Working with Dad

More stories for my grand children.

In March of 1959 I left school for good and went with Dad to work in the bush. I was sixteen years old. At that time we were living in Winnipeg. Dad had sold the tourist camp at Star Lake a couple of years earlier due to some health issues Mom had. While we were in Winnipeg Bob, my foster brother, went to live with another family. He and I kept in touch for a time but eventually I lost track of him.

My leaving school was not a voluntary occurrence. I was expelled for seven days for fighting in the hall. I always felt that this was unfair because what had happened was not what it looked like. I was returning to the classroom after lunch and had stopped at the water fountain to get a drink. Ahead of me there was a boy filling up a water pistol. After putting the plug back in the pistol he turned and squirted me. Well my instant reaction was to try to grab the pistol from him. It was at precisely that time that the teacher looked out of the classroom. What she saw was me wrestling with this boy. Because I was on top of him she assumed that I was beating him up. So after stopping us she sent me down to the principal's office with a note that said that I had been fighting in the hall. The other boy was just sent back to his room. After a lecture about fighting the principal felt expulsion for seven days was needed.

Now it's important to note that due to learning disabilities I had always struggled in school and that both Dad and I hated the city and missed the lake country. Based on these facts I believe that both Dad and I used my seven day expulsion as an excuse to say that I would never do well in school and the best thing to do was to head back to the lake and start a small logging-trucking business. So leaving May, Lynne and Mom in the city, back to the lake Dad and I went.

Dad knew a man who owned five mining claims very close to Star Lake and offered him some money for the timber on these claims. The man agreed so in March of 1959 we left Winnipeg and headed for the claims with an old power saw and a 1949 one ton Ford truck and towing a small one room, 8 X 16 building that would be our home for the next year or so.

At first we just cut pulpwood and hired someone else to haul it to the Mill in Kenora. Kenora is a small Ontario city about fifty kilometers from the Manitoba-Ontario border or about sixty kilometers from Star Lake. It wasn't long though before we bought our own small truck and started hauling the pulpwood ourselves. That first truck was a lot like the one in this picture.


Picture borrowed from: http://www.forestryforum.com/board/index.php?action=printpage%3Btopic=18781.0%3Bimages


During the first year Dad and I were only able to cut and haul from these claims in the winter because most of them were on the other side of a swamp. We could only haul over this swamp in the winter when it was frozen. So in the summer time we put a dump box on the truck and hauled gravel and sand to some of the summer cottages in the area. By the next summer we had laid a corduroy road and we were able to haul all summer as well. A corduroy road is built over soft or wet areas by placing criss-cross mesh of small poles or slabs. Dad and I used slabs from one of the saw mills in the area. As I remember we put about four or five layers of slabs down and between each layer of slabs we put some sand and gravel. When we were finished our road looked a lot like the road in this picture.


Picture borrowed from: http://vtacorn.net/2008_01_January/2008%20Jan%20more.htm.

The next winter we bought a small tractor for loading pulpwood similar the one in the next two pictures.



                                                                                                                                                                            


These two pictures were borrowed from: http://dhseagles.kpdsb.on.ca/about/drydenPaperMill/stories/franklin/gordonFranklin.html.

The top picture shows a loader with a load of pulpwood ready to be loaded. The next picture shows the pulp wood being loaded onto a truck. Most of the time when we loaded our trucks Dad operated the loader and I was on the truck with the pickaroon. Once in awhile though we changed around and Dad was on the truck. You can't see the head of the pickaroon in the above picture so I added this one for you.



For the first couple of years I could only drive the truck in the bush as you needed a special driver’s to drive a loaded truck on the highway and I had to wait until I was eighteen to get that. Until then, Dad and I worked together cutting lots of trees down. We would then use the tractor to skid them to the loading area. When we had one truck load skidded out we bucked them up into eight foot pieces and load them on the truck. Then Dad would drive the load to the mill while I skidded and bucked the next load. Once these trees were all bucked up the loading area (or landing) looked a lot like this. 



When I turned eighteen we bought two larger trucks and hired some men to do the cutting for us. When all the trees had been cut from these mining claims Dad and I went hauling for other timber companies. One company I liked hauling for was Devlin Timber. I remember there was a man from Sweden who drove a truck for this company and the name on the truck was “The Big Swede”. However, I cannot remember what his name was.

