Finding the Farm

The road of life. So many twists and turns. So many “what ifs” that affect the course of our stories.

A key moment in this story was in 2001 - December 13. An ominous number if you believe in omens. My Father was in need of important surgery. I assumed the role of “fixer”, helping to secure the date for surgery, offering assurances that all would be fine - joking “After all, it’s not brain surgery”. Except that it was.

There was nothing planned for the day before the surgery. It would have been a perfect opportunity to take my Dad for a drive and get him to navigate to the location of my Grandparents’ farm in Wellandport. He might have loved it, but I was ambivalent. Since a 1:1 outing with me would have been unusual, I feared that he’d take it as a sign. That he’d give me that look and say “This isn’t going to end well, is it?” He would have been right. To keep his spirits up, we behaved like it was any ordinary day. No father-daughter outing. An opportunity lost. From December 14, 2001 “Where was the farm?” became a mystery.

I don’t know if my paternal Grandfather was happy to be a farmer, or was even a good farmer. As a peasant in a Hungarian village, he was enticed to come to Canada in 1927.

Just now, immigration values and issues are in daily headlines, but at the turn of the last century Canada had thrown its doors wide open. Starting in the 1890s, an organized, aggressive and expansive immigration marketing campaign began, luring settlers to Western Canada with the promise of free land. To be exact, 160 acres – a “quarter section” (a quarter of a square mile). Pamphlets and posters appeared in dozens of languages, distributed all over Europe. I have seen these at Pier 21. Here are some examples.

Being gifted free land turned out to be no picnic. I recall my Father relating a story about a sod house. It seems they were not uncommon. Whether family myth or true, the story I heard was that 15 months after arriving, my Grandfather made his way to town to post a letter telling my Grandmother not to come. That very day, she was stepping off the train, with two wee kiddies in tow – the youngest being my father. [Read more about my Grandmother here.]

It seems that by the time they joined him a log house was in place. His Naturalization papers reflect the big picture. By 1933, six years after "going west young man", he owned two cattle and two horses. The horses undoubtedly had helped him break and crop 28 of his 160 acres. His assets included a log house valued at $350, a log barn ($50) and a log granary ($100). 

The Spiritwood, Saskatchewan chapter of farming life included the deaths of two infants and (for reasons I will now never know) ended with a move to Wellandport, Ontario and a dairy farm. That chapter ended with the tragic death of my young uncle, and the move to Steeltown / Hamilton. All three boys born in Canada died. It might have grown to be a huge family, but today, ninety years after arriving, this branch of the family tree consists of only ten of us.

The farm. The house with a big wood-burning stove. The oil cloth table cover. Learning to recognize the unique ring pattern on the “party line” phone. The stairs leading to the second floor trap door. The chickens, the well, the windmill. Sandy, the dog. There were several Sandys – oddly each had a penchant for running into the road to meet their end. Sitting atop bales of hay as the hay wagon swayed and bounced through the fields – surely a feat that would not, today, get child safety approval. And the cows – always one named Diane. To this day I have high tolerance for barnyard fragrances.

I have many memories of time spent on the farm – but where, exactly, was it? Last year I emptied my parents’ house and found no hints. 

Then the magic began. A clue. I got a hold of a few photos. A good friend showed these to her son who turned out to be an amazing “detective”. His job gave him easy access to aerial photos. He matched a curve in the road and my reference to a creek at the back of the property to aerial photos and maps and came up with a guess – one that proved to be correct! 

This was the summer of the "Find the Farm" expedition. We discovered that every building on the property had been demolished.  But "magic" was soon followed by fun! The highlight of the expedition was meeting the extended family on the neighbouring property who had farmed their land for several generations. They remembered my Grandparents, my Uncle, my family.

As we chatted, one of them disappeared and returned with a gift. Last year they went for a hike in the bush and found an old milk canister. They rescued it and gave it a lick of paint. It was stamped with my Grandfather’s name, and they insisted that it now belonged to me. One of those crazy spooky moments in life. Not to mention – how had that container survived over fifty years in the bush!?

The neighbours raised chickens, but were mostly dairy farmers. We reminisced about cows and I mentioned we had seen documentaries about modern dairy farms. They said theirs used modern technology! We got a tour! 

