The treasure chest

Their house was like a treasure chest at least that was how it seemed for the child that I was at the time. Every nook and cranny had something to marvel a child. The walk in wardrobe, which led to the hidden attic and all its memories of times past. Nanny, as my brother and sister called her, was the epitome of your favorite grandmother. Grey haired, a lovely smile, cuddly in the right places and she always had cookies or lovely squares in the pantry. I have fond memories of family meals where the Reid clan came from all over. Gigantic turkeys, a myriad of cousins and tall, tall stories. Nanny and Pa’s farm in Sutton, Quebec was a haven of peace for us “youngins”. We would gather together to play board games from the same ones that our parents played with as children. In the summer, we would go in the shed and pull out the ancient lawn chairs and the old croquet set. We felt like country gentry sitting on the lawn by the flower bed sipping our soft drinks and watching the cars go by. I have further memories of hours playing as superheroes or cowboys and Indians. We would go over for haying season to give a small hand but it was mostly being part of it that made it special. My Uncle Doug’s hay fever and lying in the loft somehow made us commune with the age old ritual of the harvest. Pa always had a bag with peppermints in it and if you were lucky, you’d get one of the pink ones! We stayed over a weekend and my brother Alain and I had hidden a tape recorder to capture Pa snoring. We couldn’t believe what noise this small man managed to emit while taking his nap. It was so funny for us children; of course he had seen us coming and had “slightly” exaggerated the level of his noise. Nanny was a homemaker, as many women of her day, and had many friends through the women’s institute and the church. I can still hear talking with friends on the phone and keeping up on the news. In today’s unfriendly world, we might call this gossip in those friendlier days it was called looking out and taking care for one another. It was always a party when the cousins from the states would come over. Imagine, they lived in Connecticut and drove all that way to come and visit us all. Dale was a model for all of us young boys. He gave me a BB gun and after that I just worshipped him. He was in the armed forces and we marveled at what a “simple” cousin of ours had become!!! One visit, we were told to come quickly over to Nanny and Pa’s. Dale was bringing a surprise and what a surprise it was! I guessed that he worked for an ice cream shop at the time and he had brought loads of ice cream from the states. It was all cooled with dry ice but I can imagine that he nevertheless had to drive quickly from Connecticut and how he got it over the border is still a miracle in family lore. You can see why we worshipped him… They had two ponds on the farm and in the summer we would go with the cousins for a swim or just float on an inner tube. It was like having our private beach, what a privilege! The aunts would chat and we never realized how lucky we all were. Pa had an old vintage truck hidden on the grounds which was more or less the same as the Walton’s truck from the television series. I loved that truck and dreamt of owning it… well I do but in my memories. Were we poor? I guess so but none of us children felt it. Being together as cousins meant having fun. Nanny died of cancer and part of us with her. We all tried but it was never quite the same. We all grew up and went our own ways. I have Pa’s cap to remind me of the days gone by and every turkey meal brings up a gentle reminder of that kind woman we called Nanny. In my memories they live on and are part of my treasure chest.

Bernard Lucien Roy, Fribourg Switzerland, December 29, 2008