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tenderandtough's recent post of the country store with all the pumpkins, reminded me to mention what I have been thinking a lot about lately. Thinking of my Aunt Roma, on my mom's side of the family. She passed away yrs ago. She was the 2nd oldest of 7 children, my mom is the youngest daughter 6th in line (now 85). I have been thinking a lot about her these past few weeks, with a lump in my throat. I miss her terribly. She was one of my favorites.
When I was a young child growing up in Quebec, Canada, my parents would drive us to her 200 acre dairy farm in near Brockville, Ontario. My sister and I would stay for weeks. Sometimes, I would stay alone. Sometimes for almost a month. What a joy. Running through the fields picking blueberries, milking the cows, picking fresh eggs, fresh corn and veggies. Jumping from the hayloft in the large barn, into the mega pile of hay. Those were fun days. Running though the 200 acres of fields with the cows, and yes, being chased by a bull at times. I remember her huge country kitchen, with a wood burning stove (she was known to her dying day, to bake the best pies and cakes (even in a wood burning stove)). The huge kitchen with the large table in the middle, and tangled fly tape hanging above. My uncle sitting in his favorite chair in front of the TV smoking his cigar. He was not there much, for he was an engineer for the Canadian Pacific Railroad. My cousins, 3 sons, did most of the farm work after school and on weekends, when my uncle was away. Yes. They were the stereotypical farm boys. Big, and hunky. Farm work did that. Genetics too I reckon.
For some strange reason, my uncle never hooked up the plumbing to the house. So there was a well outside, to hand pump(red) the water. And also a red hand pump over the kitchen sink. There was no bathroom, so, of course there was an outhouse. During cold weather or late at night, there was a large white pot in the upstairs bathroom (that never got plumbed) for potty time. If one had to take a bath, my aunt would heat water on top of the stove, and fill a large metal tub, which was placed in the middle of the kitchen. There was the old fashioned crank phone in the kitchen. And there were still party lines. One had to be sure what not to say on the line, for someone may gossip. And there was the "Parlor". Off limits for only special occasions. The living room door was always closed. In it were velvet covered antiques, from my Great Grandmother, dining room set, and china. The niceties. The tidbits of memory could ravel open, and I could go on and on. But I won't. On those very stormy summer nights, with thunder and lightening, my aunt would allow me to huddle in her bed with her until the scary storm would wane. I can still smell the Noxzema. She used it all her life.
I so loved the open space. We were fortunate in my Canadian home town to have our home backed up to over 100 acres of forest (that belonged to the local hospital for future development). I loved also to spend hours in the woods, with my dog. Again, a piece of country.
In California, we were also fortunate to live, a short drive to the redwoods, open spaces, and only a 10 minute bike ride to Stanford University. With its 100,000 acre landholdings, plus the 200,000 acre San Fransisco water shed landholdings next door, it also gave me the opportunity to run through the redwood forests, and open fields, with my dog. Stanford had, and still does, stables, with a barn. I would spend hours there, inhaling the aromas of the barn, horses, and hay. The scents would fire up my good memories of my aunt, and her farm, in Brockville Ontario.
I miss her terribly.
tenderandtough's recent post of the country store with all the pumpkins, reminded me to mention what I have been thinking a lot about lately. Thinking of my Aunt Roma, on my mom's side of the family. She passed away yrs ago. She was the 2nd oldest of 7 children, my mom is the youngest daughter 6th in line (now 85). I have been thinking a lot about her these past few weeks, with a lump in my throat. I miss her terribly. She was one of my favorites.When I was a young child growing up in Quebec, Canada, my parents would drive us to her 200 acre dairy farm in near Brockville, Ontario. My sister and I would stay for weeks. Sometimes, I would stay alone. Sometimes for almost a month. What a joy. Running through the fields picking blueberries, milking the cows, picking fresh eggs, fresh corn and veggies. Jumping from the hayloft in the large barn, into the mega pile of hay. Those were fun days. Running though the 200 acres of fields with the cows, and yes, being chased by a bull at times. I remember her huge country kitchen, with a wood burning stove (she was known to her dying day, to bake the best pies and cakes (even in a wood burning stove)). The huge kitchen with the large table in the middle, and tangled fly tape hanging above. My uncle sitting in his favorite chair in front of the TV smoking his cigar. He was not there much, for he was an engineer for the Canadian Pacific Railroad. My cousins, 3 sons, did most of the farm work after school and on weekends, when my uncle was away. Yes. They were the stereotypical farm boys. Big, and hunky. Farm work did that. Genetics too I reckon.
For some strange reason, my uncle never hooked up the plumbing to the house. So there was a well outside, to hand pump(red) the water. And also a red hand pump over the kitchen sink. There was no bathroom, so, of course there was an outhouse. During cold weather or late at night, there was a large white pot in the upstairs bathroom (that never got plumbed) for potty time. If one had to take a bath, my aunt would heat water on top of the stove, and fill a large metal tub, which was placed in the middle of the kitchen. There was the old fashioned crank phone in the kitchen. And there were still party lines. One had to be sure what not to say on the line, for someone may gossip. And there was the "Parlor". Off limits for only special occasions. The living room door was always closed. In it were velvet covered antiques, from my Great Grandmother, dining room set, and china. The niceties. The tidbits of memory could ravel open, and I could go on and on. But I won't. On those very stormy summer nights, with thunder and lightening, my aunt would allow me to huddle in her bed with her until the scary storm would wane. I can still smell the Noxzema. She used it all her life.
I so loved the open space. We were fortunate in my Canadian home town to have our home backed up to over 100 acres of forest (that belonged to the local hospital for future development). I loved also to spend hours in the woods, with my dog. Again, a piece of country.
In California, we were also fortunate to live, a short drive to the redwoods, open spaces, and only a 10 minute bike ride to Stanford University. With its 100,000 acre landholdings, plus the 200,000 acre San Fransisco water shed landholdings next door, it also gave me the opportunity to run through the redwood forests, and open fields, with my dog. Stanford had, and still does, stables, with a barn. I would spend hours there, inhaling the aromas of the barn, horses, and hay. The scents would fire up my good memories of my aunt, and her farm, in Brockville Ontario.
I miss her terribly.