Modern dairy farms use free stalls and voluntary milking systems (VMS). Their farm was not massive, used only one VMS and overall had a nice non-industrial vibe. Watch this short video of a similar farm. It explains how the cows are in open stalls, moving and eating freely – and let’s not overlook the “massage station” where they cozy up to a yellow massage brush. They choose when they will be milked and enter a robotic device that washes their teats, latches on and then milks them according to accumulated data re their normal production.

The neighbours reported that in my Grandfather's day trucks used to stop at every farm along the road to pick up milk. Not today. In Niagara, over the last 10 years, the number of milk producers has fallen from 61 to 44. [Source] But fear not! Today, milk production has actually increased. Some farmers increased their herd size and milking methods have improved.  [Source}

I am a member of Food Bloggers of Canada (FBC). They do much to support bloggers in connecting with local food producers. Even if you have no family farm memories, the connections you can make with farmers – who tend to welcome your interest – actualizes and personalizes the work and the issues. Right now, dairy farmers have grave concerns about possible negative outcomes from the current Canada / USA trade talks. I have known folks who cross the border for cheap milk and butter. I never have and never will. The bounty our local farmers produce is worth every penny. 

Well, that’s the "Finding the Farm" story. I’ll end this post with a recipe that replicates the sweet bun staple made by my Grandmother – I think of her as the Kalács Queen! Click here for the recipe for Sweet Buns with Ricotta.

Do you have any stories about farms? Click on the word "Comments" below. And/or leave a "Like"! Can't wait to hear from you!

P.S. In case you want a quick sweet read while eating sweet buns - here's a delicious story about how a Cornwall community helped a family get back their farm.

Please may I leave the table?

Recently, something triggered this childhood memory. 

At the conclusion of family meals, we had to ask to be excused from the table - something like -  “May I please be excused?” I find that to be so odd. It was a blue collar family with no aspirations to be anything more, so what was that table manner ritual all about? Was it simple decency or “hoity-toity”?

You could scold me for implying that good manners are linked to family income or social status (more on that later). In other respects, there was no “hoit” or “toit”. The dining table was in the kitchen, covered with a plastic table cloth. We used everyday dishes and cutlery, and always carefully placed the Tupperware salt and pepper shakers where elders could easily reach them. (There were, of course, nicer tablecloths, and crystal salt and pepper shakers for special occasions.)

Surely I must have got an A+ on this!

In other respects, I don’t recall a table manners “curriculum”, as in “elbows off the table, no slouching, no leaning back in your chair, don’t chew with your mouth open, don’t talk with your mouthful,  don’t gang-plank your knife, wait for others before starting…” Oddly, since this list comes from memory and not research, someone must have been drumming that into me.

Perhaps the “drummers” were my home economics teachers? It was there, after all, that I learned how to set a table. 

Again, where did this stuff come from? Fortunately, some culinary historians have tackled the history of table manners and claim that the Industrial Revolution (1760-1840), the emergence of a middle class, and the Victorian Era were responsible for the more widespread adoption of manners that might previously have been observed only in high society [Source].

There is also some claim that learning table manners was indeed "hoity-toity" and linked to optimizing performance ratings if one had opportunities for social climbing. Not so hard to believe. "Pygmalion" (the inspiration for '"My Fair Lady") may have been published back in 1913, but even today image consultants have plenty of clients.  (One story line in China Rich Girlfriend focuses on a "disruptive" being coached to fit into Hong Kong high society!) As always, manners are part of the game, unless you have enough charm or other assets to get away with being a disruptor.

Another viewpoint was that the teaching of social graces had less to do with upward mobility and more to do with “democratic levelling”. Etiquette “books had always been popular in America: the country’s exotic mix of immigrants and newly rich were eager to fit in with the establishment. Men had to be taught not to blow their noses into their hands or to spit tobacco onto ladies’ backs. Arthur M. Schlesinger, who wrote 'Learning How to Behave: A Historical Study of American Etiquette Books' in 1946, said that etiquette books were part of 'the leveling-up process of democracy,' an attempt to resolve the conflict between the democratic ideal and the reality of class.” Crikey! A bit of a powder keg if we start to unpack that. [Source]

In my family, growing up, we did at least eat together. When I emptied my parents’ house last year there were three sets of TV tables, but during the time I lived in that house they were seldom used for family eating in front of the TV. My mother would never buy us TV Dinners. I am aware that, today, families may struggle to eat together. Kids may come and go from the table and even when remaining at the table, digital distractions often result in people “virtually leaving”.

