Peter Smith

Blasty Boughs and Boil Ups

A cup of tea always tastes better in the woods.  I’ve heard that statement said so many times over the years and I guess I have to agree, because from my perspective anyway, it can’t taste worse!

One of the best things about a winter day on the pond trouting, or out on atvs and ski-doos though, had to be a boil up.  We’d clear out a spot on the shore of a pond, or by the side of a path, and gather up some dry brush, birch bark to start it, and of course blasty boughs and tops.  A blasty bough is something you know when you see it, but kind of hard to describe.  The best ones were the top of a fir, dried to a bone gray with needles clinging to it, ready to give off a tremendous heat, and easy to burn even when covered with snow once it was shook off.

We’d likely have an old graves apple juice can with the top cut out of it, wire strung in it, filled with snow and hung over the roaring fire to make a cup of tea.  The needles and twigs dropping in the water probably added flavour.  And of course, kipper snacks and sardines to eat, put on a forked stick over the fire, or eaten out of the can.

If we were lucky enough to catch a trout, it might be on a stick over the fire too, eaten with our fingers, burning the tips and jabbing them in a snow bank.  Tea was poured into an enamel or tin cup, (or for me anyway coffee, yes I’m different), drank scalding hot.

Ah yes, memories of times with dad come fresh to mind, times with Eric and Rod too, trouting on Smith’s Long Pond.  Good days.

Horse and Slide

I took my niece to a sleigh ride birthday party at Hatfield Farm yesterday, and that and seeing all the old horse gear and the sawmill on the property reminded me of years gone by when Dad would use his horse to pull out the wood for the stove and logs for the mill.

Back then and earlier most people had a horse in the family, and while it was a pet to some degree, it was mainly a work animal.  And I guess, depending on the owners, how much a pet and how much work varied. I know while ours did a lot of work, I think its obvious by her name, “Pet” how dad felt about her.

In the fall of the year, we’d usually make our way in on “the level” and cut wood from some stand. While we liked birch for wood, in our part of the province at least, firewood was usually softwood, generally fir and spruce.  We’d cut (dad more than me, I can’t say I was much use being a scrawny dude with not a lot of interest, but I did go and help) our wood and lay some cross pieces to keep the majority off the ground, and stack the rest in lengths on top.

Come winter snowfall, and I can’t really remember many winters without snowfall back then, we’d hitch up the slide (If anyone has a picture of the old double slides, please send to me, so I can add?) and put some horns in it and get Pet to tow it and us in.  We’d load it up with the wood or logs, and she’d pull it out.

I remember Pet was larger than a lot of the horses in our area, and strong as, well, a horse.  And she’d pull a huge load with us on top of it.

She did have her quirks though, being a true Smith at heart, and would not, could not pass a certain water hole without taking a drink, and no amount of persuasion (of which Dad’s version may or may not have involved swear words made up on the spot) would move her till she was done.

Once the wood was out, it would be re-stacked near the road or the house, left to dry some more and sawed into junks on the old sawhorse, sometimes even with an old bucksaw (pic again?) and then stored in the woodhouse.

The Old Wood Stove

The huge storm back home in Newfoundland got me thinking about how nice it is to be hunkered down with a nice wood fire when a raging blizzard blows around outside.

There was always just something different about the heat, hearing the wood crackling and popping.  When I was younger, most everyone had an old wood range similar to this one in their kitchen, with a wood box nearby.  I can still remember the names things had, damper, lifter, poker.

We’d open up the firebox either with the damper on the top, or from the door in front to feed in wood and slabs.  The oven would be stogged with bread baking nearly every day, and water on the side in the tank staying warm for washing, or whatever else.

The kettle was always on, and always full, and ready for a cup of tea, and underneath the oven, our ski-doo boots would be warming or drying after we’d come in from sliding on the old coaster, or making forts and tunnels in the drifts.  Up top our mitts and socks and vamps would likely be drying in the warmer.

One of the dampers often had multiple rings, and we’d have one open with the old wire handheld toaster over the top, toasting some of the fresh homemade bread and coating it with butter and molasses.

Seems like others remember too, I saw this range when I was looking at appliances this past fall.  Nice to be able to keep the old alive with the new, though a bit out of my price range.

Old Christmas Day

Back when I was a kid I remember January 6th being called Old Christmas Day.  No one seems to mention it much anymore, but curiosity got the better of me.

