Learning to Walk (short memoir) by Leanne Dyck

 When did you learn to walk?

I remember that day so clearly but... Is this my memory or my mom's?

May 1963

The day I learned to walk.

Learning to Walk

    "You were eighteen months old when you learned to walk."

    "Mom, that's so late. Most babies learn to walk around their first birthday. Weren't you concerned that there was something wr--?"

    "Oh, you could walk if you held our hands or the furniture. You just weren't brave enough to let go. But the day you turned eighteen months, your brothers were determined you would learn. They set up four stacking stools, end to end, down the centre of the living and left a gap between the last stool and the sofa. One of your brothers--I can't remember which one, it doesn't matter--held your hands and guided you to the first stool in the row. You grabbed hold and he joined the rest of us on the sofa. 

"With our encouragement, you started on your way--walking the length of the stool and grabbing for the next. Stool after stool until you walked the length of the last stool. You stood there facing us.

"And when you finally let go and walked... Well, such cheering. I'm sure they heard us one town over.

"I always knew you would walk. You just needed a reason. Your brothers, they gave you that reason."

Learning to Stand

Leanne Dyck

Before I could crawl,

I never dreamed I could walk

People carried me and

I was content in their arms

A few minutes ago I was in the Mayne Island library listening to a panel of writers discussing writing. I took notes and look forward to sharing them with you in the near future. 

Next Sunday...

Rural Manitoba Memories by Leanne Dyck (family memoir) part 6

 In Part Five of Rural Manitoba Memories, you learned what my dad did during and after World War Two, how he met my mother, and how they suffered through having three boys before being rewarded by... (joking)? 

And now for the rest of the story...

Dad: When Leanne was in elementary school, in 1970, Ollie started work in the hospital first in the laundry department—where they started at six thirty.

Ollie liked cooking and moved to the kitchen as a cook’s helper and then before she left she was the assistant cook and started at 9:15 AM. Ollie left the hospital after fifteen years.

Interlake Spectator Newspaper: Mr. Jim Willetts, Postmaster for 31 years [1950-1981] at the Eriksdale Post Office, was honoured by about 200 people from the community and area as they gathered to pay tribute and express their appreciation to Jim at a surprise retirement party for him on August 15th [1981]...

As well as performing the duties of postmaster, Jim provided service over and above the call of duty. He was someone who people would turn to for advice and counsel; he would rewrap parcels with string and paper if they looked like they needed better protection. Besides these things, Jim's good sense of humour lightened the day for many people. 

In other words, Jim has been more than a Postmaster. He has been a friend to countless people from all walks of life and to people of all ages.

It was humourly suggested by the M.C. that Jim's influence was so great that his retirement caused the whole postal system to shutdown...

With Jim's retirement as postmaster of the Eriksdale Post Office, another era has come to an end, but we know that Jim will continue to serve the people of this community and this area with devotion and dedication.

Dad in the 1950s

Dad: Ollie and I continue to live at the junction of Highways 6 and 68. We have no regrets at leaving British Columbia and making our home in the Manitoba Interlake.

Uncle Jim: I am very proud to call Jim my friend. No one could have a better one. He was honest and true, but in later days, in spite of all his friends he was lonely, tired and sick. Now he is where he wants to be, with his beloved Ollie.

Leanne: Mom passed away on April 28, 1998. Dad on December 11, 1999.

Lasting Love

Leanne

This story was inspired by the love I witnessed in my mom's palliative care room.

Defenceless, I lay in this cage of sheets and blankets as cancer prowls, leaps, sinks its teeth into my flesh and devours me--piece by piece. I struggle for life; all I gain is courage.

My husband stands straight, tall, so close to my bed. He is all I see. He is my life. His long, thin, weathered fingers stroke my brow. My life is in his touch.

Our love has endured so much--worry, anger, misunderstanding, longing, pain. Will it endure this?

Others think he is strong but I see his damp eyes, his Adam's apple quiver, his erratic breathing. I know his fragility. My strongest desire is to keep him safe from sadness, from grief, from loss, from what is happening to me. I want to hold him and I want to tell him that we've won, that we will be together forever.

But though I fight, I am leaving him--slipping away.

