As most people in Jeddore, my parents and grandparents depended upon the land and sea, that is nature to provide the bulk of their needs. They farmed, cut wood, fished, and shot or caught wild animals and birds. This living off the land during the years of depression of the 1930's was an even greater necessity. For the most part the way we lived in the 1930's, was in many instances, as people had lived for the past fifty years or more. What the depression did was slow down the adoption of the new trends in communication, transportation and economics. Instead, the old traditions of self reliance backed by hard physical work was the accepted norm.
Life was regulated by the seasons' activities arising from the cultivation of the land. Each spring the soil had to be plowed to get ready for planting. The ox would be yoked to the metal plough and my father would walk behind guiding the plough up and down the field; first turning the soil over, later harrowing to level out, and eventually ploughing into neat furrows. The plough would often hit a rock under the surface which would have to be removed if not too large; usually the garden areas were free of small rocks due to years of removal at each ploughing.
Because of the irregular terrain, there would be two or three garden areas, rather than one large one. As our house was on a slope with trees and rocky land scattered about, there were four preferred garden areas: one just above the house, where the old barn used to be, one just across from the house on the other side of the gully, and the third, beyond the first, up a treed path to the top of the hill. The fourth was out on the open hill overlooking the harbour. These areas were reasonably flat, and more or less rock free. It must be remebered that some areas of our land were covered with nothing but large rocks, which made any attempt to convert to a hay field or a garden impossible. Here trees grew as well as bushes.
Most years, these garden areas would be planted, but not always in the same crop. My grandfather also had a number of garden areas scattered over his cleared land. Some years an area would not be planted at all. I do not know if my father and grandfather practiced a form of crop rotation, but I think that they did. Any area not planted, would be used for hay. Never would the total area planted by my father be much more than two acres. Crops were harvested for our needs only, none were sold, so years of experience must have indicated the total area allocated to each vegetable. I do not remember anything being wasted, nor a desperate shortage.
Manure from the barn and from the hen house made up the bulk of the fertilizer. This would be applied during planting. Another source of fertilizer was sea weed; if I remember correctly it would be put on the fields in the fall. Money was too scarce for the purchase of commercial fertilizers, if they were available. I do not know of anyone in Jeddore who used them. I grew up with my parents and grandparents mentioning certain persons who used human manure in their garden. That was certainly a no-no in their opinion and decent people did not do it. I never saw it first hand. My mother washed our vegetables well before cooking, but we kids ate young carrots right from the soil with probably only a wipe on our clothes first.
The largest garden area would be devoted to potatoes. There would be rows of peas, beans, carrots, turnips, beets, radish, parsnips, onions, cabbage, lettuce, and tomatoes. There were patches of cucumbers, pumpkins, and squash. My mother would have a patch of rhubarb near the house. One year my grandfather planted sugar beets to feed to the cow. For whatever reason, it was a once only crop.
The men did the ploughing and most of the planting, especially the potatoes. My father and grandfather usually assisted each other in the ploughing, some planting and the haying. We had the ox which both households shared. But planting could be a whole family affair. It was a race to get the crops in while the weather held. Poking holes and dropping in seeds was a cooperative effort. Some seeds were saved from the year before for some crops, and bought in small packets for others; they were not trusted to small hands to spill or scatter about at random. So the help of us kids was controlled till we were older. I remember the lessons on how to place the potato pieces in the soil with regards to the eyes.
The garden was not large enough to require days of work, therefore tending the garden was part of the wives' and children's chores. The men would be away most of the summer, but would be home again for harvesting, especially of the potatoes, and for haying. Weeding was an early chore for kids; I remember my mother and grandfather explaining to me the differences between a young carrot, for example, and the weeds. Up and down the rows we went. It might be a family effort with our mother in the garden with us; at other times, she would assign us specific rows to be done each day.
There was also hoeing the rows; this meant bringing the soil up around the young growing plant. It would have to be done carefully with a hoe or rake. If there was a dry spell, the plants had to be watered. Buckets of water were carried to the garden areas, and plant by plant, row after row, would be watered by a tin with holes in the bottom. As the climbing beans and peas grew, our mother would have to pound in the poles to support them. These poles would be used from year to year, but a few new ones would have to be cut each year.
