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Adeline’s Journal: Part 4 October 1812

A fictional account of a young woman’s life during the War of 1812.

Sunday, October 11, 1812 Thistledown Farm

Dear Janetta,

It has been a momentous week in the life of the Price family. All week long we women folk have been sewing and cooking. Father and William spent most of the first part of the week working on William’s property, fitting in the cabin windows and finishing off the roof so that it is water tight. Mr. Osteen, the stone mason from Johnstown, is a good friend of Father’s and he built William’s hearth from rocks that William had cleared from his land. William found some flat stones to use as a partial floor for Elizabeth’s cooking area. The rest of the floor is made of wood planks, as our’s is at home. Then Father and William constructed a table and benches. Elizabeth’s father, Mr. Branch, drove up from his farm with a wonderful pine bedstead he had them as a wedding present along with a quilt made by Elizabeth’s two sisters, Susanna and Gwendolyn.

Last Thursday, Mother, Evvy and I went to William’s cabin with the straw mattress we had made them and the set of down pillows made of the eider down Mother had saved. Father helped us take everying there in the wagon. William showed us all the new improvements and he was particularly proud of the andirons and cast iron kettle he had purchased for the hearth.

Mother, Evvy and I had took such pleasure in making everything comfortable and warm. We hung up the curtains Elizabeth had made for the two small windows and put the linens she had sewn on their bed. Our neighbours, the Randalls and their visitor, Miss Blaine, sent over two lovely rag rugs for the cabin floor. Evvy brought out the secret project she worked on most of the summer – a sampler she had cross-stitched on a bleached sugar bag. The sampler reads”God bless this house and all who dwell herein.” She hung it up on a nail over their bed. I had made two pillow cases and trimmed them with some left over material from our new dresses. When Elizabeth saw the results of everyone’s labour she cried happy tears and hugged us. I must say the cabin did look snug and pretty.

I do wish you could have attended the wedding, Janetta. Probably by now you are engaged to some nice gentleman from Waddington or perhaps a soldier away at war with Napoleon. England seems so far away and indeed it is, but our life back there hardly seems real to me anymore. Life here is very difficult and yet, so rewarding.

Saturday dawned bright and clear; the sun shining down through red and gold leaves. Elizabeth was handsomely clothed in a new blue cotton gown with a matching bonnet and coat trimmed in squirrel. William looked so grown-up in his dark green militia uniform. They were married by the Anglican reverend under the most beautiful scarlet maple near their cabin. Afterwards we had a delicious supper and some very happy celebration to the music of a fiddler from Fort Wellington who played some lively reels. Gwendolyn and Susanna sang “The Flowers of Edinburgh” , “The White Cockade”, and “The Gypsy Laddie”. Some of William’s militia friends sang “The Girl I Left Behind” and other army songs. It was very entertaining. Dancing on the forest floor is not like dancing in a town hall, but it can be done carefully so as not to trip on tree roots.

Unfortunately, Charles was not able to attend, this being his watch at the fort, but I did dance with Robert Randall and Charle’s friend, John Thompson. Arthur snubbed me. He monopolized Elizabeth’s sister, Susanna and made a total boor of himself on the cider that Col. Jessup’s family had provided for the occasion. Robert was disgusted with his brother and apologized to my father. The Randall’s were exasperated and I overheard Mr. Randall have harsh words with his youngest son. Finally, Robert had to take Arthur away from the festivities, much to everyone’s relief, and the rest of the party stayed until dusk. At dusk, William carried his happy bride over their threshold and we all went home.

Today, we all got up early and after the animals were fed and other chores done, Father gathered us around the table for our usual Sabbath Bible study and prayers. Then Mother led us in a hymn sing in her lovely contralto voice and we sang as many of the dear old hymns as we could remember. Of course, it’s not like being in the church in Wendover, which I do miss a great deal, especially at Christmas.

