Thomas, one of Jonas’ sons, built the present house. Boasting 12 rooms, it must have looked like a mansion in those days! When Lawrence and Dorothy were married in 1945, they moved in with Lawrence’s parents, Ezra and Aggie. The house was divided into two living areas. Lawrence and Ezra did mixed farming, including cattle, pigs, horses, chickens and sheep. Since two families now lived on the farm, more income was needed. After much thought and hard work, a dairy operation came to be.
They all lived under the same roof for 14 years, at which point Ezra and Aggie left the farm and built a new house in the village of Dunsford. Between living together on the farm and spending a lot of time in their home in Dunsford, Sandra and Gary became very close to their grandparents.
The dairy operation continued until Lawrence and Dorothy decided the work had become too much for them and Lawrence went into beef production. He farmed until he was 81 years old. Time passed and the folks moved into a retirement home. A couple of years later, Dorothy passed away, leaving a heartbroken Lawrence to carry on. We made sure he got back to the farm often, and it was during this time we decided that things needed to be refurbished.
One day, Lawrence asked Sandra and me if we ever thought about moving to the farm, and that’s when we began to consider doing just that. Lawrence passed away a few months later and, although he didn’t know for certain we were going to do it, I am sure he suspected.
Many a good time has been had here. One very special occasion was a Thurston family reunion. The homestead—the only farm that remains in the original family from the time the deed was registered—was opened up to anybody who wanted to come. Relatives arrived from all over Ontario and some even flew in from Alberta. Birthdays and Christmases continue to fill this home with love and laughter. Sandra and I are retired now, a little too old for the rigours of full-fledged farming, but we keep chickens, sell eggs and hay, and enjoy watching the cattle grazing in the pasture.
The farm is maintained and the land is workable, so hopefully we will be here for many more years to come. I’m sure our family that have passed on are looking down, smiling at our attempts to keep it alive.
—by Kenneth Sornberger, Dunsford, Ontario
What Money Can’t Buy
Focusing on the important things in life
I have three siblings: Adam, Kaitlynn and Tara. We were a blended family from the time I was very young, and that has added to our special relationship. Our parents, David and Cathy Broughton, were from a middle-class family and, with four children, often struggled financially. We always had enough money to get by and to have a good life, but like many parents, they often had to say no to extravagant items or trips in order to make ends meet. I want to tell you why that did not matter to us at all.
Growing up, my parents had debt; cars broke down and we didn’t always get everything we wanted. But we did have a pool in our backyard—a one-time purchase—that we loved to swim in; my dad built us our own tree house and we adored climbing trees. We played in the snow in winter, built snow tunnels and buried hidden treasures. In summer, we loved going camping on weekends to new places or even just the local campground. We also took many trips to the beach and nature parks.
Later, in my teens, when we got our own “camp” in the small rural community of Cumberland Bay, New Brunswick, this love continued—it was our favourite place to be on weekends! For the past eight years, we have spent summers there. We have campfires, take walks, swim in the river and just spend time outside. Our camp is not fancy: We sleep in tent trailers, there’s no electricity and we’re surrounded by woods.
Another beauty of our camp is that we have so many people there all the time. Our grandparents come often; my siblings and I still go—we’re all in our 20s now—as do our aunts and uncles, extended family and friends. It’s been so nice having this wonderful spot to gather and stay connected in such a disconnected world. I can’t stress enough how much I love this place and what it represents. For me, it’s about family, togetherness and enjoying the simple, important things in life. Those values have stayed with me.
When I look back on why I love nature so much and why I consider it such a big part of my life, I think it has a lot to do with my parents’ priorities. Maybe they thought it was important that we appreciate the simple things in life, or maybe they were unable to afford to take us on expensive vacations, but for whatever reason, I loved that we spent our time this way and still do. I believe my parents had a fundamental understanding of what was important.