I (lovingly and respectfully) ponder that being held hostage at the dinner table might also have been an exercise in old-fashioned parental power. A daily reminder of “who’s the boss”. You leave the table when I say so, you thank your mother (yes, always the mother) for dinner, and even if you momentarily escape to another room, you come quickly back to clear the table and do the dishes.

Social graces, respectful civility and a power play all in one.

Will have to quiz my own kids about their dinner time etiquette memories :-))

No etiquette book surfaced when I emptied my parents’ house, so where my parents sourced the “manners curriculum” remains a puzzle. Today you need only search on “table manners children” and you’ll get over 2 million results!

One source is from the Emily Post site. She wrote an etiquette book way back in 1922 and for decades after promoted the topic, speaking on radio programs and writing newspaper columns. The Emily Post Institute continues to this day offering their version of the top thirteen table manners for kiddies.

Wade through those internet search results and you can make that list of manners even longer! And/or read this brief, fascinating history of table manners.

A counter-point to asking to leave the table is asking to join the table. I recently enjoyed a podcast about journalist Jane Cunningham Croly who in 1868 was not permitted to attend a dinner honouring Charles Dickens. Why? Because women were not permitted to dine publicly unless they were in the company of a man. The setting was the famous NYC restaurant Delmonico’s - established in 1837 and still open today. They offered to let her into the room if she agreed to dine behind a curtain. She did not. What she did do was to found a women’s club and convinced Delmonico’s to host their meetings. [More on this story...]

This past April 2018, a luncheon of 150 women marked the 150th anniversary of that event. [Use your favourite tool to find and listen to that podcast - "A Taste of the Past", April 20, 2018; episode #297.]

Before closing, I invite you to use the Comments Tool below to share your past or present table manners stories!

Let’s end this blogpost with a recipe as usual. Every mannerly dinner should end with dessert and lately I have been craving cake with icing. Here are my three favourite options – which one shall I choose?

Do you have an iced cake recipe you’d like to recommend?

Carrot Cake

Gingerbread Cake (best icing!!)

Grandma Cake

P.S. Permit me to add a sad postscript about other types of leaving. Anthony Bourdain has also excused himself from the table. Had he asked our permission, the answer would have been a resounding no.

Treasure all with whom you still break bread. And maybe don't be in a rush to leave the table.
 

Whatever happened to postcards?

Decision Fatigue. I experienced that almost daily a year ago when emptying the house my parents bought 51 years ago.

Decision Fatigue is a real thing – with research showing that as a day filled with decisions progresses, the quality of decisions made later in the day decreases and/or we postpone the decision. This so-called “decision avoidance” may sometimes have a silver lining.

That’s what I’m thinking as I look at the box of postcards from their house. As I sorted through “stuff”, you can guess what the daily onslaught of decision options were – keep, donate, trash – we didn’t bother with “sell”. I bet my first impulse was to trash the postcards. A few were written by me, to my parents. Most were actually blank. Was it decision fatigue or good sense that I kept them? There were many days when unable to make a decision, I brought things home. Now, a year later I am slowly sorting through all the stuff that was added to the clutter in my house. It’s clear to me that trashing the postcards a year ago would have been a failure of curiosity, and I would have been robbed of all they made me ponder and explore.

I begin by wondering how many people remember when postcards were part of normal life? 

Source: ZITS Comic Strip: April 29, 2018

There was a time when it was neither easy nor practical to call family or friends while traveling. “No news” would have been “good news”. In my mother’s case, receipt of the first postcard reduced her anxiety once I shared the license number of our rental car. She had this idea that if anything ever happened at home, she would call Interpol or some such authority and tell them to find us.

It was fun to receive a postcard. Sending a postcard was– in my memory – not so much fun. It could be like an albatross around your neck. The annoying burden of purchasing the cards, the stamps, carving out time to write them, finding a post box for mailing them. All this required that you remembered to bring addresses for all who “expected” a postcard – and there could be people in one’s life whose nose would be out of joint if they didn’t get a postcard. On shorter trips, the timing was critical. More than once we arrived home before the postcards did.

I recall sending them only to family and close friends. I was gobsmacked to see that my parents had received postcards from neighbours! In one case, neighbours from over 60 years ago! Either I never grasped the level of friendship they once had with these folks, or sending postcards to a neighbour was at one time “a thing”.

