By June This image is of a retouched original photo from the 1890s. William McKenzie was a farmer-fisherman, as were most people with farms right along the coast. His farm was on the Cavendish Bluffs, P.E.I., very close to where … Continue reading →
Shortly after World War 2 started in 1939, Agricultural workers for the P.E.I. government visited farmers and said, “Try this new product, D.D.T. on your crops. It will increase your yield and give you more income, it is not harmful.” The … Continue reading →
The Charlottetown Guardian was started before 1900 by a Scotsman named Mr. Burnett, and it was now run by his four sons. I had read the newspaper growing up so I was thrilled when my application for employment was accepted. … Continue reading →
My brother was three years older than me. I had twin sisters who were two years younger. My mother was a small, gentle woman. She had read widely, travelled, lived in New York, and written poetry. My father received brutal … Continue reading →
The little house at the Crossroads was the home of my great-grandfather, Alexander McKenzie, who was a boot and shoe maker, and employed four men; which was a large business for a country area in P.E.I. The house was on … Continue reading →
The phone rings. Sunday. My sister Shirley. “June, I have some bad news, there has been an accident.” ‘An accident, someone hurt?’ “Helen. She and George and Scott in the car.” ‘Are they all hurt?’ “No, just Helen.” ‘Merciful God. … Continue reading →
The feminist movement represents, for the most part, the younger, well-educated woman who chooses to have a career, or decides to stay home for a few years to nurture her children. She feels in control of her life. But there … Continue reading →
[Pamela put this poem to music and sang it at June’s memorial service. Click here for video.] I found a place where Angelica grows, In Sydney Harbour, where marsh birds incline. I went there one mist-bounded, warm April morning With … Continue reading →
Morning sun shines on the worn oak table, October is passing But summer is paused, held, by a bouquet of flowers, Nasturtiums, In an old glass egg-cup. Brilliant red, golds, oranges, all variations, Pale and bright splashes of each colour … Continue reading →
Rain falls upon my garden, newly dug. A robin, quite unmindful of the rain Cocks her pert head and listens for the worm turning. Afternoon tea, for robins, in my garden newly dug. Newly dug gardens, a patch of rich … Continue reading →
