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UMI

MAPPÜ^G THE GROUND:
A CRITICAL AND CREATIVE EXPLORATION
OF THE DIARY OF ADA SYKES, 1912-1915
by
Pamela H. den Ouden
B.A., Open University, 1998

THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF
THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF
MASTER OF ARTS
IN INTERDISCIPLINARY STUDIES

© Pamela H. den Ouden, 2003
THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTHERN BRITISH COLUMBIA
July 2003

All rights reserved. This work may not be
reproduced in whole or in part, by photocopy or
any other means, without the permission of the author.

1

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Abstract
This thesis provides a critical and creative exploration of the diary of a woman who
pioneered in the upper Fraser River valley of northern British Columbia from 1912 to
1924. Ada Adelia Sykes left a diary in which she kept a record of daily activities
throughout a three-year period. My work examines her diary in the context of women’s
life-writing. First, I discuss various theories of life-writing, arguing that women’s lifewriting makes important contributions to the understanding of past, present, and self.
Next, I analyze the diary in its historical context. Finally, I present original poems, based
on the diary entries, as well as on the life of my grandmother, Alice Jane Beaven, a
contemporary of Ada Sykes. This thesis demonstrates a trend in which researchers
imbricate their own stories in those of their subjects: in telling the stories of Ada Adelia
Sykes and Alice Jane Beaven, I tell part of my own story.

11

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Abstract

ii

Table of Contents

iv

List of Illustrations

v

List of Figures

vi

Acknowledgements

vil

Illustrations

viii

INTRODUCTION

1

Chapter 1;

Critical Contours in W omen’s Life Writing

17

Chapter 2:

Mapping the Ground: The Diary of Ada Sykes

31

Chapter 3:

“All of a Piece” : The Diary and the Poems

53

The Poems

59

Conclusion

93

Chapter 4:
Notes

96

Works Cited

99

Appendix A:

The Sykes’ Family Tree

105

Appendix B:

Elmer Sykes’ Family Tree

106

Appendix C:

Diary of Ada Adelia Sykes, 1912-1915

107

Appendix D:

Author’s Letters from Headwaters Ranch

130

Appendix E:

Research Ethics Approval Form

194

IV

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

1.

Benjamin Silas Sykes, Sr., and Nancy Jane (Van Buren) Sykes

viii

2.

Barn at Sykes’ Ranch in Monroe, Washington

ix

3.

House at Sykes’ Ranch in Monroe, Washington

ix

4.

Ada (Countryman) Sykes’ family, about 1910

x

5.

Benjamin Silas Sykes, Sr., (Pa) with moose head, about 1911

xi

6.

Ada Sykes with children at Sykes’ store, Tete Jaune Cache

xi

7.

Benjamin Silas Sykes, Jr., and Ada Adelia Sykes, about 1905

xii

8.

Benjamin Silas Sykes, Jr., and Ada Adelia Sykes, about 1905

xiii

9.

Les Davis and Benjamin Sykes, Jr., at hunting camp

xiv

10.

Ben Sykes, Jr., with grizzly bear, about 1912

xiv

11.

Ada Sykes after duck hunting

xv

12.

Ben Sykes, Sr., displaying moose head

xv

13.

May Elizabeth Sykes, Bertha Sykes, Ben Sykes, Sr., 1913

xvi

14.

May Elizabeth Sykes, at Sykes’ Ranch, Monroe, Washington

xvi

15.

Bessie, David, Alice, and Mary Sykes, Aug. 17, 1914

xvii

16.

Benjamin Sykes, Sr., and Alice Roberta (Peake Countryman) Sykes, 1916

xviii

17.

Bessie Sykes, June 14, 1917

xix

18.

Five of the Sykes children, 1924

xx

19.

The seven Sykes girls, 1935

xx

20.

Benjamin Sykes Jr., Elmer Sykes, and Cullen Sykes, in their senior years

xxi

21.

Sykes’ headstone at Hazelwood Cemetery

xxi

22.

Alice Jane (Wilson) Beaven

xxii

23.

Pamela Beaven, Alice Jane (Wilson) Beaven, and Deborah Beaven

xxiii

24.

Fred and Diana den Ouden, Headwaters Ranch, April 1976

xxiv

25.

Pamela, Jadon, and Diana den Ouden, Headwaters Ranch, July 1977

xxiv

v-b

LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 1

Days Covered by Ada Sykes’ Diary

38

Fig. 2

Data Collection Form for May 1915

39

Fig. 3

Place Names in Ada Sykes’ Diary

40

Fig. 4

People with whom Ada Sykes Corresponded

41

Fig. 5

People in Ada Sykes’ W orld

41

Fig. 6

Sykes’ Family Tree

104

Fig. 7

Elmer Sykes’ Family Tree

105

VI

A CK N O W LED G EM EN TS

Heartfelt thanks go to the following people, who have helped in many ways:
Marianne Ainley, Louise Beaven, Pat Beaven-Browne, Deborah Beaven, Karin Beeler,
Nancy Black, Linda Brace well, Linda Carmichael, Paul Countryman, Sherrill Grace, Dee
Horne, Leona Hume, Jan Johnston, Jana Jordan, Mary Ellen Kelm, Shannon Klippenstein,
Laura MeMaster, Susan Musgrave, Jennifer Sauve, Sandra Scmton, Jon Swainger, Betty
Jane Wylie, and Bruee Wyse.
I owe a special debt of gratitude to Steve Roe for help and encouragement beyond
measure.
Members of Sykes family have been very generous with their time and their memories.
Special thanks to Ron Marrington, Sharon Anderson, Vivian Maber, Maureen Nelson, and
Siobhan W agner for their kind assistance.
Thanks are due also to the Northern Lights College Support Staff Professional
Development Committee for financial assistance during several semesters of study.
To my family— Fred, Diana, Jadon, and Jordan— thank you for your constant support.

Vll

1. Benjamin Silas Sykes, Sr., and Nancy Jane (Van Buren) Sykes.
Courtesy of Siobhan Wagner.

Vlll

2. The barn at the Sykes’ Ranch, Monroe, Washington.
Courtesy of Siobhan Wagner.

3. The house at the Sykes’ Ranch, Monroe, Washington.
Courtesy of Siobhan Wagner.

IX

4. Ada Countryman’s family:
Standing: Cora, Eva, Frank, Bessie, Fred, Ada, Fdna, Agnes;
Sitting: Roswell, Jennie Fllen, David, Gertrude, Alice, Freda, Albert;
about 1910.
Courtesy of Paul Countryman.

5. Benjamin Silas Sykes, Sr., (Pa), with moose head, about 1911.
Courtesy of Ron Marrington.

) ORE:
' ' V.i AH.L.' l.- M U

] T i- S

6. Ada Adelia Sykes with Bessie and David at General Store, Tete Jaune Cache,
about 1910 or 1911.
Courtesy of Ron Marrington.
XI

7. Benjamin Silas Sykes, Jr., and Ada Adelia Sykes, about 1905
Courtesy of Siobhan Wagner.

Xll

8. Ada Adelia Sykes and Benjamin Silas Sykes, Jr., about 1905.
Courtesy of Siobhan Wagner.

Xlll

9.

Les (Skeeter) Davis and Ben Sykes, Jr., at hunting camp with grizzly hide and
two young cougars.
Courtesy of Ron Marrington.

10. Ben Sykes, Jr., and grizzly bear, about 1912.
Courtesy of Ron Marrington.

XIV

11. Ada Sykes after duck hunting. See diary entry for Sept. 9, 1912.
Courtesy of Ron Marrington.

12. Ben Sykes, Sr. displaying moose head with son, Cullen.
Courtesy of Siobhan Wagner.
XV

13. May Elizabeth Sykes, Bertha Sykes and her father-in-law Benjamin Sykes, Sr.
“Taken in 1913 at (49) Canada.” [handwritten note in May Sykes’ hand on back of
photo.] Sign reads: “General Store, Dry goods. Groceries, All kinds of footwear,
Tobacco, Cigars, Cigarettes. Sykes and Son.”
Courtesy of Siobhan Wagner.

14. May Elizabeth Sykes on bridge that crossed Woods Creek, Sykes’ Ranch, Monroe,
Washington, about 1915. Barn in background.
Courtesy of Siobhan Wagner.

XVI

15. Bessie, David, Alice, and Mary, August 17, 1914.
Courtesy of Siobhan W agner and Ron Marrington.
xvii

16. Benjamin Sykes, Sr., and Alice Roberta (Peake Countryman) Sykes, 1916.
Courtesy of Siobhan Wagner.

X V lll

17. Bessie Sykes, June 14, 1917.
Courtesy of Siobhan Wagner.

XIX

18. Five of the Sykes children,
December 17, 1924.
Back row, from left: Alice, David;
Front row, from left: Marjorie, Thelma,
Mary.
Courtesy of Ron Marrington.

19. The seven Sykes sisters,
1935.
Back row, from left:
Bessie, Thelma, Marjorie,
Alice;
Front row, from left:
Lucille, Mary, Leona.
Courtesy of Ron
Marrington.

XX

20. Benjamin Sykes, Jr., Elmer Sykes, and Cullen Sykes, in their senior years.
Courtesy of Siobhan Wagner.

21. Sykes’ headstone at Hazelwood Cemetery, Abbotsford, British Columbia.
Courtesy of Bob Spurgeon, Matsqui and District Historical Society.

XXI

22. Alice Jane (Wilson) Beaven, around 1957.
Courtesy of Louise Beaven.

xxii

23. Pamela Beaven, Alice Jane (Wilson) Beaven, Deborah Beaven,
around 1957.
Courtesy of Louise Beaven.

X X lll

F"

24. Fred and Diana den Ouden at Headwaters Ranch, April 1976.
Cabin in background.
Author’s collection.

25. Pamela, Jadon, and Diana den Ouden at Headwaters Ranch,
July 1977.
Author’s collection.

XXIV

Introduction

When writers want to be read they have to be more flexible and take more
chances than the standard scholarly style allows: often they have to be more
direct and more personal. In a very real way . .. I could not think o f m yself as
a writer until I risked exposing m yself in my writing.
Marianna Torgovnick, “Experimental Critical Writing ”

Over the past ten years, interest in women’s life writing has grown tremendously,'
bringing to the foreground the lives of women from many eras, backgrounds, and life
situations whose stories were previously unheard. Scholars, many of whom are women, have
explored archival collections and local histories, as well as individual family letters and
diaries, seeking to create a history more inclusive of women. The stories of women, told in
their own words, are now recognized as a legitimate part of the warp and woof of the telling
of history. In addition, as suggested in the epigraph above, the “stories” of some researchers
themselves are being imbricated with the stories of their research subjects. Striking examples
are Isabelle Emery’s M aster’s thesis at the University of Calgary, which presents a
fictionalized memoir of her mother’s suicide, and Sally Kerry Hayward’s University of
Alberta Master’s thesis, which explores the working-class life of her mother in post-war
England. Sally Kerry Hayward expresses the hope that in researching and knowing her
mother, she will better understand herself. For her reader, she provides an opportunity to
“enter into a dialogue, finding a space in which to tell her own story.” Similarly, this thesis
will illuminate more than one story. The main story belongs to Ada Adelia Sykes, pioneer,

1

daughter, wife, mother. The life of my own grandmother, a contemporary of Ada Sykes, and
my own “pioneer” experience in northern British Columbia come to the surface in the telling
of the story of Ada Sykes.
This thesis is based on the diary of an “ordinary” pioneer woman in northern British
Columbia in the early part of the twentieth century. Interdisciplinary in nature, it is critical
and creative in scope. First, I take a critical look at the field of women’s life-writing. Then I
examine the entries of the diary itself. Finally, I present a creative expansion in poetry of the
diary entries. Selected entries serve as the basis for original poems in which I imaginatively
recreate the daily events of the diary. In creating this alternate text of the life of Ada Sykes, I
demonstrate the argument of this thesis: (1) that women’s life-writing provides alternate
ways of seeing history, previously recorded almost exclusively from the viewpoint of men
and concerning the activities and exploits of men; and (2) that such writing makes a valuable
contribution to our understanding of past, present, and self.
Ada Adelia Sykes and her husband, Benjamin Silas Sykes, Jr., and their children were
pioneers in the upper Fraser River valley, 150 kilometres east of Prince George, British
Columbia, from 1912 to 1924. The twenty-four page typescript of her diary (see Appendix
C, page 105-128) was prepared from the original diary^ by Marjorie Sayce, one of Ada
Sykes’ daughters. The original was a small notebook. Ada Sykes’ grandson, Ron
Marrington, says his grandmother, who had “only a grade three or four education” (19 Feb.
2003) “wrote on whatever she came by” (19 Jan. 2003). The diary, which covers August
1912 to May 1915, is the starting point for this thesis, which comprises a critical discussion
of women’s life-writing and a critical and poetic exploration of Ada Sykes’ diary. The diary
consists of 410 mainly consecutive daily entries and was reprinted with the permission of her

2

grandchildren and the Penny Historical Book Committee. I will argue that in recording the
daily events during this three-year period, Ada Sykes^ created a document important in the
discovery and recovery of women’s frontier history of the early 1900s.
Ada Sykes was one of many women who recorded their pioneer adventures during
the years of growth on the western frontier. The letters of Mary Georgina Hall, written
during her 1882 trip to and stay at her brother’s farm near Headingly, Manitoba, about 25
kilometres west of Winnipeg (Jacket 4), “were never intended for publication, and were only
the details written to [her] family of an every-day life . . . in hopes that the various
experiences [she] underwent [might] be useful to future colonists intending to emigrate and
farm” (Jacket “Preface” n.p.) Her book, A Ladv’s Life on a Farm in Manitoba, published in
London in 1884, gives a woman’s view of the problems and possibilities of settling in the
Canadian west. She agonizes over the “vastness, dreariness, and loneliness” of the prairie,
which she compares to “the sea on a very smooth day, without a beginning or an end” (Jacket
5).
In other areas of the west, women faced the pressures of work both inside and outside
the home. In Letters from Windermere 1912-1914. Margaret Ann Dionysia (Daisy) Phillips,
a contemporary of Ada Sykes, tells of her efforts, along with her husband’s, to recreate their
English home in the Canadian wilderness of the Windermere Valley in southeastern British
Columbia (Harris and Phillips). The letters, which also contain several written by Captain
John Noel Phillips, Daisy Phillips’ husband, were written just before the start of the First
W orld War and sent to Daisy Phillips’ mother or sister who lived in Windsor, England, when
the letters began (ix). As part of the “educated and increasingly mobile middle class” (ix),
the Phillipses were unprepared for pioneer life: “Jack knew nothing about farming; Daisy,

3

nothing about housekeeping” (xv). Because they were unable to afford hired help, Daisy’s
“life was consumed by domestic work that in England a woman of her class would never
have done” (xvii). During the three years she spent in the Windermere Valley, she learned to
“cook on a wood stove, sew, clean a house, and wash clothes without running water,
electricity, or servants” (xviii). Daisy states: “You certainly want to be a Jack-of-all-trades in
the Colonies” (62).
Other collections of letters include those of Anglican missionary to the Peace River
area Monica Storrs, and in the Peace River country across the Alberta border, those of Dr.
Mary Percy Jackson. In God’s Galloping Girl: The Peace River Diaries of Monica Storrs.
1929-1931 and Companions of the Peace: Diaries and Letters of Monica Storrs, 1931-1939,
Monica Storrs details her interaction with the residents of and immigrants to the Fort St. John
area of northeastern British Columbia. Her letters provide detailed descriptions of her
missionary work, the people she dealt with, the geography and weather of the area, and the
social conditions of that time. Editor W. L. Morton calls the first volume of Storrs’ letters “a
social document of frontier history, detailed, vivid, and realistic” and a “remarkable story of
devoted service in circumstances of considerable hardship and difficulty” (“Preface” xi). On
the Alberta side of the border. Dr. Mary Percy Jackson recorded her adventures as doctor in
the north country from 1929-1931 in letters sent to various members of her family back in
England. Published in 1933 under the title. On the Last Frontier: Pioneering in the Peace
River Block: Letters of Marv Percv Jackson, the letters had been edited by Canon Andrews
“to much closer approximations of missionary tracts” (McGinnis 18). Republished in 1995 in
their original form as Suitable for the Wilds: Letters from Northern Alberta. 1929-1931. the

collection, introduced by Janice Dickin McGinnis, tells the story of the “extraordinarily
interesting life” (McGinnis 32) of the ‘“ lady doctor’ in the bush” (29).
Other adventuring writers include Clara Vyvyan, Esme Tuek, and Jennie MeLean.
Clara Vyvyan’s journeys on several northern Canadian rivers in 1926 were reeonstructed by
her from diaries and journals and published in 1961 as Arctic Adventure and republished in
1998 as The Ladies, the Gwich’in. and the Rat: Travel on the Athabasea. Mackenzie. Rat.
Porcupine, and Yukon Rivers in 1926. edited by I. S. MacLaren and Lisa N. LaFramboise.
Esme Tuck, on the other hand, was a settler, who, with her husband Spencer H. Tuck,
homesteaded in the Peace River Block near Pouee Coupe, British Columbia, in 1919. Her
335-page unpublished autobiography,"^ written in 1957, details homesteading life from a
woman’s perspective, giving account of the “hardships and makeshifts” (46) that pioneer
women faced. She tells of the struggle to clear and plant without machinery, to provide feed
and water for animals, to bake and cook and keep house. One of the ever-present tasks was
bringing in firewood. On one occasion, Esme Tuek, her husband, Speneer, and her sister,
Olive, worked to bring in the firewood to melt the snow for laundry water: “As we had no
horses, we made a team of ourselves and hauled the logs in by a rope over our shoulders”
(22). During harvest, she cooked and baked great quantities of food for those who came to
help with the threshing and cleaned up after them: “And, oh, the washing up and washing up
and washing up. If there was ever a spare moment during the meal, one went to the wash
dish and got a few strokes in” (61). Esme Tuck’s characterization of “homestead” is
to be drenched with rain, caked with mud, choked with dust, chilled with cold,
warmed by the sun, to rise early and go to bed late, to wonder whether roads
and railway will ever eome one’s way, whether one has come to the right
place or not, what the future holds in store for oneself and one’s children, to
be tired, to work, to laugh, to help the other fellow and always to hope. (110)

Similarly, the diary of Jennie McLean^ gives a vivid account of a woman who
homesteaded in 1908 with her father and brother near Irma, in northern Alberta. For the first
month, she lived in a tent, helping to establish the homestead. After three months, she moved
to Edmonton and worked for the Alberta Lumber Company.
In Dear Editor and Friends: Letters from Rural Women of the North-West. 19001920. editor Norah L. Lewis has gathered letters written by women of various ethnic
backgrounds and geographic locations to the women’s pages of various Western Canadian
farm journals and newspapers between 1900-1920, letters that were “representative of the
experiences and challenges faced by rural women of the North-W est-isolation, loneliness, a
lack of traditional support networks’’ and the need for social and political change (4).
According to Minnie May, women’s editor of The Farm er’s Advocate in 1890, being
connected with other women was very important to pioneer women: “In all our trials
women’s greatest friend should be women. It is the very greatest comfort to have a woman
friend to whom one can turn for consolation when all seems dark around us, and she can say
the words you most want to hear” (Lewis 9). Ada Sykes details her connection with other
women by noting correspondence to and from women friends and relatives.
Indeed, the discovery and recovery of women’s personal writing illuminate the fact
that “women habitually have sustained themselves by friendships with other women”
(Hampsten 3).® Elizabeth Hampsten’s collection. Read This Onlv to Yourself: The Private
Writings of Midwestern Women. 1880-1910. examines diaries and letters of working-class
women in the American Midwest to see “what women were saying about their lives at the
turn of the twentieth century” (viii). Hampsten argues that because women’s artistry of
cooking, sewing, and letter-writing is “occasional and impermanent” (2), the status of such

6

arts has been questioned and discredited. However, women’s artistry is essential to the daily
lives recounted in narratives like Mary Hiemstra’s Gullv Farm, which tells the account of her
family’s homesteading on the Canadian Prairies, as they looked for “a chance to create a
better world” (Foster ix). She arrived as a six-year-old in Western Canada in 1903, her
family a part of the Barr Colony, one of “the last and the largest group settlement” efforts in
Canadian history (vii). According to Franklin Foster, Hiemstra’s account, notable for its
evocative description, is worthy of the careful critical attention given to Susanna Moodie’s
Roughing it in the Bush, an account of a woman’s pioneer life in Ontario in the 1860s.
The foregoing represents only a small sampling of life-writing by pioneer women
who settled the west. Archival material and local histories contain the stories of many more
women and their families as they worked to make new places feel like home. These records,
whether written at the time as diaries, journals, and letters, or written later as the authors
looked back on their lives, form a valuable resource in women’s history. Ada Adelia Sykes’
diary is one such resource.
I was first introduced to the diary of Ada Sykes in March 1996 when Dr. Theresa
Healy, from the Prince George Campus of the University of Northern British Columbia,
came to Fort St. John to do a guest lecture in a history class. Although I was not a part of the
history class, I attended the lecture. In addition to introducing Mary Percy Jackson’s Suitable
for the W ilds. Dr. Healy talked about the Ada Sykes diary and handed out a typescript of
about twelve pages. When I saw the diary entries, I was struck by the starkness and brevity
of each entry,^ and I knew immediately what I would like to do with the diary. My idea then
was to turn the very short and sparse diary entries into poetry, reinflecting them with my
conception of emotions and details that might have been.