At other times we would bid on timber sales and if we got them we would hire men to do the cutting while we loaded and hauled the wood to the mill. One winter we hauled pulpwood for the First Nations People who lived on Shoal Lake. We did this during the winter as we had to haul across the lake. If you click on the next link you’ll see Shoal Lake. We drove onto the lake at Kejick and traveled on the ice almost to where the dotted line gets to the lake at the bottom of this map. The dotted line is the boarder between Manitoba and Ontario.

http://maps.google.ca/maps?hl=en&ie=UTF8&ll=49.53635,-95.085983&spn=0.21924,0.44014&t=h&z=11

When a big truck travels across an ice road there are some physical laws that come into play that may not at first be apparent. Laws like gravity for instance. When a truck load of pulpwood like the one in the next picture is on the ice, the weight of the truck actually pushes the ice down. This means that the truck is actually traveling in a small depression that moves with the truck. This also means that the water below this depression is being push away from the truck as it travels. This water actually forms a wave in front of the truck. The faster the truck travels, the bigger the wave gets. If the truck travels too fast the wave will get big enough to break the ice.


This picture was borrowed from: http://mff.dsisd.net/Products/ToMarket.htm.


If that happens the front wheels of the truck will usually make it over the crack but the weight of the rear wheels will crack the ice some more and the truck will look a lot like this.



That never happen to Dad or me but I did see one truck break through the ice. The driver was able to jump out before the truck slipped below the surface and sink into about twenty meters of water. It’s probably still there today.



This picture was borrowed from: http://www.borealforest.org/index.php?category=ont_nw_forest&page=history&content=future
It shows a truck loaded with pulpwood driving through what is known as an Eynon load-aligner. It was invented by a man named Jack Eynon. Some times when pulpwood is loaded there are some pieces that stick out too far. By driving through the Eynon load-aligner these pieces get pushed in and the load is nice and even. Notice that there are two big drums, one on each side of the load.

I worked with Dad hauling pulpwood until I was twenty-one years old. At that time I felt like traveling and doing other things I never got back to the logging industry again until I came to British Columbia. And that was in lumber mills where I became a sawfitter. A sawfitter is someone who maintains and sharpens all the different saws used in a lumber mill and the machines they run on. The picture below shows some of the saws I looked after.




Picture borrowed from: http://www.forestryforum.com/board/index.php?action=printpage%3Btopic=18781.0%3Bimages

The big circular saw in this picture is called a slasher saw. Some slasher saws have inserted teeth that are held in with rivets. They look like this;



The other saws in the picture are called double cut band saws. They’re sixteen inches wide when new and the teeth are spaced about three inches apart. These saws go on what is called the head rig.

If you visit this link you will see some great pictures of a lumber mill from the logs arriving on a truck to the cut timbers and lumber ready for shipping.

http://www.garymkatz.com/OnTheRoad/hull_oaks.html

That’s it for this time. I’ll tell you more next time.

Nipper

This story is written for my grand children.

Nipper was a dog. He was our family dog for just over fourteen years. He came to our family as a young pup from the Winnipeg Coal Yards. I have no memory of him then as I was only three years old when he arrived so the first couple of details come from my Mom and Dad.

My father had recently arrived home from the war in Europe. His first job was delivering coal. Now-a-days when one thinks of someone driving a truck and delivering something one might think of loaders and hydraulic dump boxes. But in Winnipeg in 1946 coal came in burlap bags that weighed one hundred pounds when full. My father's job consisted of loading these one hundred pound bags of coal by hand. Then he would drive them to someone's home. Once there he would carry the bags one at a time to the coal chute. The opening of the coal chute was usually just above ground level.



Here's a picture of a coal chute. Once the door was opened a wooden trough was placed in the opening and my Dad would carry a bag to the coal chute, open the bag then empty it onto the trough. The coal would then slide down the trough and into the basement coal room. Sometimes Dad had to carry the bags all the way from the back lane to the house. At these times he would lift the bag to his shoulder and carry them to the house. At other times he could back his truck right up to the coal chute and be able to just tip the bag into the trough while he stood on the deck of the truck.


This isn't my Dad but this is how he carried the bags of coal.




One of the trucks my Dad drove looked a lot like this, but it sure wasn't shiny.

