It was always soiled, that old, full length apron that had ties at the neck and waist and that she wore seven days a week. Aunt Jessie was in her late fifties, plump with grey streaked hair, and a pink and white complexion. Many men would find my surrogate mother desirable. She had not been able to have children of her own, and loved us four children dearly, always trying to find ways to please us and win our affection and loyalty. Read More
We were spending a wonderful evening with Frances, a friend of ours from Saskatchewan, sharing a bottle of wine and reminiscing about the past. We often do this in Mission, Texas where we spend the winter with many close friends from all over Canada and the USA. We are from Eastern Canada and know quite a bit about the fishing industry but very little about farming.
“Slow down a minute,” interjected my husband as Frances rambled on. “What is a stook?” Read More
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