7

My interest in the diary was also undergirded by my own experience as a young adult
of moving from Montreal, Quebec, to a “back-to-tbe-land” farm commune in Northern
British Columbia during the early seventies. Headwaters Ranch, located about 18 kilometres
off the Alaska Highway at Pink Mountain (Mile 143), was home to about 180 people,
including my husband, Fred, my two-year-old daughter, Diana, and me (see 111. 24 and 25,
page xxiv).^ During our two-year stay there, my son, Jadon, was born—in the dead of winter,
perhaps in similar conditions to those in which Ada Sykes and other pioneer women
delivered their children, with no electricity, no anaesthetic, a wood-burning stove for heat,
and another woman to help with the delivery. Like Daisy Phillips and Mary Percy Jackson, I
too wrote letters home to parents who were more than 2,500 kilometres away, detailing daily
events of our life in a new “wilderness” place. In adhering to the relatively new practice of
scholars telling their own stories, I examine these letters as one of the primary sources for
this thesis. The letters were preserved for nearly 30 years by my mother, Louise Beaven, one
of our family storykeepers, and returned to me in July 2002.
In addition, I was interested in the contrast between Ada Sykes and my own paternal
grandmother, Alice Jane Beaven (see 111. 22, page xxii), a contemporary of Ada Sykes, who
homesteaded in south-central Saskatchewan after the death of her husband from tuberculosis
on his return from the Boer War. She often talked about her days “out West.” However, she
was unable to do what Ada Sykes did, that is, leave us a written record of her life, because
she was unable to read or write (see 111. 23, page xxiii).
This thesis, based in part on Ada Sykes’ diary, is comprised of six main sections.
This Introduction is followed by Chapter One, “Critical Contours in W omen’s Life-Writing,”
which provides a selective theoretical overview of three areas of women’s life-writing:

8

autobiography, diaries, and autobiographical poetry; Chapter Two, “Mapping the Ground:
The Diary of Ada Sykes,” introduces Ada Sykes’ diary and offers a close reading of the
utterances and the silences to provide an interpretation of Ada Sykes’ life. Chapter Three
introduces and presents original poems, most of which are based on the daily entries of Ada
Sykes’ diary; for these, I have reproduced the diary entry on which each poem is based. The
remainder of the poems cross the border into the personal and are based on the life of my
grandmother, Alice Jane Beaven. The remaining sections include the Conclusion, and the
Appendices, which contain a Sykes’ family tree, an Elmer Sykes’ family tree, a typescript of
Ada Sykes’ diary, and copies of the holograph version of my letters from Headwaters Ranch.
Postmodernism, with its relentless questioning of authority, universality, and
privilege, has cultured the growth of interdisciplinarity. Indeed, Cole Harris asserts that
“ [d]isciplinary boundaries are receding, and probably should; I am not even sure that there
needs to be a distinction between academic and non-academic writing” (Harris xiii). At the
very least, many scholars would agree with Harris’s position that disciplinary boundaries are
receding. Most major universities now offer interdisciplinary programs combining a variety
of disciplines. Indeed, this interdisciplinary thesis melds the often complementary but
formerly discrete disciplines of English and history. On the other hand, some scholars would
say that Harris goes too far in wishing for the dissolution of boundaries between academic
and non-aeademic writing. Recently, however, many feminist writers have been calling for
just such a dissolution, seeking not a return to the nineteenth-century realm of belles lettres or
an engagement with “the new journalism,” but more “personal, even confessional, creative
responses to literature and life” as part of academic culture (Ereedman 13, my italics). For
example. The Intimate Critique: Autobiographical Literarv Criticism gathers together more

9

than two dozen essays written in styles that are less “compulsive, aggressive, lonely, [and]
competitive” than much traditional academic writing. In her essay in that collection, Olivia
Frey states that discussion about literature is typified by an adversarial method that “is only a
symptom of a pervading ethos that stresses competition and individualistic achievement at
the expense of others” (61). Even some dissertations are changing, challenging traditional
content and format. Katherine E. Goff’s dissertation, A Sense of Self: Identitv. Gender, and
Technology in School, written for the Education faculty at the University of Colorado at
Denver, was created with the idea that it would be available on the Internet. In fact,
Katherine Goff calls the online version the “real” one, even though she admits to organizing
her writing also as “text on paper” to satisfy school requirements and avoid technological
difficulties. She stitches together e-mail, letters, field notes, data, poetry, and interpretive
pieces to create a richly-colored “virtual quilt” that readers can examine and interact with.
One of the most important aspects of this move to change the face of academic
writing is the postmodern recognition that all writing, including academic writing, is situated
in a historical, social, and personal context. There is no solid dividing line between personal
and academic; instead, they are separated by what appears to be a semi-permeable membrane
through which various aspects of the personal and the academic flow, creating greater
flexibility in style, form, and focus. Furthermore, belief in metanarratives has been replaced
by belief that there is always more than one way to tell a story. Room, then, must be made to
tell “academic” stories in different ways. Sociologist Laurel Richardson responds to this in
Writing Strategies: Reaching Diverse Audiences, exposing her strategies for presenting the
same collective story to different markets, including trade book, academic paper, and mass
circulation. Her hope is to reach more readers in ways that will capture their interest.

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Such inclusion of the personal with the academic is further refleeted in Helen M.
Buss’s work, Mapping Our Selves: Canadian W omen’s Autobiography in English. Buss
introduces eaeh section of her book with a short autobiographical passage in which she
recounts episodes from her childhood and youth in an extended family of strong female
relatives—mother, grandmothers, aunts, cousins-as well as conversations she had as an adult
with her father. This allows the reader to situate Buss and her critieal practice in the context
of her own identity as daughter, critic, writer and woman (n.p.). Buss risks presenting
reflections on her own life; this aspect of her work strongly encouraged me to interweave
poems based on my grandmother’s life with the poems inspired by Ada Sykes’ diary. In
addition, Janice Dickin McGinnis “[chooses] to insert [her] self very obviously into the
narrative” (Preface ix) of the Introduction to Mary Percy Jackson’s letters in order to (among
other things) “tell the story of how [she does her] work” (Preface ix): “In doing so, I meant to
present a parallel to Dr. Percy Jackson’s descriptions of how she did hers. In short, just as
her letters tell the adventures of a doetor, my Introduction tells the adventures of a historian”
(ix). Janice Dickin McGinnis states this is “more than a literary device; it is meant to show
continuity in women’s lives” (ix).
My title, “Mapping the Ground: A Critieal and Creative Exploration of the Diary of
Ada Sykes, 1912-1915,” signals a personal acceptanee of Helen Buss’s metaphor of mapping
as a useful way of talking about women’s autobiographical writing. Buss refuses the
metaphor of the mirror, as used by some humanists and post-structuralists either to shore up
or to challenge the liberal humanist coneeption of the autonomous and self-present subject.
Going a step further. Buss also rejects the metaphor of the speculum, proposed by Luee
Irigaray, and picked up by others including Bella Brodzki and Celeste Schenck, as “the

11

structuring device for [a] deconstruction of Western philosophical discourse since Plato”
(Brodzki and Schenck 7). Buss critiques the speculum, a gynecological instrument that
“seeks both to reflect and to penetrate interiority” (Brodzki and Schenck 7) as a tool “that
relegates the female to a passive object of an observing, non-subjective, [patriarchal]
science” (Buss 9). Identifying the limits of both the mirror and speculum because their use is
based on sight. Buss suggests a metaphor based on the ancient art and science of cartography,
which in addition to making maps dependent on sight, can also produce relief maps “so
accurate in their scale and subtlety that they can teach the blind the contours of the world”
(9).
Buss emphasizes the interdisciplinarity and multisensuality (10) of the activity of
mapping and its avoidance of direct referentiality in the sense that maps are not commonly
regarded as direct reflections of the world (11). Additionally, both cartographic and
autobiographical enterprises can record change over time: the “mapping of autobiography
recognizes both the palimpsest of layers in human subjects and the erosion of those layers”
(10). Thus, the interdisciplinarity that Buss values in mapping permits multiple conceptions
and reconceptions of the world and the human subject.
Ada Sykes was a pioneer, a wife, a mother, a daughter, and a writer. Although
important to the people whose lives she touched daily, she was neither famous, known
outside her circle of family and friends, nor among “the great and the good” (Oldfield qtd. in
Storr). Nevertheless, 1 believe that Ada Sykes and others like her warrant recognition and
acknowledgement. In her ordinariness, she is, in some fashion, representative of pioneer
women. Moreover, in enfolding the life of my grandmother within a study and re-creation of

12

the life of Ada Sykes, I have explored not only their lives, but, in a sense, have discovered
my own past.
When Ada Adelia Countryman was born in 1886, Confederation was less than twenty
years old, and British Columbia had been a province for only fifteen years. Of central
importance to the development of British Columbia was the Fraser River, which begins high
in the Rocky Mountains, 2100 metres above sea level, and snakes 1370 kilometres through
the province, its watershed covering about one-quarter of the province. Although people of
the First Nations have lived in the Fraser River valley for more than ten thousand years, it
was not until 1808 that the first white adventurer traveled the river that would be named after
him (Booking 3). According to Richard C. Booking, the Fraser River is “one of the world’s
great cornucopias” and the “economic spine” of the province, with “[m]uch of British
Columbia’s recent history . . . an account of the movement of people, goods and money up
and down the great river” (4). Trapping, transportation, communication, fishing, logging,
mining, and settlement have all played a part in the drama of Fraser River history.
Notwithstanding its central importance in the history of the province, the “celebrated Fraser
River” (McNaughton 85) has not always treated kindly those who traveled its waterway.
The discovery of gold on the Fraser River in 1858 had brought an “unprecedented
invasion” of 25,000-30,000 white people, mostly men, to the interior of British Columbia
within four months (Harris 109), thus rearranging the balance of white to Native populations;
British Columbia had entered Confederation with the second smallest population and the
only one in which Natives outnumbered whites (Johnston 165). In 1862, the Overlanders
reached the summit of the mountains and came to the Fraser River “where it could be crossed
at a single step” (McNaughton 79). This narrow trickle soon became “[g]reat cataracts

13

tumbling into dark abysses [that] filled the beholders with reverential awe” (85). At Tete
Jaune Cache,^ this group of one hundred fifty men camped on the banks of the river, short of
supplies and exhausted by their journey from present-day Winnipeg, and earlier, from
Montreal and Queenston. Despite the warnings of the Native people, one group of the
Overlanders “braved the rapids of the Fraser River” (McNaughton viii), some of them losing
their lives in their attempt to reach the gold fields of the Cariboo.
From 1867 on, however, the population doubled every decade until 1911, and by
1914, there were about 400,000 people in British Columbia (Belshaw 151). The last spike of
the Canadian Pacific Railway, driven at Craigellachie, British Columbia, the previous year
(Seager 212), gave the promise of ease of movement between the new province and the rest
of Canada. In the interior of the province, post offices, railroads, telegraph, and telephone or
radio-telephone service were well established prior to 1920 (Harris 175-178). Most of
British Columbia was not served by roads; in fact, as late as 1930, there was only one road
from the interior to the coast (Harris 172). River and lake steamers operated along the
waterways, complementing other methods of transportation (Harris 169).
The next era of settlement along the upper Fraser River occurred in the second decade
of the twentieth century, following the advance of the railway. Crossing Yellowhead Pass in
1911, the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway headed west, with construction crew camps of five
thousand men (Booking 20). According to Marilyn J. Wheeler, the “end of steel” camps that
grew up in advance of the railroad were “wild” places: “[tjhe men worked long hours in
conditions that were sometimes intolerable from swarms of mosquitoes, while the clay made
working with the teams almost impossible after rain” (3). After construction in an area was
finished, not everyone left. Some remained behind to try their hand at logging, trapping, or

14

prospecting along the banks of the Fraser (Wheeler 1). According to Ron Marrington, “along
every bar of the Fraser River, people were panning gold.” Tete Jaune Cache^ (Mile 49) was
the head of navigation for the sternwheelers that plied the Fraser downstream to Fort George,
500 kilometres away, and another 250 kilometres to Soda Creek (Booking 21).
One of the steamers is mentioned by Ada Sykes in the August 23, 1912 entry;
Started and went aways, but had to stop, the fog was too thick. Burns Meat
boat went by while we were waiting. Raining. Again. Got 1 bird, 12 o ’clock
the conveyor went by. 1.30 got dinner at 133. Got to the mill, stayed all night,
had supper. Breakfast at Cullens. Raining some. (106; all page references to
the diary and to author’s letters from Headwaters Ranch refer to pagination in
this thesis.)
A paratextual handwritten note in the diary typescript identifies “the conveyor” as the
“Steamship S.S. Conveyor." The Conveyor and the O perator were shipped overland to
Alberta and then on to Tete Jaune Cache after being dismantled in Victoria (Booking 21).
According to Robson Valley pioneer Sadie Frye, these wood-burning boats could carry “200
passengers and a 200-ton cargo as well as tow a loaded barge” (Booking 21). Sternwheeler
travel on the upper Fraser ended in 1913 when “the railway contractors broke their agreement
with the ship operators and built a bridge near Dome Creek that was too low for
sternwheelers to pass under” (Booking 21).
Besides small private vessels, other river traffic included scows, flat-bottomed boats
capable of 27-tonne loads. During the eonstruction of the Grand Trunk Pacific, between
1912 and 1914, “up to one hundred scows were built in Tete Jaune Cache each week and sent
off downriver” (Booking 21). Because o f the rapids and dangerous waters, for many of the

boaters, it was their final trip. Ron Marrington tells of two men eaught in their small boat in
a whirlpool on the Fraser River. When Ben Sykes came upon them as he was traveling up-

15

river, they had been turning around in the whirlpool for two days. They did not have the
power to get themselves out. Sykes threw them a rope and hauled them to shore (19 Feb.

2003).
Increases in population and changing demographics brought other changes to a
province that in some ways wanted to cling to the old colonial ways. Women property
holders, both married and unmarried, received the municipal franchise in 1873, a first in
Canada (Meen 123); in 1906, this was extended to all adult women, only to be restricted
again by the Municipal Elections Act of 1908 (Belshaw 155). The provincial vote followed
in 1917, and the federal in 1919. The Liberal administration (1916-1928) brought in
“mothers’ pensions, maintenance for deserted wives, and made both parents the legal
guardians of their children’’ (Fisher and Mitchell 257).
This is the British Columbia in which Ada Sykes and her family lived. The upper
Fraser River valley and the interior of the province were rich areas for those with a spirit of
adventure and a will to work hard building a family place where once was wilderness.

16

Chapter One
Critical Contours in Women’s Life-Writing

Anonymity, we have long believed, is the proper condition o f woman}^
Carolyn Heilbrun, Writing a W oman’s Life

Life-writing—part of the “continuum of narrative” (Kadar ix) spanning
autobiographical writing from the less fictive to the more fictive— includes, among other
forms, diaries, journals, autobiography, memoirs, epistolary diaries, letters, autobiographical
criticism and autobiographical poetry. ' ' In this chapter, I will explore various theories of
life-writing, looking first at autobiography*^ and then at diaries. In the study of Ada Sykes’
diary, I take opportunity to cross various boundaries—personal, temporal, and disciplinary.
Like theorist Leigh Gilmore, I concur that diversity, interdisciplinarity, and multiple
discursive contexts are hallmarks of the current study of women’s life-writing.
According to Sidonie Smith, autobiography has been viewed as a kind of “flawed
biography at worst” and at best, “a historiographical document capable of capturing the
essence of a nation or the spirit of an age” (3). In the past thirty years, theorists, literary
critics, and creative writers have devoted significant attention to life-writing, examining and
often challenging the underlying assumptions that have excluded life-writing, especially by
women, from the literary canon. Moreover, many writers have erased the boundaries
between the various sub-genres of life-writing, blending and combining forms to enrich this
body of work. Expanding the traditional liberal humanist justification for the study of
literature as a means of increasing our understanding of the human condition, some feminist
theory has regarded women’s diaries, in particular, as invitations to cross a variety of

17

borders, both personal-temporal and textual-disciplinary. From a personal-temporal
perspective, readers may step across the threshold of their own lives into the lives and times
of the diarists. Indeed, diaries afford readers the opportunity to embrace lives that, although
they may be radically different from their own, potentially offer a sense of continuity with
the past. The diary of Ada Sykes, for instance, provides details about food, clothing, work,
and chores of the daily routine of a pioneer woman in western Canada in the early years of
the twentieth century.
Through my creative exploration in poetry of her diary, I am able to step out of my
early-twenty-first-century shoes, and move imaginatively into her life. In the introduction to
Capacious Hold-All: An Anthologv of English W omen’s Diarv W ritings. Harriet Blodgett
states that the literature of women’s diaries, like other traditionally-valued literature,
“stimulat[es] imaginative participation” in the lives of the writers. Further, she points out
that “much of the special pleasure of reading diaries may lie in the inspiration they give us to
reconstruct the world of their origination: to assemble bit by bit the imagined scenes and
movements, the voices and gestures and facial expressions and to live vicariously through
another sensibility” (11). The diary of Ada Adelia Sykes provides just such inspiration to
enter into its originary world, and it is my hope that the transformation of selected entries
into poetry, as presented in this thesis, will give readers an imaginative participation in Ada
Sykes’ life.
Diaries, then, serve as one tool of women’s self-inscription, enabling women in a
patriarchal culture to construct knowledge of themselves and to maintain relationships
through the medium of language. From a textual-disciplinary point of view, the marginality
of diaries— especially women’s diaries— with respect to the literary canon, encourages us to

18

question the traditionally exclusivist tenets and esthetics of canonicity as articulated by critics
like F. R. Leavis, T. S. Eliot, and, more recently, Harold Bloom. Cynthia Huff calls the diary
form “simultaneously elastic and tight” (2) and this characterization of diaries invites the
interdisciplinary, critical, and creative exploration of Ada Sykes’ diary that I have undertaken
here.
The modern study of autobiography is often dated from the 1956 publication of
Georges G usdorf s essay “Conditions and Limits of Autobiography,” which acknowledges
the complexities of selfhood and the referential ambiguities of writing about the self.
Gusdorf traces the evolution of autobiography, an enterprise undertaken by “many great men,
and even some not so great” (28 my emphasis), pointing out that the autobiographical
impulse is a recent. Western phenomenon, growing out of a “conscious awareness of the
singularity of each individual life” (29). In previous times and in other cultures, the
individual has been subsumed by the community: “lives are so thoroughly entangled t ha t . . .
the important unit is thus never the isolated being” (30), but men act out a limited number of
roles, which are passed on to successive generations. It is a consciousness of self, grafted
from Christian beliefs onto classical stock, that causes men to investigate their own past:
The man who takes delight in thus drawing his own image believes himself
worthy of a special interest. Each of us tends to think of himself as the center
of a living space: I count, my existence is significant to the world, and my
death will leave the world incomplete. . . . The author of an autobiography . ..
looks at himself being and delights in being looked at—he calls himself as
witness for himself. (29)