At the coal yard there was a homeless dog. All the men that worked there would bring food for her so she just moved in and became the coal yard dog; I don't ever remember Dad saying she had a name. One day as Dad and the other men arrived for work they found the coal yard dog with a litter of pups. I think Dad said there were about nine or ten. It didn't take long for the pups to grow and before you knew it, some of the men were adopting them. Dad adopted Nipper.



Nipper looked something like this. His mother was
a Collie and my Dad thought his father must have
been a German Sheperd,

Nipper almost had a short stay in our home however. My eldest sister May, who was four at the time, and I shared a bedroom. Mom and Dad agreed that at night Nipper could sleep in our room. I think it was only about a week later that the family woke up one morning to a pile of half eaten pajamas. Nipper had found all the new pajamas that Mom had hand sewn for May and I. At that time many moms sewed all the cloths for their children. That's what my Mom did and that's why she came close to having Nipper sent back to the coal yard that morning.

I'm guessing that the pleas that came from May and I as well as the assurances from Dad helped soften  Mom's anger because she finally agreed that Nipper would be given one more chance, but only one more.

As I said before Nipper grew very fast and before too long he was almost full grown. That's when problems developed. You see we lived in a very small house at that time. There were two very small bedrooms, a small kitchen, a very small front room and an even smaller bathroom. And Nipper grew to be a very big dog just like his German Sheperd Dad. It wasn't so much his size that was the problem, it was his energy and his big constantly waging tail. Just by turning around in the kitchen he'd bump the table and the next thing you know Mom or Dad's coffee would be dripping over the edge and onto the floor. One wag of his tail in the front room and everything that was on the coffee table was on the floor.

Being a young dog Nipper just wanted to play and any play in the house meant that something got broken. Finally Mom and Dad decided that it just wasn't fair for such a big dog to be living in such a small place so they decided to find a home for him somewhere in the country. To do that, Dad asked the Veterinarian if he would look for a home for Nipper on a farm. He thought that on a farm Nipper would have lots of space to run and play.

One day the vet came by the house and said that he had located a new home for Nipper. So our family said our tearful good-byes and Nipper left for his new home.

But guess what happened next. One morning about five or six days after Nipper had left we woke up and he was back. Nipper was standing on the back porch with what seemed to be a big smile on his face and his big tail just wagging away. Needless to say May and I were overjoyed at this turn of events but I'm not sure Mom and Dad felt the same. He must have travelled a great distance because the pads on his feet were bleeding and he seemed exhausted. And he must have drank a gallon of water he was so thirsty. He was also so tired that within an hour he was sound asleep for the rest of the day.

My Dad thought about this for awhile and finally he phoned the vet. He asked the vet if he had taken Nipper to his new home yet. The vet said he had. Dad asked where it was and the vet said he wouldn't say exactly where it was but it was quite a way out in the country. To that Dad said thank you very much and hung up the phone. Then Dad looked at Mom, May and I and said, "Well, if Nipper wants to live here that bad the only right thing to do was to let him stay. And that we did.

One of the earliest memories I have of Nipper is being pulled in a sleigh by him as Mom and Dad walked over to my grandparents for Christmas dinner. He was able to pull the sleigh with both May and I in it.

That spring Dad got some land at Star Lake and started building a tourist camp. Our whole family would spend the summer there. This is a picture of the lake from our sandy beach.


Nipper loved the lake. We would play hid and seek with him. All the children at the camp would take Nipper down to the lake and then throw as stick a far as we could. As Nipper swam out to get the stick all the children would run and hide. Nipper would then run all over the camp finding the children one at a time. We always knew that he knew when he had found the last one. For when he found that one he would shake all the water off himself and onto that person.

In 1950 there was a big flood in Winnipeg. The house we lived in got flooded so the whole family went to the lake even though it wasn't summer. Even Grandma, Grandpa, uncles, aunts and a couple cousins came with us. When we got there the snow was still on the ground. I remember it was so deep that the bumper of Dad's  truck was pushing snow from the main road all the way to our camp.



This is a picture of the flood taken from an airplane. Our home is at the bottom of this picture.

This flood marked a real change in our lives as we never did move back to Winnipeg that year. Instead we move to the lake and lived there all year long. Nipper finally had his large space.

At the lake Dad had built six cabins as well as our house.



