As the plants grew they could be attacked by insect pests such as the potato bugs and a cabbage grub, so for us kids it would be going up and down the rows, squashing these as we went. I do not remember any insecticides, instead it was human hands. Deer could get in the garden and cause major damage, so despite the closed deer hunting season, a farmer could shoot deer in his garden. My uncle, Alan Mills, used to shoot deer from his upstairs bedroom window, getting a clear dawn shot across the road to his garden. Just after planting, birds could eat the seeds, so each garden had a scarecrow. Rabbits were also a hazard to the garden vegetables. The cows wandering the roads had to be kept from the gardens by fences, so care had to always be taken that gates be kept closed. I can't remember if the cows ate much from the garden, as they preferred grass, or if their major damage was walking over everything.
As the summer progressed, the family would eat the crops as they grew or ripened. Of special favour were the young potatoes and carrots. We would be told to go dig enough potatoes for dinner. We had already been taught how to dig up potatoes without ruining them by chopping into pieces with the hoe. We liked to pull up young carrots and eat them raw. Of particular treat was eating raw the young sweet peas. Young cucumbers were also favoured raw. But we kids did not have an open invitation to help ourselves; it was a privilege not to be abused.
Although the garden supplied us with fresh vegetables during the summer, the bulk of the crop was harvested in late summer and early fall to be stored in the cellar or preserved for winter use. We kids would assist in harvesting by picking up the potatoes as they were dug, pulling up the turnips and carrots, and helping to shell the beans and peas.
In our area of Jeddore, there were few fields of any size. There were large rocks poking up and rock walls bordering the fields; these piles of rocks were testimony to generations of toil as rock after rock was removed as each tilling brought it to the surface. The land was uneven. Except for the areas cultivated, the remainder of the cleared land was for hay. The hay was mown by hand and turned to dry the same way. The fields were too small, rocky and uneven for any form of mechanical haying.
The scythes were quite impressive with their long curved wooden handle with two hand holds, with the blade at right-angles to it. To a small child they were very large and much too awkward a tool for the young to handle. We had to keep out of the way of the mower and his relaxed cutting rhythm. The mower would stop from time to time to sharpen the blade with a hand wetstone; the sound of the sharpening carried across the fields, as did the smell of the new mown hay.
Although we kids could not mow, we did turn and rake the hay. The hay fork or pitch fork was used for turning the hay; it was a long two pronged affair; except for the handle, it had to be store purchased. Unlike the scythe, the pitch fork was expected to be used by the quite young for throwing the hay from the mow, tossing the hay to the cows in the barn, and turning the hay to dry in the fields. The rake was homemade with wooden teeth. Turning the hay was something that could not be delayed, so when the weather was right all members of the family were out to help. If it rained, the turning would have to be repeated on the next sunny day. The hay must be dry before being stored in the barn.
When dry the hay was raked and stacked. One way of transporting it to the barn was to push the hay fork down into the stack from the top, then lift the whole load up over your head with the handle resting on your shoulder. From the rear and the side, the moving haystack with legs was often all that would be visible. It required strength, but was quite effective; usually the whole stack would be picked up and transported, with only a few wisps of hay needing to be racked again. My grandfather carried hay this way into his seventies.
The other manual method of carrying the hay to the barn was with the use of hay poles. Two slender strong poles six to eight feet long were placed on the ground about two to three feet apart. The hay was piled on top of the poles; when a load was reached, two adults stood between the ends of the poles, stooped, took hold of their ends, and lifted. They then walked to the barn between the poles. The load was heavy, but the method again quite effective.
In the barn, the hay was thrown from the threshing floor up into the mow in smaller fork fulls. Sometimes an adult stood at the front of the mow to redirect the hay to the far back corners, where we kids collected, stowed and stamped it down. Other times, we would get arm loads of hay , and carry it to the back of the hay mow. Making hay was fun for the younger kids, but as you got older it was hard work. The mow was hot and you had to keep moving, as there could be a steady stream of hay arriving in the barn and thence into the mow.
"Making hay while the sun shines" is no idle saying. The animals depend upon the hay for their winter food, and the hay had to be dry before stowing in the mow in order to survive the winter without spoiling.
On my uncle's farm there was a very large field, so a horse and wagon was used. The hay was piled high on the wagon, and when full, was pulled off to the barn, with us kids on top. From the top of the wagon, the hay went into the mow through a second storey door. On a few occasions, I remember an ox and wagon on my father's and grandfather's farms for haying, but the fields were small, and the track to the barn rocky and uneven. It was just easier all around to carry on the fork or poles.
