GG

 Do you have any memories or stories about your great gramma? My older grandchildren will remember little snippets of my mom and my children have memories of my gramma. 

The math of family demands that you have four great grandmas but the math of aging makes it unlikely that you will know any of them. At least not in person.  There are stories of course but those can be surprisingly scarce!! How can someone so important and impactful be completely forgotten? 

I only have stories about one great gramma, my mother’s mother’s mother.  My Gramma Nelson’s mother Minerva, was a Haddock by birth and was transformed into a Ray by marriage. She was thrifty, optimistic, resourceful, faithful, creative, generous, hardworking, intelligent, courageous, a woman of faith and good humour.  And I have a little story to back up very claim; all eye witness accounts by her own grandchildren. 

We never met but I love you, great gramma. 

always named Mickey

My gramma had border collies once upon a time and long ago. I think they were always named Mickey. 

acrylic 9x12

timeless play

It is unbelievable to me that this picture of my apple-cheeked Aunt was snapped nearly 100 years ago. Gadzooks! How can 1927 reach out of the past and clasp me by the hand, here in 2020?
I'm beginning to carve a doll head and wouldn't her little face be the perfect inspiration?
Her trendy bobbed hair.
Her dress, just as at home today as then.
It just takes little bits of fabric to sew a dress for a little bit of a girl, a small project, but Gramma has lovingly trimmed the pocket and collar and cuffs.
Oh my Gramma could tweak fabric and sew magic.
The wagon with hand carved wheels is my Grandfather's contribution to childhood happiness. He was creativity itself, which you needed to be if you lived in the boonies in the 1920's.
A wash tub hangs against the log wall making the most of vertical storage space.
A broom that has swept a thousand sweeps leans tiredly against the door frame.
A Toddler Interrupted gazes sternly at the photo taker.
Timeless play.

recognizable

After a bunch of this...

And an astonishing bunch of this,
I have shaved my small blocks of wood into something recognizable.

Turns out we all have a certain bird shape somewhere in the back of our mind.

And a certain duck. 

 I loved how something solid could be made to curve and seem to bend.

As with most creating, no one can tell you when you are finished.

You just keep on until it seems the right time to stop.

I will definitely keep on with these two although the end is just around the bend. 

In keeping with a new passion I am already on to the next.

It will be a giant leap.

My great gramma Minerva carved wooden dolls for my Mother and her sisters nearly 100 years ago.

I'm hoping she would have been pleased to see me try.

all around

We walked at Jackman Wetlands this morning. There wasn't a soul in sight. We were as socially distant as could be.
I am recovering from a fall; one of those dreadful stop, drop and rolls that can catch you unaware. A slow walk in the restorative sunshine and breeze seemed medicinal.
The Wetlands were full of wings. Mallard, teal, goose, merganser, junco, bald eagle, sparrow, towhee, coot, bufflehead, flicker, robin, canvasback and crow. Of course crow.
A garter snake magically appeared out of thin air on the path ahead and melted out of sight. Snakes are not very sociable. Nor was the second snake we saw further along. Although it did lift its head and look us over with bright bead black eyes and flickering tongue.
The sun was warm.
The path gentle.
The voice of birds all around.

so much good

My grandfather is bending over a plow as my uncle Don sits astride Old Tommy the school horse. Something about this partnership motivated someone to fetch a camera. I can't be sure, but I wonder if the plow had been 'hacked' by my grandfather who like many in the 30's, was part inventor, part blacksmith and part magician.
Clearly the horse is a newbie at plowing potato patches; a child is going to tell him where to turn and how quick to do it.
Old Tommy's ears are back and he is muttering to himself in 'horse.'
Grandfather is intent and bent.
The potato patch is large.
His horse and a plow didn't come together but he is planning to make them work together.
Sitting aloft is my uncle Don.
His young face is serious.
He and my grandpa are part of a team.
He is needed and important to his father.
I think this is why my eyes go first to this child on the horse every time.
Being part of a team; a useful, working, contributing part of family life, is the foundation of so much good.