He must withstand this. He must be strong. I will give him strength. I frown at him, with soft eyes. Don't let it win. Have faith. Our love is stronger. I tell him with my eyes.

"May I kiss you?" He is always a gentleman.

"If you dare." I grin. He's used to my teasing.

Our lips--our hearts touch.

"Was it worth it?" I ask. "Was it worth your life?"

"Oh." He breathes. "Oh, yes." He forces a smile.

Then I know; I know we've won; I know our love will never die.

I'm indebted to the Eriksdale Municipal Heritage Advisory Committee, whose hard work published the Beyond Beginnings: Eriksdale History Book in 1996 and Lucy Lindell who published Memory Opens the Door in 1970 and 1974 (second printing). Other sources included a toast to the bride written by Aunty Kay and an obituary written by Uncle Jim. Writing this memoir is an act of loving tribute that I plan to continue--digging more deeply, unearthing more memories.

It's been 14 years since I visited Eriksdale. In two days, on May 14, I'll sail from Mayne Island and board a plane in Victoria, BC. I'll fly all the way "home" to Eriksdale. Someone should warn them. Not only will I be visiting Manitoba but I'll also... I'll tell you all about my trip when I come "home" to Mayne Island. Bye for now...

Thank you for reading

Rural Manitoba Memories

Click here to Re-read Rural Manitoba Memories. 

Rural Manitoba Memories by Leanne Dyck (family memoir) part 5

In Part Four, you learned that my grandparents moved from Manitoba to BC, after WWII. This Sunday?

Where was my dad during World War II? How did he meet my mom? Did he follow his parents to BC or stay in Manitoba? And exactly when did I show up?

Rural Manitoba Memories

Dad: In June 1940 I joined the army, The Queens Own Cameron Highlanders. In 1941 I transferred to the Air Force and spent the next four years on radar stations on the east coast of Canada and Newfoundland, which at the time was a foreign country.

In spring 1945 while home on leave I met Olavia (Ollie) Olafson from Lundar.

When Ollie Meet Jim

Leanne

Perhaps, Mom was making supper. Maybe I was writing a story. I was seldom without a pen.

I asked, “How did you meet Dad?” I was a teenager yearning for romance.

“I don’t remember,” she told me. “The first time I saw him was in the Orange Hall. I was trying to watch a movie. A tall man, a few rows ahead, had his hat on. He was a wall without a window.”

“Did Dad ask him to take his hat off?”

“Your father was the tall man with the hat.”

Dad? The guy who held the door open for everyone? “But how did you meet?”

Once again she told me that she didn’t remember.

“Really? You can’t remember? When I meet the man I love that story will remain in my heart until the end of my days.”

“That’s nice,” she threw off.

Mom went back to making supper, while I watched my muse dance. And eventually, I told Mom...

You were working as a nurse’s aide when they rushed in a hockey player—a goalie. He’d been hit in the head with a puck—just above the eye.

Would he lose vision in that eye? They needed to act fast.

As the stretcher sped past the pretty nurse’s aide, the hockey player stretched out his hand and caught her wrist. “Do you think me brave?” His face was covered in blood.

“Brave? I think you’re stupid. You could lose that eye. Imagine stopping a puck with your face.” But as she looked into that one blue eye, her heart told a different story.

No doubt Mom heaped praise on my story. She always encouraged my writing. But she no doubt also told me, “Your dad suffered that injury when he was a teenager. I worked as a nurse’s aide years later, during the war. I think that’s when we met—when he was on leave.”

“On leave? So how did you date?”

“We sent letters back and forth.”

“Letters?” My tongue tasted the word--sweet like honey to a young writer. “Where are they?”

“I burnt them years ago.”

 “You burnt them. How could you burn them? Why…?”

Dad: Upon receiving my discharge in August 1945, I returned to Eriksdale and got a job on a Manitoba government survey crew. Ollie and I became engaged the following spring.

Uncle Jim: When Kay and I got married in the spring of ‘46, Ollie and Jim were our Bridesmaid and Best Man. One Christmas Eve before that I was sitting in the hospital kitchen at 4:00 am, when Jim walked in. He had been to Lundar to see Ollie and the bus had left early so he walked all the way from Lundar down the railway track. It was -35 below too.

