By Marnie Howell
Spirit of Christmas writing contest winner
My grandparents, George and Elizabeth (“Lizzie”) Evans, had a huge house at their former ranch, overlooking Deep Creek, which still sits in the beautiful valley, north of Williams Lake. In its days of glory, Grandpa worked hard, haying the fields which held many horses and cows. As time went on, Grandpa retired and suffered a stroke. There were only a few horses left. The huge barn eventually burned down. But their home and Grandpa’s mother, Granny Augusta’s little cabin still played an important part in our family’s life.
As children, we often stayed at the homestead when our parents were away on trips or visiting family elsewhere. The biggest dwelling housed our grandparents and two families – Mom, Dad, five kids; Auntie and Uncle with my eight cousins, regularly coming and going.
The homestead was our safe haven between Dad’s and Uncle’s jobs while they worked, trying to secure homes for us. There was electricity there but no running water or plumbing, meaning we all packed water from the creek below – a task requiring many trips and rests especially on bath day in the galvanized tub behind the cooking wood stove – all taking turns. The same countless trips were done on laundry day with Grandma Lizzie’s wringer washing machine bumping and chugging on creaky wooden floors. We’d guide laundry through the wringer, careful not to get our fingers caught! It was hung in the hot sun on her laundry line, pulling it off once dried and inhaling its fresh scent. Praise Granny for trusting our grubby little fingers with the clean laundry!
No plumbing meant using the dreaded outhouse at night, seemingly far away as a little girl, braving the darkness! All hairs on the neck stood up, fearing what was lurking in the shadows. The yard’s floodlight provided only so much of a safe zone!
From the woodshed, we’d cut and pack wood for the barrel stove in the living room and that trusty cooking stove in the kitchen. The kitchen held a long, wooden table with equally long wooden benches at the sides, seating many family members and guests.
In the hot summers when our chores were done, we were rewarded with the smell of Granny’s baking bread wafting to the creek below where we swam and fished all day. She’d fry our tiny, cleaned catches and we’d feast on them with the warm bread and melting butter!
The property included Grandpa’s tool shop. We’d spend hours there, “inspecting” his farm tools, equipment and storage items in the loft after creeping up its rickety ladder. There was the welcoming oil and wood smell as we’d burst through the shop doors, bringing sunrays of life into its dingy existence.
Granny Augusta’s little cabin also housed many treasures. We spent more hours, reefing through her closet, playing dress up while she was away shopping!
Grandma Lizzie’s vegetable garden sat beside the house with her Sweet William flowers lining the house’s edge, below the kitchen window. The heavenly scent combined with lavender bushes at the far end.
An abandoned chicken coop and the huge barn were great locations for ghost stories; “spin the bottle with neighbour kids;” or hide and seek games with so many hiding spots.
Grandpa George’s retired tractor by the chicken coop and international truck by the woodshed made for many imaginary road trips, practice drives and “fill ‘er ups.” Three and four of us would load onto our horse, Lady trying her patience through the hay fields as we chattered endlessly.
Numerous games of tag, red-rover, anti-anti-I-over, and baseball in the huge expanse of the yard kept us busy. At night, we’d throw tiny pebbles into the floodlight, tricking the bats swooping down to catch our fake “moths or bugs” as we’d squeal in awe. After tiring from our antics in the warm summer nights, we’d lie on the grass, looking for satellites amongst the sea of stars above and make grandiose wishes on falling stars.
In the winter, it was skidoos, tobogganing and mini skiing in the retired hay fields or skating on creeks and ponds.
What an ideal playground! Our cousins were our best friends. Living in the country with our chores meant a life of purpose. But play was joyful, adventurous and safe. We didn’t have much money but we were rich with love in a loving environment. Our grandparents spoiled us with it, setting a foundation of memories deeply rooted in true happiness.
At night, I snuggled between Grandma and Grandpa while they read in lamplight. Making animal shadows on wooden walls with my hands, Grandma would try to quiet me to sleep. But Grandpa okayed it with, “let her play.”
The most cherished memory was Grandma/Granny Lizzie’s tradition. After dinner, she’d pour Carnation milk in a pot, adding sugar and slowly heating it. So simple, yet such a treat! With our warm cups of goodness, we’d find our places on those long benches. Grandma sat at the end closest to the wall which held her two rosaries with crosses, hanging on each side of her picture of Jesus. With lights out, the beads and crosses glowed in the dark, giving a focal point for Grandma’s stories from the Bible.
Granny didn’t need a light or a book. Her stories were memorized and told with great detail. Her silhouette waved arms and hands for emphasis. It was exciting and mysterious. This was not television but it was entertaining and divine. I envisioned “Bernadette in France with her long hair, standing at the water said to be holy and healing.” Such joy, comfort and love, sipping Granny’s delicious dessert. When the cup emptied, I’d lay on the bench, listening intently, staring at those crosses.
In the summer, we’d leave the windows and kitchen door open with crickets chirping beyond Granny’s voice. In cooler temperatures, it was cozy with the wood stoves burning.
One winter’s evening, Granny announced we were out of milk and if we wanted our treat, we’d need to walk to the North Gables store. Off my cousins, little sister and I went, no questions asked! Even if it meant getting bundled up and being cold, we were determined to finish off the night with usual formalities!
We had a well-used trail. At the end of our driveway and cattle guard, through the grass, it led to North Gables. The owner knew us well. Our Grandparent’s held an account there. Plus, there were many “candy, pop and ice-cream trips” throughout the summers.
Stumbling through the darkness this particular night, we finally reached brightness from lights of the gasoline pumps and North Gable’s twinkling Christmas lights. The store was dark but light shone from the back where the owner and his family lived. He was typically gruff so this was rather nerve-wracking. I nervously knocked on the door. Soon, he peeked through its window with a furrowed brow then opened the door, wondering what the heck we were doing.
“We’re out of milk and Granny said we can put it on her bill,” I managed to stammer. Our little posse stood, shivering silently. He told us to wait, closed the door slightly and disappeared. Shortly, he returned with two cans of Carnation. Handing them over, he managed a rare smile. “Thank you!” we all sang and happily trotted back to our trail of snowy darkness.
Finally reaching our lighted driveway, we ran excitedly to Grandma’s cozy kitchen, setting her to work on our evening treat and then came the stories – well worth braving the cold!
Before bed, Granny always said, “don’t forget your prayers!” With Christmas nearing, I’d pray earnestly for a Barbie doll, clothes and a bike but mostly for Mom and Dad to return, missing them so! Laying there with a belly full of milky sweetness; images of glowing crosses and Granny’s silhouette in my head, I’d eventually drift to sleep.
As with life, half our family “crew” are gone now. The homestead still stands, only its porches are breaking down with windows boarded up or broken. Roofs are caving in and there’s no more life. Yet, memories flood me each time I pass … the haunting image of Grandpa sitting at his window, waving with a big smile when I’d walk to the school bus stop … (when I had time, I’d run for a quick hug and kiss!) … Grandma in her aroma-filled kitchen, working hard … Laughter of cousins and siblings innocently, crazily running everywhere, never knowing how lucky and blessed we were in this wonderful place.
Although the buildings are worn and teetering on the edge of collapse, tall grass or snow surrounding them, echoing memories and love remain forever etched in their wooden shells, my mind and my heart. Richness to us meant treats such as warm milk and glowing crosses, the value of a simple and satisfying life. Memories that still warm me inside, bringing a smile of gratitude for having enjoyed such treasures!
