This ole house was home and comfort

This ole house was home and comfort. (Turn up the sound)

My Grandparents Hingston were married in May 1914. Grandpa joked that three months later the Great War broke out. Shortly after, they bought a farm two miles south of Cavell and moved there from the sod house on Grandpa’s original homestead which was another 6 miles further south. The house was a selling feature; I am sure, as it was big (for the time) and fairly new with white paint and green trim. It never saw another coat of paint and the shiplap siding aged to a dull grey which was the colour I always knew the house.

There wasn’t a tree anywhere in those days as the prairie fires kept them from growing. Grandpa had to haul firewood 30 miles from an Indian Reserve near Red Pheasant. Grandpa planted lots of trees around the yard; Manitoba Maples, Caragana and Lilacs. Trees that could take the drought and the cold. By 1945 when my folks got married and took over the farm, there were trees in the yard and poplar and willow trees grown up in the low spots in the fields too.

My father was born in that house in 1921, youngest of four, on Dec 18 and first came downstairs Christmas Day for dinner. Claimed he never missed a meal since. The four of us kids were born in the hospital in the nearby “big” town, but the old house was home.

The house was big but it wasn’t really. I think the two storey part was about 14 ft x 20 ft (but should check with my little brother for those details). Downstairs had a front veranda on the west side which we never used, that linked into a lean-to kitchen and unheated “backroom” which served as storage on the north side of the house. There was a big L-shaped dining and living room in the main house, with space along one wall taken up by the stairwell. The kitchen was heated by a coal and wood cook stove and the livingroom by a coal and wood space heater. That was eventually replaced by an oil burning heater which meant dad didn’t have to get up at night to keep fuel on the fire in cold weather any more.

Under the stair well was a trapdoor that opened to the cellar; a dirt hole under the house that held our vegetables and preserves. It also was home to a couple of salamanders or geckos. My little brother who was a bout 6 at the time could imitate their clicking sound perfectly and he and the salamanders would hold conversations to the amusement of the rest of us. There was another trapdoor in the “backroom” but I think the cellar had caved in or something, as I don’t ever recall us using it for anything.

The upstairs had two bedrooms. The bigger of the two was where the three of us boys slept. Mom and Dad slept in the “East Room”, a small bedroom in the south east corner, with the stairs and hallway cutting back on their space. The furnace pipe came up through the floor of our room and provided heat but Mom and Dad’s room had no heat. The house had no insulation and on bitter cold winter nights with a SE wind, they would have to sleep on the couch downstairs just to survive. When my sister was born, she slept on a cot in the folk’s room until she was six. Then I moved downstairs to the livingroom couch and she got a curtained off area in the “West Room”.

Dad always planned on building a new house. Dad always planned on a lot of things. Finally, in the early ‘60’s, Mom’s dad gave us an old house in good condition and paid for the moving and much of the renovations so mom could have running water and some warmth and comfort. I can’t remember the exact year they left the old house but it was mid-60’s because I was in University. Dad never did finish the “new” house. The nails on the trim around the windows were never countersunk and the holes filled. Maybe my brother will do that when he retires and moves back to the farm from Toronto.

He did tear down the veranda and lean-to on the old house and always planned on tearing down the rest but I think he didn’t want to as there were too many memories associated with it. So it sits empty, full of musty old junk. The rest of the farm sits empty too, waiting for my brother.

Remembering the Farm - Remembering 1961

1961 was the driest year on record, drier than the Dirty ‘30’s. Every bit of crop the grasshoppers didn’t eat, we cut to feed the cattle. Fortunately we had a stack of straw in reserve and by spring we were looking for feed where ever we could get it. The grasshopper pesticide, Dieldrin, had a big residual effect that meant you couldn’t feed animals with straw from fields that had been sprayed. It was cheap and effective but killed a few careless farmers too and was banned after that.

Chicago Black Hawks won the Stanley Cup, beating Detroit Redwings. The playoffs were in early April in those days, not in June. I had chicken-pox in October and got to listen to the World Series (we didn’t have a TV yet). New York Yankees beat the Cincinnati Reds. Yankee pitcher Whitey Ford was the hero along with first basemen Bill "Moose" Skowron. Roger Marris and Mickey Mantle had been in a tight race all season to beat Babe Ruth’s home run record. Marris won, hitting 61 homers. Because it was in more games than the Babe, the “record” was disputed ever since.