Dad: In May I left for British Columbia, where my dad and I purchased a store in Lynn Valley. I returned to Manitoba. Ollie and I were married in September 1946.

Olafsons from Lundar

Leanne (Willetts) Dyck

A sturdy square oak rocking chair with a padded seat and back took pride of place in my grandparents' living room. The plaque, engraved in Icelandic, held words of thanks from a grateful community to its midwife—Helga Bjarnson, my maternal great-grandmother.

Helga was born and raised in a rural community in northern Iceland. I was told that she read her Bible every day. Was it her devotion to the Lutheran church that caught the eye of the local pastor? Something did, for he hand-picked Helga to study midwifery under a doctor in Akureyri—a seaside city in northern Iceland. After she had completed her studies, Helga was squeezed aboard a ship that set sail for Canada.

All of my Icelandic great-grandparents left Iceland in the late 1800s. In fact, due to inclimate weather and poverty, half the population was forced to leave the island they loved. They left knowing that they would never return. As there was little room on board the ship, possessions were restricted. However, they were advised to take as many books as they could. Iceland has long been a literary nation.

Grandma Olafson: My mother told me that she was surprised to see that a crowd had gathered around the Winnipeg train station. She wondered if it was a warm Canadian welcome. As she left the train, she overheard some people in the crowd talking. “We came to see the ice-land-ers—the people made of ice. But all that came off that train were all those blonds.” 

Leanne: In Manitoba, they settled in an area called New Iceland. Today we can identify the area by the towns’ Icelandic names—Gimli and Arborg and Hecla and Vogar and Lundar and…

My great-grandparents were grateful for the land they were given. I don’t believe they realized that they were moved onto that land strategically. They were pawns in the Chess game the Canadian government was playing against the Indigenous Peoples.

Mom’s family had lived in Lundar since the late 1800s. When Mom married Dad she moved from Lundar to Eriksdale. She was the first person in her family to make this move but not the last. She opened the floodgates and two sisters followed—both marrying Eriksdale men. Grandpa and Grandma Olafson eventually moved to Eriksdale—thirty years later. Before, during and possibly after, Mom's oldest sister moved to BC and her two brothers moved to Winnipeg.  (There's more story there. A writer's job is never done)

Grandpa and Grandma Olafson

Dad: [In] 1950...I became post master.

Lorna Anderson, my assistant, and I worked well together until I retired in July 1981.

A first class letter went for four cents and Christmas cards, unsealed, were two cents. We sold a lot of two cent stamps!

At this time mail order shipping was the order of the day, with Eaton's of Winnipeg and Simpson's of Regina being the giants of the mail order.

That first Christmas we received sixty-five bags of parcels off the train one night. We had quite a time finding room for all the mail.

The main source of revenue was stamps and money orders, but the Post Office offered other services as well: there was a Savings Bank, we sold radio licenses and unemployment stamps.

Birth Order

One day, in 1949, my grandpa—who was never afraid to say anything to anyone—asked my parents, “So you’ve been married for three years. Time’s a ticking. When can we expect a grandchild?”

My mom, Olavia, looked her dad dead in the eye, “Oh, I don’t know… How about in five months?”

And much merriment ensued.

In June 1949, my oldest brother Rick was born. Three years later, in March 1952, my brother Randy arrived. Another three years, another brother, Keith in December 1955.

Three boys in six years. Both of my parents liked math. But no one was counting on me. I showed up in 1962--a little late to the party, but I made it. 

I'm blessed to come from a family of writers. People who wrote for fun and to build community. Their writing built this memoir.

 The memories continue...

Read the next installment of 

Rural Manitoba Memories

Last week, my husband and I celebrated a significant milestone...

Rural Manitoba Memories by Leanne Dyck (family memoir) part 4

In Part Three of Rural Manitoba Memories,  you learned that my grandparents opened a tea room and grocery store in Eriksdale after WWI. You also learned (learnt) what it was like for my dad to grow up in Eriksdale. 

This Sunday? What did my dad do after graduating from school? Did he take over my grandfather's grocery store? Is that grocery store still run by my family?