No amount of money can replace having parents who love and respect each other as well as their children. Money can’t buy quality time with parents who teach you about life; it can’t unbreak a broken home or prevent it from being broken in the first place. Making your family a priority and focusing on low-cost activities that are going to instill good values in your kids is priceless. I now look forward to the day when I can provide those things for my own family.
—by Melanie Saulnier, Fredericton, New Brunswick
The Wedding Dress
A girlhood promise kept and a lifelong friendship cemented
My teenage years were spent in Hamiota, Manitoba, where my father was a sergeant in the RCMP and the officer in charge of our area. On many Sundays after church, my friend Jean and I would walk along the railway tracks leading out of town. We picked pussy willows and wild roses, and enjoyed listening to the wild bird songs and the peacefulness of green fields stretching for miles. We talked about school, our families and, naturally, boys. We promised each other that the first one married would loan the other one her wedding dress.
Jean became a teacher and I joined the Canadian Women’s Army Corps, training as a secretary and working as an army secretary for two years. Jean and I wrote to each other frequently. Jean married in 1946 just as Tom, my soldier boyfriend, returned from two years overseas in the tank corps. I went home with him to Maidstone, Saskatchewan, to meet his family, so I was sadly unable to attend Jean’s wedding.
Tom and I moved to Vancouver, where he enrolled in forestry at the University of British Columbia. He lived at UBC’s Veterans Fort Camp, while I lived at the YWCA and worked as a secretary at the Henry Birks store. Jean and I kept in touch through letters and phone calls.
Tom and I set our wedding date for September 10, 1947. Money was scarce, so we only invited our parents and a few friends who lived in Vancouver. I intended to wear a suit that I could use later for work.
A few weeks before the wedding, I received a parcel from Jean—her wedding dress, veil and long, lacy gloves. The dress fit perfectly! I felt like a princess as I walked down the aisle of Christ Church Cathedral on my father’s arm. I hadn’t told Tom about receiving it; his smile and the look in his eyes told me that I looked as beautiful as I felt.
Jean and I, now widows in our late 80s, have kept in close touch over the years through letters, calls and a few visits—friends for life.
—by Jean E. Hubbard, West Vancouver, British Columbia
Queen of May
How Miss Watson made a wise choice
Back in 1941, when I was attending school, we had a wonderful teacher named Miss Watson. Wanting to introduce some “English” customs to our group of students from various ethnic backgrounds, she taught us a maypole dance and invited our parents to attend. This is how I remember that great day.
I wondered who Miss Watson would pick to be the Queen of May. I’d heard that she would choose the prettiest girl who could also dance nicely. What an honour! Tomorrow Miss Watson would announce who would be queen!
That night, bathing in a square galvanized tub, lathering my long hair with care, I breathed in the scent of fresh flowers released from the shampoo. Mummy poured rinse water over my head as I crouched in the old tub. Water ran over my head, down my neck and trickled across my tummy like summer rain. With swift, strong fingers, Mummy braided my hair and helped me slide my nightie over my head. “May I practice my smile in the hand mirror, Mummy?” I asked wistfully. Hiding her ow
n smile, Mummy passed me the mirror, knowing my secret longing to be chosen Queen of May. Finally, I settled into bed, almost feverish with anticipation. It took longer than usual for me to fall asleep.
The next day, I practiced dancing all the way to school, singing: “And who excels in dancing, must be the Queen of May!” Shaking my pigtails loose, I let my kinky red hair fall over my shoulders and down to my waist. At school, every eye fastened on the teacher. “Good morning, Miss Watson!” we chorused in unison. After mumbling the Lord’s Prayer and saluting the flag, we sank into our seats.
“I have decided,” announced Miss Watson, “to have Elizabeth be the Queen of May!”
Elizabeth! Stunned silence. All eyes turned to the back corner where Lizzy huddled at her desk. “But Miss Watson,” protested Lizzy, I don’t think I’m able…”
“Nonsense, Elizabeth,” said Miss Watson firmly. “You are perfect for the part. And now we shall turn to arithmetic.”