Furthermore, according to Gusdorf, autobiography requires the author to “reassemble
the scattered elements of his individual life and to regroup them in a comprehensive sketch”
(35), creating a “complete and coherent expression of his entire destiny” (35). This cohesion

19

in part distinguishes autobiography from diaries, in which the author has less concern for
harmony or continuity between the daily entries, although even a sparsely-written diary like
Ada Sykes’ shows consistency of format. In addition, Gusdorf recognizes that although
autobiography appears at first to be “the mirror image of a life, its double more clearly
drawn’’ (40), he concludes it must be more than this because “the arrow of lived time’’ is
deflected by the consciousness of future events, known to the autobiographer as he looks
back at his life; “autobiography is condemned to substitute endlessly the completely formed
for that which is in the process of being formed’’ (41).
Philippe Lejeune and Elizabeth Bruss argue for certain necessary elements before
writing can be considered autobiography. This classical autobiographical pact, according to
Bruss, consists of expectations that the writer must fulfil for the reader, who expects that the
autobiography be consistent with other evidence; that the writing exemplify the character of
the writer; and that the roles of author, narrator, and protagonist be one (300).
Many late-twentieth-century critics have moved from a concentration on the bios of
the autobiographer, and an appeal to the facticity of the narration, to a concern with questions
of self-representation. Indeed, according to Shari Benstock, it is “the theory of selfhood that
is always under examination in analyses of autobiographical writings’’ (1). Autobiography
in this instance is regarded as a process by which the writer gives shape, substance, and
coherence to his or her identity in a “creative or interpretative’’ act subject to conventions and
critical explorations like any other genre of literature (Smith 5). Other theorists turn their
attention to the autos of autobiography, proposing that the self is only a configuration of
language, a construct of infinite but always structured possibility (5). Yet others have
concentrated on an examination of the graphia, the act of writing itself, the attempt at self-

20

inscription amid the ambiguities of signification (6). It is important to note that there has
been no direct, linear progression from one approach to another; all these ways of viewing
autobiography now exist simultaneously.
In the opening chapter of A Poetics of W omen’s Autobiography. Sidonie Smith looks
for a space for women’s life-writing in the schemes proposed by Misch, Dilthey and others,
but finds only androcentric patterns: “For Misch, the ‘normative’ definition of autobiography
and the criteria used to evaluate the success of any particular autobiography lie in the
relationship of the autobiographer to the arena of public life and discourse’’ (7). Smith points
out that the public sphere has been for the most part denied to women, and those who have
crossed the border to become public figures are seen not as representative but as exceptional
(8). The result is that women’s autobiographies, failing to meet the male/human/universal
norms, have been ignored, dismissed, or misunderstood (8). Part of this misunderstanding
stems from the assumption of a certain kind of selfhood rooted in the metaphysics of “the
essential self, one that privileges individuality and separateness over connectedness” (12).
Smith argues that women write out of a different conception of self—one which, according to
Nancy Chodorow’s psychoanalytic theory and Dorothy Dinnerstein’s conception of motherchild relationships, is based on “more flexible and permeable ego boundaries” (Chodorow
qtd. in Smith 12). This brings a “different kind of voice” (Smith 12) to women’s self­
narratives, one characterized not by the logical argumentation, causal narrative, and forward
drive of “masculine” writing, but by the “different ink” of “feminine” writing exemplified by
narrative rupture, gaps, wordplay and jouissance, which work to break up logocentric
discourse.

21

As women’s texts have been recovered, theories of autobiography appropriate to the
reading of those texts have emerged. The first theories focused on the content of women’s
biographies compared to that of men’s: “ [ijnstead of adventures and vocation, of existential
angst and alienations, women write about the sphere of domesticity and about the affective
curve in the plot of love” (Smith 17). Later theories characterize women’s writing as
“fragmentary and discontinuous,” a mode imitative of women’s experience in a variety of
relational roles. These approaches, however, result in dualisms that are often hard to defend
in the face of numerous contrary examples.
Partially in answer to Gusdorf, feminist critic Carolyn Heilbrun argues in her 1985
article, “W oman’s Autobiographical Writings: New Forms,” that in contrast to m en’s
autobiography, which is “shaped by the contemplation of their own singularity” and
expresses “the wonder [the author] feels before the mystery of his own destiny” (Gusdorf
qtd. in Heilbrun 14), women’s life writing has been, until very recently, “radically different”
from men’s, “scarcely deserving] the name of autobiography” (14). Heilbrun places women
in G usdorf s “pre-autobiographical” era, in which “singularity was hardly to be boasted o f ’
(14), and notes that in their autobiographies, even accomplished political or public women
fail to emphasize their own importance and refuse to offer themselves as a model. Instead
they depict themselves in a “female variant of the high tradition of spiritual autobiography”
(Heilbrun 16), the only acceptable mode in which to express achievement. Furthermore, in
“The Other Voice: Autobiographies of Women Writers,” Mary G. Mason distinguishes
between the patterns of men’s and women’s autobiographies: “Nowhere in women’s
autobiographies do we find the patterns established by the two prototypical male
autobiographers, Augustine and Rousseau; and conversely, male writers never take up the

22

archetypal models of Julian [of Norwich], Margery Kempe, Margaret Cavendish, and Anne
Bradstreet” (21). “Nowhere” and “never”—this is strong language, indeed, needed perhaps
to make her point that certainly in general, there appear to be different patterns established by
m en’s and women’s autobiographies. In the classic male autobiography, the subject, like
American Henry Adams in The Education of Henrv Adams, becomes a universal everyman,
a “representative of the time, a mirror of his era” (Brodzki and Schenck 2) in which maleness
and humanity are conflated. In Augustine’s Confessions, the author presents himself as an
analogue to God, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, in his Confessions, boasts of himself as
unique. As models for women’s autobiography, these self-aggrandizing patterns seem to be
insufficient because they attribute an importance to the self that does not tend to reflect most
women’s experience.
In the introduction to Life/Lines: Theorizing W omen’s Autobiographv. Bella Brodzki
and Celeste Schenck characterize the most pervasive attribute of women’s life-writing as the
“delineation of identity by alterity,” that is, self-definition in relation to significant others,
whether they be children, friends, husbands, or lovers (8). This characteristic is evident from
the earliest examples of women’s autobiography right up to the present day. For instance, in
the short, twenty-four-page autobiography of Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle,
first published as a part of her husband’s autobiography in 1656, the author states her wish
that future readers not err “in not knowing I was daughter to one Master Lucas of St. Johns,
near Colchester, in Essex, second wife to the Lord Marquis of Newcastle; for my Lord
having had two wives, I might easily have been mistaken, especially if I should die and my
Lord marry again” (Mason 20). In the work of a twentieth-century writer, editor Faith Evans
notes in the introduction to Rebecca W est’s autobiography, Familv Memories, that West

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“uses [the members of her family] to express her own feelings and ideas. Indeed, her very
identity seems at time to fuse with theirs” (1). This is a pattern not typically undertaken by
male autobiographers; nor do women usually adopt the patterns of the above-mentioned male
writers.
One of the problems of studying women’s autobiography has been the lack of a
model that takes into consideration these differences between men’s and women’s self­
writing. In The Female Autograph, editor Domna Stanton presents a pluralistic “collage”
(vii) of essays that “undermine[s]” the generic boundaries which have hindered studies of
autobiography by producing lists of characteristics by which various modes of self­
inscription are categorized. She breaks apart the word “autobiography,” excising the “bios”
to highlight a move away from autobiography as a narration of “a life” and a move towards
the discovery of how women’s texts “graph the auto" (viii). Indeed, Stanton adds a new
element to create the word “autogynography,” which she incorporates into the interrogatory
title of the opening essay, “Autogynography: Is the Subject Different?” In spite of the recent
fervent study in the area of autobiography by Mehlman, Bruss, Spengemann, and Lejeune
(4), to name a few, Stanton finds that women’s writings—both primary and secondary
sources— are still conspicuous by their absence. She concludes that the term
“autobiographical” has been used to valorize men’s writing (like that of Augustine,
Montaigne, and Rousseau) but to denigrate women’s writing: “women could not transcend,
but only record, the concerns of the private s e lf’ (4). Important in Stanton’s work on
autogynography was Estelle Jelinek’s generative W omen’s Autobiographv: Essavs in
Criticism, which gathered from “disparate places” essays to form a “whole” so that such
writing could be seen as a “distinct school of criticism” (Jelinek qtd. in Stanton 5).

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Although Estelle Jelinek’s text provided a matrix for later theorists and purported to
form a “whole” from disparate pieces, the theory of women’s autobiography, like theory
elsewhere, is characterized by disjuncture and non-cohesion, with a rich panoply of voices
articulating differing positions. For example, in theorizing “the politics and possibilities of
women’s self-representation” (ix), Leigh Gilmore looks at the potential for the
interdisciplinary study of women’s autobiography and its presence in discourses other than
literary criticism, where it has been largely ignored. In contrast to some other theorists,
Gilmore does not see women as a single social group which produces narratives of “shared
‘female experience’”; she “cannot locate female identity and experience in a unitary,
transhistorical female experience and female body and claim those as unprohlematical and
unifying grounds of meaning” (xii). Although she recognizes the political and practical
benefits of “interpellat[ion] as ‘woman’ or [as] a member of the category ‘women’” (xiii),
she agrees with Judith Butler’s proposition that such grouping may unintentionally ignore
significant differences. In constructing an “autobiographies,” Gilmore considers not only the
history of self-representation as constructed by autobiography, but also the “contemporary
discursive histories of specific autobiographical texts” (xiii). In doing so, she rejects the
“psychologizing paradigm” (xiii) adopted by many feminists and literary critics, including
Mary Mason. This paradigm, which “reproduces the ideological tenets of individualism”
(xiii) states;
Men are autonomous individuals with inflexible ego boundaries who write
autobiographies that turn on moments of conflict and place the self at the
center of the drama. Women, by contrast, have flexible ego boundaries,
develop a view of the world characterized by relationships (with priority
frequently given to the mother-daughter bond), and therefore represent the self
in relation to “others.” (xiii)

25

Gilmore argues instead that autobiography, as opposed to simply having an experiential base,
is written in the context of discourses that construct “truth, identity and power” (xiv) and in
this process, construct a gendered subject. Interested in how women have navigated the
waters of those various discourses, Gilmore does not assume they all move through them in
the same way: both “women” and “autobiography” refer to many disparate and irreconcilable
experiences and varieties of representation. In Gilmore’s economy, these terms “come to
represent diversity as a natural and stable identity” (xiv). She seems to apply this diversity to
the genre itself: the autobiographical is that which “resists static identity categories” (233).

What sort o f diary should I like mine to be? Something loose knit, and yet not
slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace anything, solemn, slight or beautiful
that comes into my mind. I should like it to resemble some deep old desk, or
capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass o f odds and ends without
looking them through. . . . The main requisite . . . is not to p la y the p a rt o f
censor, but to write as the m ood comes o f anything whatever.
Virginia Woolf, Diary, 20 April 1919

Moving from the broad field of autobiography— a field which seems to be broader
than ever before— I want to consider a sub-genre, the diary. Diaries have often been looked

26

on as merely a source of information about an author or era; they have also been viewed as
second-rate literature. Generations of critics have virtually ignored both women’s
autobiography and women’s diaries because “the bios [has not] been culturally significant
and because the self-representation [has not] been aesthetically significant by androcentric
criteria’’ (Smith 8). These works were often “misread and labeled inferior because they do
not conform t o . . . normative prescription of theme and structure’’ (9, 10). However, like
other forms of women’s life-writing, diaries play a major part in the recovery of female
history; “[w]ithout distortion by an intermediary they reveal what women take to be true
about themselves, their world, and its representability’’ (Blodgett 1).
In her introduction to Capacious Hold-All: An Anthologv of English W omen’s Diarv
Writings, Harriett Blodgett points out that although each diarist has a unique voice (1), and
her own style, readers find “certain recurrent female attitudes and experiences’’ because the
diarists all write from within the parameters of life in a “male-dominant culture’’ (2).
Blodgett argues that women’s diaries “show certain commonalities, the impress, as it were,
of female conditioning’’ (2). Some of these characteristics of female existence in a
patriarchal culture, which find expression in women’s diaries include reticence, self­
devaluation, desire to serve others, and conflicts over female roles with male power (2). In
fact, the circumscribed conditions of women’s lives may have contributed directly to the
keeping of diaries: actors on no stage other than the home, “women noted the minutiae of
domestic affairs . . . the serial record of personal memorabilia that gives us a sense of the
diarist too’’ (3).
This is certainly true of Ada Sykes’ diary: the daily reports on weather, chores, food
supply, correspondence, and other particulars of life on the frontier constitute the “minutiae

27

of domestic affairs” (Blodgett 3). In addition, religious fervor played a part in the
development of diary writing; in the late sixteenth and the seventeenth century, the diary of
conscience, precursor of the secular diary, centred on introspection, and provided a way for
religious men and women to record their “derelictions of duty” (3). By the eighteenth
century, the letter diary was in vogue; daily entries were sent to a recipient, with the writer
keeping a copy as a diary (5). Often women missionaries, or others who emigrated for
various reasons, wrote lengthy letters back home as a daily record of their activities. These
letters, meant to be read by at least one other person, and often by a community of interested
friends or sponsors, formed an almost-daily inscription or diary, as in the case of Mary Percy
Jackson, the doctor who emigrated in 1929 from England to Northern Alberta, and her
contemporary, Anglican missionary Monica Storrs, whose “letters” are preserved in God’s
Galloping Girl: The Peace River Diaries of Monica Storrs. 1929-1931 and Companions of
the Peace: Diaries and Letters of Monica Storrs. 1931-1939.
The most personal or private form of life-writing, the diary is nevertheless often
written in circumspect language, the writer always conscious of others who might find and
read the entries, initially written by the author for the author. For example, historian Lillian
Schlissel notes that the silence surrounding reproduction and childbirth is very evident in the
diaries of women who made the overland journey from the American Midwest to the Oregon
Territory in the latter half of the nineteenth century. She suggests that for many of the men
who went west, the journey was the physical expression of a new start and a break with the
past (104). They were young, reaching maturity and eager to accomplish something. The
journey became a dramatic rite of passage to adulthood (Schlissel 105). However, for the
women, this kind of journey did not fit in with their natural life cycle. The rigours of the

28

overland journey could not be considered normal for a pregnant woman. As a consequence,
the diaries of the men on the journey seldom mention the birth of their children, hut the
mother’s diaries always do: “Saddled two horses and started to read . . . a lady in a wagon
party two miles back . . . found the lady quite comfortable in a bed in a wagon with a little
daughter—perhaps an hour old” (106). Although the birth is mentioned as commonplace, it is
often also shrouded behind a veil of “not telling” (Schlissel 108). For example, Adrietta
Hixon, a young girl who crossed the continent, was surprised hy the arrival of a baby brother
on the Trail. In her diary, she first records that “Father did some washing and extra cooking
that day” and then, “Later that evening, I heard Father ask Mother what she thought about
going on the next day. She answered, ‘the baby and I can ride as well on this feather bed as
not’” (109). Often, as is true in the case of the birth of the Sykes’ baby, Mary, the recording
of the birth is the only overt mention in the diary that a woman was pregnant.
According to Helen Buss, diaries are by their nature very personal, “only minimally
constructed for public readers” (Mapping 23). In decoding diaries, she uses historical
material not available to the diarist to decode significances in the writing; on the other hand,
the diarist had access to certain personal information about herself that is not explicit in the
diary, but “which led her to encode certain presences as silences in her text” (23). The
reader’s responsibility is to “mitigate the silence that male-centred language [and by
extension, customs, cultural codes, and social relations] imposed on women’s real lives”
(24). In Read This Onlv to Yourself: The Private Writings of Midwestern Women, 18801910. Elizabeth Hampsten notes that repetition, number o f entries, and silences and gaps
must be read as clues from women who wanted to have their voice heard: “[w]e must
interpret what is not written as well as what is, and rather than dismiss repetitions, value them

29

especially” (4). This thesis provides another way for Ada Sykes’ voice to be heard; my
imaginative participation in her life through poetry interprets the silences and gaps she left
us. Virginia W oolf notes of diarist Elizabeth, Lady Holldan (1770-1845), what is typical of
many women diarists: “it was not the purpose of her diary to follow her feelings closely, or
indeed to record them at all, except to sum them up now and then in a businesslike way, as
though she made a note in shorthand for future use” (qtd. in Blodgett 7). These
characteristics are evident in the diary of Ada Sykes. The purpose of her diary is not to
record her feelings, but to set down in summary fashion the highlights of each day. Although
many entries seem the same, with details about the weather, food, visitors, and chores, these
repetitions make plain to readers the kind of life that she lived.
The theory of women’s autobiography, like the writings that it describes, is
multifaceted, varied, and in some cases, very personal. Like the “deep old desk” or
“capaeious hold-all” that Virginia W oolf wished her diary to resemble, the theory of lifewriting now eontains “a mass of odds and ends” that has been variously characterized as
“solemn, slight [and] beautiful.” Just as Virginia W oolf’s diary speaks to us about her life,
theory itself is a “voice” which offers “enabling potential” to readers, giving a way of seeing
the variegated threads of the tapestry that is women’s autobiography.

30

Chapter Two
Mapping the Ground: The Diary of Ada Sykes
British historian Katherine Storr focuses her 1996 study on two diaries which a friend
had “serendipitously purchased in a car-boot sale” (9). Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, author of the
Pulitzer Prize-winning A Midwife’s Tale, a book based on the eighteenth-century New
England diary of midwife and healer Martha Ballard, says she found Ballard’s diary “by
accident”: having some spare time while researching another project, Ulrich went to a library
to look for a certain item, and while there, found the Ballard diary: “two fat volumes bound
in homemade linen covers” (Kahn-Leavitt). W ith similar fortuity, I first learned about the
diary of Ada Sykes at a lecture given by Dr. Theresa Healy at the University of Northern
British Columbia in Fort St. John in March 1996. This chapter provides historical details
about the Sykes family as well as an analysis of Ada Sykes’ diary. In addition, I will argue
that this diary has certain features common to pioneer women’s diaries, and that Ada Sykes’
life is representative of a character type well-established in both Canadian history and
Canadian literature.
Ada Sykes was born Ada Adelia Countryman on November 19, 1886. The
Countryman family was descended from Johann Friedrich Guntermann, who emigrated to
England and then to upper New York state from the Palatine region of Germany in the early
1700s (Countryman 1). His grandson, Jacob, a United Empire Loyalist, settled along the St.
Lawrence River near Cornwall, Ontario, in 1784. Jacob’s grandson, John J., cleared land
farther away from the river as land along the water highway was scarce. Because of
increasing scarcity and higher costs of land, John J.’s son, David, crossed back into the

31

United States, following the migration to Minnesota for cheaper land (275). He married
Alice Roberta Peake on October 4, 1875, in Ninniger, Benton, Minnesota (274). Alice
Roberta Peake was born October 15, 1860, in Hamden, Delaware, New York, the daughter of
Roswell Lawrence Peake and Sarah Adelia Robinson (274). David eventually gave up
farming and worked for the railway laying track out to Washington state. In 1898, when Ada
was 12 years old, her mother, father, two sisters and a brother left Wisconsin to help build the
railroad grade for the Great Northern Railroad. They lived in a converted boxcar, moving
along as the grade pushed west, ending in Monroe, Washington (Marrington 1). David and
Alice Peake Countryman had fifteen children (see 111. 4, page x). After David’s death on
March 28, 1915, in Monroe, Washington, Alice married recently-widowed Benjamin Silas
Sykes, Sr., the father of Benjamin Silas Sykes, Jr., who had married her daughter, Ada Adelia
(see 111. 16, page xviii). Alice Peake Countryman Sykes died on October 17, 1916, in
Monroe, Washington, at the age of fifty-six.
Benjamin Silas Sykes, Sr., was born on May 11, 1848, the fourth of the eight children
of James Sykes, Sr., born on March 4, 1825, in Yorkshire, England, and Rebecea Broadbent
Sykes, born about 1829 (Nelson, The Ranch). The family emigrated to America in the
1840s, settling in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, where James Sykes worked in the iron industry.
James Sykes, Sr., served in Company 1, 8* United States Infantry from 1861 to the end of
the American Civil War (para. 2). When Benjamin [Sr.] was two years old, his family
moved to western Wisconsin. When he was twenty-one, Benjamin moved to eastern
Minnesota to take up a three-year apprenticeship in the wagon-maker’s trade (para. 3). On
April 11, 1871, Benjamin [Sr.] married Nancy Jane Van Buren (see 111. 1, page viii). In 1872,

32

they moved to western Minnesota, near Marshall, where he practiced his trade of carpentry.
Both were active in the Methodist Episcopal Church (Nelson, The Ranch 2, para. 1). The
Sykes children were born while they lived there: Cullen (Feb. 16, 1872), Elmer (Feb. 19,
1879), Cora Rebecca (about 1884), Benjamin Silas [Jr.] (Feb. 13, 1883,^^ in Marshall,
Minnesota), and a daughter who died before she was named (Nelson, The Ranch 2, para. 1;
see 111. 20, page xxi).
In July 1887, Benjamin Sykes, Sr., packed up his family and left Minnesota by
covered wagon, this time heading for the town of Roslyn, Washington, where he
homesteaded 80 acres. After two years there, the family homesteaded about 12 miles (18
kilometres) from Snohomish, Washington, and four miles (seven kilometres) from the
nearest road (Marrington): “A wagon could be taken to within four or five miles of [Ben’s]
place, but provisions had to be transported the rest of the way on the backs of the men, and it
was several years before a wagon road was completed to his home” (Nelson, The Ranch,
para. 3). In 1901, Ben and Nancy moved again, this time near to Monroe, Washington. The
Sykes’ farm was located about 8 miles (12 kilometres) outside of Monroe on Woods Creek
Road, which runs north through the property (Wagner, personal communication; see 111. 2
and 3, page ix). The Sykes family settled “farther up the stream than any other pioneer”
(Nelson, The Ranch, para. 3). The part of Woods Creek that rans through the property
between the house and the barn'"^ was called Sykes Springs (see 111. 14, page xvi). From this
spring, the town of Monroe got its water for some time (Wagner, personal communication).
Ben [Jr.] and his father, Benjamin Silas Sykes, Sr., who was a joumeyperson carpenter.