Grandpa Willetts' store

Rural Manitoba Memories

Aunty Kay: Dad had the Red and White Store until after the war and sold it to Larry Whitney in the fall of 1945.

Leanne: Free of the store, Grandma and Grandpa moved to BC.

Grandma: When Mrs. Everette met us, she said, when I stepped off the train, “My, you look tired.”

My reply was, “You would too. I’ve been pushing this thing up every hill since Calgary, and holding it back on every down grade.”

R.H.H., reporter: This week’s column should be of particular interest to all those fortunate people who live in the vicinity of that locality known as Upper Lonsdale. In our wanderings up and down the avenue recently, we noticed that the local Post Office had moved...

This move seemed to us to be a fine opportunity to drop into Mr. Willetts’ new place... I like the new place and told him so. Four other people who came in while I was there, told him the same thing. If you haven’t been in there yet, I wish you would do so at your first visit to that popular shopping district. You, too, will approve of the change he has made, I’m sure.

Although only a small store, as stores go, Mr. Willetts has a wide variety of notions and dry goods. He is to be complimented on the fact that his entire stock looks so clean and fresh. This is an asset in itself as it inspires customer confidence.

I'm blessed to come from a family of writers. People who wrote for fun and to build community. Their writing built this memoir.

 The memories continue...

Read the next installment of 

Rural Manitoba Memories

Just a normal Sunday afternoon, I thought, when...

Okay, so, picture this. My husband and I are playing our board game. Our usual Sunday fun

Rural Manitoba Memoirs by Leanne Dyck (family memoir) part 3

In Part Two of Rural Manitoba Memories, you learned that the First World War was hard on my grandfather and grandmother. This Sunday...?

After WWI, many soldiers returned to Canada to farm or to teach school or to... My grandfather... And what about my grandmother? Did they remain in Manitoba...in Eriksdale?

This is the house where my dad was born. I lived in this house until I was 20.

My grandfather built some if not all of this house.

Rural Manitoba Memories

Aunty Kay: Daddy returned in the spring of 1919.

Dad: I was born in Eriksdale in 1920 and as there was no hospital here I decided the easiest and simplest course was for me to be born at home, which I was—home being the house where we still live at the junction of highway 6 and 68.

Aunty Kay: In 1922, I arrived to complete the family.

Grandma: Home from the war, Jim decided to open a Tea Shop. We reasoned the farmers’ horses need a rest—the farmer also needs a spot of refreshment, like a cup of tea and buns—so in 1920, opened the shop. Jim couldn’t do it alone, so we added rooms on the back of the shop and moved in. Jimmie was 2 years old, Kay six months.

Dad: Eriksdale was an exciting, interesting place for a boy to grow up.

We lived downtown, where all the action was; farmers driving their horses to do their shopping and other business. Passenger trains and freight trains passed through town. Almost every night we would have a rock train thunder down the track.

We had four general stores, a butcher shop, two hotels, one of which was three stories high, there were a couple of blacksmith shops, a grain elevator, a creamery, and two garages.

Ward’s Garage was nearby. It was a favourite hang-out of mine until I began using colourful language that I’d picked up there. My mother was not impressed; decided if I was able to learn those words I could learn better things. So at the age of five, I was off to school.

My teachers were all dedicated people who worked very hard to give me an education.

Equipment and teaching aids were not readily available at the time so improvisation and inspiration were the tools they used.

Grandma: We were ten years in the restaurant business, gradually taking in a stock of groceries. As cars came in, the tea shop business declined and at last was dropped.

OTHER PEOPLE'S MEMORIES

Leanne (Willetts) Dyck

One of my summer jobs during High School was as a tour guide at the Eriksdale Museum. I enjoyed losing myself in other people's memories.

Maybe locals came in but I don't remember them. Tourists were the ones who stood out. They wanted to learn about us and the museum was their introduction. Most traveled from other parts of Manitoba or Canada or even from the United States. A man came from England. He impressed me by using four place names in his address. And I remember a woman. I'll always remember her.

I greeted her with a smile. "Hello, I'm Leanne Willetts."

And she said, "Willetts? Your grandfather, Mr. J.H. Willetts, owned a Red and White store. He sold groceries, dry goods, and cattle feed.

