| When I was a child I did not know about grandparents. Except for aunts and uncles there were no special older people who came to our house or whose houses we visited. Because grandparents were not part of my life I did not miss them. But as I grew older, I learned that everyone has four of them. But though I must have had four as well, I was not aware of any of them. The following account is information I gleaned listening to my parents, as they discussed instances in the lives of their parents; my grandparents. My maternal grandparents, Stefan and Sanfira, lived in Romania . But like many from that part of Europe they too would venture forth to the New World . A few years before Alberta became a province (1905), Stefan and Sanfira and their young family of five left their homeland for Canada . Their third child, Maria, who would later become my mother, was only five when they left. I know little of their homeland. At one time my mother told me that she thought that they came from Moldavia ; it used to be Basarabia. But she wasn't sure. Her family did not come from Bukovina . The ocean voyage across the Atlantic was long and tiring. The young family landed in Halifax and then took the long train trip to western Canada . Maria remembered little of the arduous trip from Europe to Alberta . The voyage must have been hard on the family but especially so on Sanfira, the mother. Stefan applied for a homestead, but before he could build a house, winter approached. Despite the fact that he was a woodworker, he did not have the time to build a house. Consequently, the first winter was spent in a dugout; a hole dug in the side of a hill, with a roof of logs and clay to keep out the rain and snow. At night, mattresses of hay and straw lined much of the floor. Food was scarce and before the family acquired a cow and chickens, much of their food was wildlife: grouse, ducks, fish and sometimes rabbit. Stefan was often paid for his work with a sack of grain or a slab or pork. If my grandmother was anything like her daughter (my mother), she did without food for herself in order that her family was fed. But the harsh existence would take its toll on her. Several years after arriving in Canada and living in poor conditions, Sanfira's health deteriorated. Was it influenza or pneumonia? No doctor was available to determine the cause of her death. Sanfira left her husband and a young family of five. The oldest was about twelve. Stefan was devastated. Since he did carpentry work and was mostly away from home, he could not care very well for his young family. The children were put with strangers. Maria ended up with an English family near Hairy Hill. Her new family had two boys somewhat older than her. Maria's kindly manner and dedication grew on the family and they wished to adopt her. As well, Maria liked her new family and home. She was glad to have a mother figure to teach her about the finer things in life; about housekeeping and cooking and she was happy. As well, she learned English. A couple of years later and just as she had started to go to school, her father came to claim her. He wanted his family back together. And so Maria, at the age of eleven or twelve and still a child herself, would cook and look after the other children in the family. A widow from another district visited one day. The children were alone while their father worked. When they got hungry they ground wheat between two special stones, mixed the resulting flour with water or milk and fried pancakes. They shared their meager meal with the guest. She ate, left soon after and never returned. Stefan's gun was important to him. Many a meal depended on his marksmanship. But the gun would also be anything but a blessing. As time passed, the family subsisted. Necessarily, the children became inventive and independent. At eighteen, Maria met Fred, (my father), a young, sinewy and enthusiastic young man whom her Father Stefan was not particularly fond of at first. (But many fathers are protective of their daughters.) However, the match, (made in heaven, I believe), blossomed and they married. It was after they were married and began a family that Stefan had a dreadful accident. He was cleaning his gun. I do not know about cleaning gums, but it seems that to do a thorough job it was necessary to heat the barrel. When Stefan pushed the end of the barrel into the stove, gunpowder that was still in the gun discharged. His thigh was shattered and he bled to death. So my maternal grandparents were gone before I was born. There were no pictures of them. My mother had often mentioned Grandpa Stefan's red, curly hair. But in spite of the belief that people with red hair are ‘hot tempered', like his children, he had a gentle manner and a kindly disposition. His sons, my uncles were of medium height and build. I like to think he looked like them. If Grandma Sanfira resembled her two daughters, she was short but made up for her height with determination, love and kindness. She cared and prayed for her family as she suffered in silence. I can only visualize what my mother's parents were like from the stories that my parents shared. I wish that I had known them. And I wish that I had asked more questions while my mother (Maria) was still with us. My paternal grandparents Helen and Paul have been strangers to me as well. I have not seen photos of them either. Paul and Helen lived in Romania . They had four daughters and finally one son, Fred (Todor), who would later become my father. Life was difficult in Romania . Like his father (my great-grandfather) before him, Paul worked for a landlord. When Fred was a teenager he already necessarily followed in his father's footsteps. He would never own land but he and his children, and their children would work for landlords as his forefathers had done before. One tenth of the farm produce he produced was his pay. It was most difficult to feed a family with that arrangement. News came from Canada from former neighbors who lived under the same difficult conditions before they immigrated to Canada . In Canada they could get one-quarter section of land (160 acres) for only the ten dollars filing fee. To be a landowner was too good to be true. It was hardly imaginable. Fred and his oldest sister and her husband planned on immigrating to Canada . Fred was only sixteen. He dreamed of owning and working on his own land. He was unhappy at being awakened at 5 :00 A.M. to clean barns and cut grain for a boss. He was young and adventuresome. (In 1956 as I stood near the Chateau Frontenac in Quebec City, I pictured a young, slender teenager laboring up the steep banks of the St Lawerence with his sister and her husband well in the rear.) So in about 1909 Fred was in a new land where there was the possibilty that in a few years he could own his own land. That was his ultimate dream. Although I am not sure, I believe that Helen my grandmother died in her homeland. A scratch or poke by a branch on her head became infected. The condition worsened and evebtually took her life. It seems that Paul was reluctant to leave his homeland in spite of the difficult living conditions. Grandfather Paul and his other daughters followed some time later. By the time they arrived, I believe that Fred had already applied for land. Although the legal age for applying for land was 21, Fred applied before he was of legal age, claiming that he qualified. His intentions were honorable and the end result would have been the same regardless of when he applied. He was eager to work on his own land. Paul lived for awhile with his married children who had homesteads in the Deep Lake , Sandy Lake and the Moose Lsake communities. Their dreams to live in the Boian area, named after the community they left in their homeland, did not occur. All homesteads in Boian had already been claimed. As his children struggled to provide for their families, Paul decided to venture out on his own. He traveled north of the North Saskatchewan River and there found a new wife. He started a second family. Again he had four daughters, but Fred was nis only son. It seems that he did not visit his children south of the river He struggled to support a new family, the river was a natural barrier and he was elderly. Ties with his first family seemed broken. I had only known of Grandpa Paul's existance after I was an adult. By that time he had already died. Now (2005) that I am a grandmother myself, I think of the grandparents that were not part of my life. To have been with my grandmothers and learned from them and listened to my grandfathers' stories would bring back precious memories. I would have liked to have known them. Even photos would make thoughts of them more meaningful. Ufortunately, cameras were not readily available in those times.. From the stories I heard from my parents I can only admire my courageous grandparents and the difficult lives they endured. With faith and trust in God they ventured forth into the unknown. They hoped that their struggles would make the lives of future generations easier. Even though I have not known my grandparents, I must love them. I appreciate their sacrifices for me. I am part of their humble lives and I shall remember that all my life. I know that they were fine people because they worked hard, they cared for teir families and they were parents of my own dear parents. |