Downhome magazine only has space for a mere fraction of the great stories sent to us by readers. Luckily, they’re all available here. You’ll find fond reminiscences about the past and personal experiences to which we can all relate.
Summer on the Shore (2816 views) Every summer, as soon as school was out, my sister and I were packed into my pop’s dory where we headed for the shore. It was on this shore where I would spend my entire summer. It was roughing it at its ... click to read moreEvery summer, as soon as school was out, my sister and I were packed into my pop’s dory where we headed for the shore. It was on this shore where I would spend my entire summer. It was roughing it at its best. We stayed in a two room cabin. At night, light was provided via a kerosene lantern and our toilet was in the form of an outhouse. It wasn’t anything glamorous but the setting itself was beautiful. Sandy beaches that stretched for miles with clean lakes and rivers. My sister and I scoured the beach for seashells, pebbles, starfish, crabs and whatever other treasures would happen upon us. Our days were spent building sand castles, swimming, fishing and just running free. In the evenings, we would help Pop collect driftwood and have a bonfire where we would roast wieners and marshmallows. At night, we would fall into bed.
I would wake in the morning to the sound of the waves crashing onto the beach and the crackle and pop of an early fire in the woodstove and the crick crack of Pop’s rocking chair as he slowly rocked back and forth. I can still remember Pop sitting in his chair at the table looking through the window at the early morning fog with his tea cooling in his saucer. And if I close my eyes, I can still smell the toast that was made over the wood stove with Nan’s homemade bread.
In the morning, if the water was calm, Pop would take us out in his boat to jig for cod. My sister always got seasick. After getting a cod or two for lunch, we would head back into shore. We would watch Pop clean and fillet the fish and Nan would fry it up in the cast iron fry pan and we would devour it. I don’t know if it was the fresh air, the salt water but, whatever it was, everything she cooked tasted delicious coming off that ol’ wood stove. It would be so hot in the cabin with that fire going, that all three windows and one door would be open from dawn to dusk.
In the afternoons, if the black flies weren’t too thick, we would take off berry picking. To this day, I still do not enjoy berry picking, walking over the bog to pick backepples. But, it was something that we did so our nan could make jams and pies. It is something that I do today with my own children.
Our days were carefree. My grandparents didn’t have to worry about us and we were good kids. We helped with the chores, doing the dishes, sweeping the floors and such. The only time spent inside was when we came in to eat or if it was raining. Then we spent our time playing board games and drawing and having lazy afternoon naps by the woodstove. Pop would sit next to the stove in his rocking chair quietly rocking and every now and then he would say or do something to make us laugh. I can remember standing at the table with Nan and making lemon pie. She always let me make my very own pie on a tea plate. For some reason, that one always tasted the best.
As a child, I sometimes resented the shore as my other friends were off to places like P.E.I., Maine and Florida for summer vacation. They were off seeing the country in a recreational vehicle, swimming in pools, dining at fancy restaurants, etc. But, looking back, I wouldn’t have traded those summers on the shores of Newfoundland with Nan and Pop for anything. My nan and pop have been passed for several years now, but, I always return to that spot on the shore when I visit Newfoundland and if I close my eyes, I can still see the land as it was with their cabin, the dory hauled up on the dock and my sister and I playing away on the beach. ... Hide full submission
Hope you will print my story: "The big one that almost, but didn't get away."
During the food fishery of July 2009, my sister Chris, her husband Tom Traverse and I decided to go out for a jig. ... click to read moreHi Downhome,
Hope you will print my story: "The big one that almost, but didn't get away."
During the food fishery of July 2009, my sister Chris, her husband Tom Traverse and I decided to go out for a jig. We tried all the fishing grounds on our way to Patridge Point and beyond. We never got any fish, not even a bite. Suddenly, the weather changed; it began to rain, so we headed home.
On our way beck to Fleur-de-Lys, Tom decided we would go out on the "Northern Rock" for one jig. As soon as Tom dropped his line over the side, he got a big fish, then another, and another; each one bigger than the other. He told us he had his line on the bottom. So we did the same. Chris caught one bigger than the ones Tom had.
I thought I had hooked the bottom, as usual. Then my line began to move slowly; I could hardly move it. At one point, my line felt light; I thought I had lost my fish. Then my line felt heavy again. Finally, I hauled the biggest fish of the evening to the surface. Wouldn't you know, it fell off my hook. I couldn't hook it again; it was off from the front, and I had no gaff with me. It seemed like it was above water about five minutes, then it flipped to go under. When it flipped, its tail came close enough for me to reach out and grab it. I held on with every ounce of strength I had. By this time, the fish was closer to the boat.