Much love,

Adeline

Monday, Oct. 12, 1812

Dear Janetta,

Arthur Randall rode over on his new horse today and made a half-hearted apology to my father and mother. I don’t think Father was very impressed, but Mother has a softer heart and invited him in for lunch. Thankfully, Arthur politely declined the invitation and rode away without so much as a glance in my direction.

How can two brothers be so very different in nature? They certainly look like brothers, both having dark brown eyes (Charles’ are hazel I’ve noticed) and sand-coloured hair and mustaches (Charles is blond), but otherwise they are totally different in character. Robert is a quiet, soft spoken lad with a pleasant smiling disposition while Arthur is given to moodiness and angry outbursts. Robert carefully considers his replies and is more likely to laugh than complain. Arthur is a hard worker and helpful, but blurts out just what he thinks when he thinks when he thinks it with out due consideration to the feelings of others. I simply cannot understand his petulance.

With exasperation,

Adeline

Thrill of the Hunt

I spent the day doing research for my writing. It took me a while to decide on the question to use to find the resources I needed online but I finally decided on “What weddings were there in Leeds and Grenville in 1812?” To my delight, there was a listing of all the ministers and marriages on one site. I revisited the list of resources and found an even more engrossing amount of information from the Historical Archives in Toronto. There was the complete text of “The History of Leeds and Grenville from 1749 to 1879” as compiled by Thadeus Leavitt. God bless the amateur and professional historians, but even more, God bless the journal and diary writers of the time.

Within the memories of the early settlers was a gold mine of information, including a description of the earliest log cabins and even the method of grinding corn before the coming of grist mills to Eastern Ontario. The method was exhausting and time consuming. It consisted of making a pestle out of ironwood and a mortar out of a hollowed-out log. Eventually, grist mills were constructed, but traveling back and forth to Kingston took a great deal of time and trouble.

Another part of the history, described the basic seeds given to the earliest settlers and the equipment they were given to begin farming. Throughout the manuscript were little gems of information and facts that showed me my ideas were not that far from the facts. For instance, there weren’t many clergy in the area at the time, so couples often had to wait months to marry or go to the magistrates of the county for their ceremonies. Tea wasn’t very available either, so instead the settlers used sassafras, hemlock, and something called, “tea-plant” which I want to find out more about.

Researching is so interesting, especially when finding out about family members and history. My daughter was looking up the family background on my father’s family. We had always been told their names were “Hall” but in looking through my grandfather’s papers I came across a wedding certificate from England giving the maiden name of my paternal great-grandmother as “Alcock”. This fact made all the difference to her research and brought up a mystery as well. I wish one of my ancestors had written in a diary about the name change.

So, if you write a diary or journal pat yourself on the back and please, leave it for your grandchildren. Even if you think that the information is too mundane. Mundane is what historians love. It gives them a window into the culture and concerns of the times. Sure, a journal written by an historic figure is valuable, but even more so are the diaries of “ordinary” people. Besides, there’s no such thing as ordinary when it comes to the stories of people’s lives. Everyone has intrigue and mystery about them, and drama in their history. So, God bless the journal and diary writers! You are rendering a true historical service.

Adeline’s Journal Part 3 Continued: September 30, 1812

A fictional journal account of a young woman of the War of 1812.

September 30, 1812

Thistledown Farm, Grenville County

Dear Janetta,

I have very disturbing news. Mrs. Randall’s sister, Miss Blaine of Gananoque, has had to take refuge with the Randall family because of a recent raid on the town by the American army. Remember how Charles warned us to be wary of our neighbours across the St. Lawrence and I got so upset with him? Charles thought they would retaliate for the taking of Detroit by Tecumseh and General Brock. I owe Charles an abject apology because, early morning on September 21, the Americans attacked Gananoque and destroyed the military depot there. The Leeds Militia fought back gallantly, but were no match for the superior numbers from the other side of the St. Lawrence River.

Miss Blaine said that she woke up to the shooting and shouting. She and many others, still in their night clothes, ran for their very lives. Mrs. Joel Stone, the wife of the Leeds Militia commander, was unfortunately wounded by a musket ball in her hip when the soldiers ransacked her home. They also destroyed all the town’s food supplies and took their ammunition. Now none of us is sleeping soundly and William, Robert and Arthur are drilling all the time. They are hardly ever at home.

