Strong Sweet Tea

By Judith M Campbell

In these modern days, where many of us play 'catch up' with the latest in technology, it's good to pause and look back to the early days of development in our beautiful country, the joys and the sacrifices. At our moment of birth, we already have a past, a present and a future, all embodied in the tiny creature that we are; filled with traits, abilities and talents waiting to be discovered – gifts from our rich heritage of family – given naturally through our DNA, waiting to be revealed as we grow and develop.
How much our past can predict the future is the adventure of the present, in each of our lives. Life is to be lived fully, allowing our rich heritage to speak and live through us as we discover who we are in the present ... sometimes taking a lifetime to understand this, and to simply rejoice in the miracle we each are.
In Strong, Sweet Tea, you can cozy up and wrap yourself in a warm blanket of words, as Judith unravels a heart-warming story about the limitless meaning of life-giving love, the sadness of death and loss, and the adjustment to change set in the mid 1800's and turn of the 20th century. Both factual and fictional, prepare to restore your faith in humanity's most cherished commodity, love.
Judith is a sixth generation Canadian of Irish ancestry and rural upbringing; a published author of several wellness related books, a global meditation guide, retreat facilitator and hospice volunteer, following an extensive career in public health nursing. This story takes place in the Ottawa Valley in Ontario, Canada, where she was raised and has returned to live.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Judith M Campbell
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9780992077259

Book preview

Many cups of tea were consumed in the writing of this book.

None were too weak or too bitter!

Copyright © Judith M Campbell 2023

ISBN 978-0-9920772-4-2 (pbk.)

ISBN 978-0-9920772-5-9 (eBook)

All rights reserved.

Published in Canada.

for YOU!

and

for all who cherish the meaning of family,

especially

Carmen, Carol, Allison, Jennifer, Melanie, Stephanie, Angie,

Connor, Rory and Sadie.

Contents

Title page

Epigraph

Copyright

Dedication

Map of the County of Carleton

Diamond Church

In Gratitude

Prelude

October 9, 1909

1

2

1887

3

4

5

6

1888

7

8

December 29, 1909

9

1910

10

11

12

May, 1910

13

June 1910

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

September 1910

22

October 1910

23

November 1910

24

Spring, 1913

25

Autumn, 1913

26

October 22, 2013

27

Spring, 1915

28

April 14, 1915

29

February 3, 1916

30

November 23, 1918

31

October 2, 1920

32

33

1921

34

35

36

Spring, 1922

37

September 25, 1925

38

September 26, 1925

39

September 27, 2025

40

September 30, 1925

41

September, 1926

42

43

44

45

46

47

October 8, 1983

48

Postlude

Appendix 1

Appendix 2

Appendix 3

Endnotes

About the Author

Judith’s Other Publications

Map of the County of Carleton, Province of Ontario, 1881, taken from Carleton Saga, Harry and Olive Walker, copyright 1968, Harry J Walker, Ottawa, Canada, published by the authority of Carleton County Council 1968, Second printing 1971, printed in Canada by The Runge Press Limited, Ottawa, Ontario.

I’m just in from the country, visiting my ancestors ... and talking to them while standing on their graves. I thanked them for their courage to leave Ireland in the 1830’s to come to Canada to create a better future. I reassured them, that as sure as I was standing over their bones, I am a product of their dream, and but one of their many descendants who are still here carrying out their legacy. Slan!

Judith, 2019

Picture this. A man and a woman. A parcel of land, at least 50 acres. The need to clear its forest and rocks so as to grow crops, build a home, and a barn. Add animals — cows, at least one horse and buggy, possibly oxen, pigs, sheep, chickens — and farm equipment. A huge vegetable garden. An apple tree or two. Eventually children. Non-polluting self-sufficiency at its best. Now repeat this scenario over and over in rural, inland Canada. May all who undertook this challenge in the 1800’s and earlier, be acknowledged in your reading of these words, for they were and are our courageous pioneers.

This story takes place on unceded Algonquin territory.

Diamond Church

On a country road in West Carleton, Ontario, Canada, stands a pioneer church built in the year of confederation, 1867. It was here, on Sunday mornings, that farmers and their families gathered. Many were part of a mass exodus from Ireland in the mid 1800’s to escape the famine. Others had arrived earlier, to create a better life. So strong, therefore, was their willingness to take the risk of emigrating to a distant land across the sea and accept the challenges that would await them. So strong was their willingness to leave their former way of life behind ...