This was our house. The people who own it now have changed it a little. There used to be a door at this end between the two sets of windows. This door was the entrance to the store Mom and Dad had. When September came along all the shelves and groceries were moved into one of the cabins. Dad then moved in some desks as this room became our school. Eight children made up the entire school. There were four from our family and four others that lived at other tourist camps on different lakes. The teacher lived with us for the whole school year. Her room was above the school.

I bet your wondering how come four children were from our family when I've only told you about May and I. Well a new baby sister (Lynne) came along shortly after we got Nipper and when I was eight Bob, a foster brother came to live with us. Bob was the same age as me.

You can't see Nipper's house as it was at the other end around the back. Nipper slept there all year long, even in the winter when the temperature got down to forty below. There was only ever one night when Nipper slept inside.

One winter some men Dad had working for him in the bush came and cut a big hole in the ice at the end of our dock. These men needed water in their camp so they took the ice from the hole back with them. They would melt a little each day for what they needed. Anyway, that night I guess Nipper forgot the hole was there, for as he ran around playing he ran right into the hole. There was a big splash and a little yelp and there was Nipper with the most worried look I ever saw on any dogs face. We were able to quickly put him out and then run him up to the house. We got an arm load of towels and the four of us rubbed him down getting him as dry as we could. We then got blankets and he laid down in front of Mom's wood cook stove.


This stove is just like Mom's

The last thing I remember seeing that night was a shivering Nipper still looking quite worried.

But by the morning he was completely dry and waiting to be let outside. All of us went skating on our rink the next day. Nipper came down to the rink as well but he steered clear of that hole. I think Dad had some harsh words for the men who cut the hole. He felt that they should not have cut it so close to our rink.


Dad hired these men to cut pulpwood for him. During Christmas holidays Bob, me and Nipper would go to the bush to work with Dad. It was our job to cut all the branches off the trees with an axe. This picture shows a man cutting a tree with a chain saw. When we first went to the bush with Dad all the men used swede saws to cut the logs.


This man is using a swede saw to cut the log.

Dad also had horses that pulled a sleigh very much like the one in the above picture only his was a little bigger and was pulled by two horses. The horses were named Dick and Jim. Dick was very gentle and was blind in one eye. Jim on the other hand was a little wild and if you weren't looking he would take a nip at your shoulder. Every once in a while Dad would let Bob and me take the load of logs out to where they were loaded onto his truck. That was the best part of any day in the bush with Dad.


One year Dad had five 1938 White trucks just like the one in this picture. They didn't pull a trailer though. There was a flat rack on them that the pulpwood was loaded onto. And no loaders! Dad loaded all the logs by hand.

During the winter one of the chores we had to do was walk out to the main road and wait for the bus that came from Winnipeg. When it drove by the driver would throw out our newspaper. I think it was the Winnipeg Tribune and it was rolled up in brown paper. We never had to pick it up though, Nipper would chase it down and scoop it up in his mouth. As soon as he had it secured between his teeth off he'd go heading for home.

During the summer Bob and I would often take one of the row boats Dad had built as we set off on a fishing adventure. Nipper would come along, sometimes in the boat and sometimes he'd follow on the shore, but he refused to stay home. We would usually leave shortly after breakfast and not be back till late afternoon. We would take turns rowing and along the way we'd stop at a meadow at the end of the bay around to the left of our camp. We'd take a lunch and some food for Nipper and stop and eat on a rock ledge that could be seen from our camp. In fact, if you look at the picture of the lake that's above you can see the spot































This is another picture from our beach. It shows the sunset and the smaller of two main islands in the lake. Dad said that before any of us could take a boat out by ourselves we had to be able to swim from the beach to the island and back again. I think that by the age of seven or eight we had all accomplished that.

As I remember Nipper was always with us kids. Winter, summer, spring and fall where ever we went Nipper was there. Bob and I would often just pick a direction and head off into the bush for the day. Nipper loved these adventures. Often he became the leader with Bob and I just tagging along.

It wasn't all fun and games though. Bob and I had our chores to do and the girls had theirs. Bob and I had to split and pile all the firewood for the cabins and our house. The worst days were wash days. This is how they went for Bob and I.

