Reuben

When I was in high school, one of our family friends lost his eyesight because of diabetes that was undiagnosed.  He and his wife didn't live in our community, but 'around the bay,' as Newfoundlanders say. 

We heard the sad news about Reuben but hadn't seen him since he had lost his sight. I remember our first visit to see him. I was apprehensive as we drove west on the Trans Canada Highway from St. John's, headed to Princeton, Bomavista Bay. I had always enjoyed being around Reuben and his wife, Florrie. They were kind, funny, and interesting people. They lived in a tiny seaside community where my brother and I met some of the local children and enjoyed spending time there exploring the area. We also explored other parts of Bonavista and Trinity Bays with Reuben, Florrie and our parents. Summer visits with them never seemed to be long enough.

At the time I didn't realize why I was so apprehensive. However as the car pulled into the driveway, I wondered what I would say to Reuben and how I would approach him. Usually we hugged. What do you do when the other person can't see you? I wondered how a hug could work. Do I mention his blindness? I didn't say anything to Mom and Dad but just followed their lead.

Mom and Dad just went in as they always did. Dad spoke and Reuben put out his hand to shake.  Mom spoke and Reuben called her over and hugged her. He did the same with me. First hurdle over.

At meal time, Reuben learned the location of food items on the plate and could manage well. He could get around the house well, having counted the paces of the various rooms and committed the numbers to memory. Reuben was doing really well with things.

On one occasion when Reuben and I talked, he told me I didn't have to talk loudly, his hearing was fine. He said that many people did the same thing and spoke louder when they talked to him now. We laughed over that one. He also liked to be asked if he needed help rather than for people just to assume that he did.

In those days, Reuben had to give up work when he lost his eyesight, so their financial situation had changed. That fact was the hardest thing for Reuben to accept, after the blindness itself and it's impact on his everyday life. Also, he was unable to drive now and his wife didn't have her license so they were't independent anymore with respect to transportation. That was a big impact on their lives as well.

Florrie was amazing. She cared for Reuben but expected that he could still do many things himself and he did. They had worked out how their lives would work under these news circumstances and they just got on with it. Their relationship seemed solid, devoted to each other.

One of the important things that we did on that first visit was to go for a drive around Bonavista Bay with Reuben and Florrie as we always did. The six of us piled into our car, the front seat could seat three people in those days. Reuben still saw everything we did really. He could see things in his mind's eye, and knowing the bumps and turns on the Old Bonavista highway, could tell where we were. He'd ask if this person's car was in the driveway or if the boat belonging to that person was tied up at the wharf. We had a wonderful time, stopping in various places, seeing old friends, or stopping to see the scenery. It was like it had always been.

I learned not to be afraid to use words about sight around Reuben. He understood and was alright with phrases like 'did you see the news?' He'd say that he had heard it and laugh. He was the same Reuben.

Over the next few years we saw Reuben a number of times at our home and his. However, his diabetes was difficult to control and he was having problems. Then suddenly he was gone.  

Reuben and Florrie didn't have any children of their own. However, I am one of the children whose lives they impacted in a very positive way. They showed everyone who knew them how it is possible to handle what could be perceived as one of life's tragedies with humour, dignity and love.

Reuben and I always sang whenever we were together.  We really liked Credence Clearwater Revival and our favourite song was "Looking Out My Backdoor." 

This one is for you, Reuben.  

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Aae_RHRptRg

Mary O'Brien Pretty, Part 1

How do you write about a person who was so instrumental in your formation?  How do you do justice to almost eighty-two years of a life well lived?  Sometimes the hardest things to write are about the ones closest to you.  My mother was the heart of our family and as such she was the vital organ that kept Dad, my brother and I going strong and in the right direction.

Mary O'Brien was born in 1926 at her parents' house in Maddox Cove, Newfoundland. She was the middle child, with two brothers and there were two years between Mom and each of the boys.

Earliest picture of Mom.  Top left.  Her brother, France, is second from the left, front row.

Mom loved the Cove where she grew up.  She loved the people, the place, the lifestyle, though she worked hard in the fields at vegetables, hay, at wood, cleaning up after the animals, storing the crops, picking berries, sewing, housework or just about anything else that there was to do on a farm.