"The depression was hard on farmers like my dad. He needed feed for our cows, but he didn't have any money. Those cows were the only things keeping the wolf from our door. So, he swallowed his pride and asked your grandfather to loan him the feed.

"Mr. Willetts was a businessman. He needed to make money--his family needed to eat. But you know what your grandfather did?" Her eyes were wet with tears as she told me, "He gave my dad the feed--gave it to him."

Yes, I'll always remember her.

Aunty Kay: When they closed the lunch room [tea shop], we moved back to the house on the corner of what is now Highway 6 and 68.

Uncle Jim: Jim and I began our friendship in our early teens. Jim spent almost as much time at our house as he did at home. To begin with, everyone called him Jimmie the Kid, but that was soon shortened to just Kid.

We played hardball on the senior team, only because they needed all the bodies they could get. Jim played right field for a time. Jim also played goal for our hockey team.

If the other team got the first goal Jim would grit his teeth and they had to work hard to get any more! He played goal for Lundar too when our team thought they had a better goalie. He showed us a thing or two then!

Later on when I started driving truck, I would go and pick up Jim to go with me. Sometimes at night I would go and tap on his window to wake him up—NOT on his sister’s window! [Uncle Jim married Aunty Kay in the spring of 1946—and they lived happily ever after.] I was always afraid that their super-hound Snip would take a piece out of me! One year Jim drove for Pop, we went to all the country dances we could afford and got so we could do the Shottishe and all that.

Dad: All good things come to an end and school ended.

Leanne: My dad was sixteen when he attained the highest level of education available in Eriksdale, at the time—grade eleven. However, he continued to self-educate throughout his life. He especially enjoyed reading both religious and scientific books.

I'm blessed to come from a family of writers. People who wrote for fun and to build community. Their writing built this memoir.

 The memories continue...

Read the next installment of 

Rural Manitoba Memories

More about Eriksdale...

Rural Manitoba Memories by Leanne Dyck (family memoir) part 2

 In Part One of Rural Manitoba Memories,  you learned that my grandpa Willetts planted a seed in Eriksdale, Manitoba's rocky soil, that grew the tree that eventually produced me. This Sunday...?

Among my family's legacy is the story of the toll waiting takes on women during the time of war. 

I'm guessing but I think the woman in this photo is my grandma Willetts 

and I think she was a nurse's aide during WWI.

Rural Manitoba Memories

Aunty Kay: My mother was born in Manchester, England and came to Canada to stay with her sister-in-law and her three young nephews while my uncle Tom was working in Winnipeg.

Grandma: Mrs. Everette and I (I was twelve years younger than she) often talked about writing a book, in our younger days. We both had a good sense of humour, she used to say, “We’ll tell them what it is really like, living up here, how I broke my best Sunday-go-to-meeting parasol over the oxen’s back when he decided to walk into a mud hole to rest and relax on the way home from town.”

Aunty Kay: Uncle Tom’s homestead was next to my dad’s. My mom and dad were married the following year.

Leanne: My grandparents married on December 18, 1913. Seven months later—on July 28, 1914—the First World War was declared.

Grandma: Tom went overseas in 1914 and within nine months he was dead. Jim went overseas in 1916.

Leanne: As a newlywed, and while grieving her brother, Grandma had to watch her newly-wedded husband march off to war. I can’t even imagine how much courage, strength and faith she must have possessed. How many times did she twist the Mizpah ring on her finger and offer a silent prayer?

Mizpah Prayer

May the Lord watch between me and three while we are parted, one from another.

Grandpa was a pacifist. He requested to serve as a stretcher-bearer. The army, in its wisdom, made him a gunner.

Aunty Kay: Daddy served overseas at Arras, Lens and Passchendaele with the 16^th Canadian Scottish under Colonel Peck.

Leanne: TheCanadian Encyclopedia describes Lens as ‘the first major action fought by the Canadian Corps under a Canadian commander.’

Colonel Cyrus Wesley Peck was awarded the Victoria Cross and the Distinguished Service Order for acts of bravery.