In the cemetery beside this church stands a very tall and magnificent tomb stone. Its top has been knocked off at some point in more recent years; yet it still stands magnificent. This is a story of the man and his family, on whose land this church was built. What remains of his body, along with some members of his family whom you will meet in this story, lies beneath this stone.

In Gratitude

Strong Sweet Tea is a book of fiction; inspired by true events and written with love almost two hundred years later for Samuel and Elizabeth, and for their descendants, especially Mary Anne, and her daughters, Ida and Lila.

My thanks to Cliff Carson for his diligent research¹ and courageous dedication to record the family history of the Baird family, descendants of John Baird Sr. (circa 1760) and Eliza Kilgore (circa 1765), County Tyrone, Ireland. It is from his immense body of research that many ideas have flowed, allowing us to imagine what might have been. Please see Appendices at the end for more information.

In the writing of this book, I have emotionally embraced my ancestors, and have felt warmly embraced by them. May their courage and light reach out to embrace you also, as you listen to their story in the words that follow.

Judith, 2023

To be rooted is perhaps the most important and

least recognized need of the human soul.

— Simone Weil

Prelude

October 8, 1983, 6:00 p.m.

The rural commuter bus from Ottawa rolled to a stop at the corner of the town line and the Kinburn Sideroad, in West Carleton. All the way home her mind was focused on one particularly young, home care palliative patient, who needed more care than could be provided at home. To move her to hospital would be to destroy her need and wish to die at home, where her pre-school children could be close to her, and she to them. Yet, with her pain threshold decreasing with each passing day — despite increasing medication — she was suffering more than was acceptable. There had to be a solution! An idea was beginning to form in her mind when the motion of the bus jerked her from her thoughts. Quickly she stood up and exited the bus. What happened next would forever change her life. For, as her feet made contact with the familiar gravelled road, the bus vanished and she found herself continuing along the Kinburn Sideroad, in the opposite direction from her home in Shepherds Grove.

October 8, 1909. 6:00 p.m.

It was 6 o’clock. The air, still heavy with autumn warmth and humidity, felt quite wonderful on Ida’s shoulders as she clipped along the well-travelled, dirt Kinburn Sideroad; her long, reddish-tinged light brown hair blowing easily in the breeze created by her speed. She and her horse, Prince, would soon be home from their afternoon at their neighbouring Epworth church. Usually she would be sitting down to dinner with her parents at this time of day, but she stayed late to finish the bazaar work so she could relax her mind about it till Saturday morning. The sun was still high enough for her to see clearly to make it home the two concessions that separated farm from church, horse and buggy intact.

There hadn’t been any rain in several days. Previous ruts in the road had a chance to soften with farm traffic, making it easier for Prince to navigate, and less bumpy for Ida. Starlings were flying in formation over the fields doing their murmuration dance before leaving the Ottawa Valley, as if to say goodbye; we’ll be back again in the spring. Neatly laid-out farm fields bordered both sides of the road with well-marked, straight-as-a-dye log fences² spelling out what was growing in them, and to whom they belonged. Many of the crops were already harvested. All the way home she breathed October’s pungent fragrance, joyous as to its meaning.

At the 9th line corner, Prince quite naturally turned left without any encouragement required by Ida … then passed by the cheese factory where her father took the farm’s milk every other day … then down a dip in the road and up the other side … continuing along as the view over the Carp River valley began to reveal itself — a view she loved that stretched out all the way from where she was now, to the south … past her grandparents’ Stevenson property, Maple Grove, its beautiful stone homestead and birthplace of her mother, Mary Anne Stevenson.

Next, along the 9th line was the school house that Ida attended as a child … then Diamond church where she played the organ each Sunday, and its adjacent cemetery, where her ancestors lay in peace beneath towering tomb stones, marking a lifetime that was gone forever … yet remembered in words, carved into granite. Finally, the last property of significance to Ida along this road bordered the church and Stevenson acreage; it was the beautiful stone homestead birthplace of her father, William Baird.