Young Mary enjoyed school, though not French.  She just couldn't get her mind or her tongue around it.  Mary was really good at Algebra, Spelling and Composition as her mother was before her. 

Family life revolved around their Catholic faith, such as the Mass and the Rosary, her family such as her grandfather O'Brien and her mother's parents, the Hearns.  Nearby cousins, friends, school and work around the house and farm kept them busy.

By the time mom was twenty-one, she wanted to go to school and learn a trade, such as hair dressing, or be a teacher.  Her parents didn't want this however and didn't give her any encouragement.  This I find unusual because Mom's mother had been discouraged by her parents as well.  Because of this discouragement, Mom vowed that if she ever had children she would encourage them to get an education and do what they wanted in life.  That's why my brother and I grew up knowing that we were going to go on past high school, get an education, and be able to support ourselves in life.  

As a girl, Mom and Dad always made it clear to me that even if I were to marry, it was essential that I could stand on my own two feet, financially and otherwise.  They supported me in every way possible in getting my education at Memorial University.  I think this was a direct result of the lack of encouragement that Mom got from her parents.  I think Mom was disappointed in her parents for this reason but that was not enough to reduce the respect and love she had for them in every other aspect.  She just learned to do differently with her children, something my grandmother hadn't learned.

Her parents would have been satisfied for Mom to live at home with them for the rest of her life, but by twenty-one, she was the only one of her contemporaries still living at home.  She had cousins living on the Southside Road in St. John's, so Mom left home and went to board with her cousins.  She worked in a variety of places, but her favourite by far was at Milley's, a clothing store on Water Street.

Mom walked back and forth to work every day, the walk taking her past the Newfoundland Railway premises on Southside Road.  There was a convenience store in that area as well and that's where she met my father, Samuel John Pretty.  He worked with the railway, like his father before him.  They started dating and in 1952, they married in October.  A year later, I was born.

Uncle Ned, Uncle France, Dad, Mom, Mary Madden, Gertrude Hannaford, October 1, 1952

                                                              Marie 

Francis

My brother's name is Francis Samuel Pretty.  His name, Francis, comes from my mother's side of the family.  Mom's uncle, on her mother's side, was Francis and so was her brother.  The older men were referred to as France.  In our house, my brother was called Francis. He was named Samuel after our father.

As he grew up, of course, his name was Frank to his friends.  I remember someone calling our house one day asking for Frank. I said that he had the wrong number.  I honestly didn't make the connection to my brother at all.  Today I call him Frank.  Mom never did.

Shortly after he was born, my brother had ear problems.  He had abscesses in his ears and he was in a lot of pain.  Doctors didn't know how to treat him.  So, for the first three years of his life, my brother cried.  Day and night.  

 

   Our earliest picture, our friend Nora, Frank (in my doll's carriage), me and the cat

I was four and a half when Frank was born, so I was in school by September.  I remember waking to the crying, often that hard cry babies have when you know something serious is happening.  I remember wishing that he would stop.  Mom and Dad walked the floor with him.  Mom would be so tired after a day of the crying that when Dad came home, he would take over until bedtime.  Then they would share the night duty. 

I really don't know how they did it.  Also, how did Frank stand it?  He didn't have much choice I guess and neither did Mom and Dad.  I know it was at this time that Mom started her lifetime devotion to St. Anne and I think that prayer helped her cope.  Dad was one of the most patient men I have ever met and I know his patience was tested at that time.  They really worked well together, shared the burden, and prayed, as did everyone in the family.  

                  Frank was one and I was six when this picture was taken

          

Finally, just before Mom and Dad were to take Frank to Montreal for a possible treatment, doctors got a new medication that worked almost instantly.  The quiet was deafening!  Frank's hearing was perfect too.  Mom attributed the miracle to St. Anne's intervention.  She promised then to take her family to visit the Shrine of Ste. Anne de Beaupre in Quebec.  Frank still remembers the look on Mom's face the day we finally got there.  