That some of the cards were blank did not surprise me. They may have been purchased and not used, but often people bought postcards as souvenirs. If you did not have a good camera, were a poor photographer, or could not get into a helicopter to get that perfect shot – on a sunny day – then postcards were a welcome addition to a souvenir / photo album.

There are two postcards I stare at every day. Each of my guys did a Europe trip when in high school. Each sent a postcard from Paris. We were camping in Paris when we decided to start a family, so I have always been touched by their postcards from that spot on the planet.  I trust that you, dear reader, don’t think I am crazy to still have those postcards on my bulletin board some thirty years later. (I must have inherited the "postcard-keeping" gene.)

I also found one of the most memorable postcards I ever received. It was from Hugh R. Geldart, a work colleague, who sent a hand drawn postcard from Amsterdam. It still boggles my mind that I got to work with such creative people.

So, what did happen to postcards? Have we become lazy? Have we so much bought into the idea of “getting away from it all”, that we are self-centred on holidays? Are we socially isolated, not even knowing our neighbours, let alone sending them a postcard? Are postcards outdated in the age of Instagram and social media? If so, they have had a good run.

The world’s oldest postcard dates back to 1840 – so sayeth "deltiologists" – those who collect and study postcards. As it turns out, there is much to study and enjoy. Even when viewed only online, old postcards can capture many aspects of history – buildings, events, people. It's a history that included periods when the cards were used for sexual imagery, and sometimes even banned. I assume those postcards were never mailed, even though postage for postcards used to be cheaper than for regular cards and letters. “Naughty, bawdy” postcards even received government attention. In England, “in the early 1950s, the newly elected Conservative government were concerned at the apparent deterioration of morals in Britain and decided on a crackdown on these postcards.” [Source]

Today you are more likely to find postcards in tourist areas than your local corner store. Some are even “artisanal”, as in creative and not mass produced. In fact there is a subscription service that sends you artisanal postcards each month.

Ever wonder if the mail carrier reads the postcard? These days, I’d say doubtful, given the state of people’s handwriting. After years sitting at a keyboard, mine has become increasingly illegible. In any event, the digital “postcards” on Instagram are there for all the world to see, so "postcard" privacy may have always been a non-issue.

Interestingly, the “public” nature of postcards has been combined with the “private” in the Post Secret Art Project which since 2005 has weekly been publishing postcards on which anonymous senders reveal a secret. The project has been the focus of controversy with some edgy and bogus postings, along with occasional pathos. 

Of more interest - a bit of internet searching reveals that there are, today, postcard clubs, archives, museums, collectives – even a podcast. Google ‘postcard projects’ and be prepared to be bowled over by the number of projects people have taken on – for example, sending 1000 postcards to people. There are even postcards from the future.

From time to time, I suppose we all still receive some form of postcard – the “save the date” types, some from politicians or real estate agents.

On the day when I was dotting i’s and crossing t’s on this post, the postcard below arrived in the mail! Spooky coincidence… but a real treat.

Postcard from Japan, where foxes have mythic status in folklore.

Maybe I’ll have to start my own postcard project. Meanwhile, I’ve come to the point where I share a recipe linked to my blogpost. Since I have a postcard from Amsterdam, how about if I share a cake that uses Dutch-processed cocoa! Click here for the recipe – Chocolate Quinoa Cake.

Any postcard stories? Click on the word "Comments" below - or.... send me a postcard :-)

Slow Down...

Allan Gardens Conservatory: Toronto

It was Valentine’s Day and my yoga class ended with a guided meditation about chocolate. Unorthodox you say! Actually, you can easily find chocolate meditation “scripts” online (example) – so maybe it really is a thing.

Bringing attention to the chocolate, to the look, the shape, the feel, and then moving on to taking a bite, the taste, the mouth feel… then taking another bite… 

Let me pause to say that every chocolate I eat gets at least two bites – it is important for me to “see” the filling inside. I happen to know someone who eats a chocolate in one bite. I have never approved.

I may as well add at this point that during the chocolate thing, I meditated on my water bottle. I was doing an Elimination Diet and chocolate was a “no no”. The Diet? Will tell you more about that one day.

Back to the chocolate. Some serious time elapsed before that "yoga chocolate" was consumed. And that’s how it should be for many reasons.

As empty-nesters, I am astonished at how quickly Mr. KB and I consume supper. Whether the meal has been slow cooking all day, or a 30-minute miracle – it tends to disappear in less than 10 minutes. We sort of laugh at that, and reflect on how we eat restaurant meals much more slowly.

