This May long weekend we visited our friends Ethan, Michael, and Leane on there farm close to Marysburg (Rob was away becoming even more educated, if that’s possible) – we were joined by some beautiful gals, Kari and Sabrina and Elizabeth.
It was a magical visit, one that dissolved into an unplanned sleepover. The clouds parted, the sun was warm – the wee new kittens in the manger – eyes closed small blackened and dried umbilical cords attached, hissing calico mama and big big teen cat cuddling in together in the barn for the warmth.
Chickens, baby chickens peeping and cluttering in the corner of the kitchen in their box warmed by the orange glow of a heat lamp.
Children holding chicks and kittens. And the great white Pyrenees dog, Kinley, so furry and white, a happy dog, bum butting Sophie to herd her up onto the old water pump with Michael. Liam running and laughing. All the children and Seb running and laughing in the open field, a littel green covering the yard, away from the kitchen window where we four women stand. All of us enjoying the gorgeous day in the country.
This is the area of Saskatchewan where my ancestors settled, in a Catholic colony. This is the place of my brother’s grave.
We sat under one of the trees in the yard and placed broken tile in mortar.
I collected some rocks from Leane’s yard and Elizabeth, Liam and I headed off into the country, to St.Bernard’s churchyard to place the rocks on Alex’s headstone.
I had not been there in five years or more, since well before Sophie – the last time I remember being there was when Nico was a few months old, with Lake, in the middle of winter. (7 years ago).
Liam played on the gravestone. I was content to be there but I did not really want to stay there.
Had I been alone maybe.
I wrote Liam’s and my name in the guest book in the great cold polished wood and plaster walled church. Old and cold and settled in its way.
A late night taste of raspberry brandy, Elizabeth’s voice breaking like waves on a shore singing the song she wrote for her father. Seb’s hands thumping a drum beat. I know the children are hearing this and will remember this. Wide awake at midnight, secure with their parents and friends together in the same house.
A perfect day.
The next night, once we had returned home, feeling a part of us remained in the country day. Nico missing his friend and the tiny orange kitten named Gold Star. Finally we all bedded down. The house still and quiet, I woke at 4am and I felt an old but a familiar sadness. It is akin to fear.
I thought the graveyard had not really infected me but, there I was, awake in the early morning, the birds awake, the sky lightening and feeling sad and worried and fearful of how life can go sometimes.
Well, by the time I am writing this the sad feelings have faded.
But I do feel rooted in that countryside. There was a little old blue farmhouse surrounded by lilac bushes that we drove past. I wondered, could we live there? At peace as Leane is at peace with her chickens, her yard, her plan for her garden. Her boys happily running.
Blessed by friends.