Looking at my little grand babies now, I can imagine what Mom and Dad went through.  It must have been heart breaking for them to see their little boy suffering that way.  Children are resilient though and Frank recovered well.  Thankfully he does not remember the pain!  Another miracle?

He tells the story of his hearing test for work last year.  Frank fully expected that he'd have hearing loss like many of his co-workers.  His hearing is still perfect!

Years ago, Frank told Mom about one of his co-workers who was waiting for a kidney transplant.  Mom gave Frank a St. Anne's medal to give him plus instructed Frank to tell the story about his own miracle and the promise to visit the Shrine.  Frank was concerned that the man wasn't Catholic but did as Mom suggested since she felt the man would be alright if he followed the advice.  It's now twenty years later and the man is near retirement, still carrying the medal.  He too visited the Shrine during a business trip to Quebec. Apparently St. Anne doesn't know denominational boundaries.

Frank was just a gorgeous looking baby, with blond, curly hair and a round face.  As he got older, his hair got darker until it eventually disappeared on top; then disappeared altogether due to his razor!  

My brother was an athlete.  He excelled at soccer especially and like my Dad, really enjoyed the game. He played on the same team with Dad one year and eventually Dad coached Frank's team.  They both enjoyed the time together at something they loved.

Frank took piano lessons for a few years and while his teacher thought he had potential, Frank didn't.  He also sang in the Music Festival one year, a song called The Little Ships of Newfoundland.  Since the Nun who was the music teacher had a retreat at the time of the performance, she asked me to accompany Frank and the other boys who represented the school at the festival.  

That day there must have been fifty boys in that class, all performing the same song.  It was incredibly taxing to the nerves and the patience.  Needless to say, that was Frank's last solo performance.  We still have the song scratched into our psyches.

                                                         

      Ready for "The Little Ships of Newfoundland"

In keeping with his athleticism, Frank did Community Recreation Leadership at Cabot College in St. John's, Newfoundland.  He has worked with the Town, now City of Mount Pearl in a variety of capacities since his teenage years when he worked there in the summers.  He is looking forward to retirement in the next several years.

Frank married Michele Taylor, whose parents were friends with our parents.  They have one daughter, Samantha.  The Prettys live in Mount Pearl and enjoy as much time as possible at their cabin in Placentia Junction.

                                     Frank, Samantha, Michele, 2012

However, these things don't tell you who my brother is.  Frank is a loyal person who makes friends easily and keeps them for a lifetime.  He is always there to help anyone as many people will testify.  At the same time as my mother lived in their basement apartment, Michele's father lived upstairs with Frank, Michele and Samantha.  He was there for our mother every day of her life.  Frank is a loving husband, father, brother and uncle who does his job and enjoys his friends and family.  He is easy to be around, funny and capable.  I always enjoy his view of things because it is usually precise and straight forward.  He "tells it like it is."  He has a tremendous sense of justice and what is right and lives a good life.

Our mother died in April 2008 and two months later, my fifty year old brother had a heart attack.  It was very scary for all of us, especially Frank, Michele and Samantha.  I thought at the time that I was glad that Mom hadn't lived to see that happen.  But my next thought was that if Mom hadn't died, Frank probably wouldn't have had the heart attack.  Who knows?  We're all glad he didn't have any heart damage.  Essentially, a broken heart doesn't show as physical damage.

I have been blessed with a great brother.  

Monica Hearn O'Brien

When I began the search for my ancestors, it wasn't long before I realized that it was really difficult to get information on the women in the family.  The women, after marriage, were impossible to trace back for the most part.  The women were invisible, shrouded by their husbands' names.  That's part of the reason I'm writing the stories of our family.  I want to have a record of those women that I've had the privilege of knowing and loving.

The name is different, depending on the place, culture or tradition. Where I grew up, Nanny or Nan was the common name. In Pei, Grammy and Gram are the vernacular.  Whatever the name, it conjures up images of warmth, patience, time, food and love.  At least it does for me.