The setting sun was both leading and following her now, all the way home on this north south road … heightening in intensity by the darkening reds and golds of sunset … reflecting their colour-filled message of impending day’s end in the snaking Carp River outlining the farmers’ fields that bordered it. This land was home. And home was in her blood. It was safe. It was her love in life … and always would be. Her heart was full.

Prince picked up his pace knowing their destination was close. A silhouette of her parents sitting on the front verandah of Pleasant View — the name given to the marital home of her parents — was obvious in the distance now. Finally, with the sun’s golden bronze shape almost disappearing, Prince made the familiar left turn into their open gateway; whinnied as Ida exchanged waves with two of her favourite people in the world — William and Mary Anne — then disappeared into the drive shed. Ida disconnected Prince from his buggy and harness, then led him to the stable; freshened his stall with hay and water, patted him down, said goodnight, and closed the barn door. Her supper would be waiting on the stove for her and she was more than ready to enjoy it. It would be dark soon.

October 9, 1909

1

It’s a beautiful October morning out there, Ida, said her mother, Mary Anne, her warm and welcoming face smiling as she topped up William’s coffee.

It should be good for people getting out for choir, was her sleepy response.

And good for me working on my fences. The sky is calling to me as I speak, said William, as he downed his coffee quickly and pushed away from the table in Pleasant View’s sun-bathed south-east facing kitchen. A kiss on Mary Anne’s cheek then, and on the top of Ida’s head; he was out the door and away to gather the tools he needed to secure the wooden fences in his north field. This field had the best drainage following the melting of snow and was always his place to start planting in the early spring.

Shall I put Prince out to pasture when I go out, love?

Oh, would you please, Dad? He will enjoy that. Thank you.

Surely; it’s on my way, he said, as he was going out the door, his dark hair glistening in the sunshine as he stepped foot outside. In his short and perfectly shaped stature, William was a handsome reminder that bodily strength came in all sizes, for he was surely strong.

I’ll clean up his stall shortly, she called after him, and he was gone.

Why so sleepy this morning, Ida? Did you not have a good night?

I was reading into the wee hours, I’m afraid, then couldn’t stop wondering what comes next after I finally put my book down.

A good read then; mind, you’ll be ruining your eyes with that dim light and fine print.

I know, Mother; lesson learned. Besides, I don’t have much left in it and I doubt I’ll be able to wait until bedtime tonight to finish it, so I’ll catch some sunlight this afternoon instead.

And for now, I’d best get out to take care of Prince’s stall before leaving for choir.

Always, the optimist, Ida is very content with her life as it is unfolding at this juncture. She is a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a granddaughter, a cousin and a friend. The only designation she does not possess is wife. She’s had a rich childhood with two sets of grandparents and family living very close by and so many visits with them all over the years, that she is challenged by the notion that not everyone has such distinct blessings in their lives.

Ida has lived with her parents, Mary Anne and William Baird, all of her life. At thirty two, most young women are married by now, living in a home of their own, a husband taking care of them financially and, in return, a family to care for and about. But not Ida. Not that she hasn’t been pursued. Many a man’s heart has been turned away over the years by her disinterest. Instead, fixed indelibly in her sights, is her need to remain independent; staunchly so. Independent of the norm. All norms. With enough families around her in this typical rural setting, she has seen plenty of ‘typical living’ and wants no part of it; no need to reproduce little beings in her likeness. No!

Instead, she claims a need to serve in other ways, for she believes in service as a hallmark of community life. Particularly for her, now, in a country that is in its developing phase; she feels free to live her life in the way that will continue to reveal itself to her in time. Living with her parents affords her this opportunity and, in turn, one day she will return the favour by taking care of them.

Conversely, Ida’s sister, 25-year-old Lila, does not share Ida’s sentiment at all. In fact, she has recently been engaged to be married in December, and has been spending time with her friend and matron of honour, Lena, hoping for tips in wedding planning. Her mother will be her principle advisor, of course, yet Lena has been through it more recently and may have more modern ideas. Lila will be returning home this morning so she can go to choir practice with Ida, as usual, for church on Sunday.

There are many strong voices in this choir Ida has assembled; her sister’s beautiful alto voice being one. And despite little musical training for the most part, their voices soar out into the open space of this small church with vigour and meaning, uplifting the lives of all who are encouraged to sing along with them. And during these Thursday morning practices, the same uplifting of spirits seems to naturally happen as choir members join their voices together to sing. Despite one or more long faces upon arrival, only smiles appear and happy voices as the choir members leave.