Dad had built a platform about a foot of the ground that was about twelve feet square. On this platform was a wood cook stove similar to the one Mom cooked on. There was also an old wringer washer powered by a little gas engine and a stand that held two square wash tubs. There was also a tub on the stove. Our morning started right after breakfast. Bob and I would carry two pails of water at a time from the pump down by the lake to the tub on the stove. When the water in this tub reached the right temperature Mom had us bail the water from this tub to the wringer washer. She would then start washing. We would then refill the tub on the stove and when that water was warm we would bail it into one of the tubs on the stand. We would then fill the tub on the stove again and when that was warm bail that water into the other tub on the stand. It took Bob and I about three or four trips from the pump to the stove to fill one tub. Each wash load took three tubs of water. Some days there were as many as four loads. That meant that we were carrying water till late afternoon.

But I don't think I would change very much of my time at the lake and with Nipper. He helped fill my childhood with joy and so much fun. He was the only dog I've known that a small child that he didn't know could come up to him and take his favorite bone. He would make no threats to anyone who did that. In fact he seemed almost happy to share it at times.

One of our favorite things to do is give him some pulling taffy. We only did this in the winter when Mom and Dad would take a trip into Kenora to do the months grocery shopping. While they were there they usually visited friends or went to a movie in the evening so we knew that they would not be home early. After we had supper we would make some pulling taffy. Nipper knew the taffy was being made because he would come to the back door and wait for us to open it. When the taffy was ready we would give Nipper a piece and it always got stuck to the roof of his mouth. That's because we sort of helped it stick there by giving it a push in that direction as we placed it in his mouth. We all would spend the next ten or fifteen minutes in laughter at Nipper's expense as he struggled to dislodge the sticky taffy with his tongue.

One summer Nipper even saved a little girls life. She was in shallow water but somehow fell and could not get up. Nobody noticed, at least not the people. But Nipper did. He ran into the water and grabbed hold of the strap of her bathing suit with his teeth and pulled her to shore. That's when the people noticed and rushed to pick her up. The little girl was coughing a lot but thanks to Nipper she didn't drown.

I'm sure every member of my family have their own cherished memories of Nipper. It would take a book to tell you all of mine. As I said before he lived to the ripe old age of fourteen and a half years. In the spring of 1961 Nipper died. Dad, Lynne and I took him out to a nice spot in the bush and buried him. I visited that spot in 1992. It looks a little different now. There are more trees and one in particular, a white birch, now grows directly over where he was buried. I was happy to see that as the roots of birch trees don't grow very deep. They sort of just spread out over the surface. It was as if the birch tree was protecting that spot.

Some day I may tell you a little more about Nipper, my best childhood Friend. If I forget you can always ask and I'll tell you more.

Under Your Pillow

This story is not mine. I first heard it in 1974 and it has stuck with me ever since. It's used as a metaphor to show how we often search far and wide for what is within our own grasp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A long, long time ago, back even before there were automobiles, people used to travel from village to village or city to city by horse drawn carriages. This was also so long ago that banks were still not invented. This meant that all the people had to carry all their money and treasure with them as they traveled.

There was a thief who would wait near the inn where passengers would leave the carriage for lunch. This thief was especially adept at spotting a particularly wealthy individual who traveled alone. He was also very charismatic and once having seen his potential prey he would start an innocent conversation with the individual. He would then join this wealthy man for lunch and during the conversation would determine whether he was going to reach his destination that evening or would be lodging at some inn over night.

On this particular occasion the wealthy man had another three days travel before he reached his destination. For the thief, this was perfect. His next move was to purchase a ticket and travel along. During the afternoon leg of their journey the wealthy man would become quite enthralled with the thief and by the time the carriage reached its final stop of the day the thief had no trouble convincing the wealthy man to share a room at the inn for the night.

Two things would now happen. First, the thief knew that almost all wealthy people hid their treasure somewhere in the room before they would go down for supper. So the thief would busy himself putting his belongings away and laying out a fresh change of clothes for the morrow. By doing this he gave his new “friend” time to stow his treasure. Now, the second thing happened. Just before the two were about to go down for supper, the thief would claim that a sudden feeling of sickness had just come over him. He would then beg the wealthy man to please excuse him from supper that night as he felt that it would be best if he just lay down and rested. As soon as the wealthy man left the room and went down for supper the thief, instead of resting, searched the room for the treasure.

But this time things did not work out as planned. No matter how hard he tried, he could not find the treasure. Eventually he knew his new traveling companion would be returning to the room so he had to give up the search and alter his plan. He resolved to carry on with this wealthy individual the next day and to pay more attention to where the treasure was hidden.

