Places in my Heart

Our south mountain farm was on the crest of a hill. The view from the field across from the house was beautiful. We could see far away into the trees and the nearby hills, all swept by the wind under the ever-changing Nova Scotia sky. We were up high, and we could see far into the distance, the purple hills and the dark green trees. It was a beautiful view, and I never got tired of it; but I loved the yard and the trees growing in the side yard even better.

I also loved the brook, down at the bottom of the hill that was the back yard. To me it was an enchanting brook. It was always flowing by, singing its little song; and there were little minnows swimming in the clear water. The water was beautiful, reflecting the sky. There was a board across it, and I remember sitting on the board with my feet in the water, watching the minnows play around my toes. I loved that brook, and I wonder now why I didn’t spend more time there.

As the brook reached the corner of the yard where the old chicken house stood, there was a big old tree and a patch of soft, wild grass on the little hill there. It was a particularly beautiful spot. I loved it so much, I often sat there in the grass under the tree. It had such a beauty to it. It was just a corner of the yard, but the configuration of the tree and the brook and the soft shaded grass, made it a tiny Eden for me.

I want the story of our farm to be more than just descriptions of what happened to us, and what it looked like. I want to capture the essence of our time there. But I realize that I can’t really do that now. It has been too long since we left it. For years I held it in my heart and hoped and prayed that someday we could go back again. But it was not to be. It is a good lesson for all of us: drink in the beauty and the essence of the place we are now in. Live deeply in the present day. There are beautiful places everywhere. Here in Truro there is Victoria Park. And in Vancouver there is incredible beauty everywhere you look.

The first year we were on our own farm I began to be homesick for Andover. I don’t know why. Partly I think it was that things were so hard for us, and nothing turned out quite as we had planned. Also, it was very lonely. Our farm was isolated and we knew few people. In Andover i had had many friends and was involved in things in the town. Here on this lonely farm, there was only the brook, the trees, the rocks in the gravel pit, and of course the animals.

The gravel pit. It was strange about the gravel pit. It was ugly, because it was a place where the soil was stripped away leaving only gravel and rocks. Some of the rocks were quite large, however, and the place was just starting to heal itself. The beginning of the healing was the appearance of the moss, the little red mosses called British Soldiers. It also had a small clump of poplars on the edge of the place closest to the house. Near the poplars was a very large rock and several others scattered nearby. This place, this rock, and the poplars became one of my favorite places to sit and dream. It was so warm and cozy in the sun. The leaves on the poplars danced and shone in the sun like the silver discs of a tambourine. I used to sit for hours, being warmed by the sun as I watched the leaves turn and dance.

It was strange, but for me the gravel pit was a pleasant and lovely place. Later on, when we had the goats, I used to take Amanda with me to the gravel pit, and we would go further back, behind some big trees into a hidden part of the rocky place. Here there was a space with a lot of big rocks scattered around. I would sit on one, and Amanda would play, jumping here and there, from one rock to another. She always had a wonderful time. And I would sit and sun myself and enjoy the beauty all around me.

Before we left, we had joined the Woodlot Owners Association, and they had planted little red pine trees all through that old gravel pit. We drove by years later, and all those trees were big grown trees. The gravel pit had changed from the British Soldiers to the tall pine trees. We never got out of the car and walked among the trees to see what the soil was like, but I like to think that it had started to grow into new soil because of the trees. I hoped it had healed itself.

There was another place that I especially remember, and that was where a huge rock sat at the edge of the meadow in the field on the other side of the road from the house. I loved to sit on that rock and look out over the meadow. And in the back of the house there was another meadow full of wildflowers. One year, on my birthday, I walked into the kitchen, and there on the kitchen table was a glass jar full of beautiful wildfowers. It was Randy’s birthday present to me. That was a long time ago, but I still remember my surprise and joy when I saw the many colors there on the kitchen table.

The kitchen was a place I loved as well. We had our cast iron, potbellied wood stove, and we also had a small, white enamel gas stove over in the corner of the kitchen, near the side door and next to the window. We had our mahogany round table in the middle of the kitchen with the stained glass light hanging over it, just as we had had in Andover. I remember the wallpaper on the kitchen walls. It was a blue and white check up over the white painted wainscoating. There were two windows in the kitchen. One looked out over the back yard hill and the other out to the side yard with the trees. That window opened out to the east. I know it was in the east because that window was one of my most beautiful memories.

For a long time I used to wake up very early in the morning, about 5:00. Everyone else was fast asleep, and I used to creep downstairs quietly and go to the kitchen. First I would light the kitchen stove and then I would make a cup of coffee. While the kitchen slowly warmed up I would sit at the table and drink my coffee and write a bit in a journal I had started. But mostly I would sit and watch the window in the east. It was winter, and it was cold. The window was covered with ice on the outside, and as the sun rose, the ice would turn a glowing rose color. It would make silver and rose designs as the sun warmed it and cast its light of rosy red. It was such a beautiful way to start the day.

It’s funny, but I don’t remember being cold. I must have been pretty chilled until the stove began to heat the room, but I don’t remember being uncomfortable at all. I just remember that I loved the quiet and watching the sun rise. I used to look out and see the trees dark and the world still in the grey of night. Then the sun would start to come over that hill and everything would come to life and take on the colors of morning. Those mornings were the only time in my life that I actually watched the sunrise. I am thankful for those memories. I suppose I must have gotten tired during the day, but I can’t remember that. I didn’t mind at all then, waking up so early. It was a way to see that I had a new beginning every single day of my life.

The other kitchen window had a pretty view too. It looked over the back yard, and there was a tree in the yard and also two damson plum trees. Under the trees grew a whole stream of violets, spreading out among the grasses. They were beautiful, as was all of the farm. I remember that TJ and I used to pick them and bring some of them into the house. I made bouquets of them for the kitchen, but also, I remember one summer TJ and I tried making candied violets. I had read about it in one of our books. We dipped the violets in sugar water and laid them on a cookie sheet and popped them in the gas oven, which is what we used in the summer. We ate them, but it was kind of disappointing because they shrank up to practically nothing. It was fun, but it didn’t pay to take the time and trouble. Still, it was nice to think that we could have candied violets from our own yard.

Another place I loved was the barn. Oh how I loved the smell of the barn! The good animal smell of the cows and the cats and the goats. The smell of the hay and the sheep. The smell of manure! It all smelled good to me. The barn was such a comforting place! I loved being there with the animals, especially when I was doing the milking. I loved putting my head against Bossy or Patches and feeling their warmth and smelling their good smell. Cows are such dear animals. They are so gentle and peaceful. It was comforting to watch them stand quietly and chew their cuds, as their tails switched the flies away. The barn was the home of the animals. It was their place. They made it their own, the way we made the house our own. Of course, we helped them make it their home by bringing in the hay for them and cleaning the manure, shoveling it so that it fell under the barn. The manure mixed with the straw of their bedding made the soil of our garden rich and bountiful.

These were the places on our farm that I loved the most. These are the places that I carry in my heart. I loved that old farm, and I am very glad that I was able to be there for a few years of my life.

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