smiling gently

"Oh,"I exclaim. "My great, great Grandfather was a Haddock too." The woman across the counter smiles at me, her eyes brightening.
"Irish?" she asks, nodding her head even before I do.
"From the north," I add, and she nods, as though a given.
"They were in linen."
Her eyes widen. "Ours too," she says slowly. "County Antrim."
"Us too," I cry.
"Hi cousin," she says, smiling gently.

suv

 This horse was my grandparents sport utility vehicle, a used one with pretty high mileage, but good tires and a reliable engine. He was named Tommy and he did try to head back to his previous owner a province away a few times. That was just til he settled in though. Til he got used to the idea of being a family vehicle. A take the kids to school and pull the plough through the potato patch sort of vehicle. An early crossover I guess.

 This pair were my grandfather's work trucks. Grandpa was self employed or they might have been seen as a company benefit. They were pretty versatile and hauled logs out of the woods better than any skidder. Two horse power might not sound like much, but they were greater than the sum of their parts I can tell you. Huge, strong, reliable, loyal, gentle.

 My great uncle Lloyd is about to ease on down the road. Likely hunting was his plan of action. My grandfather is giving last minute instructions or possibly consulting the GPS for directions. Leather seats, four on the floor, all wheel drive, lots of pull when the road got steep.

 My great grandpa R.C.Ray was known as a horseman. He knew horses. I expect he passed along a few tidbits to those with ears to listen. His son is standing rather proudly beside a horse that can simply be described as huge. I don't imagine mileage was great because a horse that size would eat you out of house and home. Wouldn't have won a beauty contest either with a face only a mother could love, but what a silken nose he had. And feathered feet!! And such a sleek coat and sober, steadfast eyes. Sign me up.

lining up

This photo was taken in 1917 and is not a group of women lining up to audition for Mary Poppins. They are actually lining up to vote, and my great gramma is there on the left, her hat tipping just enough to keep the light out of her eyes.
By the time this picture was taken in Westcott, Alberta, she had been an immigrant, a pioneer, a farmers wife and mother to ten children, her eldest a soldier.
One hundred years ago the law of the land said my gramma was a person.

can you

This close-up is from a family photo taken in the 1890's.
It's my great grandmother's littlest brother.
His name was Jesse.
Doesn't he look wise and wonderful?
Can you love someone you never knew?

to matter

A pair of old photos from my mothers childhood makes me smile and nod and ponder. I like to think of them as Exhibit A and B.
Exhibit A, above, shows my visiting great grandmother Minerva. It also shows my Aunt Fran, the toddler beaming on the left, and on the right, my mother. My very, very sad little mother.. Smack dab in the center is a cousin, the little interloper. She has traveled by train across the Rocky Mountains with Gramma Minerva. There is something recognizable in her pose. It's HER Gramma Minerva.  There is also something recognizable in my mother's pose, something so unusual that it stands out like a beacon.
My mother is Sad.

Exhibit B is very telling. The photographer, likely my own kind Gramma has sized up the situation. My Very Sad Mother has now been given the place of honor at Gramma Minerva's knee.
Baby Fran's smile has faded.
There is angst in the air.
Little Interloper has taken up her new position unimpaired and has a hand possessively and comfortably placed.
My mother's mood remains unaltered. Very Sad still has her in its grip. In fact, she may now have added Very Put Out.

Time has swirled by since that long ago afternoon.
Lots and lots of time.
My mother has always been known for the sweetness of her disposition and the steadfastness of her optimistic, friendly nature, for her remarkably ever ready smile.
But here, in black and white is the evidence.
She was once a little girl just like any other little girl.