I only ever knew one grandmother. (Dad's mother died when he was fourteen). Her name was Monica (Hearn) O'Brien.  She grew up in Petty Harbour, Newfoundland; born in 1902.  She graduated high school at a time when very few people did.   She wanted to be a teacher and had a job somewhere around the bay but her parents weren't satisfied for her to go there.  Instead she eventually went to Boston and there married my grandfather O'Brien.  He was from Maddox Cove, Newfoundland, just a mile away from Petty Harbour along the shore.  They didn't stay in Boston very long but moved back to Maddox Cove to raise a family.

Before my parents bought our home in Mount Pearl, Newfoundland, we lived successively in St. John's and then Maddox Cove.  When we moved to Mount Peart, there were few children my age in our neighborhood.  So in the summer, I spent time in Maddox Cove with my grandparents and uncle France, who lived with them.  

Summers in Maddox Cove were idyllic.  The ocean, river, gardens, fields, animals, friends and family were everything a child could desire.  The days weren't long enough to do everything there was to do.  I never remember rain but there must have been some because the vegetables and grass always seemed to grow well.  I had a dark suntan, as the skin damage I have now testifies.

My grandmother was at the heart of the Maddox Cove experience.  She was stern but loving and very practical.  She knew the exact size piece of wood needed to cook a batch of bread in the wood stove. Her bread was rustic, cut into thick slices and covered with fresh butter and sugar or molasses if it wasn't meal time.  Pastry was thick and crispy, filled with whatever berries she had picked or available  from her stock in the pantry.  Her meals were basic but delicious.  My grandfather (Granda), as a fisherman and farmer ate plenty and Nan kept the stove going and the cupboard stocked.  Surprisingly we didn't eat a lot of fish but the occasional whole cod, stuffed and baked was a real treat.  Salt fish, brewis, potato and drawn butter were also delicious, especially with pieces of fried fat back (scrunchions).

Uncle Francis (France) O'Brien, Dad, Nan (Monica O'Brien), Granda (Gus O'Brien),  Mom, 1961

I think now that Nan worked non-stop but in my child's mind I didn't know that.  Everything was harder than it is today.  The old wringer washer that I remember had replaced the scrub board in the river.  Even using that washer was a chore, having to be positioned from the storage spot at the back of the porch and filled with water pumped by hand.  Nan always seemed to have clothes on the line.  I guess with Granda fishing and farming, she had to keep ahead of the laundry.  Also, the wood stove was always going, winter and summer, for cooking and baking.  The heat was suffocating but what other choice was there.  The ocean breeze provided some help if all the windows were open. 

My Nan was very afraid that I would drown in the ocean.  She didn't have the same fear for the "pool" that we made by damming the river that ran through their land.  The ocean was her greatest fear.  I had lots of friends in the Cove and we spent a great deal of time on the beach.  Mom gave me a bathing suit but Nan didn't want me to go swimming at the beach.  She always warned me about tidal waves. She described what would happen to me if one should come ashore.  She neglected to mention that she and the house would be gone too and I didn't realize that at the time.  To help me out, my Uncle France would sneak my bathing suit out of the house for me.  I changed in the barn and hid it under my clothes.  I'd swim all day and change again, leaving my bathing suit to dry on the trees down in the woods.  That deception was always a secret that my Uncle and I kept until I was an adult.  Nan didn't realize that it was happening.

Now, as a grandmother myself, I understand Nan's concern.  She was too busy to go with me, so she wanted to keep me safe and away from the water.  Today I would be with Sylvie and Caitlin, our granddaughters, if they were in my care at the age of five or six and at the beach.  Other children being present would not be enough to reassure me either.

Nan always wore hats when she went to church, a wedding or any place fancy.  She always had several and took great pride in her hair.  It, like my mother's, didn't go gray until she was in her late seventies.   Mom's only grayed at the temples.  My hair went gray early but thanks to my hair stylist, I'll be just like mom and Nan!  So much for the genetics in that regard though.  Nan always liked to wear gloves too.  She wore them winter and summer, at the same time as she wore her hats.  She always felt undressed without her gloves.  I feel the same about gloves when it starts to get cold every autumn.