33

worked full- time in the construction business in Monroe during their years there, helping to
build the first school in the area (Nelson, The Ranch, para. 3).
Ada Countryman met Benjamin Silas Sykes, Jr., in Monroe, Washington, where both
their families lived. They married on March 22, 1905, and remained in Monroe until 1910
(see 111. 7, page xii; 111. 8, page xiii). According to Ron Marrington, Ben Sykes, Jr., had
heard reports of numerous fur-bearing animals in the northern part of British Columbia.
Leaving his wife and two children in Monroe with his parents, he crossed the border on July
6, 1910, heading north. By train from Vancouver he headed up the Fraser Canyon to
Ashcroft, which at that time was at the end of the railroad. Freight going north from there
was hauled by three wagons in tandem, pulled by ten horses in a string (Marrington, “Sykes,”
I). Ben hired on as cook and ended up at Soda Creek, where the paddle-wheeler Chilcotin
was being built. Because of his background in carpentry, he helped with the construction.
After the vessel was completed, Ben Sykes worked as a deckhand, but on its first return trip,
the boat was wrecked in the Fort George Canyon. At that time, “[rjather than wait for
repairs, he sent for his father” (Marrington I).
On September 1, 1910, Ben and his father bought a canoe and supplies for the winter
and headed up the Fraser River to Garnet Creek, about seventeen kilometres west of where
McBride now stands. They spent the winter trapping (see 111. 5, page xi, and 111. 11, page
xv), and in the spring, when the ice went out, they paddled farther upriver with their furs to
Tete Jaune Cache, a native village of about forty people (Marrington, “Sykes,” 1-2). While
Ben took the furs by packhorse to Hinton, Alberta, his father stayed at Tete Jaune Cache and
built a log cabin and a small store (see 111. 13, page xvi). When Ben returned, he had supplies

34

for the trading post. They traded and sold goods to the local residents as well as the many
prospectors working the river sandbars (Marrington, “Sykes,” 2). In addition to operating the
trading post, Ben and his father trapped and big-game guided until the railroad reached Tete
Jaune Cache in 1914 (2). On July 10, 1911, Ben’s family, including his mother, joined him.
By this time, A l i c e h a d been born. Ben Sykes met his wife, his mother, and his three
children, Bessie, David, and Alice, who at that time was only five months old (see 111. 6, page
xi). Ron Marrington says his grandfather, Ben Sykes, was an “amazing man. They went in
with nothing and they lived off the land. There was nothing there; they were some of the first
to arrive in that area” (19 Jan. 2003). Ben Sykes had built an open raft, perhaps eight-by­
twelve feet or twelve-by-sixteen feet. On this they loaded their few possessions, and along
with the children, set off down-river: “Grandfather wouldn’t take them through the rapids, so
my grandmother had to take the children off the raft, and walk downstream along the river
bank past the rapids where my grandfather picked them up again” (Marrington 19 Jan. 2003).
Shortly after that, Ben’s parents moved downriver about ninety kilometres to Dome
where they built another trading post. Ben moved his family by raft about 250 kilometres
downriver to Slim Creek, where they homesteaded, supplementing their living by guiding
and trapping in the winter: “They’d go up on Red Mountain— rich people from the States”
(Marrington 19 Jan. 2003). Ron Marrington says Ben Sykes was “a poacher. He always
knew where the game warden was. H e’d shoot a moose and sell it for $10 a quarter. He left
it in the woods, frozen, until he needed i t . . . . He sold a lot of meat” (19 Feb. 2003). Logging
also brought in some cash: “Ben logged the homestead and floated the logs down river to the
big mill at Penny” (Marrington 2). Ben Sykes was also a prospector. Ron Marrington

35

remembers seeing, at his grandparents’ house when he was a boy, a “Vaseline jar full of gold
that he [Ben Sykes] had taken from the river” (19 Feb. 2003).
Ada Adelia Sykes and her husband, Benjamin Sykes, were among early settlers along
the upper Fraser River in the area just upstream from the Fraser’s Grand Canyon. This area
of Lindup, Penny, Bend, and Dome Creek was the site of many small logging operations and
sawmills over the years starting in the early 1900s. Today, the townsites are situated beside
the rail line which follows the Fraser River in a northwesterly direction.
In order to understand how Ada Sykes spent her days, I needed to analyse the diary.
In an interview with Laurie Kahn-Leavitt, Laurel Ulrich says she began her study o f Martha
Ballard’s diary “by counting things.” In her effort to manage the amount of material with
which she was working—Ballard’s diary eomprises 9,965 entries covering twenty-seven
years (Ulrieh 9)— she made a data eollection form and tieked off aetivities that were in each
entry: for example, brewing, spinning, trading, baking, chureh, and of course, deliveries.
Aecording to Ulrich, “[t]he counting was tedious and it was diffieult. But it gave [her]
patterns, it gave [her] the structure of [Ballard’s] life and it gave [her] a framework for
interpretation” (Kahn-Leavitt). Following this system, I first eounted the number of diary
entries (see Fig. I). Most of the entries are eonseeutive; however, there are some gaps.
Beeause I was working with a small number of pages (see Appendix C, Diary of Ada
Adelia Sykes, 1912-1915), I chose first to color-eode the entries in Ada Sykes’ diary, using
different eolored highlighters for various topies. The threads I initially followed were: plaee
names, people’s names, weather, cooking, other indoor ehores, outdoor chores, writing or
receiving letters, personal pronouns, and Sunday. The eolor-coding provided an immediate

36

visual impression of how Ada Sykes spent her time, and a picture began to emerge of what
her days were like.

The Scope of the Diary
1912

1913

Aug. 19-31

No. of
entries
30

Jan. 1-30

30

Sept. 1-30

24

Feb. 1-24

31

Oct. 1-31

No. of
entries
13

30

Nov. 1-30

31

Dec. 1-31

1

Feb. 25-28

No entries

M arch-July

No entries - at H enningsville

Aug. 17

M ary born

Sept.-Dec.

No entries - at H enningsville

1915

1914
Jan.-Feb.

31

J a n . 1-31

1

March

28

Feb. 1-28

1

M arch 31

31

Mar. 1-31

1

April 4

30

Apr. 1-30

M ay-Aug.

11

M ay 1-11

1

Sept. 24

1

Sept. 30

4

Oct. 1, 3 , 4 , 5

1

Oct. 17

2

Oct. 18, 19

12

Oct. 20-31

30

Nov. 1-30

31

Dec. 1-31

220

Jan. 31 is m issing

186

Total = 406

Fig. 1 Days covered by Ada S yke s’ diary

In addition to color-coding the activities recorded in the diary, I also created a data
collection form, listing the entry dates down the left-hand column, and various motifs across
the page to the right. This time, I further separated some categories; for instance, instead of
the broad category “indoor chores,” I counted references to food, baking, cooking, sewing,
children, writing letters, receiving mail, and washing/ironing. Among “outdoor chores,” I

37

listed hunting, working on buildings, sawing or chopping wood, gardening, and working on
the land. A total is provided for the number of times a motif is mentioned in each month, as
well as a cumulative total from month to month (see Fig. 2).

Data Collection Form for May 1915

May
1915

I
1
2
3
4
5

1
1
1
1

6

1

1
1
1
1

1

CO

1

I

Ü

1

CO

2

c

o

31

1

1

1

2
m

£

CL

1

9
10
11

T otal
C um .

CD

i

z

1

1
1

1

1
1
1
1

1

1

1

1

376

(C
5

CO

1
1

1

1
1
1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1
4
71

3
89

1
23

2
13

1 1

1

1

1
1
1
1
1
10

1

1
1

7

8

%

1
46

0
34

6
165

1
3
73

0
26

0
38

3
56

6
126

2
48

3
65

1
35

3
12

Fig. 2 Data C ollection Form fo r M ay 1915, show ing m onthly and cum ulative totals fo r various a ctivities recorded In
Ada Sykes’ diary.

Following are the results of this analysis:
•

there are 406 entries in the 23-page typescript

•

from the start of the diary on August 19, 1912 to the end of 1912, no days are missed

•

January 1913 is complete except for Jan. 31

•

for the rest of 1913 and most of 1914, there are only several entries, covering months at a
time

•

consecutive daily entries resume in October 1914

•

entries for 1915 are eonseeutive from January 1 to May 11, the final entry in the diary

•

there are 21 different places named (See Fig. 3)

•

there are 62 people mentioned, counting Ada (See Fig. 4 and 5)

38

•

35 times Sykes mentions that it is Sunday (one of which is not)

•

113 times she mentions letters: writing letters (48) or receiving mail (65)

•

almost every day (376 out of 406 entries or 92.6 per cent) contains a weather report

•

167 times she mentions indoor chores other than cooking or baking: washing/ironing
(74), cleaning or scrubbing (13), patching or sewing (46), caring for her children (34)

•

112 times she mentions either cooking (23) and baking (89), usually itemizing what she
cooked that day, for example, bread, pies, caribou tongue, beans, or a cake for a special
occasion such as a birthday; in addition, she mentions meals or groceries 71 times

•

292 times she mentions outside chores, such as sawing or chopping wood (73), hunting
(165), gardening (12), and preparing the land (42). Sometimes the entry states that Ben went
hunting; other entries specify, by use of the personal pronoun “I,” that it was Ada herself who
shot a bird or sawed wood.

Place Names in Ada Sykes Diary
42
53
60
66
83
Beaver River
Bend
Cranberry Marsh
Dome Creek
Garnet Creek
Guilford

114
133
154
160

These numbered places were points along the Grand Trunk
Pacific Railway line, whieh followed the Fraser River. The
numbers indicate the number of miles along the route from the
Alberta border. Summit (not mentioned in the diary) is Mile 1.
Tete Jaune Cache is 49; Tete Jaune Station is 52 (Wheeler 1).
Henningville
Linthrop or Lintrop
Moose Canyon
Penny
Sandcreek
TG

Fig. 3 Place N am es in Ada S ykes’ D iary

39

People with whom Ada Sykes Corresponded
Albert
Agnes
Chrissie
Cora
Edna

Elinor
Ethel
Eva
Hookers
Hugh

Jenny
Laura
Mary Moffatt
Mrs. Middy
Stella

Tom
Vina
Eatons
The Aluminum Co.
Hudson’s Bay Co.

Gus
Harry
Jasper
Joe
McCabin, R.
Melaas
Mr. Melsin
Mrs. Martin

Mrs. Coolie
Narboo, Me
Narboo, John
Peterson
Rose
Ross
Rover, Bill
Scullit

Fig. 4 People with w hom Ada Sykes C orresponded

People in Ada Sykes’ World
Baker
Boscome
Charles
Clark
Cook
Cullen
Curly
Daneil (sic)

Dr. Gray
Dr. McDougall
Dr. Smith
Elmer
Eng.
Eric
German
German Imberi

Fig. 5 People in Ada S ykes’ W orld

Despite the many rich historical details and personal stories related to me by various
family members, readers are given very little information in the diary about the Sykes family
or the friends and neighbors who visit or correspond with Ada. The paratextual handwritten
note on the cover of the typescript gives Ada Adelia Sykes’ date of birth as August 19, 1886
and date of death as December 31, 1977 (see 111. 21, page xxi). In addition, in the diary, Ada
Sykes announces the birthdays of the family members: Ben, February 13; Bessie, February
24; David, January 14; Alice, February 9; and Mary, August 17, 1913 (see 111. 15, page xvii).
A Pennv for Your Thoughts, a 250-page history o f the Penny area, gives the ages of the
children in 1912: Bessie, 5; David, 3; and Alice, 1 (165). The birth order rather than the
children’s exact ages is decipherable from the entry for February 21, 1915, in which the

40

writer lists the children from the oldest to the youngest: “Bessies [jic] shoes size 1, David
101 / 2 , Alice 8 V2 , M ary’s 416” (123).

Ada Sykes also tells the date of her tenth wedding

anniversary as March 22, 1915. She married Benjamin Sykes when she was 18 years old, in
1905, with Bessie, David, and Alice being born in 1907, 1909, and 1911, respectively (see
111. 17, page xix).
The main characters in Ada Sykes’ life are her husband, Ben; her four children,
Bessie, David, Alice, and Mary; her mother, with whom she eorresponds; her father, whom
she visits in Monroe, Washington; and Ben’s father, referred to as Pa.
One of the features of the diary that first attraeted my attention is the sparseness of the
entries, whieh are, for the most part, consecutive day-by-day entries written in a very terse
style, with no extra words, saying only what is neeessary. This form eould be the result of
several things. One might be the sheer laek of energy. Like women today, pioneer women
were very busy. As in other pioneer or settler soeieties, women in early British Columbia
were expeeted to “produee children and perform the baek-breaking domestic work of pioneer
life: both functions were indispensable to the survival of the settlement” (Meen 116). In the
interior of the province, gender roles were not as elearly defined as in major centres of
settlement:
Women did every kind of farm work, ineluding the heavy labour of elearing land.
Family farms not only needed women to cook, nurse, run the dairy and the henhouse,
raise vegetables, make clothes and join in the work of the harvest, but often depended
on the income women made from selling their butter and eggs. . . . W omen’s skills
could be the key to family survival. (Meen 116)
Ada Sykes not only took care of her three children— she had three when she first moved to
Penny in 1912, but eight by the time she left in 1924 (see 111. 18 and 19, page xx)— and made

41

the meals, pies, cakes and bread, but also helped her husband with outdoor chores such as
hunting, shooting game, and chopping wood. Coupled with a lack of energy, Ada Sykes may
simply have run out of time. In her article, “Lifelines,” Jean Mallinson says writing ajournai
is a “triumph” because it means “leisure, or at least a pause long enough to open the diary
and begin writing” (59). In addition, there may have been a lack of materials. We know that
the Sykes family was one of the first families in the Penny area. Lighting was probably by
oil lamps and supplies would probably have been conserved as much as possible. In
addition, she simply may not have had an abundance of paper.
Another influence on the form of the entries may be the fact that Ada and Ben Sykes
were storekeepers. According to the local history, A Pennv for Your Thoughts. “[t]hey
operated a store or trading post there, selling and trading to the scows and construction
camps” (165). The construction crews were clearing the right-of-way for the Grand Trunk
Pacific Railway, which finally reached Penny in 1913. On August 28, 1912, Ada Sykes
writes that they “[s]old some tobacco” (106) and on October 14, “[s]oId hunting knife $3.50
(109). Ben Sykes hunted and sold or traded meat to the camps (see 111. 9 and 10, page xiv).
For instance, on September 2, Ada records that “Ben went down to camp, traded 1 bottle of
brandy for 9 big cans of milk, 7 lbs. butter, 4 lbs. cheese, about $9.00 worth” (107). Ben sold
a moose quarter for $10 and a hide for $5 (111). In the undated entry after the entry for
February 24, 1913, Ada notes that “in March [they] sold the store” (116). The diary has the
look of a ledger, a daily accounting of transactions. For example, the entry for August 29,
1912, reads: “Raining again. Shot 3 birds before breakfast. Clear again. Started down river

42

at 12.30 Sold rubber shoes, got bread, went to Dome Creek, stayed all night. Rained in the
night” (106).
In Reading Between the Lines: The Diaries of W omen. Betty Jane Wylie states that
typically, women’s diaries often do not mention events that were going on in the outside
world at large. Ada Sykes’ diary follows this pattern. For instance, the diary spans the
beginning of World War One, yet Ada Sykes never mentions it. Researeh about women’s
diaries shows that the “domestie details of a woman’s life are more interesting and
pertinent—to a woman— than the external events of the world at la rg e .. . . Even today,
women seldom write about world events as they live through them. They focus instead on
the minutiae of daily life and on relationships within the family and community” (Wylie 93).
However, some “domestic” details are startling by their absenee. Aceording to Betty
Jane Wylie, women have a “terrible reticence” when discussing the functions of their bodies,
even to themselves, that is, in a diary meant mostly for themselves (94). Ada Sykes is no
different from generations of previous women diarists, aware and suspicious of a possible but
unintended audience. For instance, she suddenly announces, “On August 17, 1913, Mary
was born” (116). Up to this point in the diary, there is no explieit indication that she is even
pregnant. Since Mary was born in the middle of August, Ada would have become pregnant
around the middle of November 1912, and possibly suspected she was pregnant by the end of
December.
In Mapping Our Selves: Canadian W omen’s Autobio graphv in English. Helen Buss
argues that pregnancy and labour are not fit subjeets for public discourse, which in
patriarchal societies, eentres on men’s activities. Buss states that women had “never been

43

given permission . . . to express emotions and thoughts that centre on this important female
activity. In this regard the language is insufficient to [their] needs” (44). Perhaps, then, as
Buss elsewhere suggests, “the bodies of mothers are in their texts” (“Listening” 201) but only
subtle clues remain. As is often the case, “the thing not said can speak to the reader the
loudest” (201). Although there is no overt indication of Ada Sykes’ pregnancy in her diary,
there may be some clues in what she has written. For instance, on Sunday, January 19, 1913,
she writes, “Ben took Mrs. Martin home.” Perhaps this woman had been visiting, and Ada
Sykes had confided in her about the impending birth. Mrs. Martin may have been someone
on whom Ada Sykes could have called in an emergency. In addition, on February 21, 1913,
Ada Sykes writes: “I made my dress” (115). This is the only time in the diary that she
mentions sewing a dress for herself; it may have been a maternity dress to see her through the
rest of her pregnancy. Then on February 24, the Sykes went up river on the ice to
Henningsville [sic]: “Found Pa and Bertha well, surprised them.” Their arrival would have
been a surprise, as there was no way to alert people to an impending visit: people just
“dropped in” on one another. It would be my guess that she surprised them with the news
that she was pregnant. When the baby was seven and a half months old, Ada Sykes traveled
with the baby, Mary, to Monroe, Washington, to visit her parents, spending the summer
there. Mary was thirteen months old when they returned to Guilford. Ada Sykes had been
away from her husband for five and a half months.
From the time Ada Sykes wrote her diary in the early years of the twentieth century to
the time I wrote letters from Headwaters Ranch home to my parents, not much changed in
the manner in which pregnancy is detailed in women’s life-writing. I still approach the

44

mention of the impending birth of my second baby obliquely, as in the following passage
from July 7, 1976: “Fred and I are fine, too. I went for a check-up this week, so far I’ve only
gained two pounds. Every day, I get an egg, and milk at every meal. I have been given
many clothes, dresses and jumpers that should fit me right to the end. The women here are
real good about sharing their maternity clothes.” I avoid the harsh guttural of the sound of
the word “pregnant,” but refer instead to having “maternity clothes.”
Also typical of women’s diaries is an emphasis on food. Betty Jane Wylie says that
in many women’s diaries, food becomes a symbol of the woman’s care for and nurturing of
her family (214). In my own letters from Headwaters Ranch, mentioning the quantity and
quality of food was a way of assuring my family that everything was all right. In the first
letter after our arrival, dated July 20, 1975,1 write: “The food is very good here— fresh, cold
cows’ milk, real home made butter, and lots of hearty vegetables. We had egg foo young for
lunch on Saturday and today we had banana pudding. We are well looked after in this area!”
(131).
A month later, on August 1 6 ,1 give further assurances:
We have 3 big gardens this year . . . We have fresh lettuce almost every day,
plus all sorts of “greens”—beet greens, radish greens, turnip greens—these are
all cooked and eaten like spinach. We also have some kale. This is a plant
that looks like real curly lettuce. It is a fresh winter green. We don’t harvest it
now, but in the winter we can dig under the snow for it, and it is perfectly all
right—the snow doesn’t harm it. Last weekend, 15 girls went to a farm near
Ft. St. John and picked 1150 pounds of green beans. We canned these and got
920 jars of beans to eat this winter. Some were quart jars, some—half-gallon.
We eat lots of potatoes here; also lots of bread. Each day’s cook team makes
25-35 loaves of bread; 15 loaves get used up at one meal! Often we have corn
bread or biscuits with our soup. (139-140)

45

On August 3 1 ,1 explain that “[m]oose season opened last week and the two men who went
hunting brought back a thousand pound moose. Yesterday we had moose-burgers, and today
we had moose steaks. Besides the fresh meat we also canned 63 qts. for the coming winter.”
( 145).

