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The Legacy of Lace

Alanna's Christening — Alanna’s Christening

When our daughter was born I was absolutely thrilled. We had three sons and now we had a daughter I could fuss over. When she was old enough, about three months, I was at last able to dress her completely in the Irish point lace robe and bonnet that Bud’s great grandmother O’Brien had made. This robe had been used in three, now four generations of the family.

The photo above shows some of the detail but hardly does it justice. It is absolutely exquisite and has been handed down to us along with some very dainty collars, also point lace. When I think of the hours of patient tatting it took to produce such amazing handiwork, I feel very humbled indeed. I made three afghans (one each for three grandchildren) that in no way compare to such artistry. Now I want to preserve some of this loveliness for each of my grandchildren. I think perhaps the pieces should be carefully washed and set in a suitable frame. I will need to research just what will be the safest way to do that. They are wonderful treasures that need to be passed down.

I also have a dainty sampler embroidered back in 1846 by my great, great aunt. My mother had it put in a rich cherry frame and it sits above the organ in our living room. Across the room from it is the oak desk built for my grandmother from shipping timber by my great grandfather who was a ship’s carpenter. These objects are treasured, not only because of their age, but because of the loving thought that went into making them. I hope that something my husband and I have made will have as much meaning to our future generations. Even more than these things though, I treasure the faith that was passed down to me. That legacy is priceless and it is be my deepest desire to pass it on to my grandchildren. I pray that it will be so.

Butterfly Lullaby for Eilish

Here is the lullaby I wrote for my granddaughter, Eilish.

The Butterfly Lullaby

For Eilish

Where do butterflies sleep

When they go to bed?

There’s a green grassy place

For their wings to spread.

Where do high-flying birds

Find a spot to rest?

They can cuddle right down

In a leafy nest.

Where do tiny mice go

When the wind turns cold?

As daylight is fading

They find a snug hole.

Where does my sleepy one

Lay her tired head?

My arms and my lap make

A cozy warm bed.

I will sing you to sleep

With my heart’s own song

When the sky becomes dark

And the moonbeams long.

A New Hymn for Sunday

Here is the hymn I wrote for the lectionary passage for this Sunday (Matthew 5: 13-20).

Salt and Light

8/7/8/7

Salt and light our Saviour calls us,

Salt and light so we must be,

Sharing hope and truth with others

With our love and empathy.

Salt and light our Saviour named us,

Pure and honest we must be,

Consecrate our days to Jesus

So God’s kingdom we will see.

Salt and light we must be bearing,

Pain and hatred to confound.

It’s God’s love that we are sharing;

Spread it gently all around.

Little One – Another Lullaby

Little One

A lullaby for my granddaughter Kaytlyn

The world is turning, Little One,

The sun’s gone out of sight.

It’s time to close your eyelids now

As day turns into night.

The woolly lambs are in their fold,

The bunnies are in bed.

Even squirrels up in the trees

Are gathering dreams instead.

As all the stars climb in the sky

And half the world’s asleep,

God’s angels guard us, Little One,

And in his love we’ll keep.

Oh Kaytlyn, you’re my Little One,

I treasure every part.

Your tears, your signs, your smiles, your cries

Are nestled in my heart.

A Lullaby for My Grandson

I have written a lullaby for each of my three grandchildren. Here is the lullaby I wrote for my very first grandchild, our grandson, Owen.

Little Baby Wonderful

Little baby Wonderful,

Little baby mine;

The sky is full of stars tonight,

The breeze is apple wine.

Shall I rock you on the sea

Where fishes swim and leap?

The waves will sing you lullabies

Until you fall asleep.

Little baby Wonderful,

Little baby mine;

The sky is full of stars tonight,

The breeze is apple wine.

Shall I rock you in the woods,

Where forest creatures creep?

The owls will whisper fairy tales

Until you fall asleep.

Little baby Wonderful,

Little baby mine;

Your eyes are full of stars tonight,

Your breath is apple wine.

I will rock you in my arms

Where you are safe and warm,

And I will sing you lullabies

Until the day is born.

