A few days ago, a blizzard blew through.

Today, all evidence of the storm has disappeared and I’m sitting on the back deck writing this post. Earlier, I sowed the first seeds of the season in the garden (there are more growing under lights downstairs, but these are the first in the garden.)

That’s spring in Saskatchewan.
This week, much of my time and attention has been focused on my genealogical research, taking me both back in time and to places I never imagined when I set out on this journey. I’ve been thinking about Flora, Jane, Margaret, Mary Jane, and Susan. Also Janetje, Catherine, Jane, and Mahala. Anne and Hannah, too. All these women who, for the most part, exist in my mind almost exclusively through the filter of the men in their lives. The stories about the lives of these women is told mostly through records of the men they married and the children they bore, and yet there’s so much more.
Taking a step farther back from the American Revolution and my (mostly) Loyalist ancestors, I’ve been in Scotland and Ireland and Germany this week, reading about even more strife and more people needing to flee their homeland. It’s hard to read about the mistreatment of human beings that happened hundreds of years ago. It’s harder to read about the same thing happening now. The rhetoric that accompanies it is enough to make one physically, emotionally, and mentally ill. The news this week was appalling, but the more I look into the past, the more I see that evil has always dwelt among us.
What do we do about this? The same thing Flora and Jane and the rest of the women whose lives I’m looking into did. We carry on. We care for those around us and plant our gardens, and live our lives. And write our stories. For goodness’ sake, let’s write our stories so those who come after us won’t have to wonder what it was like for women in the twenty-first century (most of you reading this are women.)
Blogging is one way we can do this. These posts we write mean something. They provide a record of our lives as well as a way of reaching out and connecting. If you haven’t been in the habit of downloading and saving your posts, maybe it’s something to consider. I’m guessing that most of us in this sphere won’t face trials similar to those our ancestors did, but every single one of us will come up against circumstances that will bring us to our knees, and someone else will experience something similar.
It’s an act of generosity to share our stories. One day, someone will read something you have written and be moved by it. That day might even be today. It might not even be what we think of as a “big” thing, but just something that lets another person know they’re not the only one in a given situation.
Gosh, I realized that I’m back up on my soapbox again. Stepping off. Again. I’m going to head to my woman cave and make some art to clear my mind. Thanks for reading and, if you’ve got a blog or a Substack, thanks for writing. Your words are a gift.


It’s a wonderful soapbox! Yes, tell the stories. They are important now and will be important in the years to come. I always want to listen to my parents’ stories of long ago. I know they won’t be with us forever. It’s truly astounding how much the world has changed since their childhoods, and sadly, how war and greed have not.
My parents both died far too early. I wish I had an opportunity to hear more of their stories.
I have written a memoir detailing my early life in the 1950s on a dairy farm a long way from the nearest town. We had no electricity, hot water for our weekly baths was heated in a copper with a fire under it, long drop toilet in the back yard, and mum washed for seven people by hand. I wanted my grandchildren to know me in more than just a superficial way, but I also wrote it for myself. I have also written a book on our long married life for my husband who is losing his memory, and a family history of my ancestors who were early settlers from England and Ireland in Tasmania. I think it is so important to have a record our lives, especially for our children and grandchildren, but also for later generations as well. Plus it’s a really interesting hobby to have!
That’s awesome, Kate! What treasures you have crafted from your generous heart. And, yes, I agree—writing is an excellent hobby!
In contrast to those who came before me, I have had a relatively easy life. I have often told our sons stories of my growing up in Toronto, and what I can remember of the stories my parents told me of their growing up years here in Saskatchewan. Mom always said that since they lived on a farm near Norquay, that the depression never really was felt by them. They always had food, and even though their Mom died when my Mom was around 5, Grandpa raised all four girls on his own. Dad on the other hand was raised in a small village near Yorkton and clearly remembered the depression. I also tell the story of my Great-Great grandfather on my mother’s side who was one of the Bernardo Boys. Lots of small stories, through the last 100 years, and those got our oldest son tracing my family. Funny thing is, he has managed to do most of the tracing through the females.
God bless.
This is an inspiring post! It makes me feel brave that I could write my story! I love reading the list of names of the women in your family. Just seeing them brings them to life. I wonder how long it’s been since they’ve been spoken out loud?
Oh, I hope you do write your story, Karen! Thanks for posing the question about how long it’s been since the names of these women were spoken aloud. It’s something interesting to ponder.
Yes everyone should write more!! I have my blog mostly for my grandchildren:)
True words in your lovely post Linda!
Linda,
Your posts are always laden with a bit of hope and a lot of encouragement. Thank YOU for sharing your stories and for rooting on the rest of us in sharing ours too.
Lisa G (from Substack)
Get Outlook for Mac https://aka.ms/GetOutlookForMac
Thanks so much for your kind words, Lisa. I appreciate you and am looking forward to reading your updates on Substack about your new adventure! A joy to see you here. 😊