Preparing foods for the winter occupied our thoughts and time as we sought to
provide for our families. On September 15, 1976,1 write:
The big activity around here for the ladies lately has been berry-picking and
jam making. The picking is very slow work but if you find a good patch you
can just sit down for a couple of hours and pick in that one spot. I collected 4
cups of blueberries and mixed them with about 1/2 cup of cranberries (these
are the main two kinds) and got about 36 ounces of jam. You just boil it all
together with a bit of water and 4 cups of sugar (about a cup/sugar for each
cup of berries). The cranberries have their own natural pectin whieh causes
the jam to thicken on cooling: that’s why we mix the two kinds. One lady
here, a real “pro” at berrying, already has 7 pints made for the winter. That’s
when we really appreciate it. For my first attempt, mine turned out pretty
good. (156-7)
Ada Sykes’ pioneer experience, although removed in time from mine by sixty years,
encompasses many of the same daily aetivities. She also fixes a variety of wild game,
including birds, rabbits, ducks, and geese. Aecording to Penny historian Jack Boudreau, the
birds are grouse and the “water rabbits” are beaver (52). In addition, Ada Sykes records the
baking she does for her family, including bread, biscuits, pies (blueberry, apple, pumpkin,
and minee), cookies, and cakes for special celebrations. Other foods include stuffed heart
and sauce, caribou tongue, dumplings, bean soup, and rice.
Eliane Silverman suggests that baking bread “symbolized for the women their
mastery of women’s work” (101) and is an activity that binds women together through
generations, “link[ing] frontier women to a collective memory of centuries of other women.
The work became more meaningful when they could locate their work in the traditions of

46

women” (101). However, for some settlers who came from middle-class backgrounds,
baking bread was a skill they had to acquire once they arrived in Canada, for they may have
had limited experience of it in their former home. For instance, Esme Tuck describes her
first bread baking experience; “Fortunately Spencer knew how to toss off a good loaf as I
was not very quick at picking up the art. Sad to relate even the hens refused unconditionally
to eat the first lot that I made. We of course, could do nothing with it” (63). She goes on to
say that although her humiliation was hard to take, it was “as nothing to that of a fellow
countrywoman. Her initial attempt was so solid that she quietly took it outside and jettisoned
the whole batch, without saying anything to her husband about it. Imagine her mortification
when she came on him later using it under a jack with which he was raising a small building”
(63). Esme Tuck describes the care with which the dough had to be handled in cold weather:
“When the thermometer dipped way below zero, we wrapped the pan up in layers of warm
material and stood the ungainly bundle on a hot water bottle in a large box. . . . With too few
nightclothes, it became chilled. W ith too many, it got yeasty and overflowed its banks” (62).
Although Ada Sykes took part in outdoor chores as well, baking and preparing food
play a large part in the recorded version of her life in Penny. Like the frontier women whom
Silverman interviewed, who “recalled baking with more warmth and enthusiasm than they
felt for any of their other work” (101), Ada Sykes diligently records the number of times she
baked and prepared food for her family. Several times, however, she mentions a lack of
food, perhaps voicing a parent’s worry about providing for a family of three children. For
instance, on September 16, 1912, she writes “Ben got no moose today” (107), and again on
September 19, “Ben went after moose . . . Ben got back, got no game yet” (108). On January
5, 1915, she reports that “Ben went hunting. Pa looked at traps.. . . Ben got back at 3

47

o ’clock. Got no game” (121) and on January 6: “Ben and Pa went hunting, got no game”
( 121).

Similar to other women’s diaries, Ada Sykes’ diary shows variations in the spelling of
the names of places and people. For instance, in the February 24, 1913 entry, Ada Sykes
refers to going up-river to Flenningsville (116). According to the history of the postal service
of the area, the name of this post was actually Henningville, named after Henning, a
contractor on the Canadian Northern Railway (Symons 128). It was located at Mile 49,'®
three miles downstream from Tete Jaune Cache, the head of navigation on the Fraser River,
and was a continuation of the supply warehouses that started in Tete Jaune Cache (Symons
28). Ada Sykes also uses variations of Penny (Penney), and Narboo (Narboe).
In the diary entries, Ada Sykes does not display her emotions. In the sparse entries,
everything seems to get the same emotional weight. For instance, the November 16, 1914
entry reads: “Nice day. Ben and Jasper went up on mountains. I got in wood and covered
potatoes. Mary burnt her hands. Cold yet today, snowed on mountains” (1 18). According to
Ron Marrington, the cabin had a very large wood-burning stove that went through the wall
from the kitchen to the bedroom area so that the whole house would be heated. Mary fell
against the hot stove (Marrington, 19 Feb. 2003). Ada Sykes mentions the incident again two
days later: “Baby awful cross with burnt hands” (118). At this time, Mary is a fifteen-monthold toddler. On November 25, Ada reports “M ary’s hands doing fine” (118), and on
December 2, says “M ary’s hands nearly all well” (119). Another example of the lack of
emotion is found in the entry for April 8, 1915, when Ada writes “Ben went down got
mothers [sie] letter telling of Papa’s death. A nice day. I patehed some” (126). She

48

expresses no regret but merely enfolds the news of “Papa’s” death in the telling of the
weather and her everyday activities.
As I read the diary, I was interested in knowing if the kind of life Ada Sykes led was
representative of pioneer women’s lives. In her book, The Pioneer Woman: A Canadian
Character Tvpe. Elizabeth Thompson states that the pioneer woman character had its
beginnings in history, not literature, drawing from the actual pioneer experiences of women
like Catherine Parr Traill and her sister, Susanna Moodie, who settled in Upper Canada
during the early nineteenth century, and who created a new life and a new social mythology
for themselves. Far from family and friends, they were forced to learn new domestic skills
and to redefine their roles within the family and society. Part of this redefinition concerns
the gendered division of labour. In many entries, Ada Sykes uses no names or personal
pronouns, so it is difficult to be sure who performs the action; for instance, on September 6,
1912, she writes: “Fried out fat, got three gallons. Then worked on house. Then made dutch
oven and had supper” (107). However, on September 9, 1912, after describing several
activities without ascribing them to any particular person, she specifies who performs the
action: “Cloudy again. Went over river and cut big cedar tree. Got half enough lumber to
cover our roof. Brought it over in canoe. While there Ben shot 1 bird and I shot 2 ducks in
the river” (107). On September 16, 1912, she and the children take down the tent and clear
the brush away from the site (107). On numerous days (for example, September 24, October
29, and December 17, 1912) she “sawed wood” (108, 110, 112). It is Ada Sykes who gets
the Christmas tree on December 24, 1912 (113). In addition, on January 9, 1913, she
“chopped out steps” (113). On November 23, 1913, she reports: “Ben and I sawed down
hæe” (118X

49

Ron Marrington says his grandmother was a “crack shot” (see 111. 12, page xv). She
had been raised in Minnesota, which at that time was similar country to northern British
Columbia. “They had moose, bear, lots of game. It was a wild country” (Marrington, 19
Feb. 2003). He tells the story of his grandmother’s solution to the problem of noisy bears
across the river: “Slim Creek was about twenty feet wide and two feet deep, maybe a little
deeper because it was springtime. Across the creek on the other side from their homestead,
in the cottonwoods, there were three bears raising heck. Her kids couldn’t get to sleep
because of the noise the bears were raising so she went and got her gun and shot two of them
right out of the trees, across the river” (19 Feb. 2003). After Ben and Ada Sykes left the
Penny area and moved to Abbotsford, British Columbia, they joined the Abbotsford Rod and
Gun Club, winning many medals for their shooting. Marrington also said that his
grandmother had a trapline that she worked while Ben was away hunting and guiding.
However, it is not just Ada Sykes who created a new role for herself in helping her
husband with outdoor chores; Ben also helped Ada with indoor chores such as baking,
washing, sewing, and cleaning: on November 17, 1912, Ada writes that “Ben made some
cookies” (111); perhaps it was a treat for her birthday on November 19. According to
grandson Ron Marrington, Ben Sykes was a “fantastic cook. He could take a fifty-pound
sack of flour, toss in the eggs and milk and mix up a batch of pancakes right in the flour sack,
then throw them in the frying pan” (19 Jan. 2003). On February 19, 1913, “Ben washed”
(115) and on November 5, 1913, he “cleared land and helped wash clothes, cooked beans and
beaver tail for dinner” (117). “Ben made D[avid] a pair of mittens” on December 8, 1914
(119), and on December 18, 1914, “Ben cleaned upstairs in the forenoon” (120).

50

According to Elizabeth Thomson, the Pioneer Woman is one who is self-assured and
confident, one who adapts cheerfully to adverse cireumstances, one who is eapable and
active in an emergency, and one who plays a vital role in pioneering (4). So by the end of the
nineteenth century, even though the pioneer days in Eastern Canada were virtually over, and
the pioneer woman there was becoming a figure from the past, she was firmly entrenched in
Canadian literature.
I believe that Ada Sykes is this type of woman. Her diary portrays her as a calm,
strong woman. She never complains, neither does she use her diary to vent her frustrations
with her family, her husband, her children, or the harshness of their way of life. Although
Ada Sykes pioneers later than Traill and Moodie (during the first decades of the twentieth
century) British Columbia at that time was still being settled and northern British Columbia
was still being pioneered.
In Mapping Our Selves, Helen Buss’s work on Canadian women’s autobiography, the
author presents pioneer women in three different roles; as daughter, as wife, and as mother.
Unlike many male diarists who record themselves in public events and as part of the world at
large, women diarists document themselves as being central to the family unit. Following
this paradigm, Ada Sykes mentions herself in these three roles. She does motherly things for
the children; for example, washes their hair, sews clothes for them, and takes care of them.
She is a helper to her husband, working alongside him to build the homestead and the store.
And she relates to her parents and Ben’s “Pa.”
Why did Ada Sykes keep a diary? It may have been as validation of herself as a
person. The diary begins as the Sykes family started out for a new home in the wilderness,
upriver from Henningville where they had operated a store. Perhaps it was, as Mallinson

51

suggests, a way, “in an alien environment [to] provide the thread of one’s hidden sense of
life. It is an assertion of se lf’ (59). On the other hand, Ada Sykes may have seen diary
writing as an aid to memory, so she could in later life accurately recount her “early days’’ to
her grandchildren. With her meticulous entries, she becomes more than a recorder.
According to Canadian author Jane Urquhart, “the women are the people who pass the stories
down through the generations in any family’’ (Naves 9). Perhaps Ada Sykes felt that weight
of responsibility. Furthermore, although there is no overt editorializing, the diary may be in
some way subversive, providing Ada Sykes with a venue to express things that perhaps she
does not feel the freedom to say explicitly. Finally, she may have kept a diary because she
was a writer. She corresponded with her friend, Bessie Boudreau, from 1924, when the
Sykes moved away from Penny, to the end of her life.’’ Indeed, the original poem that
appears as the final poem in Chapter Three (92) attests further to her desire to express herself
in the written word.

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Chapter Three
“All of a Piece”: The Diary and the Poems

Celeste Schenck theorizes the association of poetry with autobiography, using the
textile metaphor of both kinds of writing being “cut from the same bolt” (281), suggesting a
chiasmic interchange between the two terms: “Certain forms of women’s poetry and
autobiography can be read coextensively, in a manner that profitably destabilizes the theories
of mainstream autobiography and calls into question the patriarchal determination of genre
theory more generally” (281). In her essay, “All of a Piece: W omen’s Poetry and
Autobiography,” Schenck rehearses a long and clearly-defined genre history that dates back
to Aristotle’s Poetics. She notes that instead of simply being marked by esthetic values,
genres have been politicized along lines of race, class and gender, and despite the fact that
“contemporary theory has all but effaced genre as a category of literary interest in favor of a
borderless écriture’’ (283), generic hierarchies are still considered by critics. Schenck
contends that although the “French word genre includes and even connotes gender” (285),
gender inflection has not been incorporated into Western genre theory, an omission that
feminist critics have addressed. Initially, these critics focused on the marginalization of
women into non-canonical genres; then, they critiqued the masculinist bias of some genres
(285). Further, feminist critics have examined women authors’ “use of genres dominated
previously by men, and the predominance of women writers in certain genres such as the
gothic” (286). She argues that because of their parallel concern with subject formation,
certain kinds of women’s poetry and autobiography should be read coextensively as related
discourses, which will undo exclusionary, limiting, hierarchical generic prescriptions.

53

Schenck cites “ample precedent” for the conflation of poetry and autobiography,
attributing to James Olney the first use of what he calls the “poetic-autobiographic
metaphor” : “art, both autobiographic and poetic, mediates between the transient world of
sensation and feeling, of event and emotion, and a constant, stable realm of pattern and
significance” (287). She concurs with Heilbrun that “the most remarkable
autobiographical accounts” of women writers have been “tucked away into other forms,
other genres” (289). Schenck examines the work of Emily Dickinson, Adrienne Rich,
Colette, Zora Neale Hurston, Maxine Hong Kingston and Claribel Alegria, and concludes
that because both autobiography and poetry rely on voice— “that vital evidence of the
female subject at the heart of her own discourse” (305)— they can be profitably read
coextensively and recuperatively, not necessarily as unified discourses of female
subjectivity (305).
In The Better Half: W omen’s Voices: A Collection of W omen’s Voices Inspired
bv their Diaries and Poetic Monologues. Betty Jane Wylie introduces each diary writer in
two or three lines, then follows with a poem based on the diary. The poems— arranged
by themes such as marital relationships, work, travel, ordeals, self-absorption, and ritual
codes—give a flavour of each writer’s life as revealed in her whole diary. Betty Jane
W ylie’s work, which covers a broad range of diarists— from Sei Shonagon in tenthcentury Japan to Janina Bauman, a Polish Jewish teenager in the Warsaw ghetto during
World War Two— gives an alternate voice to women’s thoughts privately penned in diary
or letter form.
In Women and Poetrv: Truth. Autobiographv and the Shape of the Self, Carol
Muske, herself a poet, notes that Adrienne Rich’s poetry was a “call to arms [that]

54

reconstituted the female literary ‘s e lf ” (4). While some male critics “reviled” Rich,
“women read her passionately, changing their lives on a line from one of her poems” (4).
This “enabling potential of one woman’s voice for another’s” is explained by Blanche
Gelfant: “women writers have common roots . . . they inspire and give strength to each
other; that when one finds or recovers her voice, she enables many others to speak” (qtd.
inZauhar 111).
As one to whom it is left to “pass the stories down” (Naves 9), Helen Buss
introduces each section of Mapping Our Selves with a short autobiographical passage in
which she relates memories of her own female ancestors. These autobiographical
passages allow readers to place Buss’s critical practice within the context of her sense of
her own identity as critic, writer and woman. Following this precedent, I will relate a
story about my pioneer grandmother. Alice Jane Beaven, who lived with my family until
I was about five years old, was the oldest person I had ever seen. Her white hair was
wavy and either short or always worn tied back in a bun. Her face was brown and
leathery-looking, but instead of being smooth like leather, it was deeply lined like
parched ground. She usually wore a black dress and her thick ankles always ended in
what I called “old-lady” shoes—black, lace up, with a fat squat heel. Often under her
breath, she sang what I now know to be a song originally penned in the thirteenth century
as a six-voice round: “Sumer is icumen in, Lhudé sing cuccu.” Like Ada Sykes, my
grandmother was a Canadian pioneer, making a life for herself in Saskatchewan after her
husband died a short time after his return from the Boer War. She often talked about her
days “out W est” but she was unable to do what Ada Sykes or Daisy Phillips did, that is,
leave us a written record of her life, because throughout her ninety-one years, she never

55

learned to read or write. A government official signed her passport for her; “Bearer does
not write.” What she passed on to me is neither diaries nor letters, but a character that is
exemplified by the strong women who settled the west and the north. Reading Ada
Sykes’ diary has been for me a discovery not only of her life, but in a sense, of my own.
Margaret Atwood’s The Journals of Susanna Moodie offers a well-known
example of poetry created from the “same bolt of cloth” as autobiographical writings. In
the “Afterword,” Margaret Atwood states that the poems, many of which were
“suggested by Mrs. Moodie’s books” and are able to “be read in connection” with them,
“have detached themselves from the books in the same way that other poems detach
themselves from the events that give rise to them” (63). Similarly, the original poems
“suggested” by Ada Sykes’ diary can be read in conjunction with the diary, or,
alternatively, can be “detached” from the specific originary incidents and enjoyed as a set
of poems about pioneer life. The poems “map” a layer of Ada Adelia Sykes’ life
different from the layer mapped by the diary. Together, the diary and the poems provide
a “relief map” of the contours of her life.
Save for the final poem, the original poems that follow arise from my reading of
the diary of Ada Adelia Sykes. I have arranged the poems chronologically; they follow
the course of the Sykes’ life as the family moved to set up home in the interior of British
Columbia. Through the poems, I wish to provide a simple embellishment to the brief
daily writings of Ada Sykes. Although events in her days were constituted with words,
worries, emotions, energy, effort, and interaction with others— as in all our lives— most
of these enlivening aspects are missing from the written words of the diary. The entries
are pared down to bare facts sparsely written. One of the purposes of the poems is to

56

bring back to life the details that create a fuller picture, and to interpret the silences and
unwritten words in Ada Sykes’ life. Conscious of my position as both reader and writer,
I have not sought to ascribe to Ada Sykes thoughts that might be out of step with her
place or time, but only to engage with her writing as a ground for my own. I bring to the
reading of her diary and the writing of the poems my own “pioneer” experience of
somewhat similar living conditions.
If the poems could be said to have a theme, it would be home and family. They
start out with descriptions of the move to the Penny area and the labour of building and
moving into the family home, and then they bear witness to the daily activities of
providing for the family and relating to friends. Although the poetic “voice” of Ada
Sykes is aware of the gendered nature of life and work in early twentieth century British
Columbia, at the same time, it speaks of opportunities of creating new roles for both men
and women. The poems are a celebration of the spirit of adventure and the spirit of life
that undergird the Sykes’ pioneer experience. The diary entry appears in italics before
each poem based on a diary entry.
In addition, I have also included original poems based on the life of Alice Jane
Beaven, my paternal grandmother. Because of the small amount of information I had on
my grandmother’s life—her passport, one or two photographs, a few vivid childhood
memories, and my visit with my father’s aunt, Florence Wilson— it seemed more
appropriate to explore her life in poetry rather than in a non-fictional or critical context.
To distinguish these poems from the diary poems, I have placed them at the end, setting
them with the margin at centre page.

