Search

Gwen Tuinman

Novelist Speaker Advocate

Tag

Farm

Feeling Nostalgic — Canning Applesauce

b3b33f9a3cd96984e49eef5857c31d92

I feel a strong kinship to this woman. A few weeks ago, I sat amongst heaps of apples waiting to be cored, quartered, simmered, and mashed.  It was all part of transforming a bushel of apples into apple sauce which I then canned in Mason jars.  Why would I go to all that trouble when applesauce comes ready made in cute little jars at the grocery store.? The answer is simple enough — nostalgia. Continue reading “Feeling Nostalgic — Canning Applesauce”

Walt Whitman: Part 1

396px-Whitman_at_about_fifty wiki commons

I first became interested in Walt Whitman’s poetry after seeing him featured as a character in a Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman episode called The Body Electric. He was portrayed as a gentle nature loving man who extended great patience when people were judgmental. This was only a story, I know, but his personality was appealing.  So, off I went to the library, in search of a copy of his collection of poetry, Leaves of Grass. Continue reading “Walt Whitman: Part 1”

My Tobacco Farm Summers

chopping_burley_tobacco

I don’t smoke. Thankfully, I never have. But I was once a teenager with dreams of post secondary pursuits and tuitions that would need paying, and so, like most young people in my hometown, my summers were spent working on a tobacco farm.  I’ not writing to celebrate the tobacco industry, but rather to reminisce over an experience. When I was thirteen, there was no internet. I had access to whatever television channels could be had by using an manually turned antenna. My friends and I never heard of a social movement to rally against an industry.  I didn’t know of any one who’d had cancer. My employment predates the infamous Philip Morris lawsuit. Continue reading “My Tobacco Farm Summers”

Feeling Nostalgiac — The Milk House and the Farm Dog

Gwen and Grandpa Gillett at the Milk house

This is one of my favourite childhood photos — sitting in front of the milk house with my grandfather.  I was one year old at the time it was taken. The photo sits in a curio cabinet among other small treasures. I often stop to visit it there. When I close my eyes, I see the milk house as clearly as if I am in front of it now. Continue reading “Feeling Nostalgiac — The Milk House and the Farm Dog”

Curating Wonder — Farm Couples

c8ce9208ed31eb61bc674cae6fbbb489 Continue reading “Curating Wonder — Farm Couples”

In the Henhouse

larger c3bbf93d053032ebbdadb02279b52775

The henhouse. The chicken coop. The roost. What do I know about chickens? Not as much as I thought I did. For instance, I’ve always believed there was a rooster strutting through every barnyard flock of chickens. Turns out I was wrong on that account. If you want eggs for breakfast, you only need hens. But, if you want a brood of chicks, you’re going to need that rooster too — and perhaps some ear plugs. I’d also imagined that roosters sallied forth and crowed once at sunrise, then hung it up until the next day. Not so — they’ll crow intermittently throughout the day. Continue reading “In the Henhouse”

Life Lessons from the Farm

gwen fall 1967 white barnyard in background 002

My grandparent’s farm was my first classroom. The lessons learned have stayed with me through the years and woven themselves into the fabric of my history. Continue reading “Life Lessons from the Farm”

A WordPress.com Website.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: