If only that old farmhouse could talk about the memories

The old house on the wind-battered Prairie of Southern Alberta no longer serves a purpose.

No one has lived there for over 20 years. Nothing stirs in the house except maybe a mouse.

A plough wind took a piece off one edge. The plaster and lathe must be broken from years of no heat in winter.

Once that house, like so many across the Prairies, was a place filled with activities of two families, with four sons among them.

Christmas was always memorable; holidays for school children, decorating the tree and of course, the big day. By tradition gifts were opened on Christmas Eve with hours of enjoyment playing with new toys by the boys after their opening.

On one Christmas all the boys were given Coca-Cola delivery trucks. Wooden blocks with bottles drawn on the top were the cargo. We hauled Coke all over the front room for weeks. The Coke trucks were played with for years.

Wonder whatever happened to them? They are collectibles now as old-timers recall precious memories. Christmas Day turned into a festive occasion. Grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins arrived from the city for a day of fun and visiting.

Two leafs were put in the big yellow chrome table in the dining room and a smaller wooden table was pushed up to it so we could seat 16 or 18 adults. An adjacent cupboard was piled with turkey, dressing, turnips, mashed potatoes, salads, home-made sausage and desserts – fruitcake, pudding and pies. The meal took days of slavish preparation by my aunt and mother.

Oh what fun we had demolishing the mountains of food and visiting.

When bedtime came, most of the visitors stayed. With five bedrooms the old Eaton’s house had plenty of space. Younger kids slept on makeshift mattresses of quilts, whispering and chuckling into the wee hours of Boxing Day. If the weather was nice, Boxing Day became a rabbit hunt. Dozens of rabbits hung out in the half mile of shelter belt trees on the farm. Walk along the trees and a seemingly endless number of rabbits poured out of the bush right into the shotgun bursts.

Now the rabbits have what’s left of the 1912 shelter belt. The wind and the coyotes serenade the deserted two-storey house in the middle of nowhere.

Only the memories of the good times remain and only one of seven family members is left to remember.