But What I Prayed For Was A Puppy!

While searching for something online, I came across "Children's Letters To God." So innocent and straight from their hearts - the following put a smile in my spirit. Perhaps you have read this before, but some things are so worth a second read! Enjoy:

*Dear God, Instead of letting people die and having to make new ones why don’t you just keep the ones you got now? Jane
*Dear God, I went to this wedding and they kissed right in church. Is that OK? Neil
*Dear God, I think the stapler is one of your greatest invention. Ruth M.
*Dear God, In bible times did they really talk that fancy? Jennifer
*Dear God, I think about you sometimes even when I’m not praying. Elliott
*Dear God, Thank you for the baby brother but what I prayed for was a puppy. Joyce

*Dear God, I bet it’s very hard for you to love all of everybody in the whole world. There are only 4 people in our family and I can never do it. Nan
*Dear God, Please put a nother holiday between Christmas and Easter. There is nothing good in there now. Ginny
*Dear God, If you watch in Church on Sunday I will show you my new Shoes. Mickey D.
*Dear God, if we come back as something please don’t let me be Jennifer Horton because I hate her. Denise
*Dear God, If you give me a genie lamp like Alladin I will give you anything you want except my money or my chess set. Raphael
*Dear God, We read this. Edison made light. But in Sun. School they said you did it. So I bet he stoled your idea. Sincerly, Donna
*Dear God, If you let the dinasor not exstinct we would not have a country. You did the right thing. Jonathon
*Dear God, Please send Dennis Clark to a different camp this year. Peter
*Dear God, Maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each so much if they had their own rooms. It works with my brother. Larry

*Dear GOD, Are you really invisible or is that just a trick? Lucy

*Dear God, Is it true my father won't get in Heaven if he uses his bowling words in the house? Anita

*Dear God, Did you mean for the giraffe to look like that or was it an accident? Norma

*Dear God, Who draws the lines around the countries? Nan

*Dear God, It rained for our whole vacation and is my father mad! He said some things about You that people are not supposed to say, but I hope You will not hurt him anyway. Your friend But I am not going to tell you who I am.

*Dear God, I want to be just like my Daddy when I get big but not with so much hair all over. Sam

*Dear God, My brother told me about being born but it doesn't sound right. They're just kidding, aren't they? Marsha

*Dear God, I didn't think orange went with purple until I saw the sunset you made on Tuesday. That was cool! Eugene

"Well, it's ok. It's so nice, I wouldn't trade it for anything And I ask the Lord every night, For just another day in paradise."

Fred exiting our driveway, waiting for a fellow-gravel truck to pass before entering the busy highway by our home.

It is early morning and I watched the rising sun throw vivid crimson and scarlet splashes across the big old eastern prairie sky. The day has promise of sunshine. Twenty big semi gravel trucks have been zipping by the highway all day and week long. Our farm is practically plopped on their highway route from where they are collecting the gravel and the new potash mine site to where they are delivering all these heavy loads. Fred is among them. As his big white and purple semi roars by, he honks the loud air horn. It makes me smile. Even without seeing him I know the happy message within that deafening sound; "Hi honey! I hope you're having a good day."

How can I not? Spring has arrived in a whopping happy encompassing sunshiny smile. I have thrown open the windows letting winter out and the warmth and freshness of the new season come inside our home located by the side of the road. Recently I came across an article with claims to have been written over three hundred years ago. It made me want to unbolt the windows of my very being and chase and replace the cold winter from my craggy spirit. I don't care if it was or wasn't written by an anonymous nun in the seventeenth century. I find it timeless and beautifully challenging:

"Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older and will someday be old.

Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion.

Release me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom it seems a pity not to use it at all, but thou knowest Lord that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details, give me wings to get to the point.

Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.

I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others’ pains, but help me to endure them with patience.

I dare not ask for improved memory but for a growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others.

Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet, I do not want to be a saint — some of them are hard to live with — but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil.

Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places and talents in unexpected people.

And, give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so."

