ElizabethRenaudAldred.com

Christmas without turkey just wouldn’t be the same
But turkey in the 40s, something I had never seen
‘Til the day my uncle Alex sent that turkey home to us
A big surprise for Christmas, boy that Christmas was a bust

Mom had worked so hard all morning to prepare this special treat
By the aroma from the kitchen; it sure smelled good to eat
When she called us to the table we all came rushing in
To see a monster on the table, where our chicken ought-ta been

It had two legs, two wings, and other things like chickens had, that’s true
But the legs look more like giant clubs, the wings like big clubs too
The neck looked like a tree stump that was stuck into that thing
That was sitting on the table, where our chicken ought-ta been

Where was our Christmas chicken? What was this all about?
When they told us this was dinner, that when we all pulled our pout
They weren’t about to fool us with that prehistoric thing
That was sitting on the table, where our chicken ought-ta been

No one was going to eat that thing, no matter what they said
And so our Christmas dinner was potatoes, eggs, and bread
We sat in silence eating, with no chicken on our plate
Sure didn’t seem like Christmas; those fried eggs just didn’t rate

As we ate we watched our parents, eating at that thing
That was sitting on the table, where our chicken ought-ta been
For many days thereafter we were eating chicken stew
Chicken pie and sandwiches and soup and dumplings too

So one way or another we all ate that blasted thing
That was sitting on the table, where our chicken ought-ta been

The war was raging over seas, a long way from our home
So the horror’s other children knew was not completely known
But I heard my parents talking of the strange things that went on
With a brain not quite developed yet, my thoughts were slightly wrong.

The planes really scared me, I had heard they dropped the bombs
When I heard planes over head, my fear was mighty strong
But the thing that really puzzled me, I heard my mother tell
She’d heard them say on radio: “The Germans took the hill.”

Behind our house there stood the rocks, that’s where our big hill sat
It stretched along the pasture, and it stretched a long way back
There I would sit and stare at it, and visualize at will
A bunch of German soldiers out there picking up that hill

My mind just couldn’t comprehend, I pondered day by day:
“Why would the Germans take that hill and carry it away?
Even if they could do that, were would they put it down?
And how many Germans it would take to lift it off the ground?”

I knew my dad was pretty strong, and all my uncles too
But that was something, I was sure, not even they could do
It really made no sense to me; the hills were so abound
Why would those Germans pick up a hill, and carry it around?

The rocks had something special, in every little nook
It holds so many memories, to write of in this book
That’s where we hid our treasures, within rock cavities
That’s where we built our castle, and climbed the biggest trees

Upon those rocks of wonderment, two giant stones we found
Both four feet high and four feet wide, and both completely round
They looked just like two giant balls, one hundred feet apart
And Daddy told a story, that gave us quite a start

He said when it was storming, and we heard the thunder call
That Tom and Dick (the giants), were up there playing ball
And when the storm was over, the thunder and the rain
The giants went and put the balls, back where they sat again

The balls sat on two slabs of stone, like soemone sat them down
Upon a base they made for them, to keep them off the ground
Looking at those giant balls, it’s no wonder in our heads
That we surely had a reason, to believe what Daddy said.

If you should get to wondering, or if in fact you care
Then take a trip to Daddy’s farm, you’ll find those balls still there.

Fall with its beauty, of colours untold
And the scent; from the haying divine
Brought with it reminders of one great big chore
For a year we shoved out of our mind.
Our hungry box stove that kept the house warm
And the cook stove were gluttons to feed
It took nearly 30 cords of neatly piled wood
To supply all the food they would need.

Now the first part was great, and we just could not wait
As we all headed into the forest
With axes and saws and lunch pails in hand
All the little ones rode on the horses.
The twins did the cutting and brushing the trees
And made logs from the timber they’d fallen
Then the chain gang moved in with our big logging chains
To secure all the logs for the hauling.

We wrapped the chains ’round a couple of logs
Then over the whipple tree hook
The horses were smart and they knew the way home
They just followed the path that we took
little sister and brothers out little horse riders
Would call: “Are we steering okay?”
While the chain gang below them kept shouting their praise
Riding back on the logs all the way
When we reached the farm house we unchained the logs
While the twins kept right on cutting timber
Jack pine for kindling and birch for the heat
Making sure we had lots for the winter.