With much trepidation,

Adeline

Adeline’s Journal Part 3- July to September 1812

A fictional account of a young woman’s life during the War of 1812.

July 19,1812

Thistledown Farm, Grenville County

Dear Janetta,

I barely have time to catch my breath. Pioneering is not for the frail of body. Evvy, Mother and I have been hard at it every day. Yesterday we made candles and they are stacked in bundles of ten in the root cellar as it is the coolest spot in which to keep them. Now we are in the midst of making bars of soap and that is hot work, so Mother told us to rest at noon when the sun is the highest.

We have just fed Father, William and Henry and have had our own lunch. We had slices of bread, some of our own new cheese and chunks of the venison from the stag Father killed last week. The poor thing had tried to jump the fence around our vegetable garden and somehow caught a hoof. I felt so badly for the poor creature, but he did make a delicious roast.

Last week Father drove the wagon to Prescott and I went with him to keep him company. The road isn’t much more than a trail worn down by many wagons that travel this way. We spent a good deal of the time pushing back encroaching tree branches and swatting the persistent mosquitos. It was a true relief to come to the better-traveled main thoroughfare.

Fort Wellington is in the process of being constructed. It doesn’t look like much presently, just two buildings around which the soldiers are erecting a stockade. The two buildings belong to Colonel Jessup who has given them to the army. The buildings are on the highest point of land here about, so Father tells me, so we can look across the St. Lawrence River and see Ogdensburg on the American side. It looks very near.

You wouldn’t consider Prescott much of a town, Janetta. At the moment it is mostly Col. Jessup’s home and orchard with one or two more cabins, but more and more people are arriving every day. The area has been surveyed for town lots. Prescott was named by Col. Jessup for General Robert Prescott, who was the colony’s General-in-chief until 1807. It is on the forwarding route for shipments from Montreal and New York state. There are dangerous rapids in the St. Lawrence and Prescott is at the head of the rapids. The dress material Mother ordered had arrived, having traveled twelve days by bateau from Montreal. Father had ordered some seed and William some nails and oiled cloth for the windows of the cabin. We will be returning home with a full wagon.

Father had arranged for us to stay overnight with Colonel and Mrs. Jessup. Col. Jessup knew Uncle Andrew as he was one of his rangers during the Revolutionary War in 1776. It was very kind of the Jessups and so I was introduced to their daughter, who proved to be a very amusing companion. She, in turn, introduced me to her brother, Edward, who was entertaining two of the soldiers from the fort.

One of the soldiers, Cpl. Houghton, was quick to make my acquaintance as he was from Buckinghamshire also. He asked Father about our relatives and we discovered we had a mutual friend in Mr. West, the vicar in Wendover. Cpl. Houghton asked Father if he could visit our family in the next week or two.

When we returned home, Mother was very interested to hear about our meeting with Cpl. Houghton, as she believes that she met his mother back in Wendover at one of the church socials. I suspect she is also speculating about the purpose of Cpl. Houghton’s visit and wants to see if he is a potential suitor for me. Perhaps he is interested in furthering our acquaintance. We shall see. In the meanwhile, I must see if the soap is ready to be cut into bars.

Your friend, Adeline

August 8, 1812

Dear Janetta,

I am just writing a brief note to mention that Cpl. Houghton rode up from Ft. Wellington to visit us today. Henry spotted his red uniform coming through the woods and warned us just in time for us to take off our work pinafores and straighten our hair. Evvy kept elbowing me and giggling which was truly an embarrassment, while Cpl. Houghton introduced himself to Mother. Father was away helping William with pulling stumps.

