Eye of the Beholder

With a wistful eye, my mother described watching the film How Green was my Valley as a reflection of her youth.In the women she identified with, her version of Maureen O’Hara was a strong-willed young woman supported by her siblings, parents, townsfolk and educators.Muffled together around the wood stove at the family farm, she described her siblings as you would, old friends.

During the January phone calls to siblings far and wide, my research for this story counts back- before my birth. My eldest sibling, of whom I readily admired growing up, was the most similar to our mother’s no-nonsense character. When she came on the line, the tone of her voice was elevated and child-like. At the precipice of all we hold dear, rest our shared experiences and no matter our age today, we regale to tell anyone – our side of the story!

Some may think a rock is the silliest thing to write about, but how could I move past it? In our neck of the woods, our parents were able to purchase 3 acres of land after the war, through the Veterans Land Association. When houses were built with the VLA, Berms grew out of the ground overnight. Described as raised earthen embankments, the Berm at the back- north of our neighbor’s yard, housed a fortune of wildflowers, milkweed and one huge boulder.

Met with little legs, a worn footpath in behind neighboring properties lay bare to Trillium and wild strawberries- free for the picking.

Travelling in pairs went the two oldest as the next two pared their way through the apple orchard and tadpole infested creek. The slight grade of the hill, shredded our sneakers, used as brakes on bicycles and granular slopes.

Round on all sides but one, the rock was a challenge to scale. Carried on backs and armloads, the youngest were lifted and plopped by older brothers in the blazing sun. Indented like a clam shell on one corner facing east, exclaiming ownership as King of the Castle rustled many a bird from its nest.

Just as old movies bear witness to the passing of time, tales of the Big Rock span generations. In resilience of our mom’s unwavering determination to shine through in hardship or joy, we are transported back to the actual size of “our Rock”. Here it is on Googlemaps:

https://www.google.com/maps/search/
mackenzie+street+cornwall/@45.0541568,
-74.7595617,100m/data=!3m1!1e3?
entry=ttu.

To families like ours who bonded with the neighbors over non-existent fence lines and January phone calls, you’d learn that beauty is in the eye of the beholder ~ even 70 years on.

Learning that despite the many hardships inherent to farming life, it is wonderful to know that our grandmother instilled in her daughter, the will of tradition and the want of celebration. In tight-knit communities like ours, butterflies are still free.

How Green was your Valley?

Lisa Gray Copyright © February 2024