My Saviour – a winter poem

My Saviour

By Mollie McKibbon

meter= 6 6 6 6 D

Redder than cardinals

Singing up in the pine,

My Saviour’s precious blood

Was sacrificed for mine.

Softer than the new down

On a snowy owl’s breast,

My Saviour’s tender touch

Brings peace, healing and rest.

More fragrant than cedar

In the evergreen wood,

My Saviour’s promises

Are trustworthy and good.

Purer than white snowflakes

Coming down from above,

My Saviour showers me

With his blessings and love.

Adeline’s 1812 Journal: November 1813

Adeline’s 1812 Journal: November 1813

A fictional journal as it might have been written by a young woman in Grenville County during the War of 1812.

Blueberry Creek Farm Saturday, November 13, 1813

Dear Janetta,

William rode in to visit me today. There was solemn news of a huge battle at Mr. Crysler’s farm many miles east of here along the St. Lawrence shore. William said that he had reported that he, Charles and White Wolf had seen the American gunboats approaching and that Lt. Duncan Clark had warned the settlers along the river shore. The weather has been a miserable mixture of snow and sleet, not the best for a battle, but the Americans have been harassing the ships and boats on the river for some time, so an attack was expected.

First of all, William relieved my mind about Charles, Father, And the Randalls. All of them got through the battle without major wounds, thank the Lord, but sadly, Charles’ friend, John Thompson, was killed instantly right beside Arthur Randall in the last skirmish. The Americans had been hit hard and seemed to be retreating, although our soldiers were greatly outnumbered. Suddenly, one company wheeled round and began advancing towards our men. Our troops led by Lt. Colonel Morrison and Major Heriot fought very valiantly and in the melee John was killed and Arthur wounded in his left hand. The doctor was able to remove the bullet and bind it. The settler women nearby were helping to find the wounded and aid the doctor.

I was thrilled to hear of how bravely our young men acted along beside the professional soldiers and I was grateful to William for coming to let me know that my dear Charles was still hale. The militia is pursuing the Americans, but I am trying not to be too concerned. I am keeping myself busy while I wait for Charles to return. I have completely cleaned our cabin, shaken out all our blankets, quits and coverlets and I have made some drapery for around our bed out of two old quilts mother gave me. They will help keep out the cold. I filled our kindling box, trapped some rabbits just like Father taught Henry and me. I’m glad Father taught us how to snare partridge and grouse too, as I don’t think I could shoot well enough to bring down anything as large as a deer or even manage to drag it back home through the woods. Besides, musket balls are scarce now. I must save them for the stray lynx, fox or bobcat that might try stealing our few chickens.

William didn’t stay long as he was anxious to see Elizabeth. Her time is getting close. Their baby is to be born in December. I do hope all will go well. However, I could tell from Williams face, when he first arrived that the battle must have been horrible. He had promised Charles he would stop by. I shall keep myself very busy as it helps the time pass and I will do less fretting. I hope Charles returns home soon.

I was hoping that William might have a letter from Charles’ parents in England. We have been expecting one as Charles has written them about our wedding. I expect it has been delayed by the war against Napoleon or perhaps the mail was seized by the Americans. I did hope to have good news to tell my dearest. I miss him so and I won’t be truly happy until I see him here by our hearth.

Longingly, Adeline

Blueberry Creek Farm Monday, November 15, 1813

Dear Janetta,

Heaven be praised! Charles returned home today. Pirate and I ran out to meet him through the wet snow and I could hardly let go of him once he’d dismounted. He looked so very weary. I could see that the battle had taken a toll on his spirits and his body. He stabled his horse and I got to work preparing a hot luncheon. We had the two rabbits I had snared in a good stew with some of the root vegetables from Thistledown Farm. I made a batch of biscuits and for the final course we had blueberry bread pudding. Charles declared himself well satisfied and we sat for awhile drinking hot tea while he described the battle. He said that although our men were outnumbered by the Americans, clever planning by our commanding officers and the help of the Indian warriors like White Wolf and his people turned the tide in our favour. He also said that the American army had tried to attack Montreal in Lower Canada but had been repulsed at Chậteauguay at the end of October so perhaps they know now that we are not to be easily conquered.