As the last line falls on my open computer document, I hear the familiar blast of compressed air from hubby's semi. He and the other drivers accomplish six trips a day, so with his coming and going, he passes our home twelve times. A dozen horn-honk-hugs, how absolutely sweet. In light of the above litany - I will exercise my wings to get to the point. The day is young, pristine and resonant of another precious day in prairie paradise.

(Title: Excerpt, Just Another Day In Paradise: Phil Vassar)

The Long Arm of Cyber World

In my computer Inbox are messages from people I may never meet but loyally read the articles on my website. Sometimes they contact me - mostly I assume, to talk about the heavy things they carry in their hearts. Just to mention a few, they were sent to me by:

-A woman concerned for her pregnant daughter, mother of two small children coping alone since her husband walked out. She is concerned because her daughter is lonely and depressed.

-Another woman undergoing chemo for lung cancer. She is scared and alone.

-A mother dealing with the sudden loss of her son. She is bitter and angry.

I doubt that I have any great insights that will provide them with much solace. I am honoured they share their heart, but feelings of inadequacy engulf me. They are hurting, their wounds raw and throbbing. Tacked above my desk is a Christmas card from a dear friend. Inspired by it's message, I didn't put it away with the others when the holiday decorations came down. Written on the front were these words: "Peace is not a season. It is a way of life." The message continued inside: "When the spirit of peace becomes a part of our life, every day is like Christmas and every night will hold the promise of dawn."

I think long and hard when I am trusted with such messages and it becomes clear to me the writers all have two things in common: they are seeking peace and normality. They want their lives to once again be free of the darkness creating the unrest. How do I respond? I wish them peace in their thoughts, their hearts and every moment of their waking day and lingering peace to see them off to sleep. Over the years as readers find my pictures, stories and poems, it has become evident to me that loneliness and fear searches for hugs of reassurance and comfort. I am just an ordinary person writing about what life divulges - nothing extraordinary. My readers humble me with their friendship and faithfulness. So I find myself asking if I was them - what would I want to hear? Not a sermon, not paragraphs of condescending words - I would just want somebody to listen and tell me it's okay, it's human to be scared. In short, I tell them tomorrow is slippery but it is faith that recharges my batteries in a hurting un-peaceful world. I can withstand the storm when I'm calmed at the center. A cyclone drives its powers from a calm center. So does a person and it is out of this calm a beautiful thing is born called courage.

I remember visiting a dying friend. When I arrived she was restless and distraught. "Oh, what use is this?" she sighed. "I lay here all day and night not good for anything. I am so weak and too drugged up to care. Why can't I just die?" Kissing her forehead, I struggled for heartening words. Words of hope she could cling to. I reached for her hand and told her, "For every breath you take, you are allowing somebody to still call you mother. Don't be in a hurry to take that away from your children."

I think of the people behind the letters and say a prayer they pursue the spirit of peace and

Thank you for your friendship.Sincerely.

anticipation of dawn. And I am quick to tell them the two most important things life has taught me: anxiety does not diminish sorrow from tomorrow; it drains strength from today; prayer is the only muscle that disease cannot defeat.











 A poem that has seen me through many dark times.

GOD OF THE STARS

I am the God of the stars.

They do not lose their way;

Not one do I mislay.

Their times are in My hand;

They move at My command.

I am the God of the stars,              

Today, as yesterday,             

The God of thee and thine,             

Less thine they are than Mine;          

And shall Mine go astray?         

I am the God of the stars.            

Lift up thine eyes and see            

As far as mortal may            

Into Eternity;          

And stay thy heart on Me.           

~ Amy Carmichael 

'And Love Isn’t Love 'Til You Give It Away' ~Oscar Hammerstein

I told Fred Wal-Mart would be crowded on a sunny April Saturday afternoon and maybe we should rethink our plan and wait for Monday. Ever the optimist, he said it wouldn't take long and we'd be out of there in no time. Carts choked the aisles, babies and children were screaming, some shoppers dawdled while others visited and chatted loitering the already crowded walkways. In my impatience it seemed to take forever to reach the pet supplies.