Heading back to the forest, our horses in tow
As we walked holding onto the reins
Then we’d sit by a fire and enjoy our lunch
And then start the whole cycle all over again
At last all the logs were piled up in rows
The excitement of logging was done
And now was the part no one wanted to start
Sawing, splitting, and piling weren’t fun.

Looking back, I have to wonder
How we ever made it through,
But one thing Mom and Daddy had
No worries we would do

With our heads soaked in coal oil
And straw ticks for our beds,
With walls filled up with saw dust
And a tar roof overhead

Sulfur sprinkled all around
To keep bed bugs away,
To sneak a smoke in our house
There simply was no way.

It wasn’t from obedience
No cigarette we lit,
Just one spark from that stupid thing
Could blow us all to bits.

And even if we did survive
The best that could be said,
Our bodies might just make it through
But for sure we’d lose our head.

All year long, mom was saving up jute bags
For the wonderful ticks that we made
Straw ticks were the mattress we slept on
And out old ones long since squashed away.

We all got to choose, the new bags we would use
Of course it took plenty of time
Even though all the bags were exactly the same
That fact never entered our minds.

Mom sewed all the jute bags together
To fit on our big iron beds
Then we dragged those big bags to the hay stack
And the best of the fun was ahead.

Those ticks were as round as a big giant ball
By the time that the stuffing had stopped
And we needed to use a step ladder
To climb all the way up to the top.

Oh! Glorious! Glorious straw ticks
For a time we were floating high
On the big puffy bags full of sweet smelling straw
Like a wondrous cloud in the sky.

But nothing is ever forever
And our joy was fast fading away
And we knew all too soon
Like a broken balloon
We’d be back on our hard beds of hay.

Upon the rocks behind our house
That’s where we spent most of our time
Upon those rocks were berries galore
In so many different kinds.

In the spring we had evergreen berries
And pin cherries grew on the trees
Then came delicious sugar plums
And blueberries (all that you please).

Raspberries grew on the bushes
Strawberries grew on the ground
We surely love those black berries
What a treat when they could be found.

Cranberries made yummy jelly
Chokecherries made jelly too
Gooseberries grew way too late in the fall
But we managed to get a few.

The chipmunks and squirrels were all waiting
Way late in the fall for this treat
And we had to be fast at hazelnut time
If we wanted to have them to eat.

All of this free for the picking
A gift from the Father Divine
A smorgasbord feast for the harvest
And it didn’t cost even a dime.

Upon the rocks behind the house as far as we could see
The graceful lady slippers swayed gently in the breeze
In every shade of dazzling pink their beauty to behold
In the midst of slippers stood one of purest gold.

It arrived there every summer in the early days of June
And rule those lovely orchids like a Queen upon her throne
Like a mother with her babies, protecting them from harm
Three tiny golden slippers were netsled in her arms.

Daddy built a little fence around her and her golden babies grand
To protect those precious flowers from some careless children’s hands
Each day we sat beside the fence and gazed at them in awe
Of the sweetest little flowers that we had every saw.

Soon the petals would be fading and the gold would turn to brown
And all the pretty slippers were just a mat upon the ground
But next June when they came back again, one thing we knew for sure
Our golden lady would be back inside the fence once more.

The rocks had something special in every little nook
It holds so many memories to write of in this book
That’s where we hide our treasures; within rock cavities
That’s where we built our castle and climbed the biggest trees.

Upon those rocks of wonderment; two giant stones we found
Both four foot high and four foot wide and both completely round
They looked just like two giant balls, one hundred feet apart
And Daddy told a story that gave us quite a start.

He said when it was storming and we heard the thunder call
That Tom and Dick, the giants, were up there playing ball
And when the storm was over; the thunder and the rain
The giants went and put the balls back where they sat again.

The balls sat on two slabs of stone, like someone sat them down
Upon a base they made for them, to keep them off the ground.
Looking at those giant balls, it’s no wonder in our heads
That we surely had a reason to believe what Daddy said.

If you should get to wondering, or in fact if you care
Then take a trip to Daddy’s farm; you’ll find those balls still there.