“Oh Addie, ” he said,”the fighting was so fierce and in all the smoke and cannon fire it was hard to tell who had the upper hand at Crysler’s farm. I can’t describe the sights and sounds, they were terrible. Young men moved down, enemy or our own, all cut down by deadly fire. There were screams, moaning, some men crying for water or their mothers or sweethearts. Poor John, I thought we would both return home unscarred, but then at the final volley from the enemy, he was done. Thank the Lord it was swift. He didn’t linger. A lot of our comrades lost legs or arms. We must pray that they recover. Some will not.”

Charles sat in silence a long while squeezing my hand. I cried for both of us.

Now Charles and Pirate have gone out to check on the animals and bring in some………

At this point the journal trails off into a sharp downward stroke of the pen and an ink blot as if the pen had been dropped.

Adeline’s 1812 Journal: Part 4

Adeline’s 1812 Journal: October 1813 -Married Life

This is a fictional journal written as it might have been by a young woman in 1812-1814. Adeline Price is the daughter of a farmer/volunteer soldier James Price and his wife, Clara Parsons. Adeline is the second oldest of four children (fifth child Victoria deceased). Her oldest brother, William is married to Elizabeth. Her sister, Evaline is 14 and her brother Henry is 10. Adeline has married Sgt. Charles Houghton, one of the soldiers stationed at Fort Wellington, at the age of 17 and they have settled on a piece of land north of Johnstown (Augusta Township) given to them by her father. Charles is the youngest son of a gentleman farmer (member of English parliament) from Buckinghamshire, England.

Adeline addresses her journal to Janetta, a dear childhood friend back in England.

Blueberry Creek Farm Sunday, October 10, 1813

Dear Janetta,

Charles just returned to Fort Wellington. It is a beautiful autumn day and the maples are all scarlet among the golden birches. As you can see, we have called our farm,”Blueberry Creek Farm” and next year I am sure to have harvested many. Mother and I did pick some this year which I have dried and use for puddings. I am becoming very domestic now, Janetta, and you would laugh to see me up to my armpits in hot water when I do the laundry. Charles says that I am the very picture of a perfect pioneer wife and her teases me that he will call me “Mrs. Scrubs” from now on. I do like to keep the cabin clean , Janetta, which is difficult when the floor is partly stone and partly wood.

Sometimes, like today, Charles and I eat out of doors on a table he made. It is pleasant to be out of the smokey cabin in the bright sunlight. We have two good-sized windows in the cabin, but they are covered with an oiled cloth, which doesn’t allow a lot of light in, so I have had to use the tallow candles unless I can leave the door open. Unfortunately, field mice will scurry inside looking for a warm winter abode, if I do. Charles has promised to replace the windows with real glass as soon as we can afford it. It will be dim inside with the shutters closed to keep out the weather, but I have made lots of candles.

I don’t have much time to pine after Charles, there is so much for me to do before winter, but I do enjoy it when he manages to get home. We have such good conversations about the books he has read and wants to share with me. Often we go walking, Pirate, our puppy, bounding ahead, around the property, planning what we will do when the war is over.

Charles hope to raise horses like his grandfather does on his farms back in England. He brought me a beautiful bay mare, that he bought from John Thompson’s brother and so now I can ride up to visit my parents or Mr. and Mrs. Randall. I have named the mare, “Goldie” and have already ridden her around the property several times. She’s a good, gentle horse of sturdy breeding, about six years old. John says his mother used to ride her, but now she sadly suffers from gout and can no longer ride.

I must check on the animals and bank the fire, before I turn into bed for the night. I love to lie there, Pirate at my feet, and listen to the owls until I fall asleep.