Haying at my grandparent's could be a working bee with friends and relatives coming to help. My grandmother would make a spruce beer for the men and a cordial for us kids. I guess the spruce beer had a kick, because we kids were never allowed more than a sip. I was never told the recipe, but I do remember that the root of a certain small tree, probably a specific type of spruce, was always used. One grew in my grandfather's pasture and and I remember when passing its association with beer making. I must have seen my grandmother gathering the roots. Hops grew over one stone wall not far away - probably another ingredient. Food was provided for the workers. It was a time of excitement for us kids.
Chickens were a very important part of our existence. As kids we grew up hearing the hens announcing new eggs, the roosters crowing, the squawking of alarmed chickens, and the singing of a contented flock. There was a daily supply of eggs and a roast chicken on special occasions. When there was no snow and not too cold, the chickens were allowed to roam free. In summer, one or two laying hens would decide to lay their eggs in the bushes; it was a game to find out where. Setting hens were encouraged, because one or two broods a year maintained the flock. As kids we liked to watch the chickens hatch; the little balls of feathers roaming about the yard after their mother was always entertaining. We were allowed to hold the chickens from time to time as a treat. We were not allowed to chase and catch them ourselves.
One of the chores we kids learned early was to see that the chickens were in at night and to lock the chicken house. We would also soon be collecting the eggs. When the hens roamed free, they mainly fed themselves, but in winter they had to be fed. The hens were fed cornmeal mixed with water to form a mush or paste, and cracked corn. There were always bags of each in the dairy. Our mother usually fed them daily, but here again, as we grew to a reliable age, it became one of our chores.
The hen house had a small back trap door which led into the chicken yard. This had to be closed each evening and opened in the morning. Chicken wire enclosed the yard, sides and top. The hens were in danger from hawks and weasels. The young chickens roaming the field with the mother hen, were in special danger from hawks. The weasels would come at night. If they got into the hen house,you could hear the racket of the fightened hens. My parents and grandparents had to make a constant effort to keep the chicken houses secure.
I can remember their distress if one was killed, the resulting search for the weasel's entry point, and the efforts to set traps and catch the culprit. It was believed, if once a weasel made a kill, he would be back again and again.
Every year there was the ritual of dipping the hens in a mixture of creosote and water to kill the hen lice. This was an oily brown liquid with a penetrating smell used as an antiseptic. I think it was sold under the name of "creosol" or "creolin". Each hen would be caught, squawking in protest, and dipped completely except for its head. If this were not done, eventually the lice would cause the hens' health to decline and could kill them. The hen house would be washed inside with this creosote mixture. The lice would be on the roosts, and in the cracks and corners. The house would be white washed inside and out as well. You never got all the lice, but it would take another year for their numbers to build to a danger level again.
I never liked the killing of chickens and roosters. As children we never had to do it. Our family method was to hold the chicken by the feet, lay its neck on a piece of wood, and chop off its head with an axe or hatchet. The hen would be quickly released to flap about till it lay still. Some people would wring their necks; I do not know why the chopping block was our family's preferred method. Then the dead chicken was quickly dipped into hot water and the feathers plucked immediately; the hot water was supposed to assist in the plucking by making the removal of the feathers easier. As I got older, plucking was one of my duties; afterward, my mother took over to do the singeing and the cleaning.
The gully below the house had a permanent creek, the same one which flowed from our well; my father damed it to make a pond. Here we would raise a few ducks during the summer months. I do not remember ducks being kept during the winter. I think we bought the baby ducks in the spring, and killed them off in the fall. We may have bought the eggs, and had a hen hatch them. There was a duck house near the pond. I seem to remember a high casuality rate with the ducks. At least twice, we had a turkey; one of them was a terror to us kids as it used to chase us. They certainly never lasted over winter.
My father and grandfather, each year would buy a young pig and fatten it up; it would be killed in the fall. So feeding the pig leftovers from the table and other swill was a daily routine. Our pig sty was just beside the back of the barn. The cow would usually come in or calf each year; sometimes the young would be raised to eat later in the year or sold. If a steer, it could be de-sexed and kept as our work ox. Sometimes a heifer would be raised to be our new cow and the old one killed for meat or sold.