It’s a wonderful feeling I get when I sit at the organ, with ten choir members opposite me in those two special pews at the front.

Something good is happening here, I know it, with my whole heart, believes Ida.

She seems to have been guided to her role as organist and choir director by simple circumstances. An organist was needed for the church; Ida was available and eager to take over the role! She plays piano quite well and has made a hobby of going into the church on week days to learn to play the pump organ. The sounds she can produce with its many STOPS are exciting to her, maintaining her curiosity such that she often remains long past the amount of time she has allocated. So, when she was asked if she would like to become the organist, her answer was easy.

Choir practice at this time of year is held immediately after morning farm chores are completed, rather than evening, to avoid having to travel after dark as the days of autumn grow shorter. As well, in these pre-electricity days, inside church lighting is dependent upon what comes through the window; everyone can see more clearly in morning light.

The choir always reviews the hymns for Sunday and then takes one of those hymns to sing in four parts as a separate anthem. The minister leaves it to Ida to choose the hymns. To Ida and Lila, Thursday morning choir fellowship is unlike any other; they are witnessing a bond clearly developing among their little group. Members want to make the time to come out to sing together each week.

Ida is teaching them to read music and to harmonize their voices by singing all four parts on the music staff. And as Irish luck will have it, the range in their voices allows them to sing each part in a rather special blended way, a mix of male and female voices learning to listen to one another. Admittedly, it has taken some time for this to happen but the results are showing themselves by now, as they are learning to sing to soothe the congregation with their anthem each Sunday. A choir director’s dream.

Initially, it was only women who formed the choir. With time, however, and a desire to add depth of sound through male singing voices, Ida put out an invitation in early September a few years ago to any of the men in the congregation who enjoyed singing, to speak to her after church. Surprisingly, two men — husbands of two choir members — cautiously approached her to indicate some interest. And then a third came over to listen in to what she was saying to the others.

Will you be paying us for doing this, Miss? jibed Stanley, as he listened.

I’m afraid not, Stanley, Ida returned, at least not in cash. You’ll see. Everyone laughed, although some were shocked at his question.

She welcomed them all to come out on the following Thursday morning to give it a try; no strings attached. In the end, it was to be their decision, not hers, if they would continue. And happily, they all decided to continue.

From the beginning, Ida’s premise in working with the choir has been that their singing is a gift they are able to offer their fellow parishioners to uplift their spirit each week and perhaps lighten their load a little, for some of them are carrying heavy burdens. Unspoken grief looms over this tiny congregation at times, filling the church. It is palpable.

Childhood diseases, especially diphtheria and whooping cough, have killed so many young children in the community. Vaccines that will eventually prevent all of this needless loss of life from happening haven’t been developed yet. Time after time, the entire community compassionately grieves alongside the affected family (families) as they are going through the experience, especially immediately following a child’s death; they know that it is only too real and possible that their family could be next. Such tremendous loss takes a very long time for parents to accept, if ever, so as to continue to make their way in their lives.

It remains a constant challenge then, to find music each Sunday that both respects the needs of the congregation and that is within their singing repertoire.

In Ida’s mind, music is an instrument of healing. She is convinced that music can reach into the place inside the worshippers where they might be comforted, oftentimes more than the spoken word. Sunday morning, therefore, holds an opportunity each week for the power of music to be used as a healing balm for those present.

It is this purposeful approach then, that removes feelings of fear of singing by choir members, and replaces those unfortunate sentiments with the opportunity to comfort, by listening to one another and blending their voices for this common objective.

To help accomplish this objective then, Ida always begins her choir practices with a short prayer:

We give thanks for each person here this morning … then she pauses to name each person present, using their first name only … Amy … Jane … Janet … Stirling … Stanley … Henry … Anne … Margaret … Lila … and Mildred.

These words, are an immediate acknowledgment of the importance of each person present … she wants them all to realize this … then continues …

We give thanks for our individual gifts of song … and for our opportunity to lift the spirit of each of us in the choir and in the congregation who may be struggling. Amen.

Her sincere prayer seems to reach into the soul of each choir member, personalizing gratitude for their unique presence and for the gift they are consciously bringing to one another and to the congregation. In short, it reminds them why they have come.