We all sat outside in the shade on the log benches that Father and William had made. Evvy brought out a pot of blueberry tea and some biscuits . We talked about Buckinghamshire, Fort Wellington and the possibility of invasion. Cpl. Houghton addressed most of his conversation to Mother, but he kept glancing in my direction and smiling which made me blush and stammer. I was so nervous all I could think of was how dowdy I must look in my work dress. When Cpl. Houghton rose to leave, I jumped up also and we bumped heads. He apologized profusely, but I know he was just being a gentleman, because it was honestly my fault for being so skittish.

Cpl. Houghton, or Charles, as he insists we call him, asked Mother permission to return again at a future date. She agreed, but he couldn’t be specific as it entirely depended on the progress of the fort and the possibility of conflict. Oh, I do hope it is soon, although Evvy kept giggling every time she looked my way at supper.

Fondly yours, Adeline

Sept. 16, 1812

Dear Janetta,

News comes to us slowly here in Upper Canada, but come it does. While we were all so safely content in our ignorance here in Grenville County, our fellow settlers were victims of invasion and raiding in the west. American soldiers under the command of a General Hull invaded Sandwich, a town across from Detroit on the St. Clair River. I only know this because Charles, Cpl. Houghton, drew a small sketch to show us, all the while apologizing for his lack of mapping skills. He said that the resident ought to have expected it as it is a very strategic area. This remark of his almost caused a rift between us, as I retorted angrily that the residents of Sandwich probably didn’t expect their good neighbours to turn against them, just as we don’t expect our neighbours in Ogdensburg to attack us. We have been trading with them for years and some of our friends have relatives in that town.

Charles was immediately sorry for being “so blunt”. He replied that he understood how we felt but we needed to be wary because we are at war.

The good news was that our soldiers under the command of Capt. Charles Roberts had taken over the American Fort Michillmackinac on Lake Huron. That all happened in July.

In August, Ft. Dearborn fell to the native warriors and our brave General Issaac Brock and Tecumseh had taken Detroit. Charles says that the army at Ft. Wellington is prepared to fight whatever threat may come next and they fully expect the American army to respond somewhere else soon. Of course, Arthur Randall, who seems to show up more often these days, boasts that he and the rest of the local militia don’t need help from “redcoats” to beat those “Yankees”. I believe he becomes more bombastic every time I see him, especially if Charles is here too. I don’t believe that he and Charles would ever come to blows, but he is surely trying my patience.

William’s cabin bee was on a wonderful sunny day two weeks ago. Fifteen men answered the call to help erecting the barn and the cabin and by the time we women arrived by cart with the food, they had made a table from a slab of wood across two stumps. We set up a campfire to warm the tea and set out a feast indeed. Thank goodness, I didn’t burn my bread this time, because Charles had come with his friend, John Thompson to lend a hand. I wouldn’t like to have him think I couldn’t even bake bread.

There were so many good things to eat, brought by our lady neighbours, that we all found spots in the shade to sit down and share a meal. Father said the blessing and Mother thanked everyone for coming. William was simply overwhelmed with the kindness and generosity of everyone towards Elizabeth and him.

Evvy and I were about to join Mother and Father when I spotted Arthur and Robert heading towards us. That very moment, Charles and John waved to us to join them under a large pine tree. They had set the food on a stump and provided their red jackets for us to sit upon. We had a lovely time admiring the view that Elizabeth and William would see from their front door and speculating about what was in the delicious food we were eating. Just as we were relaxing and laughing about the antics of the small children, Arthur intruded to tell me that Mother wanted my help in cleaning up. As I could see Mother was in no hurry to leave, I asked Evvy to find out what she wanted us to do. Arthur muttered,”So that’s what it’s like!”, turned red ands stalked away.

Evvy came back to say that Mother was just waiting for Father and William to wake up from their naps and hitch up our two old oxen to the cart. Charles and John offered to hitch up the cart for us and even escort us back to the house as they had to leave for the fort. Mother thanked them politely and told them to please go on ahead so that they would be back in Prescott before dark.

It was night time when Father and William returned from the building bee. William was excited to have a cabin with only the finishing touches to add and a barn that would only need a few more days work to complete. Father couldn’t stop exclaiming about all the wonderful help our friends had provided and Mother looked tired, but pleased. All our baking and cooking for that day was worth it.