At the checkout the shortest line had fifteen people making us the sixteenth. The overloaded carts inched forward and I noticed the cashier looked drained as she swiped the bar codes and bagged the endless items not even glancing at the customers.

As we exited the mall I bit my tongue refraining from cynicism about not taking long and searched for our vehicle in the hectic, swarming parking lot. The wind had picked up and it had become winter cold. With my back aching our truck seemed a mile away.

Lifting the heavy bags of canned cat food, cat litter and large bags of dry food, a man was loading packages in a pickup beside us. In the distance a woman was also doing the same - obviously her partner, because she called to ask if he had the big planters and lawn ornaments. I glanced at them before climbing into the passenger seat. The woman was wearing a bright yellow windbreaker with matching rubber boots and her husband's hair was tied back in a ponytail that trailed down his back. The woman hopped in her car. With her arm extended out the window she drove past throwing him a cheery wave and a beautiful big smile, shouting loudly, "I Love you!"

Grinning ear to ear he returned the wave and yelled back, "Love you more!" 

Six simple words sailing in the air reverberated across a crowded Wal-Mart parking lot. I noticed others were smiling, also observing the brief, affectionate exchange. After a record setting long bitter winter on the Canadian prairie they changed my day and my outlook.

As Fred buckled into his seat belt I reached for his hand and touching it gently, I told him I was glad we didn't wait for Monday. 

Love shows up in the most unexpected places.

Wasting Precious Moments At Life's Complaint Department

I was sitting in a crowded Saskatoon restaurant waiting for Fred. He decided to relax at an afternoon matinee while I walked the aisles of my popular shops: Naturalizer Shoes, The Body Shop, Northern Reflections and of course, many others. The osteoarthritis in my lower back was screaming from all the walking. It felt good to sit and relax with a cup of tea while passing the time. As I scrutinized the crowd I watched the hostess approaching with two new people who had unusually cranky expressions. With a smile she seated them at the table beside me. They looked around and shuffled with their napkins as water glasses were placed before them. Something was visibly wrong. "We're not going to be happy at THIS table," the woman griped offering no explanation. She gestured the waitress and carped they had to move.

Curious, I watched as she led them to a different area. It was only a few minutes later the hostess approached again patiently leading an elderly woman with a cane and a smile, accompanied by a gray-haired man with a walker who nodded and smiled as they slowly sat down. Suddenly my arthritis didn't seem so distressing. "What a nice table!" they both exclaimed.

I couldn't help but overhear their chit-chat as the waitress set before them two glasses of ice water. "Thank you, thank you, dear," the lady exclaimed. The pretty waitress struck up a conversation and I found myself smiling while eavesdropping. It turns out the woman was in her late nineties, her husband even older. As the laughter soothed my tired spirit, I turned and saw the younger couple giving the waitress a difficult time.

I thought of the times I have come into circumstances thinking, "I am not going to like this." The couple beside me made it obvious it was time for a stern life change. I'm going to make the effort to replace my complaining heart to something far more buoyant and upbeat: "This is great! It'll be an adventure!"

It's so easy.. such a simple lesson.

I don't know who to thank for this epiphany, the unhappy young couple or the pleasant and appreciative seniors. 

Or perhaps I should be grateful to Fred for being late.

"Because you are my friend I see life in a different way, and joy I had not hoped to know adds sparkle to my day." -Grace E. Easley

(Unchanged from the format sent direct for publishing to the Lanigan Advisor weekly newspaper.)

I am sitting here with a cup of Emeril's Big Easy Bold coffee, brewed from our Keurig maker and sweetened with Cinnibon Delight Coffee Whitener. It is delicious. I told myself when I finished vacuuming, this would be my extravagance, a stimulus per se. While making the dust fly, I was reflecting on a great day we had early this week. We returned to Lanigan, our former home town, to do some long overdue business. Our farm is in another community not far away, but I never seem to find the extra hours to take a drive to visit old friends. When we parked in front of the building for our appointment, the first person we encountered was standing at the door with a big welcoming grin. Darrell's hug made me feel like I had come home. Our chat was fun and filled with laughter.