Your loving friend, Adeline

Blueberry Creek Farm Sunday, October 17, 1813

Dear Janetta,

Yesterday, Charles and I had our first true disagreement. He wants me to go back to Thistledown Farm until winter is over, but I much prefer to stay here and take care of our animals and the farm. In this manner I will closer to Fort Wellington and I will see more of Charles. Charles persisted until he could tell that I am as stubborn as he. He stamped out of the cabin and attacked the wood pile. I tried to make it up to him with a fresh apple pie for supper. At least I can make good pastry.

I do dislike disagreeing with my husband and I know that wives are supposed to obey, but going back to live with my family seems like taking a step backwards. This is our home and being a married couple back at Thistledown is awkward. We can’t have our silly tiffs and foolishness when others are about and I can’t indulge in my moments of anxious worry without distressing my parents. I do get lonely here without Charles, but I have Pirate and the animals. I am not so isolated now that I have Goldie to ride.

Charles rode back to the fort after breakfast this morning. He said not to expect him back for a week or so. The Americans have been making more trouble on the river. Charles, William and White Wolf are going to be patrolling the riverbank. I feel an ice-cold shiver each time he leaves, looking so noble in his red-coated uniform. How I wish I could ride along with him.

After a long hug and kiss, he left, but I didn’t watch him out of sight. Mrs. Randall always says that is bad luck, so I immediately go to work clearing up our breakfast dishes, and feeding our animals. Work gets my mind off the war. However, this time, as I lifted the hay with the pitchfork, I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched. I turned around expecting to see Charles coming back for something he’d forgotten, but I could see no one. Pirate was growling his little puppy growl though no one appeared. The feeling persisted however. I am getting more skittish as time goes on, it seems. At one point I thought I heard a horse whinny in the distance, but it must have been someone passing down the road to Johnstown.

Nervously, Adeline

Poem for the New Year

On New Year’s Eve

© by Mollie Pearce McKibbon

At the final stroke of midnight

The champagne corks were popped,

The confetti bags exploded

And all the music stopped.

Sounds of joy resounded

Throughout the neighbourhood

With high-fives, hugs and kisses

We all did what we could

To welcome in the New Year

And send the spent one out.

We’d had enough of that year

Of this there is no doubt.

I’ve vacuumed up confetti.

Collected every cork,

Washed a stack of dishes

And every knife and fork,

Rolled up all the streamers,

Brushed the sofas and the chairs.

I’ll close the drapes and lock the doors

Before I go upstairs.

For now the dawn arises.

The celebrants are in bed,

And I’m the only one around

Without a throbbing head.

Merry Poems for Christmas

My Merry Christmas poems for you!

The Battle Ornamental

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,

How can you look serene

When every year we trim you

It causes such a scene?

We begin with much excitement

One would never guess at all

That when we get the lights up

Well, we begin to brawl.

Now Mother likes the simple look;

Tree trimmed with white and gold,

While Father likes some colour,

He thinks white lights are cold.

And I prefer our ornaments

To have some extra zing-

Santas that bob back and forth

Or Christmas elves that sing.

My sister thinks that all the balls

Should be designer-made.

Her choices are artistic

And cleverly arrayed.

But the single decoration

That bother’s Pop the most

Is the shell-like apparition

Grandma sent us from the coast.

It shines, it gleams, it twinkles

And, I do not boast,

It plays a Christmas carol

About the heavenly host.

Every year Mom places it

On prominent display

Until my father spots it

And tucks it far away.

So back and forth , up and down,

It travels round our tree,

Sometimes smothered in tinsel

Or loud and proud for us to see.

When Grandma comes to dinner

Every happy Christmas day

We take bets on whether

Mother gets the final say!

Chez Noel

The chef has had a meltdown,

The waitress is berserk,

The hostess seems beside herself;

They act like I’m some jerk.

The dishes are all flying,

The washer-boy’s upset,

All because I simply

Hadn’t finished with them yet.

The chef is apoplectic,

The hostess threw her shoe;

Who’d have guessed my dinner

Would come a big to-do.

The rolls were so delicious,

And the cheesecake was unreal;

I guess I should have hurried

And not lingered at my meal.

But folks, my gosh, it’s Christmas

And the eggnog’s on the house.

Shouldn’t genrerosity

Include a hungry mouse?

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