57

The final poem was written by Ada Sykes herself. Although the year the poem
was written is unknown, even to her grandson, Ron Marrington, it seems the poem was
written after the family’s move from Penny to Abbotsford in 1924.
It is my hope that my voice and Ada Sykes’ voice will enable each other.

58

August 19, I9 I2 - We left Sandcreek at 10.45. Stayed at 53 a few minutes. Had dinner at 1.
Got to 66, stayed all night. Got there about 2 and got in groceries.

Starting Out
Distance names this country
Slaps numbers on a map
Miles from Somewhere
Or Nowhere
We make our watery way
from number to number
Mile after mile
trees wave to us from shore
like friends we leave behind
watching us slip away on the river
No matter—farther downstream
their relatives line the banks
to welcome us to their home
We drag with us
Those things that possess us
Suitcases filled with the past
Our hopes a small satchel
Kept close for when weather’s foul
Staying and leaving
Eating and sleeping
We breathe the air of new adventure

59

August 20, 1912 - Left 66 at 8.30. Sun shines, everything fine. Had dinner at Murrays.
Went up a slough looking fo r ducks and rested awhile. Went through death rapids aflying.
4 o ’clock passed the big steamer. Camped on Beaver River all night. Got 2 birds, 1 rabbit.
Lots o f mosquitoes.

Sun Shines, Everything Fine
The woods ring with the alarm of morning
Striped chipmunks sing out: sun shines, everything fine!
Jays dance along the branches
Gray squirrels chatter their applause
As they plan raids on stocks of berries
Mosquitoes gossip rudely
Filling the air with their spiteful buzz
We join them in their noontime nap
Watching clouds puff by
Soon the water spins white—
I’m an eagle skimming the surface
Talons in the froth
My heart churned by rushing streams
Feathers plumping a cushion of air
Between me and deep water

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August 21, 1912 - Started 8.30, sun shines. Everything lovely. Saw one canoe a t 83. Had
dinner on an island, stayed all night at Garnet Creek. Got traps and saw geese.

Travelling Light
Headed south already
Strong wings beating endlessly
Toward more hospitable climes
Their deep call a friendly overhead wave
An early departure the sign of an early winter
The shorter days beckon them southward
Turning from the bite of the gales that chase them
Thousands and thousands of miles to go—
Makes our journey seem as nothing

61

August 24, 1912 - Sunday. H ad breakfast. Had a spat with Harry, divided the things, took
him down to the store. Got some groceries, came back home again.

Mathematics
When words multiplied
Piled one on top of the other
Adding useless tonnage
We divided the things
Jettisoned the friendship
Subtracted one from the team

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August 26, 1912 - Started down river at 10.45. Camped and got two ducks got dinner, dried
bedding, put up hammock. Alice is sleeping in it. Put up tent.

Tent and Hammock
This is my home
A tent in the wilderness
When it rains we are careful
Not to touch the roof
Bowing our heads like a family at prayer
Ben stooping slightly
The lantern making a golden halo around us
Alice swings in a small arc
Cradled between two forest giants
Sunlight mottles her dreams
Of play and joys of green
The sun is a chandelier at breakfast
At supper candlelight shadows flutter on shining faces
Like the eyelids of a child who pretends to sleep
In the distance
The susurrations of the river symphony
Whisper to the edge of the dusk-dark night

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September 3, 1912 - Sun up high. Ben went hunting but only got 1 bird. Cleared ground,
felled tree, started house.

Coming Home
We cut a thin slice out of the forest
And wedge in house and porch
Gun, canoe, children’s voices
Whack of axe on trees
As outside becomes inside
I skin the logs tearing bark from flesh
Exposing white limbs
Till I’m surrounded by long tendrils
Wasting nothing, the children gather the streamers
To start a morning fire
Our house grows up from the ground
It is a living thing

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September 9, 1912 - Cloudy again. Went over river and cut big cedar tree. Got half enough
lumber to cover our roof. Brought it over in canoe. While there Ben shot 1 bird and I shot
2 ducks in the river. Had dinner, had my picture taken on canoe with ducks and gun, then
worked on house.

Reflections
Behind me
Trees grow downward
Into the glassy surface
Of the river
I stand on the stacked lumber
Feeling tall and proud
Duck heavy in my hand
Gun pointing down now
The scent of cedar
Rises from the rough wood
Roof under my feet
I’m on the top of the world

65

September 13, 1912 - Sun up, had breakfast, going to work on house. Moved in house
today.

No Doubt
No doubt it’s a grand house
I sing to Bessie
More than logs and chinking
Windows and doors
More than a roof and four walls besides
This is home
It’s what we’ve eome for
Meals like you never tasted
Fresh hot bread
Moosemeat and bear liver
Dredged in flour, fried till erisp
W e’ll spread the table
Feasting on love and hard work

66

September 20, 1912 - Fine day. All went after moss for house. After dinner Ben went down
to camp. 1 washed some today.

Whisper of Tearing
The softness of the earth
Takes our weight
Bears us up with a slight groan
Chin at their knees
The children bend close to the ground
Plucking moss from its nest
At the base of the pines
Small roots cling to moist black earth
Until the whisper of tearing
Signals it is ours
At the cabin, small fingers chink out daylight
Even after we wash
The smell of green clings to our hands
Winter will pound like a mallet
Driving an ice-sharp wind
Kept out by the soon-brown moss

67

September 22, 1912 - Sunday again. Awful thick fog lay around all day. Saw gasoline boat

Fog
It will drift in
Rolling over the threshold
Curling itself up in the comer
Like an old grizzled dog
It carries the smells
Of pine sap and dank leaves
The undersides of stones
Slough water and gasoline
In heaven there is no fog
Nothing to cloud the eye or chill the bone
The river of life—unlike the Fraser—
Sparkles beneath a glorious sun

68

October 7, 1912 - Raining again. Ben went to set marten traps. Got water rabbit.

Marten Traps
Like us
Martens cushion themselves
Against the cold
With moss-lined homes
In hollowed-out cabin-cozy trees
Females
Carry twins or triplets
Nine months
Bom in April by now
Are big enough to survive alone
Bones
Of mice, rabbits, squirrels, and birds
Litter their front yards
Hallmarks of cunning patience
And murderous swiftness
Soon
Their sable coats will be thick and soft
Descending from the treetop chase
Tripping along their mns
They will step lightly into Ben’s traps

69

October 21, 1912 - Fine day. We went over river and cut cedar tree, got lumber fo r floor
and porch. Shows went by, gave us a lot o f groceries.

Porch
A porch with roof and railing
Is a fine thing
A dry place to stack firewood
Closer to the house
Than the big pile at the far side of the yard
To hang ax, saw, hammer
Traps, rope, bucket
To set boots and shoes
So mud will harden and die
To wash clothes on a rainy day
To hang blankets to air
The railing makes an inside outside
Marking the edge of “ours”
A smile on the front of the house
Inviting friends and strangers in
But a porch needs a rocking chair
For the lady of the house
To sit and sip lemonade
On a hot summer day
To entertain her guests
In white ruffled shirtwaists
Parasols dangling from smooth hands
Offering small eakes from a china tray
Gossip poured out
Like the steaming tea in floral mugs
Or to hold the children on her lap
Rhyming them a bedtime story
The creak-creaking of the rockers
Just one of twilight’s forest airs
Or for gazing at the stars
Cassiopeia the lady in her chair

70

November 5, 1912: Cloudy and raining. Ben went hunting. (I washed, baked bread and
sewed.)

Adventuring
These log walls
(enelosing my life in afterthought)
Are the world
The continent of the kitchen
Is mine to explore
An adventurer
I set forth
Wooden spoon in hand
Lewis-and-Clarking over mountains
Through rivers
Day by day I conquer
New territory
Bringing hack a great cargo
O f valuable goods
Setting my sights
Getting my bearings
Unrolling my maps
Thawing the ink
To add a new mountain
Or river or tributary
Melting snow
Careful not to bum it
Plunging through cold water
Hanging out the flags
That claim this territory
As my own
Forging alliances
Between warring nations
Bringing together
Those that were divided
I am the peacemaker
(Ben goes hunting.)

71

January 12, 1913 - Sunday, cold and sun shines. Men sawed wood, said was 40 below zero
yesterday.

If ever
If ever there was a place
Where hell could freeze over
This is it
The cold snaps
At my forehead
Gouges my eyes
Pounces on my neck
Its gelid fingers
Unwrap scarves
Unbutton buttons
Unlace laces
In its grip
Frosted breath
On my neck
I am undone
If ever there was a time
When hell could freeze over
This is it
Nightest of night
When even stars
Are too cold
To stay in the sky
Colder dawning
Heel of day’s hand
Pressing the frigid air
Into the flesh of the earth
Noonish glow
Sundogs howling
Crystal knives
Slicing icy air

72

January 19, 1913 - Sunday. Ben took Mrs. Martin home. Sunshine a little.

Planning Ahead
Like two school girls talking
Heads bent close
Faces steamed by mugs of hot tea
Sby at first then laughing
She patting my band
Nothing to worry about!
Middle of August
Best time of year here, she says
Not too muddy
Not too cold
I picture my mother young
Twenty-seven years ago
A voluminous dress shielding me
In my hiding place
I think of Bessie and Alice
But I can’t see them grown-up
I think of sewing soft garments
Knitting woollen caps with ribbons
Little mittens
I think of Ben beaming
Nesting the tiny baby in his big hands
Right now
I don’t think
Of how hard it will he

73

O ctober 3, 1914 - On O ctober 3 Pa killed a bear and Oct. 4 ben went up after the meat
and Pa came bak with him

Nothing Lost
A fine rug that bear will make
A heavy robe for winter sleeps
A bear hug on a cold winter morning
Fine meals too
The delicacy of the liver
Cut in bite-size morsels
Dredged in flour and spices
Fried in the sizzling fat
Till golden brown
Slabs of meat
Velvet gravy in a volcano of potatoes
Bet that bear
Wished he’d gone to sleep
When the first frost nipped

74

O ctober 21, 1914 - Nice day. I baked bread and washed and at 12:301 saw a bird and
shot it, also cooked beans.

Special
Our kitchen table is a sturdy place
A friendly, family place
Breakfast lunch dinner
Cutting sewing baking
Reading writing counting
Scratches beautify its surface
Heirloom hieroglyphics
Tell tales of gatherings
Children’s voices rest in the wood
Whispering beneath the surface
Pressed there during many meals

75

November 14, 1914 - Cold and snow. Ben and Joe & Jasper went after moose. Got
groceries from Penny. I baked bread and wrote to mother.

Daily Fare
Weather
Hunting
Food
Baking
These circle my days
Drawing me in a spiral
A whirlwind that eddies
And spins me round and round
Weather wreathes our cabin
Cold seeping through the walls
Fog hiding us from the river
Snow blowing and billowing
Sun creating crystal shimmers
Up on the mountain
The men follow tracks
Reading the trail
Like a map
The large dark body
Crashing through brush
Thick slices of soft fresh bread
Dumpling islands floating in dark gravy
Potatoes, apples, turnips
Milk, butter, eggs
The food of love
The circle of a large bowl
Gathers the basics:
Flour, yeast, water, salt
Rising, breathing, growing
I punch it down
Form the loaves
Share the aroma of life

76

November 16, 1914 - Nice day. Ben and Jasper went up on mountains. I got in wood
and covered potatoes. M ary burnt her hands. Cold yet today, snowed on mountains.

Facing Things
God help me I pray
When I hear her scream—
Tiny hands flung out as she fell
Into the iron volcano
Oh God she’s too small for this
I’m too small for this
I scoop her up in one arm
My other fist breaking the ice crust
On the rain barrel
I plunge her hand
Beneath the cleansing flo o d
The shock of the cold
Yanks her breath away
Stops her tears
David and Alice
Crying because I’m crying
Bessie comes running
Her mouse-voice quavers
Her thin fingers on Alice’s shoulder
Come, she says
Turning them towards to door
Help make some tea for Mama
Some
tea for Mama
Mary nestled on my lap
Two white fists
Swaddled round and round
The small flowers of the curtains
Brings healing to her hands
Once again I wear my stone face
A granite mask grinding me away
God help me I pray

77

November 18, 1914 - Warm day. Ben and kids got in wood. Baby awful cross with burnt
hands.

Watching Over You
Lying on my back in the snow
I slowly raise my wings
Air sweeps under them
And I feel the lift
My legs swish side to side
And I’m clothed in a celestial gown
I feel the cold gusting at my neck
And think of it as gold dust
Falling from the halo
The shape of the angel
And the shape of my body
Are the same.

78

November 19, 1914 - M y birthday. Snowed 5 ” in the night. 1 wrote to Jenny. Ben went
over to Guilford after mail. Cloudy and rain a little. Ben got back at 3 o 'clock, got Cora
and Hookers letters, also two others.

Celebration
Millions of snowflakes
Dusting the earth with diamonds
Applaud as I gather in wood
Pines murmur as I pass
Whispering soft “hallos”
Tapping me on the shoulder
Clapping their approval
Soft-bodied mice trip lightly
On worn paths through faded grasses
Searching for winter’s buried rest
Grouse beat their wings
Lurching under low branches
Giving a rhythm to this day
Bits of news crackle onto the page
To leap from the envelope
When it is opened
Twenty-eight is great!
I am twice as old
As this century
And will not last as long
Today, I celebrate life!

79

November 22, 1914 - Sunday again. Windy and thawing. Lay around all day reading
and talking about my neighbors.

Voices
The wind is up
Whispering at the chimney
Carrying voices
Brings neighbors’ news
My voice
Drifts towards the stove
Seeps into the firebox
Rises on the updraft
I see it escape
The black particles
Falling on the roof
Are words from this page

80

Decem ber 8, 1914 - Sunshines, bright. Cold all night. B & J stayed all night. B & J & B
went after meat now. G ot back a t 1 o ’clock. J stayed to dinner. Baker went home after
dinner. Ben made D a p a ir o f mittens, cut wood.

Artist
His little hand presses flat against the brown paper
Ben traces a mitten shape around David’s fingers and thumb
Adding half an inch for seams and some for growth
He lays the pattern on the soft brown hide
Cuts carefully just outside the drawn line
Shadows on his face, his hands, his work
In silence he sews
Joining the flaps with measured stitches
The curved needle piercing the layers
Creating two small pockets for smaller hands
The cold barks at the door
Ben pulls on his boots, coat, mitts
Lifts the axe from its place on the porch
Swings easily back into the rhythm
Of cutting the cold

81

January 1, 1915 - Cloudy but nice. New Years Day. Ben saw ed w ood and 1 made steam
pudding and roast heart. Cracked nuts and ate them and baked bread.

No Day I Know!
I’d like to take a holiday from bread
I’d rise late
Stretch like a lazy cat in the sun—
For breakfast— sausage, eggs, but no toast—
Because I’m on a holiday from bread.
I’d fill my morning writing letters.
Playing with the children,
A bit of mending, a walk to the creek.
Cracking nuts and eating them along the way.
It would be delicious
Not to have those loaves
March across the counter
Day after day
Mixing, rising, punching down
Shaping, baking, cooling—
All routines of the past
Remembered fondly—
The aroma of the fresh-baked loaves
Filling the kitchen with its magic . . .
What is a day without baking bread?
It’s no day I know!

82

January 7, 1915 - Warmer today. Ben went to look fo r moose, saw cariboo tracks. Pa
looked at tracks. I made bread and cakes.

Tracks
Impressions in the snow
Announce the direction and rate of travel
Size and age and kind of animal.
Ben and Pa read these woodland jottings
Like a book
Following each turn in the plot
The answer eluding them till the end.
The men’s boots leave prints
Through the trails
Around the house
At the woodpile
But who reads their story?
My fingers make tracks in the dough
Lightly I press it and turn it and toss it

83

January 12, 1915 - Sunshine. 1 took kids down the creek. Ben saw ed wood. Pa looked at
traps.

Dead of Winter
Under our feet the creek sleeps
Below the bottom buried by mud
Creatures dream of teeming life
Waiting for warmth
To shake them from near-death
Branches cackle in the crisp air
We slide on the ice
Hands and feet warm in mitts and boots
Our feet tap-tap-tap a message
To all creek dwellers

84

A pril 8, 1915 - Ben went down g o t mothers letter telling o f P a p a ’s death. A nice day. I
patched some.

Mending
There’s no one else to do it
I fix hurts and cuts
Kiss bruises
Bandage dolly’s arm
Knees wear through
Elbows too
But a patch makes new
A stitch in time—
Now Papa’s gone
And the hole still gaping
Is too big for me to patch

85

April 15, 1915 - A most lovely day. McNarboo helped pull stumps, planted dalihas.

Sacred Labour
The earth is rich and soft and warm
As I dig little trenches
To cradle the tuberous roots
They seem to sleep
But are feeding feeding
The sun calls them
Stirring pushing reaching
The pale green of leaf and stem
Unfurls like tiny garden flags
A harbinger of color held in check
Waiting to run wild
By the door all summer
Pinks and yellows, oranges, reds
The round faces
Full moons on the ground
Laughing till the first frost

86

A pril 17, 1915 - Nice day. Ben went with Me and Pa up on mountains, stayed all night. I
baked bread.

Rising and Baking
Standing on a chair
In the warm kitchen air
A wood spoon in her hand
Bessie bakes bread
Her small sausage fingers
Kneading a lump of dough
Beside my strong fingers
Kneading a lump of dough
Roll it and toss it
And mark it with a B
And put it in the oven for Bessie and me
Eight big loaves march across the shelf
Cover them with the bread cloth
Tuck in your two little loaves
Good girl, Bessie, just like Mama
Turn it, push it, fold it over
Turn it, push it, fold it over
Turn it, push it, fold it over
The loaves rise
Breathing in, breathing in, breathing in
Till they’re about to burst
Punch it down, punch it down, punch it down
Roll it, shape it, pat it
Don’t eat it yet!
Polly put the kettle on
W e’ll all have tea
Sukey, take it off again
They’ve all gone away
Bye baby bunting Daddy’s gone a-hunting
Gone to get a rabbit skin to wrap the baby bunting in

87

Nanny’s Passport

A small navy folder
Gold crest on the cover
Pages tea-washed
Passport to life
I stare in wonder at your cross
Made with a hand
Firm enough to separate
The halves of the nib
Drawing the brown ink
To the outer edges of the lines

X

Did you ever dream
The ink would seep up
Through your fingertips
Staining your hands a dark brown?
Or did you know
They would yield their whiteness
To many hours of pulling weeds
Under the strong sun?

88

My Grandmother’s Hair Was Silver-White
It wasn’t that blue-white
You see on elderly women with fur coats
Nor the hideous violet tint
Of the Florida snowbirds
My grandmother’s hair was silver-white
Wavy but tied back in a bun
When she was young
She was Rapunzel
A thick rope for a prince to climb
Spliced to the nape of her neck
But he lost his hold
And sank beneath the grass
When only One twin survived
She buried the small box
In the prairie
That was his father
Bound up her heart
In the tiny garments
Stanched the flow of blood
And took up the life that was left
When my father was old
His hair was silver-white

89

Ancient Round
You were the oldest person
I had ever seen
Your face brown leather
Or parched ground deeply lined
The blackness of your dress
Relieved by the flowers planted on your apron
Thick ankles
Ending in old-lady shoes
Black lace-up squat heel
Sumer is icumen in, Lhudé sing cuccu

For seven centuries women have sung
The song your mother sang to you
The song you sang to my father
The song you sing to me
Groweth sed and bloweth med
And springeth the wudé nu

Your spirit escapes your lips
Imprinting itself on my life

90

Epilogue: Under Yonge Street, Toronto, July 2002*^
From St. Clair we scream south
Surprised by the brief splash of sunlight
As we emerge in Rosedale
On your lap you elasp a large straw bag
That holds your life: keys, change purse,
Tissues, napkins, cigarettes, lighter.
Haiku scribbled on the back of an envelope.
Lipstick, mirror, peppermints, stamps.
We are on a pilgrimage
Seeking the wise woman of the family.
Like novitiates, we go over the catechism
O f questions we have rehearsed
Pulling out of Union Station
We discuss inheritance
Not money because there is none
But soul and spirit
Heart and attitude
I vote for the combo
A pre-disposition maybe
But also environment
It’s nature/culture all over again
Even though I don’t drink
I don’t refuse her offer
Of a strawberry daiquiri
After all, she’s ninety-one
And it’s thirty-five degrees out
Soon white wine with the salmon mousse and lime salad
Sounds fine to me
Back in the easy chair
She intones a litany of names
People and places—
I remind myself
It’s my father she’s speaking of
His wives before you
His loves before his wives
Back on Liberty Street
We wait quietly for the bus
Our hearts aswirl with images

91

The Mountain Stream
Oh where do you come from you dear little stream?
Running swiftly and clear in the glen,
You bring happy memories of days that have been
When I was a youngster of ten.
Barefooted I played by a stream bright and clear
Where fishes and frogs were my friends.
And what would I give to be back there again
And away from the city of men.
In the days of my youth I knew not the pain
That this world is so full of today,
I would gladly go back to that clear mountain stream
Away from the big citys ways.
But time turns not back for rich or poor
And the best we can do is forget.
So let us help someone to see the bright side of life
As it come to us yet.
To that clear mountain stream, I now bid farewell
Glad of the happiness then.
And hope that some youth will know how I played
When I was a youngster of ten.

