I understand that unless you knew Jim, or knew of him, to the viewer who just happened to stumble upon these pages, this site means absolutely nothing to you. I realize that, but you see, Jim was my Dad, and I loved my Dad more than you can possibly imagine. My Dad and I had a bond, we bonded from the day I was born and he and my Uncle Dave packed me into Uncle Dave's car and away we went to Toronto Sick Kid's hospital where I spent the first three weeks of my life. It was my Dad who was with me for that ride and my Dad who spent time with me until my mother was well enough, after my birth, to come to me in that hospital.
When I was growing it up was my Dad who I followed around the yard, I watched everything that he did, for everything that he did interested me. Cooking, baking, cleaning, any form of house chore whatsoever did not interest me. Don't get me wrong, my Mom taught me everything I need to know about cooking and baking; I was making meals for our family soon as I got home from school so that supper could be on the table shortly after my parents arrived home from work. Every weekend on the farm I would bake some sort of cake; my favourite was one of Grandma Gordon's recipes, "Johnny Cake"...and there was one Mom had called "1, 2, 3 Cake" that was a big hit also. I am so grateful to my Mother for this; I see so many women to this day who can't even boil water as the expression goes.
Working on cars interested me; you'd be amazed at what I learned just by "holding the light" and now that I think of it, I must say that this did apply to one particular house chore---replacing washers in bathroom faucets. I learned that one too, by holding the light.
When I got older we moved to a farm and it was Dad who taught me how to prime the pump in the barn, how and when to feed the chickens, rabbits, ducks & geese. My brother was always in charge of the older animals. Dad did occasionally let me break an egg into my palm then let the calves snork it down; it felt so weird, like the calf was going to suck my entire body right into its mouth, it was such a strong motion. I had my own little pet bull when I was a kid; he was black with a white face. I named him Brandy. Life on the farm isn't always nice though...one day Brandy disappeared and, well, you pretty much know the rest of the story. Roast beef dinner anyone? :(
We had dogs and cats, puppies and chickens. All of them always well fed and placed in caring homes when the time came. It broke my heart to say goodbye to these little dolls. Most times though, the cats did stay, to keep the mice population down in the barn. Mice get into feed bags and contaminate the food, not to mention the disease from their feces all over the barn.
Checking oil, transmission fluid then knowing which hole to top up appropriately, changing spark plugs and wires, filling washer fluid, master cylinders, changing a tire. Knowing what colour the fluids were should I find a leak; he taught me how to check my rad and to keep it filled in the summer and what type and amount of anti freeze to put in. I even learned some engine noises....that slight pinging might mean a top up in oil, the vague slipping of the transmission as I left a stop & proceeded on my way means my tranny fluid needed checking.
Most importantly my Dad always reminded me to keep my car above the half way mark during the winter, in case I ever got stuck somewhere...I could keep the car running & keep warm until my Roadside reached me.
Don't get me wrong, my Mom knew how to do all of this too, what she hadn't learned about animals while growing up my Dad taught her and/or they learned together. Same with vehicles, Dad taught Mom the basics so that she could be independent with her vehicle for "the little things." My Mom is a very wise and self-sufficient person. She comes from an upstanding family of eleven children. My Grandma Gordon was a very hard working woman who could make a meal out of nothing for lack of a better description, and who could take an adult's winter coat and make two little coats out of it for her kids and my Popa Gordon worked anywhere and everywhere back in those days, to do whatever it took to provide for his family and he provided very well, my Mom tells me. They never went hungry and they always had a warm roof over their head. Grandma Gordon made the best tomato soup, and the best macaroni and tomatoes; to this day I do not know how she managed to get that tomato sauce to literally stick to the pasta, but it did and boy was it good.
