Grandma’s home was always an integral part of my childhood, whichever house it was at the time. We were living in the old farmhouse where my grandparents had lived for some years. Larry thought that our house had been purchased to use for a church building on the property near Westward Ho. It was deemed not suitable.
Grandpa bought it, moved it to the farm property just down the road and added an upstairs. While we were there, I faintly recall an addition being built. The kitchen was enlarged, along with a downstairs bedroom and bathroom.
When we moved there, our grandparents were in Ontario assisting my aunt with her expanding family. Grandma worked as a care aide, tending often to folks recovering from surgery or childbirth. Grandpa did some handyman work at a church camp.
When they returned to Westward Ho, they stayed in the small cabin in the yard, “the shack out back” as we called it. Larry remembered staying there on many occasions when mom and dad were between jobs.
Grandpa purchased a small farmhouse from Irven French, a near neighbour, and had it moved the mile or two to the next road west of us. A high basement foundation sat edged into a steep incline, waiting its arrival.
That quarter had been used largely for grazing cattle and was still heavily wooded. The yard around the newly situated house did not receive any landscaping; it remained rocky and untended.
It was at this little house that I was requested to help Grandma wash the walls. There was a nice sized kitchen with full cupboards, a counter; something we didn’t have. Two small bedrooms and living room, a back entry with the stairs to the storage in the basement completed the floor plan. Grandma had a wood- burning stove in her kitchen with the reservoir heating the water.
We have a photo of the two of them in their “new” house after a housewarming. Grandma is poised on the couch holding her knitting. The couch is a small cot covered with a grey woolen blanket, scratchy and well used; probably a few cushions to protect her back.
Beside her is an end table made by her brother Gordon, crafted from diamond willow. It was two-tiered, with space for Grandpa’s Bible and a stack of novels. He was an avid reader like me; Grandma couldn’t spare the time.
In one corner stood the dining room table, pushed against the wall out of the line of traffic. I remember that Grandma had a small hand operated sewing machine set up on that table, except on Sundays of course.
We had each learned to run the old Singer machine that she left for us at the farmhouse. Her machine had to be turned by hand; it didn’t require a lot of effort as it gained no speed. She used it mostly to hem tea towels or re-enforce seams in lightweight items. The heavier repairs, no doubt were completed by hand. Grandma could wield a thimble and the heavy Coats thread like no one else.
By the time they moved in, the telephone lines had at last reached our properties. Previously a trip to a neighbour living along the highway was necessary in order to make a phone call. They had access to the lines as they came through to Sundre. We had to wait.
Having the privilege of calling Grandma was awesome. She came over often but she didn’t drive. I rode my bike over to her house many times or walked. It wasn’t far. My brother rode over too, to fill the woodbox for Grandma. His pay was a handful of peppermints or a few molasses cookies, soft and gingery.
I helped make cookies there and observed the process of cheese production. Grandma made her own versions; paprika cheese that was similar to a soft cheddar. “Stink cheese” was another of her specialties. I checked in the Mennonite cookbook for the spelling of the Pennsylvania Dutch name but I couldn’t find it. The directions say “let ripen for five days.” That explains the name.
Folks either loved that cheese or loathed it. Dad said it was only good for patching tires. Oddly my husband, with a very particular palate actually enjoyed it. I had been reluctant to let him taste but he had come to know and love Grandma and was willing to risk it.
She also made homemade noodles and sauerkraut as well as pickles. She rendered fat to make lard. That was not a pleasant odour. Small wonder that Grandma’s house needed walls washed and windows flung open on occasion.
- Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