Mrs. B. Sykes
Abbotsford, B .C .

92

Conclusion
In July 2 0 0 2 ,1 visited my father’s cousin, Florence Wilson Lake, in Bowmanville,
Ontario, where, at ninety-one, she lives by herself since her husband, Harold, died two
years ago. Her mother, Isabella Wilson, was my grandmother’s sister. Florence
maintains her home— cooks, bakes, cleans, shops, visits friends, still drives a car. My
mother, who had met Florence once before, made the two-hour journey from Toronto
with me. We boarded the GO train at Union Station, transferred to the GO bus at
Oshawa, then wound our way along historic Highway 2 through rural Ontario to
Bowmanville, where the bus dropped us at the corner of Liberty Street. It was a hot day,
and my mother, who is eighty-one, took about a half-hour to walk the two blocks south
on Liberty, past the hospital, then left on Prince Street and along the block to Florence’s
house. Florence welcomed us in, served us lunch, and told us stories. Stories about her
own life. Stories about my father when he was young. About a first wife I never knew
he had. About love letters and law suits. About boarders and baseball. Stories about my
grandmother. We had brought photographs from our family album, hoping she could
identify the people who were unknown to us, and she didn’t disappoint us. The names
were ones I had heard often when I was growing up, when my father would talk about his
days out west or “up the Gat” where the family owned property along the Gatineau River.
Old-fashioned names like Aunt Viney, Aunt Bella and Uncle Silas, Uncle Bob and Uncle
Duncan. And with every name came more stories.
For many families, perhaps most, such stories told around the table will never
make it into life-writing. They are the stories we wish we had paid more attention to
when we were younger, when parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered

93

at dinner time, at holiday celebrations, and at family reunions. The words drifted above
the table, above our heads, and were gone.
Once written down, however, personal experiences and family stories become a
primary source for future generations seeking knowledge about their past. A rich
resource, life-writing in its many forms connects us with the stories of our past. Family
members and future descendants are probably not interested in the arguments of various
theorists about self-identity, representation, or postmodernity. It probably does not occur
to them to be concerned about theoretical discussions on the stability of the self. The
names of Georges Gusdorf, Carolyn Heilbrun, Leigh Gilmore, and Sidonie Smith mean
nothing to children and grandchildren seeking knowledge about their families’ past. As
suggested by Harriet Blodgett, they are more likely to be interested in an “imaginative
participation” (11) in the lives of their grandparents or other relatives. Especially amid
the uncertainties of early twenty-first century capitalist society, people can gain a sense of
identity and security from knowing their own family background and details from the
lives of their ancestors. W omen’s life-writing is one window on the daily transactions
that make up family life.
This thesis has examined the theoretical underpinnings of the study of women’s
life-writing. Beginning with G usdorf s general definition of the characteristics of
autobiography, I have followed the various theorists as they explore the auto — the s e l f inherent in autobiography; the bios — the lived life— of the writer; and the graphe — the
act of writing or creating— the writer’s life, that are all part of the autobiographical act.
The wide range of positions taken up by these theorists shows that diversity is certainly a
hallmark not only of the study of women’s life-writing but also of women’s life-writing

94

itself. Becoming aware of this diversity has softened the edges of my belief in a unified
group called “women.” Although I have had some experiences similar to those of Ada
Adelia Sykes and of my paternal grandmother, and although my days still consist of
elements such as working, cooking, homemaking, and parenting— activities that make up
the days of women all over the world— I now see the importance of accounting for
diversity when comparing women’s lives across centuries and cultures. There may be
similarities, but there are differences that must be taken into account.
This thesis has also introduced a diary written by one woman as she built up a
new life for her and her family in the northern interior of British Columbia in the early
part of the twentieth century. Working from this diary, I have offered, through a critical
analysis of women’s life writing and through the original poetry presented here, an
imaginative interpretation of the life of one woman. Interest in her life and historical
context has led me to an interest in my own family background. I have reflected on my
own history, starting with the life of my paternal grandmother, through to my experiences
at Headwaters Ranch, and this reflection has been deepened by the embellishment in
poetry of Ada Sykes’ diary. This process has in a sense created a relief map of my
history. At this point, mapping the ground takes on a new level of meaning; for me, it is
the ground— the stay, the foundation— of my history that I have mapped.

95

Notes
’ The Modem Language Association International Bibliography from 1991 to 2002 lists
almost 200 published articles, dissertations, and books under the categories of women’s
life writing, diaries, journals, narratives, and autobiography. Fewer than 50 items under
the same categories were indexed between 1963 and 1990.
^ The original diary is held by Ada Sykes’ grandson, Terry Sayce of Duncan, B. C.
^ In accordance with the practice of modern feminist biography, I will use Ada Sykes’
full name whenever she is mentioned. For more information, see Reinharz, page 16.
Tuck, Esme. A Homestead Saga of the Peace River Valiev. 1919-1957. Ts. M 1254.
Spencer and Esme Tuck Fonds. Calgary, Alta.: Glenbow Archives, 1957.
^ Jennie McLean Fonds. Ms. 773. Calgary, Alta.: Glenbow Archives, 1908.
®Current research supports Elizabeth Hampsten’s position. In “Biobehavioral Responses
to Stress in Females: Tend-and-Befriend, Not Fight-or-Flight,” Shelley E. Taylor et al
suggest that, “[ajlthough fight-or-flight may characterize the primary physiological
response to stress for both males and females . .. behaviorally, females’ responses are
more marked by a pattern of ‘tend-and-befriend’. Tending involves nurturant activities
designed to protect the self and offspring that promote safety and reduced stress;
befriending is the creation and maintenance of social networks that may aid in this
process.” See Psychological Review 107.3 (July 2000): 411-429.
^ Admittedly, the diary of Ada Sykes is not as long or as detailed as some well-known
writings by pioneer women, for example. Roughing It in the Bush by Susanna Moodie,
Lost in the Backwoods by Catherine Parr Traill, or other examples of life-writing cited in
this thesis. Ada Sykes’ style is different from that of these writers and other women

96

diarists, lacking both length and rich imagery. In an effort, however, to question the
tenets of canonicity and to challenge the boundaries of “literature,” I would like to
consider such differences in style in a non-hierarchical manner—that is, one is not
“better” than the other, merely different— and suggest that Ada Sykes’ diary nevertheless
deserves critical attention.
^ The photographs included in this thesis are placed, as much as possible, in
chronological order. They depict the narrative of several families: the Sykes family:
Benjamin Silas, Sr.; his son, Benjamin Silas, Jr. and his wife Ada Adelia Countryman
Sykes, and their children; the Beaven family: Alice Jane Wilson Beaven; and the den
Ouden family: Fred, Pamela, Diana, and Jadon at Headwaters Ranch.
^ According to local historian Marilyn J. Wheeler, “the accepted pronunciation in the
locality is ‘Tee Jon’.” See The Robson Valley Storv. page 15.
Carolyn Heilbrun, Writing a W oman’s Life, page 12.
Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson list fifty-two genres of life narratives in their glossary
of selected genres of life narrative, with brief definitions of the features of each type, in
Reading Autobiography: A Guide for Interpreting Life Narratives.
I have included in this chapter a critical overview of theories of autobiography (as
opposed to concentrating exclusively on diaries) because a knowledge of autobiography
as a genre seems to provide a broad base for understanding other forms of life-writing. In
addition, in Chapter Three, I bring the two forms together, arguing that some
autobiography can be read “co-extensively” with the autobiographer’s poetry. In fact,
this thesis is a demonstration of this idea— my original poetry, based on the diary of Ada
Sykes and written in her “voice,” can be read co-extensively with the diary itself.

97

Virginia Woolf, quoted in Capacious Hold-All: An Anthology of Englishwomen’s
Diary Writings, frontispiece.
On her web site, Maureen Nelson gives Benjamin Silas Sykes’ birth date as Feb. 13,
1882; however, his Death Certificate lists his date of birth as Feb. 13, 1883.
The barn is no longer standing; it burned down some time ago, according to Siobhan
Wagner. The house is still standing but is not is good shape.
Alice (Sykes) Marrington passed away February 2, 2003, one week short of her ninetysecond birthday.
According to local historian Marilyn J. Wheeler, for a short time. Mile 49 was known
as Henningville. See The Robson Valiev Storv, page 6.
Ada Sykes’ long correspondence with her friend, Bessie Boudreau, attests to the
importance of female relationships in her life. In addition, of the seventeen people
mentioned in the diary with whom Ada Sykes corresponds, thirteen of them are women.
This poem is patterned on Margaret Atwood’s “A Bus Along St. Clair: December,” the
final poem in The Journals of Susanna M oodie. In her poem, Margaret Atwood
resurrects Susanna Moodie, who, having spent her early life in the Canadian wilderness,
reflects on the modern cityscape— present life— as “wilderness”: a “wilderness of wires”
(60) and “the centre of a forest” (61). In “Epilogue: Under Yonge Street, July, 2002,” I
address a similar theme: the storykeepers of the family can guide us through the
wilderness of our past to help us establish ourselves in the present. The “you” in this
poem is one of the family storykeepers; the “wise woman of the family” is another.

98

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103-116.

104

Benjamin Sykes

1

m.

Sarah

James Sykes, Sr.

m.

Rebecca Broadbent

b. March 4,1825

b. ca. 1829

Yorkshire, Eng.

d. Wisconsin 1902

d. Wisconsin 1903
1
Sarah Frances
b.Oct. 2,1841
Penn.

William
b.Oct. 12,1843
Penn.

Cullen
B. Feb. 16,1872

Martha Ann
b. Dec. 23,1845

Elmer
b. Feb. 19,1879
(See Fig. 7)

Benjamin
Silas Sr.
b. May 11,
1848

m.
Apr. 11,
1871

Nancy Jane
Van Buren
b. Dec. 18,
1851
d.

Cora Rebecca
b. 1884

1

Bessie
b. 1907
d. 1943

Fig. 6. The Sykes’ Family Tree

H
O
in

1

David
b. 1909
d. 1931

Rebecca
b. 1853
Farmington,
WS

John Henry
b. 1855
Farmington, WS

Benjamin
Silas, Jr.
b. Feb. 13,
1883
d. 1955

m.

Alice
b. 1911
d. Feb. 2,
2003
(m.
Marrington)
Ron
b. 1930

Eunice Anette
b. Nov. 8,1859

James Lincoln
b. May 1,1861

Ada Adelia
Countryman
b. Nov. 19,
1886
d. 1977

1

Mary
b. 1913
d. 1987

Baby girl
Deceased before
she was named.

1

Thelma
b. 1916
d. 1952

1

Marjory
b. 1918
d. 1992

■

1

Leona
b. 1922
d. 1980

1

Lucille
b. 1922

James
Reynolds

Elmer Sykes
b. Feb. 19, 1879

m.
Sept. 12, 1906

Bertha Robertson

m.

May Elizabeth

m.

July 1945

b. May 6, 1909

May 24, 1927
div. 1943

Marilyn Hope
Walsh

Siobhan’s father

m.
div.

Maureen
Patricia

Siobhan Hope

Fig. 7 Elmer Sykes’ Family Tree

o

cn

m.

m. Bill
Nelson

Rex

Colleen
Diane

Felix Francis

Burt Warren
b. Aug. 22, 1928

Tina Marie

m. Dorothy
Hanson
div.

Loralie

Appendix C The Diary of Ada Adelia Sykes, 1912-1915 (used by permission).
A u c u s t 19- ’*'e l e f t Sandcreek at 1 0 . U5 . Stayed at 53 a few
minutes. Had dinner at 1. Cot to 6 6 , stayed a l l n i e h t . Got
there a b o u t 2 and g o t in g r o c e r i e s .

August 20- Left 66 a t R. 3 0 . Sun sh i n e s , everything f i n e . Had
dinner at Murrays. Went up a slough looking for ducks and r e s t e d
awhile. Went through death rapids a f l y i n g . U o ' c l o c k passed
the b i g steamer. Camped on Beaver River a l l n ig h t . Got 2 b i r d s ,
1 r a b b i t . l o t s o f mosquitoes.
August 21- Started 8 .30, sun s h i n e s . Everything l o v e l y . Saw
one canoe a t A]. Had dinner on an i s l a n d , stayed a l l night a t
Garnet Creek. Got traos and saw g e e s e .
August 22- Started f i n e . Passed game warden a t 114. We walked a
h a l f mile through woods. Ben and Harry went through rapids. Had
dinner below rapids. Passed g a s o l i n e boat in Moose Canyon. Struck
a rock, did not hurt bo at. Camped a l l n ig h t in old campground.
Rained a l l n ig h t.
August 2 3 - Started and went aways, but had to sto p , the fog was
too t h i c k . Burns Meat boat went by while we were w a itin g .R a in in g
a g a in . Got 1 bird, 12 o ' c l o c k the c o n v e y o j ^ e n t by. I .30 g o t
dinner a t 133. Got to the m i l l , stayed a l l ! n i g h t , had su pper.
B r e a k f a s t a t Cullens. Ralnlna some.
S S .C ù li\l£ Y S fL
August 24- Sunday. Had b r e a k f a st . Had a sp at with Harry, d iv id e d
th e t h i n g s , took him down to the s t o r e . Got some g r o c e r i e s , came,
back home again.
August 2S- Sunshine and nothing to do. River gone down f a s t .
Thundering some at 3 . 3 0 , looks l i k e r a i n .
August 2 6 Started down r i v e r a t 10 .4 5 . Camped and g o t two ducks
g o t din n e r, dried bedding, put up hammock. A lice i s s l e e p in g in i t .
Put up t e n t .
August 2 7 - Clear morning. Ben went up f o r salmon. I wrote two
le tte r s.
Saw some tr a c k s down about 2 o ' c l o c k , lo o k s l i k e moose
t r a c k s . Saw three b o a ts going down. Heard f i v e sh o ts,a b o u t 5*30
heard th r e e more s h o t s . Ben got home 6 o ' c l o c k . Got 1 salmon,,
about 4 - 5 pounds and one duck.
August 2 8 - B righ t morning. Sold some tr a p s . Went up to m i ll and
g o t some g r o c e r i e s . P osted two l e t t e r s and had dinner a t C u llen s.
Came home.
Raining a l i t t l e . Sold some tobacco and g o t supper.
B ird f l e w over t r e e , s h o t h e r , f e l l r i g h t by supper, b u i l t f i r e , t o
bed.
August 2 9 - Raining a g a in . Shot 3 b ir d s b e fo r e b r e a k fa s t. Clear
a g a in . S t a r t e d down r i v e r a t 1 2 .3 0 . Sold rubber sh o e s , got bread,
went to Dome creek, sta y e d a l l n ig h t . Rained in th e n ig h t.
August 3 0 - B ig boat went by.

Raining ag ain .

Stayed a l l day and night

August 31 - L e f t Dome Creek. Saw Dane i l s b o a t . Got dinner a t B i l l .
Rovers camp. Rained hard w h ile th e r e . S ta r te d down r iv e r again . Big
b o a t p a s s e d u s below Slim creék . Camped on l e f t s i d e . Stayed a l l nigh
107

.Seütember 2 - Sun s h i n e s .
Did some w a s h in g, pu t bedding in the s u n .
'Had d i n n e r .
Ben went down to camp, t ra d ed 1 b o t t l e o f brandy f o r
9 b i g cans o f m i l k , 7 l b s . b u t t e r , ^ l b s . c h e e s e , about ^9<00 w o r t h .
Sun s h i n e s a l l day.
/ S e p t e m b e r 1- Sun up h i g h .
Ben went h u n t i n g but o n l y g o t 1 b i r d .
C l e a n e d ground, f e l l e d t r e e , s t a r t e d h o u s e .
September
Sun s h i n e s , worked on h o u s e , k skows p a s se d by. Dog
s m e l t s o m e t h i n g on o t h e r s i d e .
A f t e r supp er went to bed.

'" à

Septem ber
S un s h i n e s . Ben went down t o Cranberry Marsh. Maybe
s e e n m o o s e . Got back, went up r i v e r , g o t a b i g p i e c e o f bear. L o b s'
o f f a t . Got 1 b i r d .
'

J '4
^

Septem ber A- F r i e d o u t f a t , g o t t h r e e g a l l o n s .
Then made dutch oven
and had su p p e r .
/

' I

Then worked

on h o u s e .

Sep te m b e r 7 - F in e day. Went h u n t i n g , g o t 6 b i r d s w ith f i v e s h o t s , s h o t
two h e a d s o f f a t o n c e . Had d i n n e r worked on house the r e s t
o f t h e day.
Saw moose t r a c k s w h i l e h u n t i n g .
S e p te m b e r 8 - Sunday a g a i n . Rained some i n the n i g h t , c l e a r t h i s
m o r n in g .
Cut t r a i l t o s l o u g h . Sh o t 2 b i r d s . Rained some more, c l o u d y .

J

'

^

S e p te m b e r 9 - Cloudy a g a i n . Went o v e r r i v e r and c u t b i g cedar t r e e .
Got h a l f enough lumber t o c o v e r our r o o f .
Brought i t o v e r i n c a n o e .
W h ile t h e r e Ben s h o t 1 b i r d and I s h o t 2 ducks i n the r i v e r . Had d i n n e r ,
had my p i c t u r e t a k e n on canoe w i t h ducks and gun, then worked on h o u s e .
S e p t e m b e r 1 0 - Sun s h i n e s , h o t .
dark, got 1 b ir d .

Worked on h o u s e . Ben went hunting b e f o r e

, - S e p t e m b e r 1 1 - We went a g a i n o v e r t h e r i v e r and c u t ced ar t r e e . S p l i t
;
lum b er b r o u g h t i t o v e r i n b o a t , had d i n n e r . Worked on the house .

λ;

^ .
*i

S e p t e m b e r 1 2 - F in e d a y . Had b r e a k f a s t .
Ben we nt h u n t i n g , g o t a b i g
b l a c k b e a r , g o t home a t 4 . 3 0 . S o l d h i d e a t camp. Got 2 l o a v e s o f bread
S k i n n e d meat, g o t s u p p e r , went t o bed a t dark.

t

à

: ’

S e p t e m b e r 1 3 - Sun up, had b r e a k f a s t , g o i n g t o work on h o u s e .
h o u se today.

:

'

Moved i n

S e p t e m b e r 1 4 - F i n e da y.
Worked on h o u s e .
E i g h t skows went by, one
g a s o l i n e and some l i t t l e b o a t s . A f t e r d i n n e r went o ver r i v e r , g o t some •
l u m b e r , made t a b l e , t r a d e d b e a r meat f o r pepper* p o t a t o e s , f l o u r & m i l k .

* I

'
* I

S e p t e m b e r 1 4 - Sunday a g a i n . N i c e da y, p u t up h e a t e r , f r i e d out f a t .
A f t e r d i n n e r we a l l w e n t up r i v e r f o r a r i d e .
Saw the o l d timber c r u i s e r
g o i n g up the r i v e r .