Tom reached out and put his arms around the head of the fish. Between us we rolled the fish over the side of the boat (I was in the centre of the boat, and Tom was in the stern). The fish weighed 23 lbs and was over 40 inches long. I never want to catch a fish that way again.
A few days later, on the same fishing grounds, my line felt heavy again. This time I hauled up a small fish, with a shark eating off it. Needless to say, we got out of there fast. ... Hide full submission
Geraldine Silvey Fleur-De-Lys, NL
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Bakeapple Iceberg
Bakeapple Iceberg is a beautiful fruit wine with the distinct taste of the famed local berry, also called Newfoundland Gold. Bakeapples are picked from their natural growing fields, bogs and low-lying areas all over the province. The berries produce a golden-hued wine that can be sipped after dinner or drizzled over ice cream.
Hope you will print my story: "The big one that almost, but didn't get away."
During the food fishery of July 2009, my sister Chris, her husband Tom Traverse and I decided to go out for a jig. ... click to read moreHi Downhome,
Hope you will print my story: "The big one that almost, but didn't get away."
During the food fishery of July 2009, my sister Chris, her husband Tom Traverse and I decided to go out for a jig. We tried all the fishing grounds on our way to Patridge Point and beyond. We never got any fish, not even a bite. Suddenly, the weather changed; it began to rain, so we headed home.
On our way beck to Fleur-de-Lys, Tom decided we would go out on the "Northern Rock" for one jig. As soon as Tom dropped his line over the side, he got a big fish, then another, and another; each one bigger than the other. He told us he had his line on the bottom. So we did the same. Chris caught one bigger than the ones Tom had.
I thought I had hooked the bottom, as usual. Then my line began to move slowly; I could hardly move it. At one point, my line felt light; I thought I had lost my fish. Then my line felt heavy again. Finally, I hauled the biggest fish of the evening to the surface. Wouldn't you know, it fell off my hook. I couldn't hook it again; it was off from the front, and I had no gaff with me. It seemed like it was above water about five minutes, then it flipped to go under. When it flipped, its tail came close enough for me to reach out and grab it. I held on with every ounce of strength I had. By this time, the fish was closer to the boat.
Tom reached out and put his arms around the head of the fish. Between us we rolled the fish over the side of the boat (I was in the centre of the boat, and Tom was in the stern). The fish weighed 23 lbs and was over 40 inches long. I never want to catch a fish that way again.
A few days later, on the same fishing grounds, my line felt heavy again. This time I hauled up a small fish, with a shark eating off it. Needless to say, we got out of there fast. ... Hide full submission
Geraldine Silvey Fleur-De-Lys, NL
(0 rating, 0 votes)
Friendship Our story begins with our fathers, both from Codroy Valley, serving in the Royal Navy during WW2. They met up again at the end of the war and discovered they both had English wives - wives who would be travelling to Canada on the same ship (The Sythia). Pertinent information was exchanged and our mothers met enroute in 1946 and became friends.
In Febuary 1947, both wives gave birth to daughters, 12 days ... click to read moreOur story begins with our fathers, both from Codroy Valley, serving in the Royal Navy during WW2. They met up again at the end of the war and discovered they both had English wives - wives who would be travelling to Canada on the same ship (The Sythia). Pertinent information was exchanged and our mothers met enroute in 1946 and became friends.
In Febuary 1947, both wives gave birth to daughters, 12 days apart, and so began a friendship that now spans six decades. In February 2012 (God willing) Eileen and I will get together in Corner Brook to celebrate our 65th birthdays.
Growing up we lived in different places, but we saw one another whenever we could and those visits we made the most of. We wrote letters from the time we could..oooh so many letters over the years. We've never been short of things to talk about and when phone calls became more the norm, it seemed like we just picked up the conversation from where we left off .
Though our lives took slightly different paths the flow of letters didn't stop and we visited whenever possible. I joined the Royal Canadian Navy and four years later married a military man. We rejoiced in each other's marriages and the births of our children (two for each of us, and now her grandchildren, three in total), shared tears and grief over the loss of loved ones, laughed at the silly things, commiserated over the trials and tribulations of life, especially some of the crazy things going on in the world today, and usually decide a cup of tea will fix everything.
