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.

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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