My Home Away From Home

From the time I was very young, I spent part of my summer holidays with Grandma and Grandpa Johnston on their farm in southeastern Alberta. They lived on the bald prairie under cloudless blue skies, close to the Saskatchewan border. Since I had always lived in villages, spending time on a farm was exciting. It was also significantly better than any summer camp—one year Mom and Dad sent me to a summer camp and I hated it so much they had to come to take me home.

Dad was one of thirteen children raised by my grandparents, and at the time that I stayed with them, some of them still lived at home, either going to school, working, or helping run the farm. As a result, I became part of their family, experiencing what it was like to grow up on a farm, with Grandma and Grandpa temporarily substituting as my parents and my aunts and uncles becoming like my older brothers and sisters.

Grandma fed me, washed my clothes, boiled water when I needed a bath, and made sure I went to bed on time. She was always cheerful and put everyone’s needs before her own. Grandma loved playing cards and I enjoyed playing with her and my aunts and uncles at the kitchen table in the evening after chores. What I appreciate the most about Grandma is that she had a mother’s touch to let me know she cared about me.

Grandpa was a farmer, but to me, he was a cowboy. He wore cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, rolled his own cigarettes, had a big buckle on his belt, and liked to drink whiskey. He also rode a horse at branding time. Grandpa was gone most of the day, but sometimes I would see him driving a tractor or in his shop repairing equipment. In the evening he also liked to play cards and would often join in for a game of Smear. He also liked to play Solitaire, and I would sit next to him, watching and learning how to play. Grandpa was not much for words, so his way of showing affection was teasing and tickling me while giving me a whisker burn.  

The farmhouse that my grandparents lived in was a two-story unpainted cedar house, with five bedrooms, a kitchen, a pantry, and a living room. It had no plumbing. As a result, it didn’t have a bathroom and hot water for either washing or cleaning—the outhouse was the only option if mother nature called. It also didn’t have central heating, so on bitter days, coal was burned in a potbelly stove in the living room. It did, however, have electricity for lights, but my grandma still cooked on an old coal-burning stove.

The front door opened directly into the kitchen beside the sink to wash dirty hands, and two galvanized buckets filled with drinking water were filled from the water well. There were hooks at the rear of the kitchen for hanging coats along with an old fashion crank phone, and a gun rack to store rifles and bullets. In the corner was a large oak table and mounted behind it were horns from the ox that brought Grandpa’s family to Alberta.

My grandparents had a large farm. There were two shops, bunkhouses, animal shelters, corrals, a chicken coop, and several granaries. The furthest building from the house was a large red hip roof barn. There was a shelterbelt of popular trees, old vehicles and farm equipment left to rust next to the shops, and a vegetable garden. There were also sections of fenced land for growing crops and pasture for cattle and horses. 

The house was Grandma’s domain. There were always delicious smells emanating from the kitchen, like freshly baked bread. My favorite snack was Grandma’s bread, spread with jam and homemade butter washed down with a cold glass of freshly separated milk. Grandma didn’t just cook and clean, she also helped with the chores and got everyone up in the morning. I still remember her calling upstairs in a stern voice, ordering my uncles to come down for breakfast.

I enjoyed helping with chores, but I wasn’t strong enough to be much help. Chores included feeding all the animals, milking the cows, and separating the milk. I tried helping Grandma churn butter, but even that took a lot of strength. One job I could do was fetch water and that is why I have a chipped tooth. One day when I was pumping water, I leaned too far forward and bumped the pump handle. It’s now a pleasant reminder of my summers spent at my grandparents’ farm.

Like any farm, there were lots of animals besides the livestock, including two dogs, Rex and Scout, who lived under the front porch stairs. Rex was a Collie, and Scout was a black dog with an unknown pedigree. They were friendly dogs, always eager to greet me and wanting me to scratch them behind the ears. They were working dogs, helping to bring in the milk cows and guarding the chicken coop against coyotes sniffing around at night looking for a meal.

There were also cats and kittens in the barn. I liked to get leftover roast beef and dangle it from a string and make them jump and catch it. Most of the kittens were wild, and when I tried playing them, I would come back with my arms torn to shreds. I loved watching the cats lick milk in the air as my uncles shoot streams of milk into their mouths while milking the cows.

I also played with the chickens, which was not the wisest form of entertainment. One day when I was collecting eggs, I spent too much time in the chicken coop and ended up getting lice. Grandma was not pleased. She filled the metal bathtub with hot soapy water and scrubbed my hair until she removed all the lice. This is the only time I remember annoying Grandma.

The animal that I liked the most on my grandparents’ farm was the horses. My uncles taught me how to ride and every summer I looked forward to riding Paint. Paint was a black and white pinto, the slowest and tamest horse, perfect for learning to ride. She was such a gentle horse I could grab binder twine as a bridle and ride her bareback. As I got older, I rode Sam, a much faster horse, but everyone knew I wasn’t an experienced rider and kept me away from horses used for rodeos.

Not only did my grandparents have horses for riding, but they also had a herd of wild horses. They let them range on a section of land, and I enjoyed watching them come in from the pasture and drink from a water trough close to the barn. Every summer, there were colts, which were frisky and fun to watch. One time, the horses stampeded after getting spooked. I have not forgotten the sound and the sight of dust kicked up by their hooves as they galloped down the field.

I was never bored staying with my grandparents. Every morning when I heard the rooster crowing, I was eager to start my day and play outside. I loved the prairie morning and feeling the warmth of the rising sun, and smelling the air filled with aromas from the prairie and barnyard. Sometimes Uncle Robert, the youngest in my dad’s family, would let me hang around with him. We had a lot of fun building hay forts, riding horses, sleeping in the hayloft, or making trips to the slough to catch toads. It was only when I got older that I realized he was looking after me, which was expected in a large family like that of my grandparents.

I never got homesick staying with my grandparents, not only because I was having fun, but also because I was with my family, including all my cousins, uncles, aunts, great uncles, great aunts, and second cousins who would visit. My grandparents’ home was my home away from home, and that to me is what being a grandparent is about.