The Eastern Orthodox churches (and perhaps others) still use January 6th as Christmas I believe? It’s also the feast of Epiphany, though the feast days are more well know in the Catholic (and maybe Anglican?) churches than they are to me.

Practically the only thing I really remember about it as a “tradition” was that we always waited till then to take decorations down.  Was kind of the semi official end of Christmas.

I’ve also read traditions of some countries/cultures saying animals could talk on Christmas Eve, but I seem to recall our tradition being that they could talk on Old Christmas Day.

Anyone remember anything else? Leave a comment please, let me know you were here!

Sliding

My little niece went sliding for the first time over the weekend, and reminded me of times sliding back home.

Generally we didn’t have the plastic slides you see today, the fanciest we had was a crazy carpet.  Most times sliding involved a toboggan, or the old fashioned coaster you see here.

These didn’t really work unless you had hard crusty snow, or more likely for my sliding career at least, ice from hard packed ski-doo paths.

You were “supposed” sit on the coaster and use your feet to steer by using the handle, and sometimes I did that.  But more often, I lay on my stomach on it and steered using my hands.

Two rides stand out. The first was towing the slide all the way in to the “level”, a named spot in the woods near the house where the ground leveled off for a bit after having climbed all the way into that point.  There was an old slide path (a path made for use by a horse and slide to pull wood) coming from there to the old school garden, and then turning down the hill, and heading down near the church.  Quite a long long ride, made even longer by previously opening the gates on Ross Smith’s garden and sliding all the way to the beach.  Awesome log ride and a fair rate of speed as it was downhill the whole way.

The second ride that stands out was partially because it was the last.  Up over the hill from us Uncle Lionel Kelly had his house.  It sat on a level spot with a grassy hill rising towards that same “level” from a different angle.  This year, that hill had iced over completely and was a kids speed dream on the old coaster.  Dad had gone up to visit Uncle Lionel, and/or his son Sam, and I was up on the hill with the coaster.  After several high speed runs, on my stomach of course, I came down one last time, being the last because of what happened.  Somehow, the coasters runners got caught in a rut, and there was no way to steer it.  I hurtled along on my stomach and proceeded to slam into the house.  I don’t recall how hurt I was, do remember being scraped and a little bloody, and walking into the house to get Dad.

That was it for the old coaster, not as punishment or anything, but because I broke it in three pieces on that last ride.

Out on the Sound

Random Island is separated from the Bonivsta peninsula on the island’s north side by Smith Sound.  This is about 1-3 miles across in most places if memory serves.  Sometimes in my memory we’ve had the sound freeze completely over, and can remember people ski-dooing, skating to Harcourt, hauling wood on horse and slide, and of course, fishing.

In Newfoundland you go fishing for one kind of fish only, that’s cod.  Any other type of fishing has its own name (trouting, etc).  Nowadays with the moratorium on, even if the sound did freeze over, you’d not be allowed to go fishing, but years ago you could.

One of my most vivid memories of my Uncle Hay was one day him and I went out on our old ski-doo (I think it was that far back anyway).  This was an old Alouette, we bought off Ross Smith and it weighed about 17 tons I think, and had about a 400 cubic inch motor in it ( I may have exaggerated slightly). I remember the ski-doo just because it was so ancient and yet so powerful.  In any event, Uncle Hay and I drove out to some of our fishing marks and put some holes down through.  I think we used my old ice auger, but it may have even pre-dated me having one of those, maybe Uncle Hay had one. You’d probably think that ice on such a large body of water wouldn’t be thick, but I remember there being about 2-3 feet of ice to drill through.

Salt water ice, or at least on a body that large, doesn’t respond like fresh water ice.  Its “softer”, flexible, and you can feel the lop under the ice moving it up and down, and can hear the huge cracks like thunder when a crack opens up.

It was a beautiful winter day, sunny, sun felt warm, and was awesome to be out on the ice, doing what we both loved.  I really don’t remember if we got any fish, but that really didn’t matter to me that day.  I’m not sure where Dad was to be honest, possibly it was a work day, most likely was, but after Uncle Hay had retired.  Some days just belong to certain people or groups.  This was ours, or for me anyway.  Much love to Uncle Hay, and Dad as well.  We’ll fish again together someday.

Mercurochrome, Spirits of Nitre, Olive Oil and Oil of Citronella

Anyone remember these old medicines? Are they even still available? Well I guess technically Oil of Citronella was more used a insect repellent.  And yes I know you can get olive oil in the grocery store, but lets talk about the uses we had for them back in the day.