The only disturbing moment of a pleasant day was when William took me aside and asked me what I had said to make Arthur so upset. I honestly replied that I didn’t know. William then warned me not to take Charles’ attention too seriously as he was only a corporal and might simply be flirting with a pretty girl.

So Janetta, perhaps that is all that it is.

Lovingly, Adeline

Adeline’s Journal Part 2: Fictional Account of the War of 1812

Dear Janetta,

I haven’t been able to add anything to my journal until now. We have been so busy. It is the end of June and many things have happened since I last took my pen in hand. First of all, Elizabeth and William are betrothed to be wed at harvest time. William is working part time on clearing the land for their cabin on the north corner of our acreage. Father has given them ten acres to put up a house and a barn. Most of those acres are treed, so William comes home dreadfully tired. When he has cleared a space, there will be a cabin and barn raising bee.

This will be our first family wedding here in Upper Canada. Evvy and I are so excited. Mother has ordered some fine spun cotton dimity for our new dresses. Father thinks it is a terrible waste of money and that our best Sabbath dresses are quite presentable, but Mother told him that we are quickly out-growing our clothing, which is quite true. My summer shifts barely cover my ankles and Evvy has worn through the elbows of her summer jacket.

The biggest news of all is that the president of the United States has declared war on Britain and so William has joined the militia, much against Mother’s wishes. Father has agreed to it. He says that William is quite old enough to bear arms if necessary and that he himself would be severely chastised by the neighbours if he was seen to be holding back his able-bodied son. Mother just shakes her head sadly and sheds a tear for Elizabeth.

Evvy and I are kept busy looking after the eider ducks and the geese. We had twelve ducks but a fox got two of them and Mother is determined not to lose any more. She has been saving eider down for quite some time to make pillows for my bridal trunk, but now she has decided to give two fluffy pillows to Elizabeth and William instead. I don’t mind. The way things have been lately, I don’t expect to marry for some time hence.

Robert and Arthur Randall have both enlisted and war is all they talk about lately. Whenever they come by to visit it is to talk to William about drills, and gun powder and making musket balls. I might just as well be a timepiece on the mantle or a plant on the window sill for all the attention they pay me now.

Evvy and I are constantly reminded by Mother to wear our straw hats over our cotton bonnets to keep the sun off our faces. She is very worried that we will get sunburnt and our skin will dry out which she says is very unattractive. The problem is that our straw hats are constantly blowing off in the wind no matter how many hat pins we stick into them. Have you ever tried to run after a duck or a goose in a petticoat with one hand holding your hat down on your head? It is no easy task. Men have it so much easier in their trousers.

Whoever first described a goose as “silly” certainly had it to rights. They are forever wandering off and getting themselves into ridiculous situations. I tried to rescue a goose yesterday that was completely mired in muck. All it did was flap its wings at me and snap its bill. I got covered in mud head to toe, which of course, Arthur witnessed. He found it very droll and laughed heartily. I was not amused, especially as the object of my attempted salvation, extracted herself from the mud and waddled off, leaving me plop in the puddle. Arthur helped me up, guffawing the whole time and it was more than I could do not to slap his insolent face! Why didn’t he help me before I got so dirty? He is no gentleman!

You know, if there were enough geese with a sense of direction, you could arm the whole countryside with them and we’d never need to shoot a musket. We could just set the whole gaggle of them squawking, flapping and biting at the enemy. Oh, I know that I’m just being as silly as a goose myself, but I am so tired of herding them out of the garden and away from poor Molly, our cow. I’m also furious at Arthur for laughing at me!

Mother says that I must control my temper and learn patience or no man will want me for a wife. Father just smiles and tells me that I should know better than to challenge a goose having a mud bath.

Good night, Janetta. Evvy and I must go wash up before bedtime. Mother doesn’t like it, but now Father and William sleep with their muskets under their beds.