The second day past in much the same way as the first afternoon: with much great conversation and entertaining stories. Again that evening they agreed to share a room and again the thief feigned sickness. Even though the thief had tried to see where the wealthy man hid his treasure he had not, but felt sure he could find it with a thorough searching. But alas, for the second evening in a row all his searching proved fruitless.

Finally, at the end of the third day, after the thief found no opportunity to relieve this particular wealthy man of his purse, and in complete exasperation he said, “Sir. I have to admit to you that I am a thief and for the last two evening I have attempted to lighten your load by removing your purse from your possession. Both evenings, no matter how I searched I could not find your treasure. Please, before you leave, tell me where you hid your treasure.”

The wealthy man nodded, then smiled. “Sir, I felt from the beginning that you might be a thief. So I hid my treasure in the one place I was sure you would not look. I hid it under your pillow!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No matter what you may have been told or what you may have experienced, the greatest treasure you will ever possess has forever been yours. It's not gold, money or material possessions at all. It's all the love that has lived within your heart from the very day of your birth and maybe even before. But there is a trick in finding it. The trick is, you have to give it away!

Two of the greatest lessons we can learn are, 1) that it's impossibly to feel love when it sits still, and 2) we really only feel love as it moves away from us. Knowing these two facts can only bring us to one conclusion. If we want to feel love we have to take the love we have and pass it on to another.

Don't believe that? Then try this. First, take note of how you're feeling right at this moment. Next think of someone or something that you care for. This could be an adult, a child, a puppy or even a tree. Now open your heart to whoever or whatever you've chosen. Just allow your love to leave. If I'm not mistaken you feel better now. The smile on your face is just the slightest bit bigger; or maybe a lot bigger. But if you did it you felt the only love you can ever feel; yours. And you felt it as it left you.

Now the same holds true for someone anywhere else in the world. If someone in Australia thinks of you with love they will feel that. As their love leaves their heart the smile on their face will broaden. But you; you wont feel it all.
Those of you close to my age may remember a wonderful little song written and sung by Malvina Reynolds. It's called, Magic Penny. Here are the lyrics.

Malvina Reynolds

Words and music by Malvina Reynolds; copyright 1955 and 1958 Northern Music Corporation, renewed 1986. a.k.a. "Love Is Something." Despite the later copyright dates, this song was actually written while Malvina's daughter was at a junior high school dance, so around 1949.

Magic Penny


Love is something if you give it away,
Give it away, give it away.
Love is something if you give it away,
You end up having more.


It's just like a magic penny,
Hold it tight and you won't have any.
Lend it, spend it, and you'll have so many
They'll roll all over the floor.


For love is something if you give it away,
Give it away, give it away.
Love is something if you give it away,
You end up having more.


Money's dandy and we like to use it,¹
But love is better if you don't refuse it.
It's a treasure and you'll never lose it
Unless you lock up your door.


For love is something if you give it away,
Give it away, give it away.
Love is something if you give it away,
You end up having more.


So let's go dancing till the break of day,
And if there's a piper, we can pay.
For love is something if you give it away,
You end up having more.


For love is something if you give it away,
Give it away, give it away.
Love is something if you give it away,
You end up having more.

For a treat listen to it by following this link. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FB5Z_30xSe8.

So whenever your short of love, just give some away. You'll end up having more. And now you know where it is. It's under your pillow.

A Life Full of Quality Time

It may have been a poster like this that lead Albert Ealing to Manitoba.




We'll let the following tell the next part of this story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Upon a Household

By: Helen Waugh

This article was published originally in Manitoba Pagent by the Manitoba Historical Society Winter 1975, Volume 20, Number 2..

It is with the kind permission and co-operation of Mr. Lewis Ealing, 17 Vivian Avenue, St. Vital, Manitob, that this story was made available.Albert Ealing came out from England in 1906. He was a landscape gardener, and, in that way, he hoped to make enough money to consider homesteading in the Interlake area of Manitoba, recently opened to settlers, and where he had heard there were already several British families.

The homestead regulations required the applicant to pay $10.00 when filing for 160 acres of land. The location could be the applicant’s choice where land was available. He must live on the land six months of each year for the first three years, put up a building and break not less than thirty acres. At the end of the three years, upon receipt of his patent, he became the legal owner of the 160 acres.