It is beyond me, muses Ida. It is beyond each of us. For it isn’t about us. It’s about those for whom we are singing on Sunday mornings … both those who are here and those who are not; for surely the benefit of our music extends beyond who is here because of the effect we might have on each listener. I believe they take this effect home with them when they leave, and it influences how they may react and live well beyond the church doors.

Not surprisingly, each of the ten seems to be growing closer in voice and in purpose, through their singing. The consequence to all of this, is that on Sunday mornings the congregation is being led by smiles from the group of ten at the front of the church … smiles that are felt by the congregation, as they lift their own voices to sing also. Smiles that can transcend whatever weariness each person has brought with them into the church … helping dissolve their strain of weariness.

It is gladsome! realizes Ida — especially on the occasions where loud preaching and Bible-thumping from the pulpit lead to frightening messages of Hell and Doomsday for people who don’t follow the laws of the Lord — the counter-opposite to gladness! And about as far away from the original intent of our humble leader, Jesus, who spoke about love and forgiveness.

Why do people come out to be spoken to in this way? … a question always in the back of Ida’s mind, whose vision was so beyond what she sometimes witnessed coming from the pulpit. Is fear that powerful?

Her final choice of hymn, therefore, is always spirited, a diffuser of fear. And no matter the sermon, she catches the eyes of the choir members all sitting facing her, and gives them her biggest smile possible before they begin to sing the last hymn; a warm invitation for them to do the same.

And then she plays the notes with vigour to revive those in the congregation who might have successfully tuned out the sermon with thoughts of their fields needing ploughing the following day, or the food that was cooking on the stove at home awaiting them for their noon meal.

She encourages the choir to sing out loudly on this last hymn, in hopes of creating a boisterous response from the congregation immediately before they leave to return home to meet a new week … a reminder to them of their strength in numbers in this community to uplift and support one another; a distraction from the pulpit yelling that may have occurred earlier.

It is important that people leave church on Sunday with a lighter stride in their gait and a smile of hope in their heart for the future. Otherwise, why are we here? This is Ida’s mission, then; a mission she shares with the choir as they become increasingly aware of music as their ministry also.

For everyone then, Thursday morning choir practice is so much more than merely teaching or learning the notes on the music staff; it is about recognizing the need to reach the people in the pews … to truly reach them where they are in those moments of whatever is going on in their lives at home … to comfort as well as stir them up … all to lighten their heart and soul … by touching them with a healing sound that flows into the places that need to be comforted.

Where Ida can be credited, is in the reality that the choir is learning this also, aided by her encouragement. They are discovering for themselves, that what is freely and lovingly shared with one another comes right back to them, instantly. And the more this happens, it seems that each choir member is becoming more sensitive to the needs of one another, more understanding and compassionate.

Surely, Ida tells herself, this is what church is about and what the choir’s leadership is about. My teaching and their learning begins with reaching each other first (as choir members and organist), then sewing comfort and hope that we might truly live it ourselves so as to be able to share it with others.

And then a final prayer, May it be so!

These were the thoughts that were going through Ida’s mind as she shovelled out Prince’s stall after breakfast, as was her normal routine; her strong and slender body enjoying the exercise. And today, with choir practice coming up soon, she had to be a little more efficient in her use of time.

Lila was just coming in the driveway when Ida emerged from the barn.

Welcome back Lila! Did you have a nice time away?

Yes, I did, and a really good visit with Lena. She gave me lots of pointers about wedding plans and such.

They walked together into the house then; Ida to get cleaned up for choir, and Lila to enjoy a cup of tea with her mother before they had to leave.

2

The two sisters — so different in their appearances — walked and talked their way then to the church down the road, a distance of a mile and a bit. Lots of catching up needed, to reveal what had been happening in the last few days while Lila was away; Lila sharing some of the things she was considering for her wedding planning. Lila favoured the Baird side of the family with her darker hair and shorter size, while Ida was from the Stevenson mould, slightly taller and fairer. Both young women held the beauty of their ancestors in their body shape, skin, hair and facial features. Both were beautiful.