There are a lot of good reasons to eat more slowly. Two that are most important are that slow eating preps our digestive system for optimal functioning, and makes us well-positioned to receive the message our brain will send us about being full. (Before I continue, I must declare that I have no expertise in nutrition or biology, so I'm counting on you to correct me if I’ve misunderstood any of this…)

Many will say that digestion begins in the mouth, but let’s not overlook the phrase “mouth-watering”. We all want to cook / eat mouth-watering meals. Food that looks so delicious – with or without fancy plating – that our mouths literally “water”, filling with saliva. And guess what! Saliva is important – containing enzymes important to the digestion process. Fortunately, we produce an average of 1.5 litres of saliva per day! [Source]

Restaurant meals often encourage salivation by presenting us with an amuse bouche, and we may also order an appetizer – habits not often replicated in home dining. As such we are trampling the science of the first stage of digestion – the “cephalic stage” (which is followed by the gastric phase, and intestinal phase – taking from 24-72 hours in total.)

In the cephalic stage – before food hits our stomachs - we can ramp up our production of saliva – and slow down a meal – by chewing each mouthful longer. Many of us have heard this since we were kids and it turns out there is some science to support this. How many chews per mouthful? Some say 20, 30 – or chewing until the food is totally minced. [Read more here or here.]

Slowing down mealtime not only sets the stage for optimal sensory experiences and pleasant conversation, it buys the time we need to realize when we’re full. It can take 15-20 minutes for our brains to get the signal that we are full – a signal we miss if we eat a mountain of food in 10 minutes! Mind you, even at the best of times, we don’t always listen to our brain. Sadly, much of our eating is routine, maybe even mindless, and triggered by context and time of day. In fact, the goal of some diets is to put us back in touch with the sensations of hunger and satiation.

I’ll take a pass on attempting to summarize all the (sometimes conflicting) tips on how to optimize digestive processes – other than to say “ginger tea”. [Source]

No piece on slow eating would be complete without mentioning the Slow Food Movement – which began in 1986 partly as a counter-balance to fast food, which (despite some criticisms) aims to “defend regional traditions, good food, gastronomic pleasure and a slow pace of life… (and has evolved) to embrace a comprehensive approach to food that recognizes the strong connections between plate, planet, people, politics and culture.” [Source]

There is an even broader Slow Movement with many facets of culture and human activity focusing on slowing down the pace of life and change - there's even slow schooling! Busy, working parents of young children may yearn for “slow” while suffering in the fast lane of life. One of my favourite books is “In Praise of Slow” – by Canadian journalist Carl Honoré. His “slow” epiphany was linked to a story about one of his children and he followed up his first book by a second on “slow parenting”.

Since first reading that 2004 book, I am now retired and can more easily embrace “slow” – though in this life chapter there can be negative connotations to being “slow”. No matter – I have lots of time to slowly chuckle at that.

Readers who are fellow bloggers, may be surprised to know that there is a “slow blogging” movement. Averaging only one “story blog” entry per month I suppose I am an honorary member. This NYT article refers to BC’s Todd Sieling’s “Slow Blogging Manifesto” which can still be found at this site - and he's not the only blogger who has taken a stand. [Example]. I’ll share snippets from Kristen Doyle (visit her to site to see more):

"The Slow Blogging Movement is to Me...
Less about ambition, more about balance.
Less about page views, more about connection...
Less about quantity, more about quality.
Less about the hustle, more about happiness.
Less about social media, more about a social life.
Less about climbing to the top, more about rocking the middle.
Less about following the path of other bloggers, more about creating your own path."

Odd that I am writing about “slow” at a time when the “Instant Pot” is all the rage. One by one, I see fellow bloggers cave in to the temptation to acquire one – mind you, since it’s a Canadian invention, perhaps it is one’s civic duty to do so. I keep resisting – mainly because I have absolutely no place to store it – and… I am in no hurry.

I link every blog story to a recipe. What should it be this time?

The “slowest” recipe I have posted so far is for Almost No-Knead Bread which has an 8-18 hour first rise. That gives you lots of time to get that saliva working!

Or try Afternoon Tea Scones – they don’t take long to make – but if you sit down with a friend, and pour a cup of tea and savour the scone and the cream and the jam… and the friendship... well, that’s a great way to slow down. 

Would love to hear your thoughts about “slow”. Click on the word "Comments" below. No rush, take your time – I will wait to hear from you!