Memories: "Home" Again

The old farm still stands, is actually for sale, but Merrilyn and I chose not to buy this place that holds our earliest childhood memories. The old brick house has been painted white, the paint flaking away leaving a rather sad look. A slight wind could shiver the barn timbers enough to flatten it, that wonderful old barn where we used to play. We couldn't even quite bring ourselves to take a picture of this precious old place from our childhood, preferring to treasure memories of when it was a well-kept haven of love.

This particular afternoon in Ontario, Merrilyn and I were alone in the car and decided to take a little detour down our old side road to see the place where we were born and raised, at least for the first few years of our lives. How tempted we were to stop the car, get out, and strip handfuls of choke cherries from the bushes along the lane, stuffing our mouths with those tangy little things as we had in childhood, but the road was a bit too narrow to safely stop and snitch them as we'd done as children.

Marveling at our parent's pioneer spirit, we reminisced about that time in early 1951 when, for health reasons, Mom and Dad chose to sell our dairy farm, auction off all our belongings, buy a 1951 Ford and a 25-foot travel trailer, pack clothes and essentials, put their two little girls (Merrilyn - 8, and Patty - 5) into the car, say sad goodbyes to all their family and friends, and head across the border to the United States and a new life.

Memories -- playing in the creek with our cousins or the neighbor kids, sneaking the salt shaker from the kitchen when Mom wasn't looking and running to the apple orchard to pick green apples and sprinkle them with salt before biting down on that juicy fruit, slipping into the barn and petting the soft noses of our dairy cows who gazed back at us with huge brown eyes, playing with Laddie, our collie dog, and the barn cats who scampered beneath our feet. Great memories!

Memories -- going "back home" on the summers when we could afford to do that, with Dad the only driver, making the trek from Pueblo, Colorado, to Ontario, Canada, in something like 36 hours. How Dad could stay awake hour after hour after hour, driving straight through in those days before divided highways and major interstate freeways, is beyond us, but it was the only way we could afford to go "back home" to see all our family and the many friends whom we loved so much.

Memories -- of dinners with old friends from Baker Hill Baptist, a country church where we and all our nearby farming friends worshiped each Sunday. When we went home in the summers, what memories we have of dinners with each family, sharing stories and laughter.

Memories -- made this year with Gertrude, one of Merrilyn's best childhood friends, and Morgan Baker, my friend from those early days, reminiscent of years gone by when we would enjoy time with their family. Morgan and his wife hosted a dinner at their home for us, inviting other Baker Hill "kids" whom we had not seen for 42 years. Great memories -- of years gone by when we were all kids and came to visit with our parents and of memories created that night.

(Pictured above, front row, left to right: our hostess, Faye Baker, Merrilyn (my big sister), Marlene Simpson, Gertrude Baker.
Back row: Harry Simpson, Morgan Baker (our host), Wayne Oldham, and me.)