The Serial:

Far From the Rowan Tree Day34

Too late, they discovered erosion. In some parts of Canada trees were being replanted but not here – not yet at least.

We were fortunate to have trees as there were very few about. Perhaps that is why our little bit of prairie was so well populated with birds and animals.

The birds had little in the way of song but were as bright as jewels.

Cedar waxwings danced among the sunlit twigs, each varnished feather kept immaculately in place by preening, each waxed crest proclaiming some sort of kingship among the birds.

Later in the season, one pair were to give us much pleasure when they taught their exquisite brood to fly close to the cabin. Humans for them, as yet, held no threat.

More modestly, small slender birds, as yellow as the tassels on the laburnum trees back home, crept among the branches. Betty Jacobs called them canaries.

The most spectacular of all the birds, however, were the bluebirds. When Ronald and I first saw one we could hardly believe it was real.

Dainty creatures

It was almost as though a piece of deep blue sky had taken the shape of a bird and was sweeping towards us.

Later I learned from a Canadian bird book that there are different varieties. Those that are blue all over are called Mountain Bluebirds.

The undergrowth too was busy, rustling with different kinds of squirrels.

Chipmunks ran in and out of the dead wood that lay beside the saw bench.

They were dainty creatures, prettier than their larger cousins.

They had bushy squirrel tails, dark grey stripes on lighter grey fur, bright eyes and appealing faces.

Beyond the willows, out on the prairie proper, lay the domain of the coyotes and the gophers. The latter were squirrel-like rodents, lacking the bushy tail.

They made their nest in a hole in the ground but they were always popping their heads out to have a look or standing straight up on their hind legs beside their holes to see what was happening above ground.

I didn’t see much of them but Ronald often saw them when he was out cultivating the land. They were no friends of the farmers, however, taking much the same role as the rabbits do back home.

Later on in the summer large and colourful butterflies fluttered about the wide yard and our little wood. There were also less pleasant visitors, namely flies, mosquitoes and wasps.

On the first day of summer, Ronald came to fetch me and our baby daughter from the hospital.

The boys, in the back seat of the car, bounced with excitement at the prospect of getting us home.

This time Ronald drove on the correct side of the road, making no mistakes. As we reached the trees in front of the cabin, a bluebird dipped to greet us.

We made our way up the path between the cottonwoods.

Ronald carried his daughter and the boys jumped ahead shouting: “Come and see, Mummy, come and see.”

Surprise

I wondered what to expect. How had they really coped? Would the cabin be in a mess?

The boys couldn’t wait for me to climb the wooden steps and squeak open the screen door.

The new paint shone on the kitchen walls, everything was tidy. The kettle sang on the cookstove, logs were piled neatly beside it and the table was set for lunch.

“Look at the new cloth, Mummy,” said Richard. “Mrs Jacobs gave it to us – isn’t it nice?” and before I could get a word in edgeways continued: “I brought in all these logs, aren’t there a lot?”

“I swept the floor, isn’t it clean?” piped up Michael. “The table, look at the table. I put down the knives, forks, spoons,” babbled Ronnie, not to be outdone. They all clamoured at once. My surprise was genuine. I praised them all. “I’m a big boy now,” the precocious Ronnie continued, “come and see my new bed.”

I followed him into the boys’ bedroom. In between the two beds that were there before, Ronald had put a makeshift affair fashioned from one of our packing cases and supporting a mattress donated by Betty Jacobs.

Ronnie seemed as pleased with it as if it had been the most expensive bed we could have bought him. It looked very safe.

The way in which Ronald had squeezed it between the others ensured that Ronnie could not fall out.

Next, we trooped to the sitting room. Ronald had laid the red carpet and a vase of saskatoon blossom glowed from the window ledge.

Momentarily I thought how well the round walnut coffee table would have looked in the middle of the room but sadly it hadn’t withstood the journey east, arriving still sewn into the sheet but severed down the middle.

In our room, the big brass bed was neatly made with fresh linen. Beside it Ronald had placed Ronnie’s pram, now to serve as a cot for Mahri-Louise.

Opposite the antediluvian bed, the scratched old filing cabinet which we used as a chest of drawers, was newly painted white and on top of it stood a number of my favourite family photographs, which Ronald must have dug out from the bottom of the biggest kist.

Contented

Ronald, who had followed us into the bedroom, placed Mahri-Louise carefully into her new bed. “Oh Ronald.” was all I could say. “I wanted to make it as homely as possible, he answered, putting his arms round my shoulders and giving me a kiss. “Welcome home darling.” A few silent happy tears trickled down my cheeks. “It doesn’t matter where we are, does it?” I said, “as long as we are all together.” I looked down at our new daughter. Already she had fallen asleep. She had been a contented baby from the beginning.

“Thank you for having such a tidy house to come back to.” I turned to him.

“Don’t mention it,” he said modestly. “Thank the boys who were such a help and thank Adrian also. He came in last night and was determined to scrub the house from top to bottom.” (More tomorrow.)

Ronald came to fetch me and our baby daughter. The boys, in the back seat of the car, bounced with excitement at the prospect of getting us home