MEMORIES OF HORSES AND MORE - 2

This is the second posting - the first was 26 Sept 2013 and was the opening vignette of  the first of a two part series of reminiscences by thePresbyterian minister of the last few years in my adopted home of Grand River, which he had printed in a church distributed little booklet called

 Stirring The Porridge Newsletter

  A cuir mu'n cuairt a bhrochan - thall's a bhog'    Stirring the porridge here and there

of  The Framboise, Grand River & Loch Lomond Presbyterian Pastoral Charge.  Although I am not a Presbyterian I have attended various functions (weddings, funerals, musical presentations etc) there and found Rev Murdock to be one of the nicer persons that I have ever met.  To my great appreciation he included me in the mailings of the newsletter with its newsy contact of the doings of the local area.  His pleasant recollections mirrored somewhat those of my own youth in a different land and climate.

Eventually the full two part article will be accessible as one continuous read - via the right side bar index.

MEMORIES OF HORSES AND MORE - (cont'd)
Murdock MacRae

This is the first of a two part article, which the author hopes will rekindle many pleasant memories of similar events in the lives of our readers. Part 2 will be included in the next issue of this newsletter.  

PART 1 - Vignette 2 

Winters Long & Cold

Rural life of my childhood was relatively simple and patterned around the seasons that came and went with unceasing regularity.  Winter was the harshest. Long and cold the season progressed painstakingly slow. Yet it held its own unique delights.  The loveliness of the countryside mantled in white.  Covered brooks and fences allowing for long coasting runs.   Huge icicles hanging precariously from roof edges. Shimmering hoarfrost reflecting early morning sunlight. Overnight ice sealing the water hole in a quiet brook which had to be broken each day to allow cattle a refreshing drink.    Creeping frost crystals on window panes always fascinating young and old minds.  During the coldest of days one had to melt portals on the icy windows to see outside. Heated bricks tucked in our beds soften the cold that threatened to keep one from sleeping. In the earliest of my years we had no electricity or indoor plumbing save a single water pipe that brought water indoors, first, reluctantly by way of a hand pump that had to be primed and vigorously pumped, and then later by the magic of gravity.  Until my parents had a bathroom installed we responded to nature’s daily call with a visit to the outhouse.  This tall grey edifice welcomed us with a single door that kept others at bay while we contemplated our lot, drawing some meager inspiration from the familiar Eaton’s catalogue that seemed to grow smaller with each visit.