We kids were everywhere and had our noses into most things that was going on at our or our grandparents' place, but we were not allowed to watch a calf being born, cattle being killed or a steer being de-sexed or castrated. On some larger farms where these events may happen on a regular basis, it would be part of a child's education. In our case, such events were rare and so our attendance could be controlled. We certainly saw hens being beheaded from year one, but I guess, to the adults there was a difference.
We could watch the skinning of deer, cattle, and rabbits, and the cleaning out and cutting up of the carcasses. I remember a very large pig being strung up between two poles amid its yells of protest. I can't remember how it was killed, but can remember its being cleaned and quartered. I can still see the wooden frame, the pig and know exactly where on my grandfathers property it took place. But as to its being killed, I remember nothing; I must have been taken indoors.
Other sources of meat were deer and rabbits. A hunting license was required for deer, with a kill of one per person per season, I think. My father and grandfather did not always take out a license, but my father would shoot one or two deer each year. My grandfather did not hunt when I was young. If he had a license, any excess deer shot by my father could be covered by his license.
I do not think the license system was really meant for people living off the land like we were. If my family killed a deer, they did so as meat required for the family. They never shot a deer for sport which was what the quota system was aimed at. Anyway, license or no license, in season or out of season, my father hunted, usually by taking his gun with him on the way to or from where he was cutting wood at the time. Bucks were fair game throughout the year, but care was taken not to shoot does in spring when they could be pregnant, or in summer when they may have young. If a female deer was shot by mistake during spring or summer and found to be pregnant or have young, great sorrow was expressed by the adults, which we children also felt.
Our father did not have to travel miles to hunt deer, they could be shot from the house, in our garden, or in the fields, usually at dawn or dusk. We kids would flush out a deer just on the edge of our fields or gardens as we played or went about our chores. Deer found in your garden, as it was destroying the food upon which your family depended, could be shot outside the deer season.
When the men went hunting, they usually had their favourite places. If great distances had to be covered, it usually occurred when a deer was wounded and there was the need to follow the trail of blood far into the woods. The men felt compelled to find the wounded animal, because it would die after much suffering. I can remember the concern expressed when a wounded deer could not be found, and it was not all because of the lost meat and effort. As a child I listened enthralled as the men related their favourite hunting stories.
Any deer shot by my father, was shared with my grandfather, who often assisted with the cleaning and quartering. If my father was on the way to work, the cleaning, quartering and carrying out of the woods would be undertaken by my grandfather. The meat would be eaten right away or bottled for winter use. The only other way to keep meat was by salting or pickling, but I can't remember if this was done with venison.
We kids were never taken hunting for obvious reasons. Although we would be there when a deer was skinned and cleaned, if the kill had taken place near home. But we often went with my grandfather or father, when they checked the rabbit snares. There would be fifteen or twenty snares, scattered in the woods, and off we would go visiting each one in turn, taking out the dead rabbits, and resetting the snares. Often there were no rabbits, only sprung snares which had to be reset. My grandfather made sure we kids were shown what to do, because soon we would be visiting the snares on our own.
Loops of rabbit wire were hung down in the rabbit trails which were obvious, snow or no snow. With care, boughs would be placed in such a way that the rabbit had to enter the arch where the wire hung waiting. Care had to be taken not to walk on the rabbit trail itself or cause too much disturbance, otherwise the rabbit would be alarmed and take flight in another direction. The rabbit's head went into the snare and it strangled. If you did not go to the snares regularly the weasels and owls would have a feast. Even so, we often found only part of a rabbit. Rabbits were caught in winter, therefore they could be kept frozen and eaten when desired. Many were bottled for the future.
For whatever reason, as far as I can remember, in Jeddore, rabbits were never shot, but snared. The men probably had no time to shoot rabbits, or maybe the cost of the shot was too high. Securing rabbits was not considered a sport, but a necessity of life. Old men, women and children could snare rabbits. An odd partridge would be shot, but I think it just happened to be there when a gun was at hand. Adults did go to shoot wild ducks. Gull and duck eggs added to our diet; these were collected on the small islands which lay off the coast in the Atlantic. We kids were never taken on such trips. We never ate gulls because they were scavengers, but some people did.
My father only fished for flatfish or flounders and eels which could be done within the harbour from a row boat. My father or grandfather used to prepare a barrel of a terrible smelling mess of rotting fish, which I think we called 'slurry'. A bucket would be taken on the boat. When the area to be fished was reached, a tin full of slurry would be thrown over the water. Its oily content immediately made the water's surface transparent. A necessity because the fishing was by spearing. The spears would be at least 10 to 15 feet long with a home made barbs, which were very different for flatfish and for eels.
