Family Ties

I never knew my grandfather, Samuel. He died before I was born and I can't even remember seeing pictures or hearing him talked about. Way later in a rare conversation about his family, Dad said that his horse and wagon had gone off the road and there was considerable talk about it not having been an accident.

His wife, Ruby, was a little bit of a thing. She wore spectacles and kept her hair in a bun and always seemed to be in an apron. I remember thinking that she reminded me of a smaller version of Mrs. Santa Claus. She and Samuel had ten children and a small farm in the Annapolis Valley of Nova Scotia. They raised pigs, kept cows and chickens, grew vegetables and had a maple sugar camp. There were always cats around and they always seemed to be having kittens and there was always one old work horse in the stall. Work on a farm never ends so it was an early rising family. I was allowed to help feed the chickens and my uncle taught me how to brush and groom the old horse. Milk came directly from the cows to the separator where it was bottled still warm and all the leftover cream rose to the top. Ruby seemed to cook and bake every day - the massive cast iron stove in the kitchen was always
lit and coffee and biscuits always ready. Freshly made cookies were kept in the pantry and the entire house would smell of fresh bread. She kept an old rocking chair on the front porch and it was there that she taught me to shell
peas, husk corn, and peel apples, all the while telling stories from the Bible.

I think she was happiest when as many of the family as possible were there and there was barely room enough at the dining room table. She made chicken and deep fried dumplings that we ate with maple syrup and the house rang with music from the old pump organ and the noise of everyone trying to be heard over everyone else. Children who got underfoot were swept outside with dire but idle threats of a broom to their backsides. This was a family who made do, a family of hand-me-downs and hard work, overalls and work boots. They'd been taught to share and share alike, value themselves and each other, and say grace before meals. It was into this family that my mother - a spoiled, selfish, only child from a background of privilege, accustomed to having her own way and whose hands would never know a callus - chose to marry.

The divisions worsened over the years as her drinking progressed. Inevitably, his background became a target and his family the enemy. We spent less and less time at the farm and eventually only Dad went back for a week or two every fall. The house still stands, the woodpile and the pasture gate are still there, and the empty hay wagon still sits silhouetted against the sky. In the end, the battle between homegrown and storebought was a draw and in time was all but forgotten. My cousin Hughena inherited Ruby's love of cooking ... her brother is writing a book about the family ...the family's gentle spirituality was passed to my cousin Linda ...and my daddy's love of music is alive and well in me. The passage of time has allowed us to reconnect and I think Ruby would be pleased.