It turned out that we were early and Blue Collar Basics seemed a good place for me to fill twenty minutes. While Fred handed in his March driving hours to Stephan's Trucking, I purchased an eye-catching bright indigo handbag and stunning earrings. I mentioned to the slim attractive clerk that I was Ethel Farmer and also a fan of Blue Collar on Face Book. Her response to my nonentity made me grin - and it didn't matter. I had a new purse and was just content to be there for several years have passed since my last visit. On to our meeting at the local bank and Fred and I were sitting across from an attractive, friendly employee who was more than clever and obliging. Finished - we departed the shopping mall and through my passenger window I looked for familiar faces. We couldn't linger because of another obligation, but we got a glimpse of Bud Guenther walking from the post office to his truck. Now I felt like I truly had come home. Even without exchanging a word though he was oblivious to our pickup passing by, seeing that gentle man and outstanding pillar of the community - indeed, I felt elated. An auctioneer in his younger days, memory tossed me way back to the time mother purchased a piano from him - just for me. I remember sitting at it in his warehouse, running my fingers over the ivories and playing a few chords. Bud commented to mother that anyone who plays like that absolutely should have a piano. Thank you, Bud. I have never forgot your kindness and giving mother a great deal on that old player piano! Throughout my personal corridor of time - that keyboard has played back for me, with emotion, the things in my heart.

Several hours later enjoying lunch in nearby Humboldt, a man approached us smiling. Gently touching my shoulder before I could say anything, Stan Cressman cited how he enjoyed my weekly contributions to this newspaper. With a sparkle in his eye he glanced at hubby and joked about my farmer Fred. We laughed with hubby's response, "I wouldn't know. I never read it!" 

As we returned home, stopping in Watson to pick up our mail, Fred's arms were full with four packages from Canada's Shopping Channel. "I hope everything was on sale," he kidded sliding back into the driver's seat.

So that was our journey - full circle as the crow flies on our Saskatchewan highways. While the last of my coffee goes down, I think of friends, homecomings and the privilege it is having both. My thoughts also encompass a dear neighbour lady during our thirty plus years in Lanigan. After her husband's passing and her failing health placed her in a care facility, every time I visited, she would ask, "Is there still smoke coming from my chimney?" Though enquired with a smile, I knew Margaret's heart was shattered that she could no longer ever go home. 

I enjoy living on the farm and the friends and neighbours we have come to know and love in our journey now - in this community. When they pass on the highway which is alarmingly close to our farm home, I return cheery amiable horn honks with what I have dubbed, my 'big-farm-arm wave.' It is all good.

There is yet another place where I meet and greet friends, it is my Face Book home. I have found friends from years and days gone by and made wonderful new friends from all over this amazing blue planet. I enjoy posting my prairie photography, ponderings and prospects and receiving the same back. 

Placing my coffee mug in the dishwasher, glancing out the kitchen window to the view of the endless prairie horizon, an old Czech proverb comes to mind. It's a good one: "Do not protect yourself with a fence, but rather by your friends."

I believe even when one can't go home, home is in the smile, the warmth and comfort of a friend.

(I welcome your friendship - visit my cyber home at: http://ethelandthecrow.blogspot.ca/

While you're there please hit my Face Book badge posted to the right and I will be excited to accept your friend request.)

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Blue-Collar-Basics/90547521325?fref=ts 
http://www.town.lanigan.sk.ca/ (Where we spent 30 great years!)
http://www.cityofhumboldt.ca/default.aspx 
http://www.townofwatson.ca/ 

Life in the early years of LeRoy, formerly Bog End through the words of my father, Roy Stein. An exchange between father and myself for the simple purpose of remembering.

My articles are also published weekly in the Lanigan Advisor newspaper. The following is written to coincide with it's coverage of the LeRoy, Saskatchewan Rural Municipality 100-year Anniversary.

Agnes and Andrew Stein

"My mother Agnes and my father Andrew were farmers. I didn't know my mother's parents, as they were in Sweden where my mother came from. I knew only my father's mother. His father had died at a young age. Grandmother Stein arrived in Sask. in 1908. My parents came from North Dakota in 1912.