Fondly, Adeline

Author’s Note: I would love some feedback about this journal. Please add a comment after reading it. Thank you. – Mollie

Adeline’s Journal: A Fictional Account of the War of 1812

silohuette of Adeline Price — Adeline Price

Author’s Note:

I wanted to find a way to recount the facts about the War of 1812 without just writing down the facts. I thought it might be fun to write a fictional diary from the point of view of a young woman of that era. The story was included in s.m.i.l.e. Magazine, a magazine put together for the entertainment of nursing home, senior’s residences and hospice patients. This is the first installment.

Adeline’s Journal

May 20, 1812, Thistledown Farm in Grenville County

Dear Janetta,

Mother says that I should write “dear journal” but it seems stranger to write to an object than to my dear friend, so I have named you Janetta after my best friend back in England. Janetta is a very pretty girl with long black ringlets that she never has to wrap in rags like I do, and large lovely eyes as blue as the cornflowers here in our meadows. She and I were inseparable back in Wendover and I cried a great deal when I learned we were going to pioneer here in Upper Canada.

Father wanted me to stat writing my journal the day we left England, but my heart was to sore to put my mind to it. Now he insists that I record my experiences and adventures to improve my penmanship and composition. Frankly, this quill is much in need of repair or replacement and makes big blotches no matter how often I use the blotting paper. Whenever I write a letter I am left with spots of india ink all over my hands and even on my pinafore.

We came over from Brighton on the “Merry Gale” in 1805. I was only nine years old and very seasick. There were 212 of us on board, all from Buckinghamshire and only 203 arrived in Montreal. Sadly, nine people died on the voyage, mostly babies and small children, but two of them were elderly, a maiden aunt of mine and an old gentleman who was coming to join his son and daughter-in-law on their new farm. Aunt Cicely was sixty-two and suffered greatly from gout, so at least she is no longer in pain. She never would have stood the trip to Bytown from Montreal. From Bytown we traveled by horse and cart over the most treacherous route ( I wouldn’t call it a road by any means) until we reached our destination north of the St. Lawrence River. Father’s older brother had received 100 acres for military service during the American Rebellion. When Uncle Andrew died of yellow fever in 1802, my father inherited it because Uncle Andrew had no immediate heirs. Father came here a hear before Mother, my brothers William and Henry, Evvy and I, to ready the house – actually build a proper house, as Uncle Andrew had been living in a very small log cabin.

When we arrived, Father and a neighbour had just finished the roof of our cabin. We lived in that cabin for four years and then Father and William built us the lovely stone house we have now. It doesn’t have thatch on the roof like our home in England, the wooden roof is tarred and shingled and keeps us dry.

William is the oldest of our family. I am sixteen and he is three years older. He is courting a young woman on a farm north of here in the next township. Her name is Elizabeth and she is somewhat plain, but she sews and knits wonderfully. Mother says that her conversation is very genteel and she has a sweet disposition.

My sister, Evaline, is twelve and my brother, Henry eight (almost nine). Sadly, our little sister Virginia, was just three years old when she caught whooping cough in 1809. She was the first burial in our cemetery near the apple orchard.

There is a great deal to do on our farm. It is mostly forested. It takes Father and William days to clear one field of trees and stumps and our two horses can only plow when the field has been somewhat cleared of rocks. Of course, things go much more quickly when our neighbour’s two oldest sons come to help. We have to help each other or no one would be able to plant a crop.

Robert and Arthur Randall are helpful, but they both think ,because I am the nearest girl of marriageable age that they are both courting me as well as helping Father. Nothing could be further from my mind. They are strong, but roughly mannered. Father tells me to take my time getting engaged, but Mother thinks I am too particular.

Evaline makes fun of Robert and Arthur, especially when they both come calling at the same time, because of course, they have just the one farm cart to share. They always come calling on the Sabbath which interrupts our quiet afternoon and it sets my teeth on edge the way they jostle each other to sit near me on the settle.