Mostly I remember my Grandma Johnson died on December 30th. I was 14 and had all four grandparents to that date, which I was told was pretty special. Grandma had not been well all summer though exactly why never was diagnosed that I know of. Grandma’s family got together that summer. Mom’s two sisters Aunts Betty and Leone and most of Mom's cousins on Grandma’s side all lived within easy driving so family get-togethers were not uncommon. (Grandpa’s relatives were all in Iowa so we hardly ever saw them). Uncle Vince was a grain buyer and Uncle Frank was a farmer like my dad. The three sisters all had teacher training but as was usual in those days they were stay-at-home mothers. All we cousins were pretty close and I loved to visit with them. Family pictures were the order of the day.

Our big after-Christmas treat was to go and see Ben Hur at the Roxy Theatre in Wilkie. It was the third movie I had ever seen; Old Yeller and The Ten Commandments being the other two. Being good Christians we didn’t go to picture shows. When we got home, we got word Grandma was gone. First time I realized that people I loved could die.

Remembering the Farm - Working on Sunday

Sergey gave me the day off today so the skin on my back would heal up a bit. The trick is always to inflict as much pain as possible without killing the...uh...patient. This sometimes means giving a day or two to recover from the tortures so they can endure more. He likely learned his trade at the Russian equivalent of the School of the Americas. I wish he’d give me tomorrow off too. Beating people on Sunday is just wrong. Especially for pay.

My dad never worked on Sunday, other than the necessities of looking after the livestock. Spring seeding and fall harvesting were the temping times. Technically there were three weeks in spring to get the crop in the ground and two weeks in the fall to get it in the bin. But it always took us longer. In those days we had a 12’ International Harvester discer and an Oliver 88 gas tractor so it required long days.

When farming was done with horses, Sunday rest was obligatory because the horses needed it, even if the farmer didn’t think he did. But once tractors replaced horses on Prairie farms, Sunday off was a matter of religious observance, not practical horse management.

Our neighbours, Volga-German Catholics mostly, would get permission from the Priest to work Sundays after Mass in spring and fall. Dad always stopped at midnight Saturday night and didn’t start again until Monday morning. He said there was no need to work Sunday; there was always another day and if there wasn’t, then it really didn’t matter, did it?

That is not to say he was not pragmatic. He rented land for a few years from an eccentric elderly spinster (there is no other word to describe her) who was very religious. So religious she had a ten year old cow which had never had a calf and was very proud that the cow had been able to maintain her virginity. Dad was seeding late Saturday night and had less than an hour left to finish. He knew if he went past midnight, the woman would have a conniption. Then he remembered that she was on Mountain Standard Time while everyone else in the province had switched to Daylight time. (Saskatchewan switched in those days). So he finished the field before midnight by her clock and all was well.

Another time, he was working late and had less than half an hour to finish the field. He thought he would finish it off. The tractor ran out of gas at 11:55 pm and he had to walk home. Our close neighbours had been watching his light and knew how much dad had left to seed. They were so impressed that he would quite at midnight with so little left to finish just so he would not work on Sunday. Dad always laughed about that. He said, “You never know who is watching or what impressions you leave so best always stick to your principles”.

T&A Wedding?

While killing time between the wedding and the reception, Reality Check and Counting Sheep discovered a small town bar with a broken coin operated vending machine filled with sex toys. Other than the coincidence of timing there was no association between the two events. But it reminded me of a wedding party we spotted in Saskatoon. At least we assumed it was a wedding as the decorations were appropriate. Except the sign made us wonder a bit.

I see you're back from the Front

Sergey was here yesterday and again today. My lower back feels like a slab of raw meat but I don't have to crouch to wash my hands. He'll be here another 7 times or until the skin is worn off my back.