The early method of transportation was horse and sleigh in the winter and horse and buggy in the summer. We picked up our mail at Wilson's house just west of town. The nearest town, Bog End, was about three miles from where we lived. When my parents first came, there were no stores in Bog End, so they went to Lanigan for groceries. I went to my first city, Saskatoon when I was about 12 years old. I was glad to get back home on the farm. 

My parents ordered a lot of things through the Eaton's mail order house. They usually ordered in the fall when winter clothing was needed.

My parents never had a telephone. But we had one after we were married, sometime in the early 50's. There were advantages to the party line, but a disadvantage was - there was no privacy.

I remember the Great Depression. We didn't have much during this time, but we didn't really feel poor, either. I wouldn't say I felt hardships from it. 

There wasn't much entertainment during that time. Our family had an old gramophone with the big horn and some records.

Anna Stein, 2'nd from right, back row.

When World War II broke out, we didn't like to see the young men having to go to war. The war changed the community as there were boys that lost their lives. We had ration books for some things, sugar was one. Things got better after the war. Tractors took over from the horses.

Before electricity we used coal oil lamps and gas lamps to light our house. (Power came to this community in 1955.)

To preserve our supply of meat we would can it or salt it. Our milk, cream and butter were kept fresh down in the well or down in the cellar. We bought flour by 100 pounds, it was Robin Hood flour. My family drank mostly coffee though I don't remember what brand.

Men wore overalls, not jeans like today. Women wore dresses and children wore whatever their parents got them.

Andrew was janitor of Bog End school. First school in the district.

I helped dad clear the land with horses and the breaking plow. Everything had to be dug out by hand or pulled. In those times there were stump pullers. They pulled out stumps and the horses supplied the power and went round and around on this stump puller. It worked with cables.

I never did go to school till dad moved closer to town when I was about eight. I walked to school. A big wood stove heated it. My dad was the janitor for quite a number of years. 

We played baseball in the summer and in the winter there was nothing. For Halloween we painted Halloween pictures, wore masks and made jack-o-lanterns. On Halloween night there pranks played. The buggies had big wheels at the back, small ones at the front so we would exchange them. There were lots of tipped outhouses. 

We always had Christmas concerts. For Christmas we got together with relatives. We always had a Christmas tree and decorated it with ribbons and ornaments. It wasn't always a spruce tree, we would decorate a poplar. Lots of knitting was done for gifts: mitts, socks and clothing.

LeRoy Railway Station

In my teen years I would help with the threshing. 

For entertainment there were dances and sports days were big.

The closest railway station was Lanigan and Watson. When they got one in LeRoy it was much easier. The train brought everything to our district, the mail and groceries and so many other things.

When I was a boy, the country was just becoming settled, bush everywhere. One learned responsibility very young, though not always willingly. Father hauled grain all the way to Lanigan by team and sleigh in the winter time, a 40-mile round trip. He walked a lot of the way to keep warm. 

In 1918 a cyclone went through and it did a lot of damage. We lived in a low cottage house with a bedroom built on the south side where my parents slept. My sister, Violet was just a baby at that time and mother had just carried her into the main part of the house when the bedroom was blown away. It was here that dad's violin bow was left, still hanging on a nail. The violin had been in the bedroom that was blown off the wall. Strange things happen.

As I look back on the way things were, I am inclined to think there have been many more changes during this time than there will ever be in the future."

-Roy Stein (Excerpts from his contribution to the LeRoy And District Saskatchewan Centennial 1905 - 2005, History Book. –Arlene Stein Martin.)

My father, Roy as a young child with his sister, Carol.

Father was a compassionate man who treated people and animals kindly. Throughout his life he had a special affinity for horses. When I would encourage him to sit with me at my computer and show him pictures and my work, he would smile and shake his head in awe and wonder.