I find we like so many of the same things, sometimes to the point of it being eerie. We had the same dish pattern, same tea towels, same car colour and I've lost count of the times I've been thinking of her and she will call, or I call and she says, "I was just going to call you."
She is the sister I've never had and the one constant in my life for these 65 years. Our friendship is the greatest of gifts - one I have never failed to treasure and one I hope we can share for many years to come.
Five years ago (2006), my husband, Jeff, was clearing some of our property with his tractor. Looking down he noticed a tiny, scurrying little furball who could hardly walk. It was a baby jackrabbit, obviously just a few hours old. The parents ... click to read moreFive years ago (2006), my husband, Jeff, was clearing some of our property with his tractor. Looking down he noticed a tiny, scurrying little furball who could hardly walk. It was a baby jackrabbit, obviously just a few hours old. The parents were nowhere to be seen!
I still remember the day Jeff brought this beautiful little bit of fur in the house in a five gallon bucket. Neither one of us knowing how to care for a wild, baby rabbit started making several calls to the vets and wildlife offices.
All the organizations stated the baby jack wouldn't live because he's too small and it's extremely difficult keeping a wild baby bunny alive the first few days of life.
My husband and I, both being avid animal lovers, were persistent to give this little fella a chance.
Finally, we contacted a vet's office who recommended giving him goat's milk, but the vet said there is no way he will make it. Wild animals of this age and size won't live. After a trip to Wal-Mart, we got some cans of goat milk.
Persistently, day after day, Jeff and I heated the goat milk and fed it to the baby jack in an eyedropper every few hours. What an appetite! We have a spare room in the house so that became his safe haven and home. Several soft blankies on a little heating pad was his bed.
Since we raised the little guy on goat's milk, what a more appropriate name for him than "Goat". Goat became quite a big part of our family.
Not being able to release him back in the wild, because he didn't have the skills to survive on his own, Goat lived with us for several years!
Goat loved his "easy-listening" music and TV! He especially liked the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders! We will always remember the wild running through the house. What a character he was!
Goat is probably the only jackrabbit in history to have laundry done for him every week. In July of this year (2011), our dear little man went to bunny heaven. We still miss having him around.
That's our story of "Goat" the jackrabbit. We love and miss him greatly. 'Til we meet again....
I received the attached article and photo from our deployed Canadian Forces in Italy, supporting Operation MOBILE. Operation MOBILE is the Canadian Forces' participation in Operation UNIFIED PROTECTOR, the NATO-led effort, as authorized in U.N. Security Council Resolutions 1970 and 1973 to ... click to read moreI received the attached article and photo from our deployed Canadian Forces in Italy, supporting Operation MOBILE. Operation MOBILE is the Canadian Forces' participation in Operation UNIFIED PROTECTOR, the NATO-led effort, as authorized in U.N. Security Council Resolutions 1970 and 1973 to impose upon Libya an arms embargo, a no-fly zone and to protect civilians and civilian-populated areas in Libya.
Chief Warrant Officer Daphne Germain is a native of Chance Cove and has progressed in her career to the highest rank a non-commissioned officer can achieve.
As the senior non-commissioned officer deployed on Op MOBILE, CWO Daphne Germain provides mentorship and guidance to Canadian Forces in Italy.
Chief Warrant Officer Daphne Germain
Capt. Marie-France Poulin
Task Force Libeccio
Public Affaires officer
Naples Italy - A little more than a month ago, (CWO) Daphne Germain arrived in Naples, Italy, posted to the Task Force Libeccio Joint Force Headquarters. She became the new Task Force Chief Warrant Officer and joined the team of 650 Canadian Forces (CF) members currently deployed in Italy as part of Op MOBILE, the Canadians Forces contribution to the NATO operation UNIFIED PROTECTOR in Libya.
Currently posted in North Bay as 22 Wing Chief Warrant Officer, CWO Germain was excited when she was told she would be deployed to Italy. “This is why I wear the uniform. I was very proud to be selected and have the opportunity to represent all the fine airmen, air women, soldiers and sailors that occupy the geographical confines of all the detachments” she said.
This operational deployment was not her first. In the late 90’s, CWO Germain was deployed to Golan Heights and had the opportunity to visit CF members in Afghanistan this past February. “As a CWO in the Canadian Forces it doesn’t matter where we go, what matters is what we do. We are entrusted with the morale and welfare of our people. We have to ensure that they are well equipped, well versed and remain focused on the mission. We can not be successful in any mission if our troops are not well taken care of.”