Tanya took pictures to send my kids or post on my blog. No, I don't think so. No one wants to see a picture of a Gorilla pounding hell out of a Beluga. and it is a family blog so my bare behind is off limits anyhow. (Speaking of which, LynnieC, I see you took your picture off your blog).

Sergey and his wife are Protestant Christians. His grandparents were both Protestant Christians and his grandfather did 20 years in Magadan Gulag for owning a Bible and preaching the Gospel.
Sergey would like to go to Canada where his wife is but his parents are old and need looking after. Tanya told him that we would certainly be willing to help look after them so he could go. There is no one or no place here to look after old people except family. Tanya says Canadians are so fortunate that our elderly can get such good places to live where they are looked after.

In other news, Masha started Kindergarten yesterday. She said it was "embarassing". Her mother had to threaten to take her home if she didn't eat her lunch. She ate. She is so happy to have so many playmates. She has been a very lonely little girl.

O wrench-ed man that I am

My back has been killing me for over a week. Never great at the best of times from lack of exercise and too much lard. I was sitting on the edge of the bed and made the mistake of asking if I was getting up or going to bed. Tanya hit me with a head on tackle, pushing me backwards onto the bed. If I sit on the edge of the bed and lay back on my own, it will put my back out. But then she jumped on me and started pummeling me shouting "Stav-eye, stav-eye" (Get up, get up). I am laughing so hard, I cannot defend myself.


Two days later the back muscles stiffened up. I could walk, sit or lie. But moving from one to the other was torture. Yesterday I went to what passes for a chiropractor here. I'd been to him in March. Professional clinic - chiropractor, dentist, optician, not sure what else. After a 30 minute work over and with 9 more times in the works, starting Thursday, I was worse than before. I knew after a few more treatments it would be OK but I was in agony so Dr. Tanya, Veterinarian, wanted action.


Andrei has a friend who does massage and chiropractic. House calls. So Tanya decided we'd try him today and not wait for Thursday's appointment. Sergey is a young man, about Andrei's age, sturdy, as they say. Diploma's from Moscow and somewhere else. His wife lives in Toronto three years now, has completed a two year course at a Canadian College and wants to open a private massage clinic with Sergey who is in the process of immigrating. One can only hope they don't rub each other the wrong way.


Anyhow, Sergey told me to peel down to my socks and lie on the bed. Then he took his shirt off revealing a barrel chest and more hair than a silverbacked gorilla to borrow a phrase. I am wondering exactly what kind of back treatement I am in for. No worries. Russian massage is not a career for the physically unfit. This guy was dripping sweat like an Irish step-dancer in Lord of the Dance as he worked my back over for 30 or 45 minutes.

Sergey will be back tomorrow. And I don't have to do yard work today.

Colours of the Fall

We are in the middle of Babye Lyeto or Old Woman Summer. Days are golden warm and nights still have not drop below freezing. Gardening is pretty much wrapped up for the year. Tanya is planting garlic today which we will harvest next fall. We took the cabbages off last week and hired a boy to dig the garden. Tanya doesn’t like it ploughed as the tractor packs the soil, she says. So in four days of hard labour this kid made $40.

Our neighbours finished taking beets, carrots and cabbages off last weekend, too. Pumpkins, squash and fodder beets are all home safely, most for pigs or cattle. The small cornfields are picked and the stalks cut and hauled home for cattle feed. Our neighbour down the road, with several cows and a small tractor, hired three men to haul manure and spread it on the cornfields. The manure had been stockpiled since last fall so is pretty rank. I do hope they get it ploughed down soon.

The chestnut trees turned brown a while back and are dropping leaves all over the streets, keeping the street sweeping ladies busy. The birches are beginning to turn yellow and many trees are still green. Fall colours here are much like home, mostly golds and russets. Not many of the beautiful crimsons associated with Ontario, Quebec and the Maritimes. But there are some – Virginia Creeper, Mountain Ash* and several others add colour to the fall. Even rose hips.

And there are still flowers blooming in flowerbeds along the streets. We have blooms in our front flowerbeds too, including a late rose or two but next year will be even better.

*I think. To paraphrase Victor Borge, I only recognize two trees. One is a Christmas tree. The other one isn’t.