         Nan O'Brien 1976

As a mother, Monica sewed all the children's clothes, turning collars on coats and shirts to make them last longer, making-over coats for the children, sewing many things they wore. She, with the children, Ned, Mary (my mother), and France, tended the gardens and picked the berries.  I helped out with weeding when I was old enough and I loved to pick berries too.  There were lots of berries to pick.  Wild blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, cranberries and partridge berries were the most common.  We always picked lots for jam or freezing.  Pies and cakes were the favorites, though fresh with cream was delicious too.

Granda and Nan always had animals as well.  I remember horses and chickens.  My mother remembered cows and sheep as well.  Her family usually had fresh meat and Mom hated to see which of the animals had made it to the table.  I remember getting eggs in the morning for breakfast.  It didn't get much fresher than the warm eggs which made it to the stove for cooking.

While she wasn't a 'warm and fuzzy' grandmother, I always knew how Nan felt about me.  We didn't have any cross words between us.  I respected her and listened to anything she said, well almost everything. I spent time with her, washing dishes, tidying up, weeding, picking berries among a number of other things.  We talked and laughed and were very comfortable together.  I loved her and it was returned.

I remember one Christmas when he was six or seven, my brother got a pop gun for playing with his friends in the woods behind our house in Mount Pearl.  It had a piece of cork on a string that popped out of the gun when you pulled the trigger.  When my grandparents and uncle came for Christmas dinner that day, I took the gun and aimed it at Nan.  I said something silly and pulled the trigger.  The cork shot straight at Nan and hit her in the forehead.  All Nan did was laugh quietly and shake in her usual way.  Later she told me that she really thought that she had been shot.  Needless to say the gun didn't have much play value after that incident.  

As I got older I spent less time with my grandparents.  By the time I was twelve, I was staying home in the summers.  However, we visited my grandparents every Sunday or they came to visit us.  As time went on I saw less of them.  When I was in university, Granda died.  Over the next number of years Nan became less active and lost interest in going places and doing things.  However her mind was still good.  In 1975, I went teaching in Buchans, in central Newfoundland.  I wanted to go beyond St. John's since I had lived at home while I was in University. I got a letter from Nan that year.  She told me how glad she was that I was working where I wanted to work and that I was a teacher.  She felt that I was living the dream that she had so many years ago.  

Nan had a stroke within the next few years.  She was never the same again.  I don't think she ever really understood who my daughter was.  She referred to her as a 'dandy little baby.'

                                             Me, Nan holding Claire, and Mom 1981

In the winter of 1986, when my father was dying with cancer, I was home for a few days.  Mom and I bundled up Dad and took him to see Nan for the last time.  I will never forget the scene in Nan's kitchen.  I sat on the couch with Nan on one side and Dad on the other.  Nan was intermittently coherent.  Dad looked nothing like himself; hair gone, swollen from steroids, feeble, fragile voice.  

My grandmother kept saying, "That's not Sam."

Dad would repeat, "It's me, Mrs."  As long as I can remember Dad called Nan Mrs.  He could still speak enough to reply to Nan.

I sat there with tears in my eyes, not wanting to speak for fear of upsetting either of them. Two of the people I loved most in the world neither looked nor sounded anything like themselves.  They were dying.  The thought of that realization can still make me cry.  It was as if I grew up at that moment.  I was thirty-two when I finally grew up.  Getting a job, getting married, having a child didn't do it for me.  I finally realized what life was all about in that instant on that couch with Nan and Dad.

Dad died a few months later and Nan in January 1988.   However, the warm memories of my Nan made the loss easier to take.  I'll write about Dad another day.

The Cove

It's hard to think about Mom, Mary (O'Brien) Pretty, without thinking about Maddox Cove where she grew up.  The Cove, as she fondly called it, was instrumental in her formation, due to its people and the environment.

The Cove is a mile down the shore from Petty Harbour, Newfoundland.  As you go 'round a turn' from Petty Harbour, the cove opens up before you.  It is a valley scooped out by glaciers millennia ago, with a wide expanse of rocky beach and Motion Bay into which a small river flows.  The road rims the land on a thin strip eeked out of the mountains, cliffs and beach.  There is land for houses, growing vegetables and grazing animals on the slopes up to the mountains.  