Albert Ealing filed his application early in 1908. In September of that year, he and his wife moved up to what was known as Parkview, an area between Lily Bay on Lake Manitoba and Lundar. Three weeks after their arrival, when they were living in a tent, Mrs. Ealing died very suddenly. This was tragedy indeed for the strange young Englishman facing his first venture in an unfamiliar land. However he soon learned the kindness and generosity of the settlers around him. Before the cold weather set in, neighbors had helped him put up a small cabin and done all in their power to prepare him for the difficulties ahead in a prairie winter. Realizing that he could not carry on alone with the massive task ahead of him, in the spring of 1909 Albert wrote to his younger brother in England asking him to join him. Lewis Ealing arrived that summer and the two brothers took on landscaping work in Winnipeg to make enough money to establish themselves on the homestead and thus fulfill the requirements for future ownership.

In September 1909, they bought a two wheeled cart, a tent, stove, tools and a plentiful supply of groceries. Albert remembered it had cost him thirty dollars to go by wagon team from Oak Point to the homestead on his original trip. He suggested that they ship the whole unit by rail to Oak Point, then pull it from there. The station-master at Westside Station dashed their hopes. Everything, he said, including the cart, would have to be crated in order to ship it by rail. This was a blow. It would cost a lot of money, which they did not have, a lot of work and a delay they could not risk. Their only feasible plan, said Albert, was to pack the cart carefully and pull it all the way from Winnipeg. Being a green immigrant, blissfully ignorant of the 90 miles ahead, Lewis agreed. They started out.

They made sixteen miles that first day, but the farther they got from Winnipeg, the worse the wagon-trails became. The cart wheels did not span as wide as the horse-wagon tracks. However they were young, strong men in their early twenties, their hearts full of courage and dreams of the future, so they took their time, camped in the tent at night, rested in pleasant spots, and quite probably enjoyed themselves, At the end of three weeks they reached the homestead.

They found men of all trades in that country, but few of them were farmers. Albert was a landscape gardener and an artist. Lewis had plenty of practical ability but he found that not much of it was suitable to managing a breaker plough on the tough prairie sod at the rear end of two un-cooperative thick headed oxen. The breaker plough of those days was a machine with a sharp cutting front blade and behind that a curved sloping mold board to turn over the rich black soil. They found only the first few inches rich and black, after that, gravel and hard pan. In spite of their mistakes, which were legion, and the back breaking toil from dawn to dark in all weathers, the two men did get their thirty acres broken during those first three years. The stones had to be cleared by hand and carted to the boundaries. The job seemed to go on forever. At the end of the three years, the brothers had fulfilled all homestead regulations, received their patent, and the one hundred and sixty acres was theirs.

In February, 1920, Albert Ealing was lost in one of those sudden, unpredictable prairie snowstorms while on his way from Lily Bay to Lundar. Three weeks after he was buried beside his wife in the tiny Lily Bay cemetery, Lewis and his wife left the homestead to take up another life in Winnipeg.

The Ealings never forgot that section of their life where so many deep and lasting friendships were made, where everyone shared in good times and bad, and no one counted the cost if it meant a neighbour was in need.

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The connection between what follows and the above story occurred a few weeks ago as I drove from Vancouver the Terrace, British Columbia. I was listening to the radio where the discussion centered on spending quality time with family members.

Having been born in 1943 I never met Albert Ealing. But Lewis and his wife Alice (nee, Palmer) Ealing were my Grandmother and Grandfather. As the story above relates their early life was not easy nor was it perfect. But I have cherished memories of them.

From my point of view as a young lad my Grandmother was the wisest, gentlest and most patient woman I knew. If there was a small child around he or she seemed always to be on her hip. It seems that every young child's favourite baker is Grandma and I would but my grandma's cookies cakes, pies, and especially her Cinnamon buns up against them all. And Christmas didn’t go by without Grandma's hand knit socks, mitts, scarf and toque. It seemed to me that if she wasn't baking and there was no baby in her arms, she was knitting. It always amazed me how she was able to never look at her hands as she knit and participated in family discussions or watched television.

