A Day on the Pond

Winter is a great time to be a kid in rural Newfoundland. Frosty days would find us racing down hills on those new Christmas sleds, copying pans out in the harbour (as long as the parents didn't find out), and building forts and snowmen in the fields. But best of all were the afternoons spent on the pond.

We'd set out early, shouldering skates and hockey sticks. Come home when the street lights come on, Mom would say, but we didn't always, not when the evening was calm, the ice was like glass, and the score was tied.

You miss these things in the city, and so this perfect Boxing Day gave us the chance to take the kids to the pond, and us back to our youth.

We shuffled out on skates and boots - kids, parents and grandparents - slipping and sliding with increasing confidence and excitement. Even the dogs caught on after a few false starts. The ice was flawless, the wind was still, and for a few hours, we were all kids again.

When the shadows grew long it was time to make our way back through the woods toward home, three generations glad for the gift of the perfect winter afternoon.

Canada Day

A fabulous day in my home town. The pictures say it better than I can.

 

April

we still remain here
in winter's territory
spring is not ready

Dark Water

Long Winter

I'm alone in the house, I put the dog outside, her leash gets tangled at the foot of the back steps. I shove on my big winter boots and trudge outside to free her. It's getting dark, she starts to whimper and I think, "If this were a horror movie, the monster would attack right about now."

Winter here is long, and cold, and desolate. It makes for some great atmosphere. When you're listening to the wind howl around the house on a stormy night, it's not hard to let your imagination run away with you. I've spent many evenings watching the snow fall, planning how I would dig my way out if it never stopped.

If I haven't been around much it's because I've been shoveling. A lot. Then trying to warm up again. Then more shoveling.

There have also been some pleasant evenings spent reading or writing. Cabin fever doesn't get much time to set in when you take advantage of the weather - snowshoeing, sledding, and most recently, teaching our youngest the art of cross-country skiing. And more shoveling.

Just two more months to go.

Holiday Traditions

The holidays arrive each year with the hustle and bustle of shopping, baking, travelling, cooking, and visiting. It's a common complaint, that there is just too much to be done. But once the preparations are over, the fun begins, and most of it can be found in special holiday traditions.

© Danielle Loranger

Newfoundland has many traditions, most originating in Ireland and England, brought over by settlers and kept alive over the years. One of Newfoundland's best known customs is mummering or janneying. Mummering consists of dressing up in whatever you happen to have lying around the house. The better you conceal your identity, the greater the fun. Groups go "out in the mummers" or "the fools", visiting family and friends for a drink and a "mug up", often bringing along musical instruments to entertain their hosts. It is a rule among the mummers that your identity cannot be revealed until your host guesses it correctly.

It's been years since I've been out in the mummers. I miss the fun of throwing together a disguise, laughing our way from house to house, guitars and bodhrans and uglysticks in tow.


Another house visiting tradition is the visitation of the wren. The Wren was traditionally done on Boxing Day. Visitors would take a small effigy of a bird and recite this poem:

The wren, the wren, the king of all birds. 

St. Stephen’s Day he was caught in the furze.

Although he was little, his honour was great.

Rise up kind lady and give us a treat.

Up with the kettle, and down with the pan.

Give us a penny to bury the wren.

A pocketful of money, a cellar full of cheer.

And we wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

The visitor would then be offered food or money for the performance.

The tradition of the wren was beginning to die out in our part of the province, so it was nice to see it revived again this year. A local woman and a group of young helpers visited and performed The Wren, then offered each house they visited a small bird ornament. It was a wonderful boxing day treat.

Of course, every family has their own holiday traditions, from special meals to family activities centered around the holiday. Even when you think you don't have them, they're lurking about. Our Christmas Eve tradition began several years ago when a power outage ruined our plans for the evening dinner. We passed the time at Bowring Park where the trees glistened with multi-coloured lights. We walked around the park, fed the ducks, and had some good quality family time. Then we went to Pizza Hut and had a very nontraditional Christmas Eve meal. And that started a tradition that lasts to this day.

Here's hoping you enjoy your holidays, and that whatever traditions you hold dear make the coming year extra special.

Remembrance Day

I wanted to write something for Remembrance Day, something meaningful. Something profound. I tried, but three words kept coming to mind that made everything I wrote seem hollow.

I visited the memorials at Beaumont-Hamel and Vimy Ridge, walked the rows of white gravestones, and read those three words again and again.

Known Unto God.



Young men left everything they knew to fight for their country. They were buried, nameless, in tidy white rows. Known unto God.

How could I even begin to express the depth of those words?


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What I can do is tell you about my grandfather. He left home at the age of twenty-one to represent his island in the second world war. He was not a soldier, he was the son of a fisherman. Though he knew nothing of war, he knew of the sea - knowledge that would serve him well in the British Royal Navy.

Home on leave, he married my grandmother, a lively young woman who dearly loved her red-haired boy.



When the war ended, he put it all behind him and began to build - a house, a family, a life. He would often talk of his years in the navy, of the places he saw, the people he met. He never spoke of the war.

Sill, each November he puts on his Legion uniform, visits the memorial, and lays a wreath. He remembers.

And so do we.

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This year, Pop is 92 years old and will once again put on his Legion uniform for Remembrance Day. His children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren are all very proud of him.