In no time at all, it seemed, they had arrived at the church; choir members were beginning to arrive one by one, until all ten were there. The theme this coming October Sunday is Thanksgiving, since it is harvest time. As an anthem, Ida has chosen, We plow the fields and scatter the good seed on the land.³ When the congregation sing it they will follow the original words, but for the anthem, Ida has changed the word ‘scatter’ to ‘harvest’ … and a slight modification to the rest of the words to maintain the thanksgiving theme:

We plow the fields and harvest

The good seed from the ground

It has been fed and watered by God’s almighty hand

Who sends the snow in winter, the warmth to swell the grain,

The breezes and the sunshine, and soft refreshing rain.

All good gifts around us

Are sent from heaven above.

Oh thank the Lord; we thank the Lord

For all his love.

Such simple words to reflect the life on these pioneer farms in the Ottawa Valley surrounding the church … all dependent upon nature’s rain and sunshine to grow their crops to be harvested as food for their families and their animals … all dependent upon an interdependence of good farm management, cooperative neighbourly assistance at harvest times, and nature’s compliance with weather. And they all know it!

For Ida, the message of thanksgiving — in the form of a familiar and simple tune and words — is one that those listening and singing will take away with them in their minds because it is so simple and easy. The choir will sing it midway as their anthem. And then the congregation will hear it again at the end and they will get to sing it also.

And as she suggests at choir practice, They might even reflect upon the relevance of the words at home afterwards, in private thanksgiving … especially if the melody continues to play itself in their minds, an interesting phenomenon for many people that hear a catchy tune.

As practice ends, Ida suggests:

You can practice your words for Sunday by singing to your cows as you are milking them. I’ll bet they’ll enjoy it!

Or, singing in the kitchen while you are cooking! Give it a try and see you all on Sunday morning, a huge smile in her heart …

Many in the choir nod, knowingly, in response to this; for several of them have commented on it when they return to practice the following week … comments such as, that hymn we sang at the end of the service last Sunday went through my mind for three days this week. I couldn’t get it out of my head!

To which another piped up, that happened to me too!

Me too! yet another.

That’s what we want to hear! replies Ida. So our last hymn is very important. You understand now, why. And when we also sing it mid-way as our anthem, the tune really has a chance to stick in peoples’ minds.

To which one of the older members, Mildred, remarks quite seriously, I never thought about this before … what we are doing here matters, it really does matter!

Ida took a deep breath of gratitude, thinking, someone else besides me can see this vision … and has just articulated easily for every one to hear.

And then quietly, thank you Mildred for this. I completely agree with you.

It’s so clear to me now, responded Mildred. But I never once thought about it in that way, or could have believed it.

It’s powerful, said Ida.

I can see that now, said Mildred. It’s more than just singing the right notes; it really does matter!

And all the choir listened with respect as they were leaving, however, not quite understanding what was being said.

Mildred could almost read Ida’s mind then and said quietly to Ida, don’t worry, dear, they’ll understand in their own time.

Ida said nothing more, and taking her cue from the wisdom of her elder, she left Mildred’s last audible words to be suspended in their memory … what we are doing here matters, it really does matter!

Ida and Lila walked the distance back home again, when choir practice was over. Did you see how Henry was looking at you all the time? asked Lila.

What? No! I did not, and if you are inferring I should be encouraging him to continue, my answer is an emphatic no!

Everyone noticed!

Well, I didn’t. And I don’t want to talk about it any longer.

They walked in silence for a moment, and then Lila asked, Do you really believe all those things you were saying earlier?

What things?

You know, about the effect that singing can have on everyone’s wellbeing.

Yes, of course. I wouldn’t have said them otherwise.

What do you believe, Lila?

I don’t know. I never thought about singing in that way before. I love to sing. And I always feel good when I sing.

Well, it isn’t much more mysterious than that, said Ida.

Maybe not … I need to think about it a bit and pay more attention on Sunday …

He has a very nice singing voice, said Lila, smiling.

Who? asked Ida.

Henry, of course.

Yes, he sings tenor. He obviously has experience and reads music well.

So you did notice him then!

Only in the way I have just indicated. Lila, I am not interested in having a relationship with him or anyone else. You know how I feel about my future and I am very content living my life without any man occupying my thoughts or my time.