The procedure was to stand up in the boat and as it drifted along, peer down to the muddy bottom through the calmed water and spear the fish or eels, whichever your spear was for. As the bottom had to be seen and reached by the spear, the depth could not be great. Jeddore Harbour, at low tides, had vast expanses of such shallow water. The bottom was mud, parts clear and parts covered with eel grass. Flatfish and eels could easily be seen on the bottom. I was too small to be more than a watcher on these trips as the spears were too long. I used to throw the slurry when needed. There were certain times when we went spearing, at low tides, and early in the morning, when the surface was very still and visibility to the bottom excellent even without the slurry.
My father and grandfather also set eel traps, which had rotting fish as bait. I remember the long rounded traps piled in the garage. The sides were covered with long slender twisted roots or branches, held together with twine or wire, and weighted down with stones. It was much different from the lobster pot. A long funnel-like entrance led the eel into the trap, and it never seemed able to find the hole to get back out. The eel traps would be set while you were out spearing, to be picked up on the way back. Sometimes they would be set one day and picked up the next.
My father and grandfather used to take us line fishing from the boat. In shallow water, I can still remember watching the bait, usually a clam or worm, on or near the bottom, being taken by a flatfish, a sculpin, a pearch, or an eel. However, when we went fishing in deeper water, with no visibility, there was always a sense of anticipation as to what was on the line. The fish which tugged the hardest was the flatfish.
One fish we caught in the dozens were smelts. Each year they came up certain brooks to spawn. We had no such river or brook on our and; there was one on the Howe Jennex's property about two miles away. Our mother, sometimes with our father, would take us there to scoop them up by what ever method. For us kids it was an adventure, but only one or two excursions each year was possible, as the season when the smelts were running was short and they only came up on the high tides.
Although these fishing excursions were fun for us kids, it was the means by which my father and grandfather supplemented our daily food. Mussels and clams were another stable item in our diet. One section of my grandfather's shore had an area where medium sized clams could be dug by us kids without adults along. My early memories are of my grandfather taking us to this area and showing us how to dig for clams. There were special clam hoes and forks. The lower the tide the bigger the clams.
The really big clams, however, were found on the 'flats', areas of mud exposed at low tide down the middle of the harbour. They looked black from a distance, and were frequented by flocks of gulls. When you rowed near, you found the exposed flats were surrounded by vast expanses of mud covered by shallow water. The flats, exposed daily, were more spongy than firm under foot, and were covered with dead shells. Knee boots were usually worn. Here the real large clams could be found. In lower East Jeddore, there was another spot for large clams, but here you could walk out on the mud at low tide. We kids looked forward to these clam digging trips; we sometimes dug, but more often searched for the clams through the mud turned up by the adults; we put the clams in buckets of water. Such trips were of short duration, because the incoming tide would soon cover the flats - the timing had to be well planned.
One of my father's main sources of cash was the cutting and selling pulpwood from our property. When he was not working away from home in the pulpwoods, my father was cutting at home. He would cut, peel and stack each day into cord-sized piles, so that he could judge the quantity he had cut and thus estimate its worth. He got about a dollar a cord. In winter the wood would be hauled by sleigh to the road, and there again piled into cords; eventually a man representing the buyer would come to measure and give my father a receipt for so many cords. This he would have to take to the contractor representing the mill, and cord by cord get his money; sometimes almost begging for it.
The pulpwood would then be transported by the milling company to certain holding areas, thence to be dumped into booms in the harbour, and towed out to large freighters anchored off shore. These freighters would be one of the largest ships to come into Jeddore Harbour. The other large ships were the oil tankers which would go to Head Jeddore to fill up the oil tanks located there.
About a mile from our home was a long wooden sluice down a very steep hill to the water. The pulpwood would be put into the sluice log by log, down they would rush, to drop off the sluice into the harbour and the waiting boom. We kids would position ourselves part way down so we could appreciate the rush and splash. The bigger the splash the bigger the shouts of glee from us.
We were used to seeing boats pulling large booms of wood about the harbour. A boom would be taken out to the waiting ship, the wood would be hauled from the water in slings and lowered into the holds. There, men were waiting to stack them. The wood cut by my father and the other men of Jeddore was on its way to one of the large pulpmills.