Being a female CWO in the Canadians Force is an example of how women can be successful in any profession they choose. There are not many female CWOs in the CF, and those who have reached this point in their career are great examples of the passion and determination of these women. CWO Germain takes every opportunity to use her experience to mentor other female members. “I have had many firsts in my career and hope to continue to pave the way for many more of the bright and highly capable women that are coming up though the ranks.”
CWO Daphne Germain is a native of Chance Cove, N.L. She joined the Canadian Forces in 1980 as an Air Force supply technician. In 1985, she was posted to Lahr, Germany, and it was during this time she participated for the first time in the Nijmegen March with the first all-Canadian female team. She has also enjoyed postings to Victoria, Winnipeg, Ottawa and Toronto.
Operation MOBILE is the Canadian Forces’ participation in Operation UNIFIED PROTECTOR, the NATO-led effort, as authorized in U.N. Security Council Resolutions 1970 and 1973 to impose upon Libya an arms embargo, a no-fly zone and to protect civilians and civilian-populated areas in Libya.
Task Force Libeccio is the Air Component of Operation MOBILE and it is composed of the Task Force Headquarters (based in Naples, Italy), the Air Coordination Element (based in Poggio-Renatico, Italy) and the Sicily Air Wing (based out of two locations in Sicily, Italy). There are approximately 400 personnel deployed in Italy as part of Task Force Libeccio.
Photo Caption: CWO Daphne Germain poses for a photo in Naples, Italy. She is the senior non-commissioned officer deployed on Operation MOBILE and acts as the Task Force Libeccio CWO, mentoring and guiding other CF members deployed.
Photo: Capitaine M-F.Poulin, TF LIB PAO
Good People Are Everywhere Newfoundlanders are a friendly people, there can be no mistake about that. But I’m tired of hearing about how we are so much nicer than mainlanders or other people. Some of the kindest people I have had the good fortune to meet have been from all over Canada and the USA and other parts of the world. Quebecers seem to get more criticism than others, but my experience was almost always positive there. Like everybody ... click to read moreNewfoundlanders are a friendly people, there can be no mistake about that. But I’m tired of hearing about how we are so much nicer than mainlanders or other people. Some of the kindest people I have had the good fortune to meet have been from all over Canada and the USA and other parts of the world. Quebecers seem to get more criticism than others, but my experience was almost always positive there. Like everybody else, they respond to polite and friendly people in a like manner. When I was a young man hitchhiking to Toronto to try to make a new start away from the cold judgement of my townspeople and the loveless place I called home, on my way through Nova Scotia I stayed at a bed and breakfast. The owners insisted I give them my dirty garments so that they could wash them. In the morning my laundry was washed and pressed and hanging on the outside doorknob. I was told breakfast was ready and after a great feed of bacon and eggs, I thanked them and asked how much for the lodging? They refused any payment. Great people. I have never forgotten that act of kindness.
Later on as I was hiking through New Brunswick, I spoke to a small family who were having a picnic at a roadside table. A few comments on how nice a day it was and they asked me where I was going and shortly after that, I continued walking. Rides were scarce and before long it was night and a light drizzle started. There was no shelter so I sat on my suitcase, pulled my nylon jacket up over my head and slept fitfully. Sometime early in the morning I heard a car stop on the gravel side of the highway and heard somebody yell for me to get in. Still a little groggy, it wasn’t until I was in the car that I realized that this was the same family I has spoken to the previous day. I travelled with them all the way to Montreal. I earned my meals by playing games with the two children. All in all it was an enjoyable trip. When we got to their destination at Montreal, they insisted I stay for dinner, after which I asked for directions on how to get out of the city, which they drew out for me on a piece of paper. When I was leaving, they gave me a envelope that contained about ten dollars (a substantial amount in 1960) and insisted that I take it, which I did and was very grateful for. About 20 minutes later as I was walking out of the city, which seemed to me to go on forever, I heard my name being yelled out and that was quite a surprise. However, it was the same family and the people they were visiting. They had talked and decided to buy me a ticket to Toronto. Of course I accepted, because I couldn’t refuse and because I was totally lost in Montreal. Another act of kindness than I will never forget.
