Parcel Next to a Lake

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IMG_2844Part 2

Once his birth certificate and other documentation satisfied immigration and that indeed, purchasing a parcel of land from the government was in the works, he was released and returned to his family.

As promised, a wagon filled with supplies by the generosity of the already established settlers, drew up to the train station’s platform where my grandparents, daughters Annie and Frances, and son, Joe, were waiting. All their belongings fit in a couple of trunks.

As the horses plodded through the muddy and rutted path, the wagon wheels spurted mud and dirt onto the passengers, as well as the contents in the wagon. It was said that that was when my grandmother told my grandfather in no uncertain terms, ” I will never forgive you. ” I can imagine the evil eye that went along with her proclamation.

Eighteen miles into bush country,  passing perhaps a half-dozen or so homesteaders along the way and not knowing what this was all going to lead to, must have been pure mental anguish. A cloud of biting mosquitoes may have welcomed them in the swamps along the way, but they were to soon find out that their parcel of land sat next to a nice sized lake filled with Jack fish.

Nevertheless, there wasn’t a house in wait for them to move into as this was barren, virgin land. (We found out recently, when some large machinery was tearing up the area near the lake where the home was built that it must have been inhabited by a tribe of Natives at one time, for some items were turned up that were crude in form which Grandfather was not an apprentice).

One neighbour, not sure if it was the one who picked them up, offered them to spend the winter in their home so that they wouldn’t freeze or starve in the tent that they soon managed to put up.

Then Grandma became pregnant once more.

To be continued 

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