And Grandpa always had something to show or teach me. He is the first one I ever saw hit two large quartz stones together and make sparks jump into the darkness. He showed me how to wrap string around my finger in such a way that when one end of the string was given a quick yank the string cut itself. Who knows how to do that today? He also took great joy in demonstrating all the tricks he'd trained his all black sheep dog to do. He would sit, dance, roll over, play dead and much more with just one word from my Grandpa. He taught me about tools. I remember watching my Grandfather, my Dad and my Uncle Bill build a cabin at Star Lake.

So as I listened to the discussion about quality time my Grandparents came to mind. Now I'm sure there must have been some rocky roads for them to traverse, but I cannot remember hearing the phrase quality time back then. It seemed that Quality time was all the time.

As i drove, I put my Grandparents in a scenario that probably reflected many homesteaders back in the early 1900s. They worked hard. They arose early in the morning and worked till dark; some days working together and some days apart with Grandpa in the field and Grandma looking after the animals around the house. The work may have seemed endless at times but it was all quality time. It must have been a struggle but like many others they raised and loved five children who raised and loved their children. 

Throughout those early days I believe that most homesteaders, if asked about quality time, would have responded something like this.

“It's all quality time because it all gives meaning and purpose to our lives. We each knew that what we did was for each other and for the benefit of our family. There was a joy as we worked together and even when we worked apart. We shared the knowledge that our efforts where appreciated as we appreciated the efforts of all the other family members that at that time included neighbours. We knew that if needed, our neighbours would help us as they knew we would aid them.”

During the depression (1930s) after leaving the homestead, my Grandparents lived in Winnipeg and my father would take a saw and axe and ride his bicycle up and down back lanes looking for a cord of wood to cut, split and pile. This he would do for fifty cents. And whatever he earned, at least half would go to his mother to be used for food for the family. He mentioned this often as a time of joy for him as he grew up. His joy came from serving his family while no one else was around to see his service. That was part of his quality time with his family because unbeknownst to them, he carried them in his heart. Where ever he went his family was there; both in his mind and in his heart. His family’s appreciation was all the reward he needed to make it quality time.

At one time many years ago I was a member of the Jaycees (Junior Chamber of Commerce). The last line of the Jaycee Creed states: “… that service to humanity is the best work of life.” My father’s service to humanity (his family) made cutting, splitting and piling a cord of wood for fifty cents the best work of his life, and thus, as he did it, the best quality time of his life.

The service that my Grandparents, and the Grandparents of many others, gave to humanity (their family and their neighbours) made whatever they did quality time. Whatever these people did was done in the presence of their family and neighbours. This was true whether they were with others or alone because like my father they carried their family with them always. As a five year old I watched the joy expressed on my Grandmother’s face as she filled the whole neighbourhood with the aroma of her baking.  There was such a love put into this work, that I still feel it today, sixty-three years later. To both my Grandmother and to me, that was quality time. Not because we were together, but because every member of her family was there with us; not so much in me, but so much within her heart and mind.

So, from the demonstration of my Grandparents, I tell today’s world that quality time is not necessarily brief isolated moments spent with loved ones. Quality time is every moment spent in service to humanity; whether that humanity is a family member or the whole world. All by yourself you can fill your life with quality time; and nobody need ever know. 

David Ealing 

One Does What One Can

Sparrow and White Birch

There's a story. It's a short story. It's one I have often told. It leans on the Chicken Little story for existence. You know the one in which all the animals are running to find a place to hide because the sky is falling. At least, all the animals think that the sky is falling. In my telling of it I would always preface it by saying that I know it's a true story because I was there. This is that story.

“As all the animals and I were running in panic to find a safe place to hide we noticed in the middle of a large meadow a lone figure on top of a small knoll. The figure was the sparrow. He was lying on his back with his feet pointed into the air.

We all stopped in our tracks and shouted, “Sparrow, sparrow, the sky is falling! The sky is falling! Hurry! Come with us and we will find a safe place to hide.”

The sparrow glanced at us and smiled. “I’m going to catch the sky.” He said.

The squirrel, (he always spoke first) then yelled to the sparrow, ‘Sparrow, the sky is too big and heavy for you to catch. You are far too small. Look at the bear. The bear has great big leg and she knows that she cannot catch the sky. Look at the elephant. The elephant has the biggest legs of us all and he knows that he cannot catch the sky. And look at David. David also has big legs and even he knows that he cannot catch the sky. And you, with your spindly little legs stuck in the air, you think you can catch the sky.’

Undaunted, the sparrow just continued to smile and said, “One does what one can.”