A Tale From The First World War

A. J. Willetts [my dad]

published in Memory Opens the Door, 1974

One day after the folks had moved to BC, they were back here visiting and Dad went with me to the train to pick up the mail for the Post Office.

One of the crew stepped off the train and Dad said, "Well if it isn't Wilfred Lamb."

They shook hands and, pleased to meet each other, immediately began talking. As they chatted Dad told Mr. Lamb about a notice he had found on the wall of a bombed-out building in France, during the First World War. The notice advertised a boxing match, to be held in Eriksdale, between Wilfred Lamb, Peter Whittall and others.

Thinking the paper would be of interest to Mr. Lamb, Dad arranged to meet him on the station next morning when the train went south, to give it to him. Then he went on to tell me how he had come by the notice.

"I was with the 16^th Canadian, and they were a pretty tough regiment. It didn't matter how tired we were, we always marched back from the lines. But, there came a day at Passchendaele, when the regiment was in bad shape, we were told to make our way back as best we could. I was so weary I just had to sit down to rest.

"While I rested, my pack of ammunition slipped off unnoticed and I had gone quite a distance before I realized what had happened. Without protection, I would not get far, so I picked up the rifle and ammunition of the first dead German soldier I came across and continued to make my way back. I met one of our officers and hurried to explain the lost equipment and my reluctance to be travelling in that area without some means of protection.

" 'Good thinking, soldier, carry on,' was his comment.

"When I came across the bombed-out shell of a building, I knew it was time to rest awhile, for I was incredibly tired. I probably dozed a bit, then as I looked around in the dim light I could see 'ERIKSDALE' in huge letters on the wall opposite my resting place. That shook my confidence considerably. It just could not be, not here in France. But, it was there. Each time I looked up I could see it. Clearly, I had become deranged, 'looped' as some of the fellows called it. I hurried away from that spot, yet, that word 'ERIKSDALE' on that wall haunted me. Had I been seeing things, or was it real?

Next day I went back to that place. It was there. On a great big notice! A notice telling of a boxing match, to be held in far away Eriksdale, Manitoba. My home town! I took it down and sent it home and that is the paper I shall give to Wilfred Lamb, tomorrow."

How did the notice get on a wall in France? Who knows? I have pondered that question many times.

Probably, someone from 'home' had sent it to their soldier at the front. He, for want of something better to do, had hung it there—and perhaps for a few moments forgot the Hell of War as he gazed at an ordinary notice from home—and savored in dreams, the day when he would be 'going home'. 

It is quite a few years since that day. Wilfred Lamb passed away not long after and I have often thought I should have had a copy made of that notice, but—one is inclined to put off things not of immediate concern. Now, it is too late.

I'm blessed to come from a family of writers. People who wrote for fun and to build community. Their writing built this memoir.

The memories continue...

Read part 3 of 

Rural Manitoba Memories

Rural Manitoba Memories by Leanne Dyck (family memoir) part 1

 Writing purchases for the writer a kind of immortality. 

My dad, my aunt and my paternal grandparents all wrote--for fun and to build community. I've collected their writing for many years. This memoir was pieced together from that collection (with additional words, here and there, from other contributors) as a loving tribute to my family. 

Aunty Kay and Grandma Willetts

Rural Manitoba Memories

Aunty Kay: They say the greatest things parents can give children are roots and wings. Leanne’s roots are right here in a little town in the Interlake where she has grown up surrounded by a loving and caring family.

Leanne: My paternal grandfather’s hand-written memoir begins…

Grandpa: I, J. H. Willetts was born on May 7, 1886, in a small house in Allastone Mene near Lydney, Gloucestershire.

Leanne: Grandpa was the fourth son in a family of ten—eight siblings, two sisters, and six brothers. In 1889, his youngest brother Albert died of diphtheria. Albert was four and a half. Three years later, in 1901, Joseph, an older brother by three years, died in a mine accident. Joseph was eighteen. Life was tough in Allastone Mene. It’s not surprising that Grandpa would want to try a new somewhere else.

One fine May day in 1906, after promising to visit his mother, Grandpa packed his bags—or, no doubt, bag. He travelled to Liverpool, boarded the good ship Lake Manitoba and set sail for Montreal. Grandpa was twenty years old.

