As I listened to my daughter fall asleep the other night I heard her breathing shift and begin to change as she fell into slumber.  And I became aware of a sound I wasn’t familiar with, not at bedtime at least.  I asked if she was awake and she grunted.  But the sound is heard continued.  I asked if she was okay. “Uhm hmm” was her reply.  No words.  That got me worried.  I asked if she was crying.  She said, “I’m laughing.  I’m having good memories.”  I continued to listen to her muffled laughter until she truly fell asleep.  A few days later, I was handed some advise; “No matter where you are in life, no matter how much money you have, remember where you come from, and then you’ll always be happy.”

I grew up at Candle Lake. It’s always going to be my hometown.  We lived there until I was fourteen before we moved north of Prince Albert.  Life was good at Candle Lake.  It was a Resort Village back then and our family lived on an acre of land in Torch Lake Subdivision.

When Dad built the house he had a dream of opening a restaurant.  He got to the point of having a final inspection and then they’d be able to open.  Whatever he’d used to finish the walls wasn’t approved and he’d have to change it or simply not open the business.  He put a door up between the dining room and kitchen, sealing one room from the other, and we never went in there.  I was quite old when that door finally came down and I went inside.  It was a beautiful room.  Two large windows overlooked the garden and natural stand of trees. Lush ferns surrounded the windows and there was wild life to entertain us with their antics as they foraged for food.  The room impressed me, maybe because I hadn’t been there before.  And it wasn’t too long before it was used for storage.  

Dad had a huge ten frame honey extractor.  He’d always dreamed of giving each of the boys a bee yard so they were in charge of harvesting the honey.  I can’t say the boys seemed to enjoy tending bees.  And only the youngest of the three ever seemed interested in Dad’s equipment after he passed.  By that time, the major pieces were gone and I’m not sure what happened to them.  All I remember is Dad bought an old school bus and we took out all the seats except the first four.  We used it to transport our gardening harvest and bees/boxes of honey.  It was in the bus I learned that even when a bee is dead, I can still be stung if I accidentally lean against the stinger.  Who knew?

I wanted to help with the honey extraction and the boys figured out it saved time and effort if I uncapped the bee frames.  There was a special tool that resembled a vertical vegetable peeler.  When it was plugged into an electrical outlet, the peeler part heated up and melted the beeswax and honey away, exposing the honey combs on the frame.  The frames were then placed in the extractor and locked down.  It was electric so when everyone cleared the extractor, the switch was turned on and the spinning machine forced the honey out of the frames and into a reservoir at the bottom of the unit.  There’s nothing like fresh honey samples as it’s taken from the extractor!  But what’s even tastier was all that wax I’d melted from the frames.  We’d each grab a piece and chew on the bees wax much like a child would chew on bubble gum.  I don’t know what she did with it but Mom knew how to get the honey out of the wax as well.  Now I see people buy jars of honey and it’s liquid all the time.  I don’t know how the people preparing the honey for market do that.  When our honey cooled, it was solid and white.  Summer was the best time for us to really enjoy it because it was always in a liquid state then.  Otherwise, we’d put white honey on our toast and watch as it melted to liquid.  My favourite way to have the honey was to put it on the stove to heat up.  As it began to melt, I’d stir the honey until it resembled soft serve ice cream: soft enough to spread but still white, creamy and so gooey.  I’ve seen recipes for adding different flavours to honey such as lavender or cinnamon.  Dad used to have specific bee yards where farmers planted specific crops.  Then the bees would harvest the flowers and the honey was naturally infused with flavours such as Alfalfa and Canola.  There’s a reason why Tisdale had the slogan back in the day that read “Land of Rape and Honey” with a huge bee as visitors entered the town.  By the way, when I was a girl, Canola was known as rape. I wasn’t being offensive.  M

any of the farmers in the Tisdale area grew Canola (Rape) and there were bee keepers in the area as well. 

My memories don’t just centre around honey.  Looking back at the layout of the kitchen in our house, it wouldn’t have made sense in a restaurant setting.  The middle of the room had an ‘L’ shaped counter/cupboard space.  On one side was the fridge and propane stove/oven.  On the other side was the sink for doing dishes and an extremely long counter top covered in silver metal.  I’m not sure what that was originally intended for but it held various kitchen gadgets, dishes and utensils for our family.  If the room had been a restaurant, I’m not sure who would have liked to have watched their meal made and the dishes washed while they ate at the counter. So maybe it’s a good thing this particular dream didn’t come to fruition.

But my childhood holds other memories near and dear to my heart.  I knew I wanted to write and I remember writing short stories prolifically.  I loved the drama of murder mysteries so many plot twists and turns poured out of my pen onto paper.  They are long gone now but I wonder what I would have done with those stories had I kept them?  No one saw the value of keeping them so once they were written out of me they likely ended up in the trash.  And that’s okay - they’d probably be embarrassing for me to look at now and see where my juvenile mind was back then.

My memories include wide open spaces with no light pollution. There were nights we just laid on the ground and watched the sky as Northern Lights danced from one side of the sky to the other, in so many spectacular colours!  The Milky Way painted a white cloud against the dark sky and we’d see the occasional shooting star, always making a wish whenever we saw one.  My wish was always the same.  I wanted … nope, I’m not ready to disclose that yet.  It still leaves me red in the face and embarrassed.  Let’s just say it’s good advice when people warn, “Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.”  That’s very true. 

But it was in that same sky we watched Halley’s Comet cause a sensation in the summer or fall of 1986 I think it was.  The comet was visible to the naked eye (no telescopes or binoculars needed to observe it) and it only passed by the earth every 75 - 80 years.  If I’m still here in 2061, maybe I’ll see it again.  I’ll be close to 90 years old then so it’s possible.

I come from going to the beach whenever I wanted to, walking everywhere I wanted to be and leaving the house in the morning and not returning until the sun began to set.  It was a time when life was carefree.  We would pick glass pop bottles from the ditch and return them to the store for a refund.  Then we’d divide our quarters to last throughout the week so we could go play Pac Man at the local arcade.  Life was about getting my first jobs - in the winter, chopping wood for the neighbour.  In exchange he taught me how to shoot a gun and drive stick shift (manual).  In the summer, I sorted minnows. I was proud to know my work provided food on the table for those who used the minnows as bait when fishing. 

Mostly, the happiest of times were spent outside in nature.  Even now, when the stress of life becomes a burden getting away to the quiet of a forest, away from human contact, where only the animals roam is a grounding and rejuvenating experience for me.  And when I think back, I remember singing myself to sleep.  I’d review the day in my head and I’d laugh at some of the things I’d seen and done.  I can’t remember the last time I really laughed.  It’s been a very long time since I attempted to sing - other than in worship or as a lullaby for my children.  Maybe that advice I got is spot on - if I remember where I come from, no matter where I am now, I’ll be happy.  I don’t know.  I’ve painted a happy picture with my words but life wasn’t all good.  There were plenty of challenges too but I chose to gloss over them. I guess I’ll have to take some more time walking down memory lane and find out where happiness is. All I know for sure is this: as I listen to my children singing and laughing as they fall asleep, I feel content.  And that’s as close to happy as anyone can be, I think. Their happiness is my happiness.  Are you happy?  I hope so!

Take care and have a great week, everyone.