Over the years, the greatest pleasure and inspiration of the hardy pioneer woman was her family, a strong and traditional partnership which has always survived and thrived because of the rugged but special closeness they shared together by hard work and play and through countless successes and hardships. Let us not pity these farm women of days gone by, because through it all, they always had their moments of pride, excitement, and pleasure, and that same dedicated and proud tradition has carried on to this very day, especially at harvest time.
There is no doubt that these great ladies are still pleasantly surprised when the cranky old clucking hen ushers her newly hatched clutch of chicks into the barnyard for the first time, and when her hope becomes happiness when the newborn heifer calf is being fussed over by the old milk cow. A lady’s pride and passion will always be in her garden, in her cooking, in presenting her children scrubbed and clean just in time for school or church on Sunday, and in sharing the many joys and successes as well as just a few trials and tribulations alongside her husband and partner each and every day. Today there are likely not as many armfuls of wood and pails of water to carry in, and while the old cook stove may have changed just a little over the years, there will always be homemade bread and cookies as well as that intimate family circle gathered around the supper table or the flickering fire after a very long day.
A day in harvest time.
Today, some spry old-timer might dare to suggest that modern farm women have an easier time of it, and this delightful account by Nettie Gerber from one of our district history books will surely convince us that the glorious harvest will always be the busiest and most traditional time of the busy year down on the farm.
“Breakfast is over and the children are off the school with lunches packed, books and homework located and last minute instructions given and received and so now, my day’s work is just beginning. I soak the yeast for bread and put a load of clothes inside the washer and then mix the bread, with all that punching and kneading always being good for any first thing in the morning frustrated feelings. Out to the garden next for potatoes, carrots, onions, peas, lettuce and late radishes, then dash back to the house to find that the wash is finished and I have to lug it out to hang it up on the line, then come back to pop in another load. All farm women know that it takes quite a long time to shell peas, scrub potatoes and clean all the other vegetables, and then stop just in time to get dinner ready for a hungry gang of men by making the dressing for the chicken, and then popping the old bird into the hot oven. The beets in the garden are ready for pickling, so I will dig up a few pail-fulls, and thank goodness for warm breezes because the first batch of laundry is dry, and I can hang up another one. As I hurry to wash and rewash the beets I look at the clock and realize that it will soon be dinner time, so put on the veggies to cook, gather up dishes, make gravy, set out a jug of water, and congratulate myself for making two pies yesterday for dessert.
Meanwhile the bread is about to rise over the pan, so I have to stop and make it into loaves before I embark on four trips out to the trusty old half ton with all the goodies, then head out to the field to find the combines, with hopes that the boys are all close together. When the chaff and dust is all settled, I spread the food and dishes out on the truck’s end gates, then the men quickly help themselves and sit down on the wooden boxes around the card table that I nearly forgot to bring. After they have finished and left and the dust has cleared, I will pack up the leftovers and take them home for my dinner, but only after three trips to unload it all. After too short a lunch I realize that the bread is ready for the oven, then will put the beets on to cook, drop some soup bones into the pressure cooker, find and wash the pickle jars, wash the dinner dishes, take the clothes off the line, then fold and put most of the clothes away because these synthetic fabrics don’t have to be ironed anymore like they used to.
Here comes the school bus and now the children are ready for snacks and conversation, in between which I will have to start getting dinner ready. The kids suggest corn on the cob for supper, so away I go to the garden to get some, and then realize with horror what the time is, grab a fresh loaf of bread, a dish of butter, and some leftover cake and head out to field again. Some of the truck drivers are late, but frustrations are a part of daily life for everyone on a busy farm, so we take one day at a time and always do the best we can. In the meantime it’s back to the house and maybe even a few moments to sit down, read a few chapters of my favourite romance novel, and then start to plan supper? This has been a typical day, but then again some days aren’t so busy and others are worse, but the bread smells great, the pickles are good, and we are all looking forward to the district picnic on the weekend.”
There are days when ‘mom’ has to answer a dozen phone calls, go to Ponoka for repairs and supplies, then later chauffer ‘kids’ to lessons or sports. Many times you had to take the baby along out to the fields, then come home and tend to the rest of the flock who were suffering from those pesky everyday illnesses and gripes. Our way of life, with all our conveniences is much different from that of our parents and grandparents, but we can still be very busy. However, just as they did, when the grain is in the bin and the garden gathered in, we count our blessings with a feeling of satisfaction for a job well done. May your harvest, big or small, be bountiful, and may your celebrations be cherished and enjoyed as a family all year round.