Aunty Kay: Daddy came to Selkirk, Manitoba as his brother Charles had a contracting business there. He worked for a few months on construction for the Canadian Pacific Railway near Kenora. In the spring of 1907, he decided to take up a homestead in the Manitoba Interlake.

Lucy Lindell, local historian: Eriksdale’s first white settler was probably Jonas Eric Erikson, who applied for his homestead on March 20, 1906, though presumably, he had been living there as a squatter prior to that date. It is known that Manuel Erikson, Jonas’ son, had a small log shack near the southern most corner of the north west quarter of the section, adjacent to his father’s quarter on which is now, the village proper.

Leanne: Eriksdale was built on the ancestral home of the Cree. Manitoba is the birthplace of the Metis nation. All through grade school, I had Cree and Metis friends and classmates. As reported in the 2016 census, Metis was the third largest ethnic group. The largest ethnic group was English, followed by Scottish.

The Rural Municipality of Eriksdale, Manitoba was formed in 1918.

The memories continue...

Read the next installment of 

Rural Manitoba Memories

Did You Know...

Kat Brown, The essential books to read about neurodiversity, January 31, 2023

Afi (short story) by Leanne Dyck

I'm blessed with a wonderfully supportive family--and friends--who have nurtured my writing. Here's an early example...

Afi

My mom's parents--my amma (grandma) and afi (grandpa)--lived on School road. I visited them before and after school and during lunch. Amma taught me crafts. Afi taught me how to play gin rummy. He was a grizzly bear, belting out Icelandic folk songs but... One day, I saw him shake. I thought it was odd and then I knew it was scary. Amma had to guide him into a chair. I stood there staring not knowing what to do or where to go--not wanting to see. 

Afi noticed me. 

"Leanne, Elsken (my dear), it's time to go home, " Amma told me.

I left but I couldn't stop worrying about them. Would Afi be okay? Would Amma?

Afi came home from the hospital--a shell of the man he'd once been. I think he knew he was passing away; I think he knew it would be soon.

Mom judged attending Afi's funeral too emotionally upsetting for me. I stayed home but Afi was with me. He remained with me. So when my language arts class was required to write a character sketch I wrote about him. Mom helped me with the spelling, grammar, and punctuation, but the words were mine.

Knowing Amma was lonely without Afi, we visited her as often as we could. 

In Amma's living room, Mom sat in the turquoise chair with wooden arms. "Mom, Leanne has something she'd like to read to you. It's about Dad."

Amma joined me on the sofa.

I wanted to tell her that my essay wasn't very good, that I wished it was better. But I didn't. I just read... 

"I am sure in your life you have met someone who really made a lasting impression on you. Possibly they offered you a new perspective on life and maybe even on yourself.  This special person in my life was my afi.

"Afi once told me that if you were liked by both little children and dogs you had to be doing something right.

"Little children followed him everywhere like he was the pied piper. Dogs ran to greet him. 

"His secret: he was always the straight goods. He never tried to hide any aspect of his character. Nor did he try to create a ribbon and bow effect. It would have been nearly impossible to camouflage any aspect of his strong personality, anyway. So, he didn't waste time trying. 

"He was as stubborn as an old mule." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amma grin. "And very opinionated. Yet he did not try to push his ideas on anyone. This was not what Afi hoped to do by stating his views. His goal, instead, was discussion. He had the love of debate of a lawyer."

Amma sniffled and pulled a tissue out of her sleeve. 

"I'm sorry, Amma. I didn't mean to make you cry. I'll stop."

"Oh, no, Elsken." She smiled. "They're tears of joy. Please keep reading your story."

"Afi regarded each person no matter what age, gender, or race as having something special to share. Gregarious was his nature and debating his tool."

Silence.

"The end," I said so that Amma would know I was done.

"Oh, Elsken, that's wonderful. You are a wordsmith."

When I graduated from high school Amma gave me a pen and pencil set.

"So you'll continue to write, Elsken." She told me with a hug.

Next Sunday evening...

Bunny by Mona Awad

'Just me and them in a room with no visible escape route for two hours and twenty minutes. Every week for thirteen weeks.' Workshop is protagonist Samantha Heather Mackey's personal hell.