Crying Grounds

I think of my in-laws often. I walk the same yard and all these years later I finally understand the profound and personal connection with land and nature. Life wasn't easy for them raising their family on the farm still within eye sight from the place we call home. They both are gone, but still remain close in our thoughts and hearts. I think of my mother-in-law when I pass the aging, dying and last of her fruit trees she once proudly tended with love and care. It was her special place and she never considered it work because her orchard brought her much enjoyment. I often stand and stare at the decaying, fallen trees and picture her there when both she and the trees were younger and vibrant.

She had pear trees, plum trees and many varieties of apple trees. I would walk with her among the carefully planted rows of apple trees and she would ardently explain, "This is the pie apple; this is the apple sauce apple; this is the jelly apple; this is the eating apple," and on and on we would walk under the shady, leafy canopy while she described her fruit trees. She fought a constant mêlée with birds, raccoons and deer because they loved her orchard seemingly as much as she did.

When Fred's eighteen-year-old brother was killed in an auto accident within seeing distance of their home - his parent's lives and hearts were deeply wounded and shattered. Though they put on a brave facade outside the walls of home, the light went out in their spirit. Lois did her crying and grieving in the solitude of her orchard. I know this because she told me although my heart already knew. I would picture her there in the spring when the trees were brilliantly dressed in dazzling fragrant explosions of pinks and white. When I gazed with my heart I could see the trees embracing her with their silent splendor and gentle solace. After all, it was her hands that had given them life.
After moving from the farm to town she returned often to her beloved orchard. Today I pass it reverently; it was her special elite place where her sorrow could vent and tears freely flow. Sometimes when I am still and listen I believe I can hear as her sobs still catch the wind. Many years later when she was diagnosed with aggressive cancer, I know she returned there one autumn day to say goodbye, tears falling for the final time in her cherished, comforting place.

After a long cold winter Lois's pain ended on an icy blustery day in March. The gardener that she was and able to grow anything, spring was always her favorite time of the year. She had many unkind winters in her life and she would no longer shed tears in the seclusion of her protective green orchard.

I am remembering today, the September morning after his mother's passing when Fred came in the house with a sombre look. "I was just in mom's orchard," he said, "and what a strange, eerie thing. Not one apple on a tree. Just leaves, there's nothing in there at all. It's bare!" He added it was the first time that ever happened.Only quiet where the tides, the tempo and time play like a silent spectacular symphony and seasons and all living things connect in a way the human mind is only beginning to realize. Nature in all its rich and countless facades is a gift. It is also patient and has a long memory.

It's easy to explain reasons an orchard would be fruitless and if the area had previously flooded or encountered insects or drought, we would join the ranks of cynicism.
But we saw what we saw - the trees withheld their fruit as nature mourned and honored an old friend.



At Reggie's funeral, Lois and her mother, estranged for years, reunited. I witnessed a miracle that would have made my friend and classmate, Reggie smile. I watched Lois fall into her mother's arms and the emotional wound between them, healed. As long as I have breath in me, I will keep Reggie alive. His life had merit and he was loved.

I visited her every day during the months she was in hospital dealing with the pain and finality of cancer. We shared precious moments and I am ever thankful for the gift of time we were allowed to say the things in our hearts. She told me she was proud of my writing and in turn, I told her, in her memory I would add my middle name, 'Lois' to my articles.

My Heart Tells Me It Should Be Spring

My heart tells me it should be Spring,

The calendar agrees.

But what I feel outside my door

Is more like Winter’s freeze.

I thought today of flowerbeds

Froze still beneath the snow,

A glance outside showed wintry white

And all that March could throw.

My heart tells me it should be Spring,

Not this polar arctic seize,

But everything that Spring should bring

Is nothing but a tease.

My heart tells me there should be leaves

And greenery of Spring,

But when I checked this early morn,

There was snow on everything.

I know below the frozen ground,

Life waits for warmth and sun,

As deep inside this anxious heart

Spring's promise has begun.

My faith tells me there will be spring,

It's how the season's play

And soon the white will be exchanged,

Changed to a glowing sundrenched day.

Easter is not far away, tho'

snow taunts its looming date

My heart tells me that many things

Are more perfect with the wait.

My heart tells me it will be spring . .

