a gallon. Hard to believe. We as a family worked long and hard to keep the store open and successful. All the kids got their business sense by working there. Lynda worked the most and longest but everyone chipped in. I remember I had the early morning shift at seven am and travelled by ski do in the winter.We sold everything you could think of and then some. I really believe it helped to bond our family. The summer with the fruit business was a high point for me and I know all of you had a trip down south at one time to purchase those great peaches from Mr. Fritz.

This store was more than a place where people purchased items . The folks from Quebec were some of our best and consistent customers as they called in when leaving Pembroke to cross the bridge. They would buy their gas there because it was the least expensive in the area and we had items that they forget to buy at the larger stores. Because we stayed open until 11pm every day people used to come at the last minute to purchase needed for school lunches and sometimes pop for mix at late night parties.

My wife was the manager but her mother, sister and all of our family put in time there.We socialized with the customers and got to know many people during our years at that location. It will always be fixed in my memory the first few weeks of ownership. None of us had any experience in the business except Roma and she held the fort until we learned enough to become useful.

It is only a memory now but a happy one, filled with hard work, long hours and a feeling of identy. Browns was the west end convenience store and a true family business.

Memory Lane 1953: Johnny Miles Day

As a youngster my father told me about one of the greatest long distance runners in the world....Johnny Miles This was a young man who could run for Long distances and never be tired. He was a youngster who had a dream of running the Boston Marathon. His work was delivering milk to the people of Sydney Mines, Cape Breton. He wore rubber boots because of the weather and the conditions but that never slowed this man down.

Johnny Miles won every race he went into and became quite a person in the athletic scene. He decided to enter the Boston Marathon and hitch hiked to Boston for the event. He had no running shoes but bought a pair for less than a dollar before the race.

He entered the race as an unknown but before long he was known all over the world. He not only won the race but broke the record in spite of being lost during the race. He returned home a hero but the world called him to race everywhere there was a classic race and he met the challenge. As a young man I tried to become a little like him as uncle Matt used to make us race long distances for our own good.

I became quite a half miler in my day but long distance always called me to try the long races. I ran the 5,000 and 10,000 races for the Olympic trials in 1960 and loved the competition. I did make the finals that year in the 800 meters but that was a far off challenge to the Marathon.

I tried the marathon several times and always finished but my time was a little off the record. I looked up my best time and found that in 1961 there was a race where the winner had a time of 2 hours 27 minutes 37 seconds. My time was 2 hours,46 minutes and 44 secs. I came 27th. That race was for Johnny Miles. I only raced one more marathon and in that race I was just a finisher. I never ran a long race again but I loved the challenge and the name of Miles was always on my mind.

Miles was a Sydney miner and so am I and I shall always be proud to say his name and talk of his record.

Soulmate and Mentor

As we walk through life and manage to accumulate so many ideas and thoughts about where we fit into the grand scheme of things, we sometimes meet a person who by association aids in our search for the ultimate answer; we tend to find our comfort zone while in their company. One such person was Dr. J.W.E. Newbery. Maybe it was coincidence, but this United Church minister also married my wife's parents early in his ministry in Sudbury.

Years later when I decided to return to University full time, the first person I met when I went to register was Rev. Newbery. He was welcoming the students to the young university and although he was the principal of Huntington College he was right there in the mix of students, boxes and books. A shock of white hair and a smile a mile wide put you at ease and when he heard I was majoring in Philosophy and Religious Studies he gave me some special attention.

He was the head of the Philosophy Dept and Religious Studies and immediately made me feel at home when he said there was a $300 bursary that was available if I applied. That got my attention as I was married with a family and needed every penny. I hadn't set up a home at this point but he helped and after we had tea with his family I left with a list of good places to live, $300 bursary and a box of required reading for the philosophy courses.

From the very beginning Dr. Newbery and I became bonded. There was something special about this man's demeanour when he talked about religion. I connected when he told me he was working on a new curriculum involving spirituality derived from aboriginal peoples' beliefs. I had just returned from Northern Ontario where I shared two summers with Cree Indians and I was keenly into their culture. Our class was 10 people and we were able to share feelings and personal beliefs with the Dr. However we did much listening as this man espoused a type of new philosophy with a balanced mixture of bible, great works, native cultures of the world, and Christianity, with universal currency.

The four years I studied under Dr. Newbery were life changing. They brought the best of me to the forefront and convinced me to stay with education and forget about working for the church as my type of spirituality would make it be too confining. Dr, Newbery challenged me by giving me assignments to preach at various churches in Ontario who required a minister for special occasions or special subjects. I loved the work and the pay was good but I finally realized I was not speaking from conviction and refused further work. It was at this time I began to have a free and open discussion with Dr. Newbery about what I had accepted as my guide to life and the acceptance of the natural order of things as a reasonable alternative to organized church with all the rules, myths and dogma. I basically found peace and Dr. Newbery openly said that he had a similar experience and still  found comfort in the organized church and I might find that to be true later in life.

Dr. Newbery lived to be 96 and when he passed away a great scholar was lost to the academic fellowship of the university. His legacy was building bridges between faith communities. He developed native studies programs for universities and was awarded citations for his work with native communities within the penal system. A life long member of Amnesty International and human rights commissions earned him the Order Of Canada. For work in recognition of Native Spirituality he was awarded the standing of Honorary Elder a gift he treasured.

Dr. Newbery was close to the David Suzuki Foundation and supported it until his death. He wrote a short poem which I suppose summarises his beliefs.

O God around me,
Your spirit is the great wind
and the quiet breath of every creature.
Everything is alive in You
and towards You all things are moving.
                                                                                                               
E. Newbery