The steady smile of Great Gramma Minerva, the comforting warm sun, a kindly photographer.... all come together in these pictures.
They prove the universal need we all have to feel important and special.
To matter.

monarch of the mountain

My grampa the skier.
He learned as a boy in Norway.
There he is,
perched on the edge,
surveying his vast kingdom.

the barking

My mom had dozens of cousins.
You run the risk of that sort of thing if you have a proliferation of aunts and uncles and my mom had aunts and uncles aplenty.
One uncle followed his fathers fine example and (almost) singlehandedly produced ten children. Ten cousins for my mother... and there were eight more assorted aunts and uncles all doing likewise.
When the dust settled, there were several dozen cousins wandering in and out of Great Grandma and Grandpas farmhouse.
When you have that much going on, what difference would a batch of puppies... or two make?
None at all.
Bring on the barking.

arms full

My mother's grandparents lived far away, over the Rocky Mountains.
A province away.
A long train trip away.
The year my mother turned 12, she traveled with her younger sisters by train from Blue River, B.C. to Carstairs, Alberta to visit her grandma and grandpa.
Just the three little girls.
It was the first and last time.
For that brief moment in time, my mother was both old enough to be responsible for her little sisters, yet young enough to travel free.
And what perfect timing; puppies were there to play with on the farm.
My great grandparents raised Border Collies so a fresh batch of puppies was nothing new to them.
They were new to the little girls though.

Bet it's pretty hard to feel homesick with your arms full of puppy.

side by side

This is a picture of my great grandparents, Rufus and Minerva Ray. It was taken smack dab in the middle of the thirties; the dirty thirties on the bald old prairies. The dirty, dusty, desperate thirties. They were resourceful people, my ancestors. One of their many endeavors to keep bread on the table was raising working dogs; Border collies. I love this photo of them standing side by side, a puppy in each of their arms.
I can see my uncle in my great grandfather's face and my own grandmother and mother in Minerva's face.
My great grandfather's jacket looks like it has made a trip or two to the barn.
His hands are firm, hers gentle. 

nature of love

This picture is an oldie. It isn't from my stash of photos, shifting endlessly in a drawer. It wasn't taken out of my mother's black paged albums either, nor my grandmother's shoe box of photos. I doubt that it belonged to my great grandmother either although it is a picture of her uncle. Photography was expensive then and I imagine that the picture was given to her parents. It's a photo of William John Haddock, and would have been a very elegant and appreciated gift to give a brother and his wife.
Doesn't my great, great, great Uncle look distinguished? Isn't his hair amazing?
He looks very sober but he was a judge and that is a very serious business.
This photo makes me ponder the fate of old family pictures.
It has been spared the Great Cull that is inevitable as the baton of life passes from generation to generation.
It has somehow managed to survive the turning of two centuries, two world wars, and a yawning gulf of time that has made dear Uncle William a complete stranger.
But he was my great, great, grandfather Robert's big brother.
He was a teenager when the Haddock's made their voyage across the Atlantic to begin anew.
The Civil War was waiting in the wings.
Both brothers fought and survived those perilous times.
I am certain that Robert loved his brother William.
And that Robert's daughter Minerva loved him as well.
Minerva had something in common with her Uncle.
She left all and moved to a new country.
Beginning anew.
Minerva and Rufus C. Ray.
My great grandparents.
Letters and postcards traveled back and forth between Alberta and Iowa.
The tie remained for a time.
My own mother never met or even spoke of this man and yet I feel something so familiar as I look at his portrait.
More than a hundred years have rolled along.
Can love be passed down?
Or the memory of love?
I think it can.
It's in the nature of love.

like....congratulations

I have hastened past this photo more than once as I've trolled through old family photos. Today I realized with a jolt that the rather austere woman on the right is the very woman I was nearly named after.
Gadzooks.
Apparently in 1957, there was a bumper crop of babies born in the Royal Inland Hospital, and I was the 1000th. Woohooo, like.... "congratulations, you're the 1000th customer"- cue the confetti and balloons!!' The local paper reported this great moment in history but My mom always felt they could have at least given her a spoon or something.
Enter great, great Aunt Mildred.
My great grandmother's sister-in-law.
Some helpful soul actually suggested to my mother that since Mille and 1000 are sympatico, then calling me Mildred, whence I might be nicknamed Millie would be just the thing to do.
What!!??
I was a little girl in the 60's and a teenager in the 70's. I can tell you first hand that Mildred was NOT a name that would have been at home in EITHER of those decades.
Mind you, I kind of like the name Millie now. It conjures up a certain retro sweetness.
Minnie and Millie and Ella and Allie. Those names would have walked arm and arm once upon a time.
It's taken more than a hundred years for people to re-discover their feminine sweetness.
Sorry Auntie.