I worked on my assignment half-heartedly. Lizzy! Of all people. Miss Watson was the only one who called her Elizabeth. The kids all called her “poor Lizzy.” And with good reason. She stood a head taller than everyone in class, and she had missed a lot of school, so she was hopelessly behind her former classmates. She studied earnestly with the little ones but didn’t play with them at recess; she just stood forlornly by herself. I felt sorry for Lizzy. Stricken by polio at a young age, she was forced to wear a heavy boot and leg brace. Her spine was twisted and her gait halting. During inclement weather, she had to remain at home, as it was too far for her to travel on horseback.
I glanced behind me at Lizzy. Her troubled face was not pretty, I thought. How could Miss Watson be so blind? Lizzy’s not beautiful and she can’t even dance! “And who excels at dancing, must be the Queen of May,” I sang with my classmates.
Finally, May Day arrived and it was marvellous. A shimmering sun shone on the tall flagpole adorned with colourful paper streamers hanging from a ring high in the air, transforming the schoolyard into a fairyland. Trees bursting into bloom perfumed the yard with a delicate scent. Everyone assembled on the grass, watching the maypole dancers. I held my streamer as I danced, ducking under and over the other streamers while singing the maypole song. By the time the song ended, all the streamers had been woven into a pattern—a kaleidoscope of colour around the pole. The dancers smiled with pride.
Presiding over it all sat Lizzy. A royal-purple robe hung from her shoulders and draped artistically over her feet, completely concealing the hated boot. A dazzling tinsel crown adorned her hair. Sitting proud and tall on her throne, she smiled down on her classmates. She was truly radiant! Now I saw the wisdom of Miss Watson’s choice. Happiness had made Elizabeth beautiful.
—by Ardith Trudzik, Edmonton, Alberta
Water for Africa
A spark is lit and an entire community answers
While I was dressing to go out on New Year’s Eve 2007, a TV commercial came on with John Lennon singing, “So this is Christmas, and what have you done? Another year over and a new one just begun.” My response? I’ve done nothing! After celebrating for a few hours that night, I thought, I’ll dig a well in Africa! How hard can that be?
When I investigated and discovered the cost, my New Year’s resolution appeared to be going in the direction of most other New Year’s resolutions. Then I attended a service for the week of prayer for Christian unity at our church. The speaker told a story of how, one day, an adult came across a boy throwing thousands of starfish back into the ocean, one by one. He asked the boy what difference he thought he could make. The little boy threw another starfish into the water and said, “I think it made a difference to that one.”
We can’t change the world, but we can do something—donate five cents, make a dozen cookies for someone who is sick, anything! My husband, Bob, and I walked out of church so fired up. I told Bob about the well that night and together we decided to raise as much money as possible in one year. It might not be enough to dig a well, but we were going to try our best.
We started small. When I wasn’t working, I babysat two little girls and that money went into a teapot. One of our daughters lived at home at the time and paid a little board, which also went towards the well. I told myself I was working at it, but along came a story in an issue of Reader’s Digest that slapped me on the side of the head: A Calgary family was volunteering around the world for a year. Their first stop was Kenya, Africa. This is what the mom wrote: “I’m no international aid worker, but having visited several schools, the thing that is needed most in Africa is water, followed by dormitories for girls.”
Water makes a difference in Africa for many reasons, from thirst and health to crop irrigation and gardens that provide food and income. It’s also the women who make the trek of miles, often several times a day, to supply the family with drinking water. Water is like the centre of a wheel and from the hub are spokes such as education, self-esteem, gender equality, longevity and hope.
For my birthday in March, I told my daughters about the well and asked for a donation from them instead of a gift. Together, we painted houses, cleaned farm machinery and vehicles, sold garden produce and scrap metal, had yard sales and rented out our cottage. If anyone in the neighbourhood was having company, they’d phone me and I’d deliver dessert, birthday cakes or whatever baked goods they liked for a fee. We even sold hot dogs outside the local grocery store. Finally, a church in Palmerston, Ontario donated four quilts for us to auction off.