My Dad had to quit school and go out to work when his father passed away in August of 1929; Dad was ten years old. Every dime he earned he gave to his Mother, but of course she gave him enough back that he could enjoy himself---go to the show with a quarter, see the show, have a drink and a treat, and still come home with a nickel in his pocket. When Dad's father died, there was my Gramma nine months pregnant with my Aunt Barb and raising eight boys and one girl on her own. A little brother, Albert, had passed away at six weeks; he was younger than Dad. My Grandfather had always hoped for another girl---his first born was a girl then came all those boys---but he didn't live to see his last child, Barb. My Gramma would tell me stories of being pregnant, holding a baby in her arms, rocking a cradle with one foot and having one of the kids yanking on her skirt. My Gramma lived just short of 95 years old; another self sufficient woman who always had food on the table, traveled to Toronto by bus for the bargains, walked everywhere within town since she didn't drive. Gramma's favourite past time was Bingo; there wasn't a lot of money in those days but Gramma knew how to set aside just enough for a game here and there, and more often than not she would come home with a win. As Dad and his siblings got older each one took a turn having Gramma stay for a while, eventually Gramma moved in with Uncle Frank for a few years, then when a new Senior's building opened on King Street she lived there for quite some time. When the time came where she required care she moved in with her oldest daughter, my Aunt Em. My dear Aunt Em, God Bless her special soul. A hard working woman with a heart of gold; she passed away on May 4, 2005.
The wisdom that my Dad passed along to my brother and I is absolutely phenomenal. From animals to vehicles to plants and wildlife, what we have learned from both parents is a wealth of knowledge.
How many little girls can say they reached into a duck and pulled his insides out, and remember the skoishk noise it made; the annoying pin feathers that had to be picked out after the bird soaked in hot water to loosen them up. Then there's the chicken running around the yard full speed when his head is laying on a tree stump. If this wasn't fascinating enough my Dad picks up the chicken after it 'finally died' and chopped one of its legs off then pulled on the muscle and the foot was opening & closing. I can still see my cousin Tish and I freaking out, being seriously grossed out yet totally fascinated at the same time.
We were never allowed to ride on the tractor with my Dad; too dangerous. I was, however, out in the field dragging bales of hay to the wagon for my Mom and brother to throw onto it; when my brother got older he drove the tractor and Mom & Dad threw the hay on the wagon.
We often went to a friends place in Ashburn, into the woods where we found loads of Indian pottery. Dad and our friend Ted sent some into an (Ontario) historical society and the pottery dated back to the late 1800's. Ted, another wise fella, is now in a Home in Port Perry, his wife passed away a couple of years ago. Just like my Dad, there isn't a question that Ted can't answer.
My Dad taught me how to shoot a gun and a pretty good 'dead eye' I am thanks to him. From a bee-bee (sp?) gun, to a 22 (my favourite) to a shot-gun (that literally knocked me on my butt) I have target practiced with my Dad and my brother.
Dad was a hunter, for as long as I can remember. Many a wild critter I have eaten. In his later years, however, Dad didn't hunt much. He got into building feeders, attached them to the trees at the edge of the yard, and he & Mom kept them filled all winter for the deer. The only time Dad 'fed the pond' was when he was duck hunting but a few years ago he gave that up also. The hunting went on mainly back in the years when money was occasionally tight so the extra meat was needed; after that for a while it was for sport, then it was a form of 'population control' re specific areas, then the hunting dwindled off completely. The couple years or so before Dad began to tire he would go out during the season just to see what he could see, but the only thing he was shooting deer with was his camera. He has many hours of beautiful footage and the best thing about those later videos is that his voice is on them.
Dad taught me to fish also....put my own worm on the hook. It's been years since we've fished together but I remember the last time it was just the two of us it was so beautiful.....the day was clear, barely a cloud in the sky, we mainly trolled and got the odd nibble here and there---we brought nothing home---and it was one of the best days with my Dad.
Biography to continue....right now I am working on one for my grandson who was only a year old when his great-grampa passed away---they've both been robbed of each other so I have compiled tons of photos and writing so that my little grandson will know what a good man, a special man, his great-grampa was. I have Dad's journal, along with numerous items that belonged to him, to pass along to my grandson. My Dad is and will always be more than just a picture on a wall.
(This is Dad, painted by Rose Wilson, Perth, ON)
(1963 is a big pic; takes a minute to load.)
If you care to share a thought you can e-mail me at
tabbercat at rogers dot com
(writing it this way prevents spam.)