Cultivating wisdom. Lessons my uncle taught me.

My uncle Gordon was an uncomplicated man, the youngest of four sons born to my paternal grandmother. My grandfather died when my father was thirteen and Gordon was a toddler. Dad and his older brother Justin, kept the family farm running until Gordon was old enough to handle the work on his own. It had been handed down over the generations and was nestled on the western slope of the Clifton River Valley. My great great grandfather had carved out enough land across the road from the house to accommodate the building of a church and graveyard overlooking the valley. Several generations of my family lay at rest there today.

The old house and 14 acres that my father bought on our return to the Eastern Townships of Quebec in 1963 was just shy of 2 miles from the old family farm on that same road. It was close enough for me to either walk, hitch hike or take my bike (when I finally got one) to work for my uncle when needed. Hitch hiking was not new to me. Before moving back to East Clifton Bruce Stevens and I would hitchhike from Angus Ontario, just outside Camp Borden, to Wasaga Beach on school days when we thought we wouldn't get caught. Thinking back to those days it wasn't the smartest thing to do but it seemed normal at the time.

My uncle was aware of my troubled past and saw me struggling to shed the burdens of it. He seemed to understand my anxiety related to schools and the lack of respect for authority, especially teachers and principals. It wasn't obvious to me at the time but he was making an effort to help set me on a better path. He put me to work that summer and I soon began to feel like I was doing something good for a change.

Farming is about good planning, hard work, a lot of luck and taking pride in the outcomes of your effort. The repetitiveness of doing chores and seeing the calves, pigs and chickens doing well under my care was therapeutic. The calves had shiny coats, the chickens layed lots of eggs and the pigs greeted me with a big smile and a happy grunt.

My first attempt at piling stove wood wasn't exactly a success but with some guidance from my uncle I soon could put a plumb line down one side and feel the pride of a job well done. Just when I thought I was getting the hang of it haying season came along which was a different matter altogether. My first experience was like getting thrown into the deep side of the pool to learn to swim. I became quite familiar with the saying "make hay while the sun shines". Any three day window of good weather was a mad rush to get hay cut, dried, wraked, baled and in the barn before it got rained on.

Along with learning a bit about farming I learned some new skills that first summer, like how to avoid a running bull in the pasture, the need to keep your fingers away from a moving pulley and how to swear in French (I was already pretty good at that in English). And....

with the help of the aches I felt at the end of each day, I discovered muscles that I didn't know I had.

I learned many skills in the course of that 5 years I worked for my uncle before I left to join the Navy. These included haying in the summer, cutting pulpwood and skidding logs in the winter, gathering sap in sugaring season, and starting fires with kindling wood in the Clifton Church on Sunday morning.

I remember the deep sense of accomplishment after each major undertaking that I felt good about. Uncle Gordon was always quick to recognize work well done but was careful not to inflate my ego when I didn't deserve it or be overly critical of my obvious shortcomings. With his help I was slowly gaining confidence in myself and eroding that invisible chip on my shoulder.

I've been left with some great memories of the time that I had with my uncle before I left East Clifton to join the Navy. He also taught me there was always time for having fun. There were constant musical gatherings somewhere, whether in the house, on the lawn overlooking the valley or at a local pond. Friends would drop by on a Saturday night, bring their guitar, fiddle and/or singing skills, which would usually improve after the third beer. The younger crowd like myself, Keith Lowry, Robin Montgomery and Bob Blair would always find a way to sneak in a few beer unbeknownst to our elders.

As I look back on these memories it becomes increasingly clear that my uncle had helped me through a profound change which I couldn't see at the time. The transition from being an Army brat, always in trouble to a kid with some goals and some small accomplishments under his belt wasn't obvious to me until I looked in the rear view mirror. The thought of having been an unhappy kid on the doorstep of reform school, that transformed into one that looked forward to another day of hard work and feeling good about it will always bringy thoughts back to my uncle Gordon. He taught me many things that you don't experience in a classroom or a book.