I actually have something else to say about this photo of great, great Aunt Ella and great, great Aunt Mildred.
All names aside, the more I look at this picture, the more I love it.
Isn't body language a wondrous thing?
Aunt Ella is perched on the edge of the carriage. She is the picture of inner calm. Her hair is styled low over one ear with only the sun slanting down on it. Her hat isn't primly and properly in place, but held casually in her hands. The shapeless sweater adds a further casual note. Aunt Mildred to the right, is a stunning contrast. Her hat is exactly level, exactly large and exactly black. Her jacket is crisply tailored, almost sober. In fact, her stance says sober or perhaps propriety. It gives me a vague sense of unease. I've never been good with propriety. I've been good with shapeless sweaters and bare hair under the sun though.
And I've been good with leather shoes.
Aren't theirs great?

to the left

I've talked about my grandfather's picture taking before. He was clicking selfies a hundred years before anyone else thought of it.
Took a bit of engineering.
He would position the camera at just the right angle, and attach a string that could be pulled once everyone had achieved the perfect pose.
His elusive dream was to capture his family gazing fondly in exactly the right direction, which meant of course, the same direction. ( AKA, the direction they had been instructed to gaze in)

I couldn't figure out what was wrong with this picture at first.
Something just seemed odd.
And that's when I noticed it.
The string is in my grandmother's hand.
She was the picture taker.
What?!
Yes, Grandma held the power.
Grandpa is gazing thoughtfully to the left.
Such a natural unposed pose.
His two little darlings are doing likewise, just as instructed.
Wow.
That alone is an amazing accomplishment.
Too bad Grandma was so delighted that she forgot to look to the left too.
Her gaze, directly into the soul of the camera is so warm and happy.
It's one of my favourite pictures of her I think.

something good

I have no idea who snapped this long ago photo but I can tell we're related.
Poor thing. Blurry is my specialty too.
A combination of earnestness and speed are my undoing.
Do they make tripods on wheels?

This photo keeps drawing me back for another look....
I love it enough that I have considered painting it.
I love the angles, and the shadows, and the slendor, 1920's silhouettes.
I even love the person hunkered down in middle of the canoe in a vain effort to alter the center of gravity in their favor.
This photo is an endangered species though.
It is just the sort of picture that is overlooked when the family album is composed.
The sort of photo that would end up in the deleted file.

It was hastily snapped on a warm summer day nearly one hundred years ago.
I bet earnestness and speed were factors.
Still, I couldn't love this picture more if it were as clear as a mirror.
It tells me a story which is the hallmark of a successful photo.
It makes me FEEL something.
Something good.

your table

Have you ever been talking to someone and had a startling moment of clarity.
I love when that happens.
My friend had emailed me a link to marvelous meal suggestions.
Aren't meal suggestions worth their weight in gold?
Somedays it seems as though I have forgotten food.
It is as though all the meals of my life have swirled out of focus and I can't think what to make for supper.
I wonder what it is I have been eating all these years.
I wonder what it is I want to eat now.
I wonder.
It's not that I'm not hungry.
Or that I have forgotten the joy of cooking.
It's just that I have no idea at all what to make.
I just need a suggestion to jolt me into action.
A suggestion is sort of like a challenge I suppose and I love challenges.
On your mark, get set, go.
Go make this, or that, with these, or those and I am off to the kitchen, gratefully chopping and slicing.
I know what to do.
I know now what to make.

And that makes me think of default meals.
Those meals we tend to default to when all else fails.
They are also worth their weight in gold.
They are our true comfort food.
And they tend to shift and change over time.
When I was a new wife and a new cook, I made lasagne frequently. It was a default meal.
Stir fry and pizza have both been default meals over the years as has macaroni and cheese and sweet and sour meat balls.
I was telling my friend, that my default meal now is likely roast chicken for supper and soup for lunch when I had one of those startling moments of clarity,
I... have....become....my.....grandmother!
Wow, thanks grandma. I can almost feel my self sitting at your table.