It is difficult to meet good prospective husbands when we are so far from polite society. Mother says that if we were still in Wendover there would be fairs and market days that would bring suitable young men into town, but out here we have to rely on our neighbours and their kin for prospective husbands. I just dread the thought that I might be fated to marry Robert or Arthur. William teases me constantly by calling me “Mistress Randall”. Unfortunately, his sweetheart, Elizabeth, has only two sisters, no brothers, or I would perhaps have more choice.

In the meantime, I am sewing whatever I can whenever I can for my bridal trunk. I have made two sets of sheets, four pillow cases and I am starting to work on patches for a quilt. Mother says that Father will set up a quilt frame in our parlour when all the blocks are ready and we will invite tour lady neighbours in for a quilting bee.

Father says that there are rumours of unrest along the border with the United States . The natives have been complaining about the numbers of settlers moving into their territory around Lake Michigan. He speaks about a leader called Tecumseh, who is trying to unite the tribes there. There have been raids on the settlements.

Evidently, the army is planning to add more soldiers to Fort Wellington so we will be seeing more of our countrymen in the area in the days to come. Mother doesn’t like to hear Father speaking of border problems. She is worried that William would be eager to enlist. She remembers the anguish that Grandma went through when both my maternal uncles were pressed into the navy. Well, Old Boney is causing trouble again and Father thinks the Old Country is too busy with him to bother much about what is happening over here. I hope he is wrong.

In the meantime, Spring is here and we are swatting mosquitoes and black flies again. They do make our nights miserable. The only thing we can do is swat as many as we can after the door is closed and before our candle is blown out. Then Evvy and I jump under the covers on our bed for protection.

Father, William and Henry are planting cereal crops of oats and barley. When the hay is high enough we will all be needed to cut it and stook it. Father says we may even get enough good weather this summer to take off two lots of hay. Evvy and I are busy helping Mother clean out the house, wash the winter laundry, clean the chicken coop, make tallow candles, and do the mending. We are also planting the kitchen garden with carrots, parsnips, turnips, potatoes, onions and beans. Life is so full of chores we hardly have time for lessons, but every night, Mother gets us to read from the Bible and write paragraphs from the book she has on home remedies. Her father taught her to read and write and she wants to make sure that her children are not ignorant. She says it will improve our penmanship, spelling and teach us how to treat illnesses at the same time. I now know how to make about ten different poultices for every kind of injury and illness, but baking a good loaf of bread without burning it seems beyond my powers.

So you see, Janetta, I had better take my leisure choosing a suitor because I will need all the time I can to learn what a bride must know about caring for a household.

Farewell for now, Janetta. Mother is calling Evvy and me to go fetch Molly, our milk cow.

Your’s truly,

Adeline Price.

Word Game Obsession

We are word game junkies and pushers for that matter. Scrabble is a family obsession, but we will try any game that involves words. The photo above is one of my mother, ninety-two years old, pondering her next move. Mom was having trouble with dementia at the time but not when it came to Scrabble. She would start off with a few small words, but after a warm-up we noticed she was going for the triple word scores. Got to love it.

My dad was suffering from cancer and taking heavy drugs for the pain which caused him to be drowsy. He would fall asleep during lulls between turns, but he would wake up and put down a word using all his tiles. ” Damn,” we’d all complain, “we can’t even beat you on morphine.” We sure miss our favourite gamesters now.

My brother, sister and I, (and now all our children) grew up playing Scrabble, but we also enjoyed playing other word games. We even played car games with words. On long car trips we’d play alphabet games such as “Hangman” or “I Packed My Suitcase and In It I Put….” or naming countries or celebrities using the last letter in the name to make the first letter in the next name. Word games were a relief after the umpteenth chorus of “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” or “Ten Little Monkeys Jumping On the Bed”.

Now we did play other board games like “Monopoly” and “Life”, but our favourite games involved words. “Balderdash” is a lot of fun because it introduces very obscure words for which each player has to supply a possible meaning and everyone must choose the one they think is the real definition. We laugh a lot in this game as most of the daffy definitions are quite funny. There are games in which you have a time limit to list items beginning with a certain letter or in a particular category (eg. fruits that are red). Games in which you must give a clue to another player are fun as well, whether they involve miming, words or drawing.