I spent some time in Timmins when my brother-in-law, Ben Whissel, was killed in a mine accident. Timmins is populated by a large number of French Canadians and people of just about every race and creed and everybody I came in contact with were the finest kind. While living in Toronto in 1967, I injured my left knee and was only able to walk with the aid of crutches. Dozens of people, male and female, helped me at different times getting on and off streetcars, on the subway and in other ways.
Time and time again I have meet decent, kind people. For three years I lived in the little village of Young’s Point. At the time I resided there, I commuted to the Indusmin minds at Nephton a half hour drive each way. One summer, a University of Toronto student from Lakefield travelled with me each day. One Sunday during the summer, not far from his home, a elderly lady from Toronto had a flat tire as she was travelling on 28 Highway. Rod (that was his name) offered to change it for her, but before doing so he went back to his mother's and brought her a coffee and a few cookies, fixed her tire and sent her on her way. A week later, a letter to the editor appeared in the Toronto Star from this lady commenting on how much nicer the country boys were than city boys. The irony is that Rod was born in Toronto and spent his entire life there, except six months he had lived in Lakefield.
During the 17 years my wife and I operated a restaurant in the little village I now call home, I had a working staff of 10 to 12 employees. One woman from the west coast of Newfoundland worked for me for most of the 17 years. She constantly went on about how Newfoundlanders were so much nicer than the people here. She said this despite the fact that the local people donated food and money directly to her every Christmas and when she retired, gave very generously to help in her retirement. Shortly after she retired, she asked to come back to work. I went against my better judgment and hired her back. She repaid me by telling everybody that I begged her to come back, meanwhile she kept all the gifts and money and as far as I know, never thanked anyone. Shortly before we retired from the business we hired a woman from the Baie Verte area. She was 73 at the time and she is one of the most respected and most liked individuals in the area and a credit to Newfoundland and to the community where she now lives. People judge her on who she is and not on who she says she is. I guess you could say my best and my worst employee was a Newfoundlander.
A little over a year ago, I was at the local RONA dealer when I picked up on a Newfoundland accent. Naturally I approached the gentleman and inquired as to what part of the island he came from. We had a nice chat and during the course of the conversion he told me he had come to the store to buy some 12 inch sauna tubes for a deck he was building. As it turned out, I had two that I had no use for, so I gave them to him for free. Just before he drove away, he thanked me and said “Only a Newfoundlander would do that." What I never had time to tell him was a neighbour up the street gave them to me at no charge and he certainly was not a Newfoundlander. I guess what I’m trying to say is stop being so full of yourselves. If you are in reality as great as you say you are, then let others sing your praises as indeed many have.
Traditions + Heritage + Summer = Memories My hometown is Cartyville, a small community on the west coast of Newfoundland. Growing up in a three-generation family may have been a contributing factor that impressed on me the importance of my heritage. Now I find that passing the legacy of my heritage on to my grandchildren is a special summer activity.
Our 11-year-old grandson, Liam, recently spent a week here in Cartyville with his grandfather and me - in fact this is ... click to read moreMy hometown is Cartyville, a small community on the west coast of Newfoundland. Growing up in a three-generation family may have been a contributing factor that impressed on me the importance of my heritage. Now I find that passing the legacy of my heritage on to my grandchildren is a special summer activity.
Our 11-year-old grandson, Liam, recently spent a week here in Cartyville with his grandfather and me - in fact this is the ninth summer he has done that. One day of that week is always set aside as Liam’s Heritage Day.
Early that morning we set out - our backpacks brimming with Vienna Sausages, juice packs, marshmallows and chocolate chip cookies. We hike across the now-deserted fields that were once alive with farmers tending their vegetable gardens and harvesting hay.
We stop to look at the remains of old barns and foundations of old homesteads. The smell of wild roses permeates the air - the same rose bushes a farmer’s wife so tenderly cared for so many years ago. We listen to the robins singing from their nests in the old spruce trees – the only sound now where once the air was filled with children’s laughter. We chat about the way of life that used to be.
As we come to the end of these fields, we find ourselves at the top of a 50-metre cliff overlooking beautiful Bay St. George. Conversation turns to the fishermen who once eked their living from these waters. Now only a few pleasure boats can be seen.
Next we slide down that steep cliff - oh yes, Grandma slides down too - to the beach below. We gather driftwood and get our fire started - hot dogs and S’mores over an open fire - yum yum! Then it is time for our leisurely stroll back to the old homestead with more memories tucked away.
What could possibly be a more enjoyable and worthwhile summer activity than passing the legacy of my heritage on to another generation?
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