We have lived in the Sussex, New Brunswick, Canada area since 1977. Fourteen of those years were spent on a 210 acre, 65 cow dairy farm, where our children learned to work and enjoy all aspects of farm life. We hired no one, so work was done by everyone capable of doing it, as it is on any farm. The hardest time was haying time, but it is also the time that the kids remember most fondly. Only people who have walked in our shoes can know what it takes to survive on a farm. There are many of us out there, all hard workers! The humorous and special times are what helped us pull through…like the time Amie fell into the cement we were pouring for the stalls, or the time Bess climbed our feed silo (she was so scared of everything that she was the last one we expected to do that) and couldn’t get down, or when Jenny got lost and sat down and cried to wait till we found her. She was only by the field next to the house, but wasn’t tall enough to see over the hill.
Our two youngest Mary and Ronnie don’t remember, but as babies, they spent many a morning in the feed cart between the two rows of cows sleeping to the sound of the cows munching their hay or feed as we did chores.
Our hat goes off to all the farmers of the world!
Our children have all flown the coup. We had about a month of “free time” before we decided to take in my mother. Mom decided a week before Halloween one year that she thought that she might like to move in with us. We had asked her before while we were building our new home, but I guess it wasn’t the right time for her. We quickly fixed up a place for her and added a bay window to her new room, put some nice pink carpet (that she picked) and she moved in happy. But Mom had a bad heart. It wasn’t till years after the fact that she discovered the damage that had been done by the rheumatic fever of her youth.
She was taken away from us way too early at 72. Mom had stayed with us only two years.
Mom and Dad were separated, so after Mom passed away I flew to Montreal where Dad was in a seniors hospital and brought my father home.I just felt that he didn’t belong there. Grampy died on July 28, 2003 at the ripe old age of 91. We enjoyed having him with us the last two years of his life. Dad had Lewy Body dementia and we tried very hard to make his life as good as it could be for him. It’s was a big undertaking but one that we haven’t regretted for one minute. He is now where he wanted to be… buried beside his mother in Montreal.