 -Arlene, 03/21/2013

'Oh, Grandpa, tell me 'bout the good old days.'

I used to wonder how 'old' people can remember so much of their past, detailing events from fifty-some years ago, but being unable to recall yesterday's activities. Well, what goes around, comes around. Here I am suddenly thinking of things I used to do when I was very young but not remembering if I took my prescription meds a couple short hours prior.

I woke up a few mornings ago remembering when I was very young and sick with Rheumatic Fever*. I was thinking of the anxiety it must have been for my parents. It was spring and the water run-off from a winter with heavier than usual snow fall, was critical. A "correction line"* stood between the closest town, LeRoy and our farm. I remember, being wrapped tightly in blankets and lying in the back seat of our 53 Ford, while daddy drove to the LeRoy hospital. It must have been terribly upsetting for mother, who had to remain behind to care for my siblings. I do recall bouncing around as daddy made it through the swirling water and soggy trail of that correction line. I recall the pain with every movement. But it must have been mentally distressing for father to not stay with me at the hospital, but leave quickly before that road became impassable. He had livestock and farm animals to tend to. It wouldn't have calmed my parents fear discovering the local doctor was absent and stuck in Regina because of flooding across the province.

As a child I was too sick to know these things but mother often told me it was a dark time for her. I retell the story in her words. The head nurse was very concerned - for my fever rose to an alarming 107, which mother relates was the highest ever recorded fever at that hospital. She said the doctor and head nurse were in contact by phone almost hourly for three days till my fever finally returned to normal. Her voice would catch as she told and retold me this over the years. I knew I was glimpsing fragments of my mother's heart, for I could only imagine the agony of her not being able to be with her youngest daughter through something so grave. She said that father tried several times to get to town on horseback to see me, but the high flowing water made him turn back with each attempt.

My remembrances of those days is not the nurses, the hospital, or anything about my physical care, rather about being in a black scary place as something dark, foreboding and shapeless chased me in a fathomless void screaming loud threats. This was especially frightening and I could not talk about it even years later.

Today Rheumatic Fever is almost unheard of in developed countries and isolation is not a problem in receiving medical care. Years later would find me often at a hospital holding our oldest tightly in blankets listening to the dreaded high-pitched barking sounds as he suffered from Croup. I couldn't imagine not being able to be with him.

I am careful not to talk notoriously about 'the good old days' because they had so many limitations. I do remember them with fondness and what comes to mind mostly are the summers spent swimming in a salamander infested dugout on hot windless muggy days, tobogganing down the dugout hill screaming wildly from the thrill, then complaining while dragging my sled back up, mother's delicious chocolate birthday cakes with fudge icing, riding horseback on our beautiful white horses. But with an ache in my heart, the thing I miss most about my good old days is the soft comforting sound of my parent's chatter and laughter as I fell asleep tucked in warm flannel bedding while a prairie star filled sky blinked goodnight through the window at the foot of my bed.

I now understand why 'old' people can remember these things so vividly from their past. It is the heart's way of recapturing warm glowing, soothing moments in a daunting, hurry-up, changing and almost unfamiliar world.

The pictures above and below depict the Province Wide State of Emergency flooding throughout Saskatchewan during the time of the above article. (Photos from the LeRoy History Book)

*(Rheumatic fever is an inflammatory disease that can develop as a complication of inadequately treated strep throat. Strep throat is caused by infection with group A streptococcus bacteria. Rheumatic fever is most common in 5- to 15-year-old children, though it can develop in younger children and adults.)

*(Correction Lines: Because the east and west edges of townships, called "range lines", are meridians of longitude, they converge towards the North Pole. Therefore, the north edge of every township is slightly shorter than the south. Only along the baselines do townships have their nominal width from east to west. The two townships to the north of a baseline gradually narrow as one moves north, and the two to the south gradually widen as one moves south. Halfway between two base lines, wider-than-nominal townships but narrower-than-nominal townships. The east and west boundaries of these townships therefore do not align, and north–south roads that follow the survey system have to jog to the east or west. These east–west lines halfway between baselines are called "correction lines".)