Our family has had its fad games of the moment as well. We all became enthusiastic about “Trivial Pursuit”, taking special pride in that it was a Canadian game. My husband and I own at least five different versions. As a matter of fact, we have a cupboard full of board games. I’m hoping that as our grandchildren get older the games will see a lot more action.

I don’t know where the root of our fascination with words began, but I suspect it was with a mother and father who loved the spoken and written word. They read to us at bedtime and any other time we wanted it. My father enjoyed reading aloud and my husband does too. He read aloud to our children at bedtime from wonderful fantasy novels and he would individualize each character’s voice. Our children loved it and so did I. Over time during our marriage, we have also read aloud to one another from the Bible, poetry and fiction. Listening has advantages over watching television. The imagination is a wonderful entertainment tool.

Thank God for our voices. Words are an amazing treasure. They become tales around a campfire, poetry to a lover, lullabies for a baby, and cues to an actor on stage. In music, words can open up the locked mind of a person with alzheimers, even for the briefest moments. As well, if you are in need of some solitary entertainment, pick up a crossword puzzle or a scrambled word puzzle. Or crack open the box of “Spill and Spell”. Word games are presents that keep on giving, especially in this family.

Word Play

A Flowery Love Note

O my Lily of the valley,

Violet me kiss your tulips

In the morning glory.

Though Lilac a basket of gold

Hyacinth you candy tuft,

So, forget-me-not

Forsythia my solomons seal:

That Iris to be your honeysuckle,

The clover to freesia from my anemones –

And gardenia from creeping Phlox and Daffodil.

To whom I say, “Begonia dandelions!”

And soothe your bleeding heart.

I may yet periwinkle,

But fuschia not lupine for me.

The coral bells are ringing and the rooster crocus

I sing with euphorbia,

Dyanthus for your love.

Poet’s P.S. – I’m gladiolus is over.

The above poem is the result from someone with far too much to do and no time to waste while Procrastinating. 😀 The clip art is thanks to Dover Publications.

Inveterate Night Owl

I am the daughter of a night owl and a grand-daughter of a night owl. My children are also night owls. It is truly a genetic strain. It can also be a strain on a relationship, especially if your partner is a day person. Day people do not understand night owls. Any activity after midnight is a deliberate assault on their person. Night life is definitely much quieter, fewer distractions (eg. meals to prepare) and thus concentration is uninterrupted. Besides, my brain seems to get what must be akin to a caffeine kick around midnight. It is very hard to try and sleep when your mind is abuzz with ideas and concerns.

My husband believes that I am a worry wart and I suppose he is partially right. If I am not tired enough to sleep, I spend my time thinking about other concerns.

Word Addiction

My name is Mollie and I am a word addict. It is a daily habit, I’m afraid. I read everything in front of me; the backs of cereal boxes, the sides of aerial sprays, the contents of tins, newspapers, and catalogues. I love catalogues. I collect words; big words, small words, unusual words, outdated words, even foreign words. I play word games; Scrabble, Words With Friends, cross words, scrambled words, Balderdash, Lexulous, and any other word game that comes into my range of vision. I love the look of words, the shape of words and the sound of words. A blank sheet of paper is exciting. I could cover that page with words, in different patterns, in different forms of poetry or prose, even in different colours of ink. I get excited when I visit someone who has magnetic words to make poetry on their refrigerator. I spend hours working with words, typing them out, writing them down, turning them around. I’m a word manipulator. I mainline dictionaries and the thesaurus. I love the phone book and the world atlas because of the names of people and places. It’s an incurable habit.

I would love to say that my addiction only affects me. Unfortunately, this is not so. My addiction causes me to delay meals, neglect laundry, ignore dust bunnies, and burn baking. It is a terrible predicament but, I’m incorrigible and unrepentant. When it comes to words, I am totally uninterested in a cure.

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