The Lansdowne Letters: Melting Ice and Spring Fever

The days grew longer and warmer as May flew by
in the spring of 1961 in Lansdowne House.
We watched the ice and waited impatiently for it to melt.
Everyone hoped that break-up would be short,
but it dragged on and on.

We hungered for every scrap of news that came about the weather
via short wave radio, our community's only link to the Outside;
and a favorite topic of gossip among the adults
was the state of the ice in the more southern villages.

Every morning my brother and I would wake up and run to the front window,
and every morning we would see the ice stretching unbroken
to the nearby islands in Lake Attawapiskat.

Every afternoon we would get home from school
and dash down the hill to our waterhole with our buckets.
Roy or I would test the thinning ice by  jabbing it
with the end of the long handle of our ice pick,
then inch onto the ice making sure it would still support us.

The Path to Our Waterhole

Painting by Don MacBeath

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Canada
Winter 1960-61

© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

All Rights Reserved

Chopping Out a Water Hole

Flickr:  Thirteen of Clubs   License  

Near the end of April we still had to chop away any ice
that had covered the waterhole overnight,
but soon only a skim of ice formed during the dark hours,
and then none.
The sheet of ice spanning the lake
became grayer and splotchier as it rotted.

We'd dunk our buckets into the waterhole,
fill them to the brim, and then lug them up the hill to our house. 
Negotiating the steep hill became trickier and trickier
as the snow disappeared and our path became slick with mud.

We struggled to keep our balance on the slippery path, 
because the more water that slopped out of our buckets,
the more trips we would have to make to fill that water barrel in the kitchen.
Sometimes our feet slid out from under us, 
and we drenched ourselves with icy lake water.

It was always a competition between Roy and me.
Who chopped open the waterhole best?
Who climbed the hill fastest?
Who got to the house with the most water?
Who had the biggest muscles from hauling water?
Boy oh boy we had fun!

Early Rivals, Fast Friends

Breckenridge, Colorado, USA

Photo by Susan MacBeath

© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

All Rights Reserved

Then a May day came when we couldn't reach the waterhole.
The ice had retreated about ten feet from the shoreline,
and our waterhole had vanished.
We had to wade out and fill our buckets in the shallow water
as best as we could.
That's when the cheesecloth covering the water barrel
in our kitchen proved its worth by catching debris in the water. 

Once the ice was no longer land-fast, it could shift with the wind.
We'd hear a boom and know a big crack or lead had opened in the moving ice.
The wind would push open a narrow passageway along the shore,
change direction, and pile the groaning, grinding ice against the land.

Farther south wide stretches of water opened on lakes,
and some lakes lost their ice cover all together.
When would our ice go was on everyone's mind.

Rotting Lake Ice

Lake Ice   License

One lazy Saturday, likely the last before the ice went out,
I was walking in a thicket of woods near the Hudson's Bay post.
A tree with low branches by the shore beckoned.
I climbed up into the tree and lounged in the warmth of the sun,
watching chunks of ice drift by in some open water near the shore.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, loud music obliterated
the subtle sounds of slipping water and melting ice.
Startled, I looked across to the Father's Island.
"I love to go a-wandering, along the mountain track,"
blared from Father Ouimet's home in the Roman Catholic Mission.

To say I was surprised is an understatement.
Who knew Father Ouimet had a record player,
let alone one that played that loud?
I rested my head against the tree trunk and listened to 
"Val-de-rie, val-de-ra, val-de-rie, 
val-der-ra-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha ..." 
booming across the ice and water.

Whenever I hear The Happy Wanderer,
I'm in that tree watching the ice glide by on the dark water.
I guess even priests get spring fever.

Frank Weir and His Saxophone, Chorus and Orchestra 

The Happy Wanderer (1954)

You Tube

Father Ouimet with My Father and Brother Bernier

Roman Catholic Mission Kitchen

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Fall 1960

© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

All Rights Reserved

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue.

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Map of Canada

Highlighting Ontario

Wikimedia

Location of Lansdowne House

Wikimedia   edited