Mercurochrome was an antiseptic, often put on small scrapes and cuts. Left a red splash on the skin.  I can remember the little bottle now with the eye dropper style dispenser.  It had mercury and was removed from the market. Mercury is what made hatter’s mad.  Never had any noticeable effect on me though (cough).

Olive oil was warmed and used in the ears to break up wax as well as to alleviate ear aches.  Any other uses I don’t recall!

Spirits of Nitre – I remember this as a medicine to use for an upset stomach, or gas.  We always had this on hand as well as peppermint (which i don’t think was the same as peppermint extract).  Not sure if that was its official use, but hey if you know more please comment!

Oil of Citronella – My memory of this really just comes from one instance, my cousin Bill Smith gave me a partial bottle of this telling me it was the best thing to use for “fly dope” (insect repellent). I still remember the green glass bottles, and I know there were a ton more of these little glass bottles in households years ago.

Remind me of some more?

New Year’s Eve

Bluff Head Cove Pond

I’ve worked in the hotel industry, and have seen the posh black tie New Year’s Eve balls with the brass band followed by a fancy champagne breakfast.  And while that’s what many want and love, my New Year’s favorite was much simpler.

It may very well be a combination of trips that come together as one memory, but New Year’s Eve for me was best spent down at Randy’s and Everette’s cabin.  We all sat around the table, likely still wearing our skidoo suits because it was so cold, even with the old wood stove going behind us.  
The smell of a roast of moose cooking in the oven, covered in onions, a bottle or bottles on the table, and poker being played with the gang.  
The night I remember, while I can’t swear it was New Year’s Eve, we had been playing and all decided to go to bed.  It was bitterly cold that night, I remember warming my gloves on the atv’s exhaust trying to keep my hands warm.  Sometime after we had gone to bed, (And inceidentally, after a bottle of coke had frozen on the table), Shawn Avery and Rick Turley showed up, pretty hammered from what I remember, and got us all up again.  I think we’d probably have gotten up again anyway to relight the fire, it was soooo cold!
Sounds painful doesn’t it?  But it was a great time and memory.  
Happy New Year!

Shortest Phone Conversation

Watching the world junior hockey championships on TV, I think back to the shortest phone conversation I ever heard. It was when the gang I hung around with were trying to organize a hockey game in on Elliott’s Cove Pond.  I remember Derek Smith calling David Quinton and the conversation went “Hockey? Yep, when? One” That was it.

One o’clock rolls around and we are all in on the pond, which was like a sheet of glass.  Teams were decided by piling sticks and throwing them in opposite directions, you were on the team where your stick went.  Nets were generally a pair of boots separated by the length of a hockey stick, sometimes we had goalies, often the person or persons who had no skates, often there were none.  I really don’t remember if we had any for this particular game, but I do recall one goal the puck rolled and rolled and rolled.  I believe it was David Smith that skated pretty much the length of the pond, all the way to the park, to get it back, took about 10 minutes or more.

Another thing I remember was that the pond ice was so hard, that stopping like you would at a stadium was much different.  If you tried it that way, you’d often dig yourself a rut and go flying over, lucky to not snap an ankle, much less spray up a sheet of snow.

Ah good times 🙂

Jannying

From downhomelife.com

Jannying (or mummering) is a tradition from Newfoundland that had nearly died out until popularized in a song by Simani.  I had never actually seen a janny until I became one myself.

Traditions varied from location to location, but back home at least people would dress in in old silly clothing, wearing scarves and long underwear on the outside,often stuffed to disguise both gender and size.  Once dressed you would go from home to home, singing, stomping, and generally being silly while the people tried to guess who you were.  Jannys usually spoke with an indrawn breath as well in order to disguise thier voice.

Once you had been guessed the hosts generally shared some form of alcoholic beverage (mmmm Aunt Lil Pelly’s slush) and a piece of cake or cookie and then often picked up more members from that house and moved on to another.

The one side effect of Jannying I remember, other than a hangover, was the in and out from warm to cold while wearing warm costumes caused chills from the cooling sweat.  Am sure many a flu was contracted!

Today in some locations the tradition seems to be being replaced with a mummers parade.  While I like the parade concept, I am not sure I want it to wholly replace the tradition either.

Any mummers lowed in?

Please share any mummer stories or pictures you have!