The late evening sun was preparing to kiss the earth good night. A light breeze

swept away the remains of the day. The sunset was beautiful as I looked west from

my position in the hayloft. Another load of hay would be arriving soon. I may

have been five or six years of age at the time and was greatly impressed as I

continued to view the sunset. Not far from the barn was a small slough, surrounded

by a recently cut hay meadow. The water was calm. A mother duck and her family of

ducklings slowly swam across the water to the other side of the slough and away from the

barn. The air was filled with the aroma of drying hay, and dust floated in the gentle breeze.

The hay of the last load needed to be moved back to the center of the loft of the large red

barn.

Some outstanding event must have taken place. Maybe someone or something had

died, or I may have heard of a tragedy to someone, because this beautiful fall sun caused me

to ask myself important questions. What happens when life ends? Will there be no more

sunshine, no more life? Is it all over when death comes? Is there nothing else? Is this all

there is to one’s existence on earth? That is an impression that has remained with me from

my childhood. I am grateful that later in life I learned that there indeed is more to life than

just the beautiful sunsets on earth.

There is another event that I recall happened about the same time. The cattle usually

were brought home from the pasture in the evening. In the herd were milk cows as well as

young animals. There was also Uncle John’s bull. Before the milking could be done, Dad

would have to catch the bull and remove him from the corral, which was usually done by

fastening a rope or chain to the ring in his nose. When Dad tried to do this, the bull charged

and knocked him to the ground. He stood over Dad while he snorted and clawed the ground.

The bull was MAD. It seemed that at any moment he would crush Dad with his feet. Dad

lay very still. He didn’t attempt to get up. He called to our dog. The dog immediately

rushed into the corral, attracting the attention of the ferocious bull with his loud bark and

aggressive attack. The bull ran for the dog, and Dad got up and ran away to the fence. Those

of us who watched were so glad that we had such a brave dog. He was not afraid of an

animal much greater in size.

On our mixed farm we had horses, cows, pigs, chickens, ducks, geese and sheep.

Among the sheep there was a ram. In the summer the sheep would be in the pasture. In the

winter, however, they would be around the farmyard. As young children we were afraid of

the ram, the gander or the rooster. We would avoid them whenever possible. I remember a

winter day when the sheep were around the barn. Our neighbor came over for some reason at

breakfast time. He must not have paid attention to the ram. The ram, however, noticed him.

We heard a knock on the house door, and before anyone had a chance to open the door or say

"Come on in", Mr. Marash was at the table, and the ram was at the open door, ready to come

in after him. The situation was funny, but I think that no one laughed. That kind of thing

was a humiliating experience for a man. It would have been a frightening experience for any

of us children.

Then there were on the farm other kinds of animals as well. Some were wild like the

coyote, muskrat or rabbit. On our farm there were Denmark rats, lots of rats. They would

come into the house at times in the winter looking for food. I remember one winter evening

after suppertime a rat was spotted in the living area. The girls were usually so frightened of

these creatures that they ran up on the chairs, table or beds until the intruder was caught or

killed. There was a great commotion in the house when this happened.

I grew up on a farm 3 ½ miles from the village of Calder, Saskatchewan. My initial

memories are of the second farm that my family had.