Mary Anne, following a morning of baking and cooking, had lunch ready for the girls when they arrived home. Her mature face revealed the pure satisfaction from her pleasure in having both her daughters home for lunch today. The days were numbered until Lila would be leaving the nest as had her brothers, George and Edgar, years earlier. Soon, it would just be the three of them living here at Pleasant View.

William was already in from the fields to join them, and sneakily picking up a tiny sandwich from the table to quell his hunger before they all finally sit down.

Oh, beef and barley soup, said Lila, my favourite. And egg salad sandwiches. I can’t wait!

And do you think that it might be a coincidence we are having your favourites today, when you are back home again after being away? teases her father.

Lila gave her father and her mother a huge smile of thanks as she waited for her father to bless the food.

Dear Lord, we give thanks for our family this day, and may you bless this food to our use and us to Your service, Amen.

Silence reigned for a few moments then as everyone began the tasting and enjoyment of the soup and sandwiches.

So what is left to do for the bazaar, Ida? asked Lila.

Everything is ready, said Ida; I finished yesterday. I marked off each section of pews, so the women know where to hang their quilts before it starts. It’s a nice way to recognize each woman’s artistic talents and for buyers to know who made each quilt. Their names will be covered, of course, until the judging has been complete and the first prize quilt selected for auction. There’s also a section at the front of the church for the baking and the smaller items of sewing. We can’t do more than that, for now.

Who will be judging the quilts this year?

I’ve asked Mrs. Eliza Tripp⁴ from Fitzroy to do it this year. She’s a member of the Anglican Church in Fitzroy Harbour. She has a reputation as a talented seamstress herself, and can be an impartial judge, not being from our church.

Ida adding then, I want to include our Anglican neighbours in the bazaar, this year. I think she was delighted to be asked.

Excellent choice, Ida, and I’m sure that all those quilts will be a picture against the wooden pews, commented Mary Anne.

Yes, they will, Mother. I’ve asked Mrs. Tripp to reveal the first choice quilter’s name at the very beginning of the bazaar. And we’ll be hanging it at the entrance over the clothes cupboard there. And it will have a red ribbon on it.

Which of your quilts are you donating this time? Lila asked her mother.

The ‘Log Cabin.’ I think it will sell more quickly than some of my others.

I love that design; it’s so cheery with all the bright colours in it.

What about you, Lila? asked Ida.

I’ve made several pairs of mittens and some tukes … I suppose I’m practicing for when I will actually have to make them for my own family one day. I love to knit and it comes easy to me.

Well, I think that is very wise, said Ida.

It’s going to be an enjoyable morning, and I am looking forward to it, said Ida. I’ll need to be there early to meet Mrs. Tripp so she can do her judging and I want to greet the women as they arrive with their offerings. I expect that part will take some time. So it will be an early start.

I’ll help you, said Lila.

And so will I, said their Mother. It’s always a chance to visit with people we don’t see that often and get caught up on their family and local news.

Well, Prince knows the way, and we’ll be leaving by 7:30. I need to be there by 8. It will be good to have you both with me.

William quietly listened to all of this, and when the conversation had reached its conclusion, he causally asked, would you be needing any help from me in all of this?

Thanks, Dad, said Ida; this is one day that you can relax with us all gone, knowing you don’t have to do anything this time.

Well then, I’ll have to plan accordingly. I’m sure I’ll have no trouble filling my time.

We know you won’t my love, was Mary Anne’s reply, smiling, as she gave him a little squeeze on his hand.

1887

3

The developing scene in Maple Grove today is becoming quite concerning, for one of the adult members of the Stevenson family — 32-year-old William, has taken ill with headache and fever that is very much like the dreaded typhoid that has taken a few lives along the 9th line. It began with a simple headache, then developed into overwhelming weakness, chills and a fever that is not responding to traditional nursing care means of cooling the body.

Whether during their lengthy trip across the ocean, or in communicable diseases for which only time and providence could tell what the outcome would be, first generation immigrant pioneers in the 1700’s and 1800’s, at the very least, shared one thing in common: their experience in early deaths of family members.

Indeed, growing up with death so close within one’s own family shed a perspective on life that tended to overshadow one’s thoughts and dreams, like a cold north wind of winter blowing relentlessly and unforgiving, and impossible to change its direction. Only in its aftermath, could one adequately reflect upon what additional preparedness might have been undertaken to alter the outcome of the tragedy.

So when Will — the third eldest of the