The community of Blackhead isn't far from the Cove by road and Cape Spear is just over a hill from Blackhead.  People from Petty Harbour, Blackhead, Maddox Cove and the lighthouse at Cape Spear all knew each other and many were close friends.

This setting in Maddox Cove provided clean water, wood, and sea food of various kinds. The soil, though rocky,  could be enriched with available materials, such as seaweed or manure, to grow enough vegetables to provide for a family.  The land for houses, planting and grazing was reclaimed from the forest.  Berries grew in abundance. Obviously life here required a great deal of hard work.  It was into this setting that Mary O'Brien was born in 1926.

Life in Maddox Cove meant that everyone worked hard and the sense that 'we're in this together' was largely felt by the people.  The men worked from dawn until dusk, but so did the women.  Anything that could be done to provide for a family was the order of the day.  The men went fishing, in season, before dawn in the summer.  They would check the traps and take care of the catch before heading home to the second breakfast, having had the first before they left the house.  There was a time when they also fished for squid to use as bait in the evening.  The rolling in of caplin on the beach also provided a source of food.  Meanwhile, the women were up early too, making bread, washing, mending, sewing, cooking, tending the garden, feeding the animals if the men weren't back on time.  As the children got older, they did their share too.

The men needed time to take care of the fishing gear and boat as well.  Regular maintenance was done between seasons but the everyday maintenance had to be done as well.  Then the animals had to be tended, the barn cleaned out, and the planting or harvesting and storing of produce or hay. The cutting, transporting and chopping of wood was a big job as well.  Repairs to the house or any of the outbuildings was also the man's job. The cellar, store room, barn and stable all had to be maintained.

                 Painting of my grandparents house, done by M. Lee, 1993

The children went to a one-room school with one teacher.  Mom had lots of memories of her schooling and most were good ones.  However, one day at recess time, the boys in her school chased a group of girls, including her, up the road towards Petty Harbour and wouldn't let them come back.  The boys threw rocks at them.  When the school bell rang, the boys got back in time, but the girls didn't and got strapped by the teacher.  The girls weren't allowed to explain what had happened.

Every day one family had to bring wood for the stove and the children took turns cleaning up after school.  The teacher spent some time each day with the various age groups and did some things with the whole group.  Exercises, done by the whole group, were performed to a song specific to the activity.  

It began, "Exercising does us good, everybody knows."  Mom knew the song and the exercises appropriate to the words her whole life.

Television did come to the Cove until the early 1950s but several families had radios when Mom was growing up.  One radio program in particular was a favourite of many.  About a fictional ship, it was called The Adventures of the Irene B. Mellon, written by Jack Withers.  Families would get together to listen to the radio drama.  Music and dancing were also common as people got together to have fun.  Christmas was always celebrated by mummering, dressing in disguise, visiting each house, dancing and singing for a refreshment.

The Mummers Song by Simani, shows the essence of the mummering tradition.

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=E86bcriRtW8

Some of my grandfather's sisters lived in the Cove for a time as well so Mom had cousins living there.  Families were big in those days so my mother's family with only three children was unusual; no doubt it was more difficult to support larger families.  The friendship with her cousins was particularly important to Mom throughout her life.  Never having had sisters herself, her cousins Pauline, Angela and Mary Madden were like sisters to her.  However, everyone who grew up in the Cove seemed to have a special bond which was obvious whenever they met each other later in life.  The small, closely knit community bonded people in a way that was a mystery to those who hadn't experienced it.  To those who did experience the Cove, it was etched in their memory forever.

        Mom, her cousins, Mary Kieley, Angela Lee, Pauline Kieley.

The song The Squid Jigging Ground by Art Scammel tells the story of the squid bait fishery, known as squid jigging.  I particularly like this rendition, by Ryan's Fancy.

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ijLPFNOhx_o

November, Now and Then

It was cold but sunny in Prince Edward Island. The autumn air that had been warm and summer-like had turned cold overnight.  Rick, my husband, and I had arranged to meet our friends, Hiltrud and Carllo Hengst, at the horse farm where Hiltrud boarded her Icelandic horse.  The horse droppings make good fertilizer for our vegetable patch and we were on a mission to get some.