Around the end of May 2007, with much trepidation, I put flyers in our neighbours’ mailboxes that told them about my project and asked if they had empty liquor, wine or beer bottles and cans that they’d consider donating to the cause. All they had to do was tie the included ribbon to their mailboxes and I’d come by on Saturday. Every mailbox had a ribbon on it. Even friends who hadn’t received flyers had procured their own ribbons. We received our first cash donations that day, too. Many said to come back again and they’d try to empty some more bottles!
Our pickup truck was stacked three cases deep when we pulled into the bottle depot. One man had to wait for my seven-year-old grandson, Reid, and me to unload. He asked Reid if he was getting the money. “No,” Reid said, “Gramma is digging a well in Africa.” The man—a perfect stranger—gave us his money, too.
People began telling their families, colleagues and sports teams about my well and we began getting phone calls: Can you make a pickup? We’d come home and there would be a stack of bottles outside the garage. After I took three loads to the depot in one week, they probably started to question my drinking habits! In the end, we received bottles from Tobermory to Chatham here in Ontario and cheques from New Westminster, British Columbia, to St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador. We even received a cheque from the United States.
Over that summer, every time I was too tired or without another fundraising idea or the goal seemed impossible, something would happen. I had high hopes that my crops of strawberries, pumpkin and squash would bring in quite a bit of cash, but unfortunately we had an incredibly dry summer. I was feeling pretty disappointed until a little girl brought me a plastic baggie containing $1.22. She wanted kids to have water, too.
The night we reached our goal of $10,000 was at a neighbour’s 60th birthday party. The invitations asked for donations to the well instead of gifts—everyone’s invitation except Bob’s and mine. Almost $400 came in and it seemed fitting to go over the top surrounded by the friends who had supported our fundraising all summer.
Our fundraising dollars went to WaterCan, a registered charity out of Ottawa. Their mission is simply, “Clean Water for All.” Our first donation went to a primary school in Ethiopia with 730 students and eight classrooms. Girls had to bring water from an unsafe source several kilometres away; washroom facilities were minimal and students had to make do with the surrounding bushes. This lack of privacy especially discouraged young women from attending school. WaterCan built a well with a hand pump, latrines for both gi
rls and boys, and taught basic hygiene, because if you’ve never had water, you don’t waste it washing your hands.
Our other donations went to building rainwater catchment systems, storage tanks and washing stations at Trust Preparatory School in Kampala City, Uganda, and Ndatela Primary School in Tanzania. We also donated towards an extensive water project at Shadrack Kimalel Primary School in Nairobi, Kenya, the city my family visited on a great adventure in 2009. In an attempt to re-establish Uganda after its 20-year civil war, WaterCan dug 15 wells in the Kyenjojo District. We sent the funds for one of these wells and plan to finance others.
At the beginning of our efforts way back in 2007, it was all about the first $10,000. Looking back, the journey has been more meaningful than the goal. I didn’t expect so many people to help! Most of us are not in a position to make a large donation to a development organization. But I’ve discovered that a ten-cent bottle can shape a miracle. One lady simply collected the pocket change from her family as they arrived on Christmas Day—and that $1.22 in the baggie remains one of the most memorable donations. In the words of my favourite hymn, “It only takes a spark to get a fire going.” And that’s exactly what happened.
—by Doddi Reid, Palmerston, Ontario
Vanquishing the Fort McMurray “Beast”
Wildfires took everything, but one woman finds joy again, thanks to an act of kindness from an unexpected source
In the spring of 2015, the community of Fort McMurray, Alberta, was evacuated and ravished by a raging wildfire. The day started like any other beautiful spring day in the remote northern town. As I left for work the morning of May 3, it was hot and sunny, with blue skies. By noon, the city was in flames. The winds had shifted, sending uncontrolled wildfires towards the city limits and forcing me and nearly 90,000 other Fort McMurray residents to flee for safety.
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