Not having been around horses for many years, I was amazed to see how curious the horses were about us. They left where they were and came close by to watch the proceedings. Then, after we shoveled the manure into the containers, we decided to walk/ride the trails with Carlo and Hiltrud.  While Hiltrud was moving around to hitch her horse, Stjarni, to the cart, he watched her every move. His black eyes looked as if to hold stories of life in Iceland, stories that would never be told, only imagined by those who gaze into their blackness.

The trails were beautiful on the property owned by the Smiths, (no relation).  The wind was just high enough to blow the last vestiges of leaves off the trees and the sun played peek-a-boo with us as we walked the trails.  The wind was high enough to move the trees but we were sheltered enough not to feel its bitter nip.  I was glad I wore my winter jacket though.

                                                    Hiltrud Hengst and Stjarni

The clop of the horse's hooves took me back in time, back to the days when I went with my uncle, France O'Brien, as he drove the horse home with a load of wood in Maddox Cove, Newfoundland.  I would sit on top of the wood, as he guided the animal home.  Sometimes it was really cold as the wind blew in from the North Atlantic.  France usually talked to the horse and me about the family news, the weather or whatever else interested him that day.  The sound of the runners on the snow filled the gaps in conversation.  Rarely did he lose patience with the horse even if it hesitated on a hill.  He coached it on with his mitted hands on the reins as I held on, knowing that he was expert at this work.   The journey, even on the coldest days, always seemed too brief.

     France O'Brien in front of great grandmother Hearn's house, Petty Harbour

At that time, the 1960s, it was common to have a wood stove, located in the kitchen, which cooked your food and warmed the house. The tedious task of stockpiling wood for the stove took much time and energy by many in a family to ensure that the house was warm and cozy, even on the worst days of winter.  Through the eyes of my childhood, this was not a tedious task though. This time, with France and the horse, was very special to me, warming in more ways than the wood alone could provide. 

There is a song, called Tickle Cove Pond, written by Mark Walker, that captures the importance of the horse to Newfoundlanders.  Interestingly enough, a Canadian folk singer, Omar Blondal, born in Saskatchewan to Islandic parents, visited Newfoundland in the 1950s while on his way to Iceland.  He stayed for a time and discovered traditional Newfoundland songs in the Gerald S. Doyle songbooks.  He recorded some of them and became an early voice of Newfoundland music.  He showed Newfoundlanders the value of what we had and how to express it.  Today traditional music is alive and well in the province thanks to the early work of this Icelandic descendent.

This rendition of Tickle Cove Pond, sung by Jesse Ferguson,  gives the flavour of traditional Newfoundland music, while telling the story of the mare who almost drowned in Tickle Cove Pond.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=N49LT8LyoVU

Here in PEI,  Stjarni knew the way and sped up as we turned onto the final trail out of the woods.  Carlo walked briskly alongside and Hiltrud handled the reins.  It was very comfortable with these friends, talking about the old times and planning new occasions together.  Time has passed, the horse and the location are different, but time spent with good friends still warms the heart.

Samantha

She wasn't yet three and she was as cute as a button.  When Claire and I went into the living room,  this little black haired beauty with the gorgeous dark eyes and round face came into the room and took me by the hand.  She wanted to know if we were hungry. Since we hadn't had supper, we nodded yes and she disappeared.

    Samantha Jane Pretty, Born:  November 18, 1994

We continued to talk to my brother, Frank and his wife, Michele.  Before long she was back again taking me by the hand.  In the kitchen she had bread, peanut butter and a butter knife out on the kitchen floor. The jar was open and she had started to spread copious amounts of peanut butter on the bread, but mainly on the floor and on herself.

         

I watched for a few minutes as she licked her fingers and offered me the bread.  Since we were headed out to supper, I said no; so she ate it herself.  

I learned a lot about Samantha that day.  She was bright, kind, resourceful, determined and independent. These qualities are as obvious today as they were then. 

Happy 19th, sweetie.  And as my father said to your father on his birthday, "Don't let it go to your head."  

Well, maybe just a little bit!