S e p t e m b e r 1 6 - F in e da y.
Ben w e n t h u n t i n g .
The c h i l d r e n he lped me take
down t e n t and c l e a r i n f r o n t o f c a b i n .
They c a r r i e d the brush away.
J T h e n I n e a r l y croak ed w i t h the stomach ache p a i n s .
I cooked beans and
108

UCXOUtfl

w

Had popcorn fo r lun ch .
O ctob er 7- Raining:
water rabbit.
October 8b ird s.

ag;ain. Ben went to s e t marten

Fine mornine.

traps.

Got

Ben went t o look at b e a r t r a p s .

Got 3

October 9 - Fine day. Ben went to s e t tra p s on h i s tr a p l i n e . Saw
moose, s h o t i t , then f o l l o w e d the blo od on bush es.
Came home.
October 10- Rained in n i g h t .
Ben went e a r l y a f t e r m o o se .
washed some. Ben g o t no m oose .

1

October 1 1- Ben went up t o s l o u g h . S e t some t r a p s a f t e r d i n n e r .
We a l l went to alo ok a t G r i z z l y bear tr a c k s on s a n d , c l o s e t o c a b i n .
Coming back shot 3 b i r d s by c a b i n .
Ben shot 1 b i r d more.
O ctober 1 2 - Fine day.
Ben s e t and b a i t e d 5^ t r a p s .
I washed some. Gave c h i l d r e n a b a t h . 1 b i r d .
O ctober
o f jam,

1 3 - Sunday

Caught 1 mink.

a g a i n . Two skows went by, t h e y gave us
Ben went t o E l m e r s .

U b i g t i n s m i l k , 4 l b s b a c o n.

October 14$3 • 50.

Ben went h u n t i n g .

B r i g h t morning.

1 pail

Sold h u n tin g knife

October 1 5 - Fine day, Ben went back to look t r a p s on c r e e k , g o t 1
mink. I wrote t o B e r t h a and Fred.
October 1 6 - Rained i n n i g h t . Ben sawed wood. S o l d w a t c h . Went
down r i v e r to s e t and l o o k some t r a p s .
Skow men g a v e him a l o t o f
s t u f f , and meat b o a t w e n t b y .
it

October 1 7 - Rainin g a g a i n . Ben went do'wn to 6 0 . Some men a t e h e r
Ben g o t home 5-30, g o t a s t o v e and a l o t o f g r o c e r i e s from skow mer

V
;

October 18Sawed wood.

§
j

October 1 9 - Fine day.
Went on t r a p l i n e , got 1
Shot 2 b ir d s.
I Washed some, baked bread.

%
■j

,

S e t up s t o v e ,

looked a t t r a p s .

Got

3 ducks f o r b a i t .
r a b b it, 2 w easels,

O ctober 2 0 - Sunday. N i c e da y.
Sh o t 1 b ir d w h i l e e a t i n g b r e a k fa s*
b y the window. Saw skow go b y. Got 10 l b s c r a c k e r s , b e e f h e a r t
and tongue from skow men, made one p i e and c a k e .

i

I

O ctober 2 1 - Fine day. We went o v e r r i v e r and c u t c e d a r t r e e , g o t
lumber f o r f l o o r and p o r c h .
Skows went by, gave u s a l o t o f
groceries.

'

O ctober 2 2-

I

I V.

Ben went on n o r t h t r a p l i n e .

October 2 3- Fine day.
Snowed i n n i g h t .
2 m uskra ts. Got 1 e t t e r from m other.
October 2 4 - F in e day.
Got A l b e r t s l e t t e r .

Benwent on new

Ben went down to 60.

lin e,

sho

Meat b o a t went by.
110

L/ ^October 2 5 -

F in e day, looked at trap s, got 1 mink, 1 mukrat, 1 water r a b b it.
I washed, baked bread, got g ro c er ies from the skow.

/ ^ O c t o b e r 2 6 - Fine day, got s ix b ir d s . Ben went on trap l i n e .
■' and 1 w a te r rab b it.
Two men stayed to supper.

Got 3 w e a s e l s ,

y O c t o b e r 2 7 - Sunday.
Fine day. Got 1 l e t t e r from Agnes. Two skows g a v e us
^ a l o t o f g r o c e r ie s , p otatoes, onions.
Got a b i r d dog from them.

I-

O c t o b e r 2A- S e n t Hugh a l e t t e r .
Fine day. Ben went on t ra p l i n e in f o r e
n o o n . A f t e r d i n n e r went h u n t i n g , g o t 5 b i r d s , 2 r a t s . Men s t a y e d t o d i n n e r .
Made A l i c e some p a n t s .
O ctober 29-

Fine day. Ben s e t some more t r a p s .

O c t o b e r 3 0 - Fine day. Froze on r i v e r .
m in k , 2 m u s k r a t s .

(•

I washed ar.d sawed wood.

Looked a t t r a p s on s l o u g h .

Got 1

O c t o b e r 3 1 - Fine day. Went down to camp. Got p o t a t o e s and some s t u f f from
skow men.
Two men s ta y e d t o d in n e r , gave us some c o r n s t a r c h .
November 1 - F in e day I washed and Ben w ent on tr a p l i n e s o u t h , g o t 1 m arten,
3 w e a s e ls , 3 b ir d s.
/

Novem ber 2 - Ben went w ith Dr. Gray and Mr. M cDougall h u n t in g on the
m o u n t a i n s . They s ta y e d a l l n i g h t .

, ^ \N o v e m b e r 3 - Sunday a g a in .
T h ey o a i d him $ 1 5 .0 0 .
November 4 -

F in e day.

The

Snowed 3 in c h e s i n n i g h t . Ben and men g o t home.
skows g a v e him $ 35*00 g r o c e r i e s .

Ben g o t 3 b i r d s .

Novem ber 5 - Cloudy and r a i n i n g .
and s e w e d ) *

I made c o o k i e s

Ben went h u n t i n g .

and p i e s .

(Iw a sh ed , baked t r e a d

November 6 - N ice morning.
Ben went t o lo o k a t r r a p s i n s l o u g h . Got 1
o t t e r , 1 w a t e r r a b b i t , 1 w e a s e l , 1 m uskrat. 4 men s t a y e d to d in n e r .
A ftern oo n g o t 1 r a t.

i.

N ovem ber 7 - N ic e and snow ing a l i t t l e .
Ben f i x e d h i d e s in f o r e n o o n ,
a f t e r n o o n . w e n t down to camp. W hile gone g o t 2 m u s k r a ts, 1 b i r d . I sawed
wood.
/ ' Novem ber 8 Ben s t a r t e d on tra p l i n e saw moose s h o t him w it h m anser. S o ld
q u a rter fo r
$ 1 0 . 0 0 . Got 1 l e t t e r from S a n d c r e e k . Got 1
m arten i n 2nd tr a p
lin e .
Snowed 8 in c h e s i n th e n i g h t .
/

N ovem ber 9 - N ic e day. Ben look ed a t t r a p s i n s l o u g h . Got 1 w e a s e l ,
e a g l e m easured
f e e t from wing t o w in g .
Novem ber 1 0 - F ine day. Sunday. Made a s u e t pu dd ing f o r d i n n e r .
fro m cam p.

1 b ig

Got r i c e

<■) N ovem ber 1 1 - F in e day. Ben went on so u th tr a p l i n e .
Got 9 w e a s e l s ,
m a r t e n , 4 c a r i b o o s h o t w it h manser on th e dead g a l l o p .
Ill

1

November 12- Snowine^ a l i t t l e . Ron went on north l i n e and r o t 1 m i n k , '
a b i g o n e , s o l d another ou a r t e r o f meat f o r $ 1 0 . C?.
November 13- Fine day. 5en went down to slo u g h to r e s e t t r a p s .
d a y I sewed and s o l d .$1.30 l u n c h e s .

On "this

November 14- Fine day. Ben went up to 134 w it h a q u a r t e r o f moose m e a t ,
d i d n ' t s e l l any t h e r e . Afternoon sawed wood.
B e s s i e and A l i c e was s i c k
w ith a b re a k in g out.
November 13-

Ben went down with

t r a p s to s l o u g h ,

traded k e t t l e s a t camp. ^

November 16- Cloudy.
Ben went up t o s k i n c a r i b o o .
w e n t t o h u nt and stayed to supper h e r e .
November 17- Sunday again.
g o t moose h i d e .

Raining t o d a y .

The mail carrier*

Ben made some c o o k i e s and

- . ' November IB- R a in in g . Ben went o u t to s o u t h l i n e g o t 4 w e a s e l s ,
r a b i i t , b r o u g h t home hind h a l f o f c a r i b o o . ^
^

1 w ater

'

November 19- My b i r t h d a y . R a in in g a g a i n .
Ben sk inn ed m e a t , s t r e t c h e d
moose h i d e , went down to camp, g o t p i c k l e s .
Sold o t t e r h i d e .
,
'

- November 2 0 - Snowed a l l day. Ben sawed wood, s t a y e d around a l l
S o l d w a t e r r a b b i t s . Baked bread, washed.
( ,

November 2 1 - Nice day. I washed.
marten, w e a se l, 1 b ir d .

y'

November 2 2 - N ice day. Snowed in n i g h t .
t o camp s o l d moose h id e $5*00.

*
:/

Ben went

day.

on north l i n e g o t 2 good

I washed a g a i n .

Ben went down

November 2 3 - Windy and r a i n i n g .
Ben went down t o 160 with h i s b o a t a f t e r
g r o c e r i e s f o r some men. Sold q u a r t e r o f meat to them f o r $ 1 0 , 0 0 . I made
c o o k i e s and p i e s .
November 2 4 - N ice day so f a r . 2 skows went b y gave u s some g r o c e r i e s .
Ben w e n t down and g o t h i s boa t he l e f t l a s t n i g h t .
N o v e m b e r - 2 5 - Nice day. Ben f i l e d h i s saw and 1 f o r an o t h e r man. I sewed
some.
November 2 6 - Fine day. Ben went on so u t h l i n e , b r o u g h t back some meat and
h i s h i d e , got 3 w easels,
November 2 7 - N ice day. Ben went on n o r t h l i n e ,
p i n e a p p l e from cook.

g o t n o t h i n g . Got some

November 2 8 - Fine day. T h a nk sg ivin g. Ben went t o lo o k f o r moose. I made
mince p i e s .
\ .

November 2 9 - F in e day. Ben sawed wood. One scow went by gave us s l a b o f
b a c o n , t e a . I washed some, i n e v e n i n g Ben w e n t down to camp a f t e r m a i l ,
b u t g o t no m a i l .
November 3 0 - . Fine day. Ben sawed wood. I baked 2 mince p i e s and then we
made B e s s i e a o a i r o f p a n t s .
112

.
The r i v e r f r o z e over i n the n i r h t .
The
‘’' ■ T c a r r U r ’ i a s h e r e i n the a f t e r n o o n ,
ma!-!■ cat I ^^i
Cnn'ved about a f o o t .
Ben f i l e d saw f o r men working
worked m sno» s h o e s .
g:r:^ :k

a-

Snow a b o u t 2 f t .

1 st

the day.

December

Came home,

de e p.
Ben working on snow s h o e s .
I baked b r e a d .

Ben went out t o l o o k f o r moose, b u t snow too deep.
sawed w o o d . I made B e s s i e two p a i r o f drawers.

5- Snowed i n n i g h t .
two p i e s , a p a i l o f c o o k i e s .

December

Ben working on snow s h o e s .

I made

December 6 Fine da y.
Ben s t a r t e d on l i n e , f o l lo w e d moose.
t h r e e l e t t e r s from camp. Mama, A g n e s s , A l b e r t .
D ecem ber 7 - Fine d ay.
Rained in n i g h t .
1 made f r u i t cake f o r C h ristm as.

Got

Ben worked on snow s h o e s .

D ecem ber 8 - Sunday a g a i n . N ice d a y . B en 'w en t down to 160 a f t e r
su gar.
I made c o o k i e s , s e n t Edna a l e t t e r .
D ecem ber 9 - Fine d a y . Cold i n n i g h t . We a l l walked o v e r r i v e r
on i c e and s l i d on s l i d e .
Took p i c t u r e s o f u s s l i d i n g .
Ben w e n t
h u n tin g .
D ecem ber 1 0 - Nice d a y . Ben w ent on so u th l i n e , g o t 1 m arten, 3
w e a se ls .
I washed some to d a y .
Saw s i c k mam go by.
D ecem ber 1 1 - Nice d a y . Froze h a rd i n n i g h t .
A moose came up c l o s e to
c a b i n i n n i g h t . Dog barked a t h im . Ben w ent on North l i n e , g o t 1
m a r te n , 1 w e a se l.
I washed a g a i n , baked b re a d and 2 p i e s .
D ecem ber

12-

F ine d a y . Ben w ent up a f t e r m ea t.

I baked c o o k i e s .

December 13- Fine day. We a l l went over to camp, stayed to d in n er
g o t a l e t t e r from Jenny.
December 14m ore, g o t no

Fine day. Ben went h u n tin g ,
game. Got home n e a r ly dark.

December 1*5- Sunday again .
a l e t t e r . Snowed a l i t t l e .

sh o t a t 2 moose, saw 3

Made 2 p ie s , 3 l i t t l e ones s e n t Jenny

December 16- Nice day. Ben went a f t e r moose, got one b ig one about
1 2 . 4 5 . We a l l went o u t, had our p ic t u r e s w ith moose, b u i l t a f i r e
sk in n e d moose, g o t home 5 . 3O,
December 17- Nice day. Ber went down to camp, sold 3 /4 meat. I
sawed two blocks o f wood.
December 18- Snowed hard a l l day. Ben took \ down to I 60 to Dr.
S m ith . I baked bread and c o o k ie s, cooked h e a r t and sa u ce. I sawed
2 b lo c k s o f wood.
December 19- Snowed a l i t t l e . N ice day. Ben took meat over to
camp in forenoon. I washed and made p i e s . Afternoon Ben sh o t 3
113

r .o o s e .

1

:

s e ’" ( i u

/

•

Dece'^ter ?0- Nice dayo f m o o se •

Sunday,

y

u

Ben tooX meat over to camp, took cut L n n r i s

D e c e m b e r 21- Nice day- Ben went Iown to camp,
and some g r o c e r i e s from trapperD e c e m b e r 22-

I tf

snowed a l i t t l e .

p o t mothers l e t t z e r ,

Ben skinned moose, sawed some

wood •
December 23- Nice day- Ben went h u n t i n g with a man, g o t 3 m o o s e .
made c o o k i e s , two p i e s - Snowed a l i t t l e .
December 24other th in gs.

Ben w en t down t o camp, g o t c a b b a g e , s t r a w b e r r i e s
I bake-d b rea d , made ca n d y , g o t t r e e .

and

December 2 5- Christmas Day.
Man h e r e f o r d i n n e r .

Had a good d i n n e r .

December 2 6 - Nice windy day.
m a i l , g o t t e l e p h o n e m essage.

Ben went down to Eng. with meat,

got

December 2 7 - Windy. Ben g o t ready t o go to go t o Sandcreek i n
forenoon.
A fte rn o o n he went.

the

December 2 8 - Windy day.
little .

I

Ben sawed w o o d .

Men c u t wood, s t a y e d to d i n n e r .

Snowed a

December 2 9 - Sunday a g a i n , snowed hard n e a r l y a l l day.
December 30- Nice da y,

f r i e d o ut f a t , made B e s s i e an u n d e r w a i s t .

December 31- Snowed and wind blev/ h a r d .

I baked bread and r e a d some1913

January

1- Snowed a l l day.

Men b r o u g h t o v e r some f l o u r .

January

2 - Windy and sn ow ing.

January

3- 1 p a tc h e d some.

January

4 - Cold i n n i g h t , sun shone i n f o r e n o o n .

I washed.

Sun shone a l i t t l e

and i t snowed some too
I washed som e.

January
5- Sunday, c o l d e r than S a t u r d a y . Men c u t wood. Sent Mother
a l e t t e r . Men s a i d S a t . was 14 below z e r o .
’
J a n u a r y 6- Snowing t o d a y .
A l i c e was s i c k .

Cook came o ver s a i d t h e y

January

7 - Snowing a g a i n and a l l n i g h t .

January

8- Snowed hard a l l day.

January

9 - S t i l l c o l d . I chopped o u t s t e p s -

would move

today.

David i s s i c k today.

In n i g h t g o t c o l d .

J a n u a r y 1C- C o ld e r y e t . . I made David a p a i r o f
n o o n , l i d some w a s h i n g .
Sun s h i n e s b r i g h t .

red drawers
114

in fo r e ­

»

rv

11"

LOJ-oer

'connvi

.‘lU n

snines*

o?iKea

. 1 2 - Sunday, cold and sun s h i n e s .
ZiO^below z er o y e s t e r d a y .
J a n u a r y 13- Warmer and snowinp- a c a i n .
a n d c u t some wood.

ureaa-

Men sawed wood, s a i d wa:

Men b r o u f : h t o v e r g r o c e r i e s

J a n u a r y 1^- D a v i d ' s b i r t h d a y .
Warm and s u n s h i n e s .
Men b r o u g h t
r e s t of g r o c e r ie s .
I baked b r e a d and cake f o r h i s b i r t h d a y .
January

15- Wind bl ew h a r d a l l d a y and n i g h t .

J a n u a ry

16- Cold da y.

J a n u a ry

17- Went o v e r to s lo u g h .

I washed some.

Had bean soup d in n e r.

Sun s h o n e .

J a n u a ry 18- Got V in a 's p r e s e n t and Agnes bab y p i c t u r e . Ben and
Elm er g o t home a t 7 o ' c l o c k , . C o ld er.
J a n u a r y 1 9 - Sunday.

Ben took Mrs. M artin home.

J a n u a r y 2 0 - N ic e d ay.
sn a re, sh ot 1 r a b b it.

Su nshine a l i t t l e

Ben and Elmer c l e ’aned o f f r o o f ,

se t r a b b it

J a n u a ry

2 1 - 1 r a b b i t , baked b r e a d .

January

22- go t 1 r a b b it.

January

2 3 - C leaned o f f r o o f a g a i n . Sawed w ood. S t i l l sn ow in g.

Snowing.

January
2 4 - sn ow in g a g a in . Ben and Elmer w e n t down t o camp, g o t
1 l e t t e r from m oth er. I washed som e.
J a n u a r y 2 5 - Snowing l i k e r a i n .
aw fu l s o f t .

Ben and Elm er w ent a f t e r m ea t.

Snow

J a n u a r y 2 6 - sn o w in g h a rd .
f o r d in n er.

Ben went o v e r t o camp.

I made dum plings

January 27-

Snowed some.

Ben and Elmer w e n t h u n t i n g , g o t 1 m oose.

January 28-

R ained a l l n i g h t and day. Boys f i x e d snow s h o e s .

J a n u a r y 2 9 - Ben w en t on n orth l i n e , g o t 1 w e a s e l , 1 moose t o o . Elmer
f i x e d snow s h o e s .
J a n u a r y 3 0 - N ic e d a y , Elmer sawed wood, Ben’ was a w fu l t i r e d t o d a y .
Got d i n n e r and I sewed on D a v i d ' s w a i s t .
February 1no m a i l .

Ben and Elmer w ent down t o camp.

S e n t some l e t t e r s , g o t

Feb. 2 N ic e d a y . Ben and Elmer w ent o v e r t o camp w ith m eat,
g o t some g r o c e r i e s t o o . Had s t u f f e d h e a r t f o r d i n n e r .
A ftern oo n
Ben and I w en t on snow s h o e s .
F e b r u a r y 3 - N i c e , sun s h i n e s b r i g h t .
Ben and Elmer w ent down t o 60
t o g e t a moose f o r Dr. 5m ith . Got 1 m oose, g o t $ 4 0 . 0 0 c a sh .
115

uary
Nice dayBen worked on snow sh o e s I b a k e d 3 p i s s and br<^ad.
^%

F eb ru a ry 5- Nice day and c o l d .

Elmer sawed w o o d .

Boys s t a y e d around ho u se , sawed wood.

F e b r u a r y 6- Cold y e t . Ben and Elmer went on south s i d e of r i ' v e r chas
moose down to Eng camp, then Elmer s h o t him, broke h in d l e g s , then E
s h o t him in head.
Had din n e r at Eng camp.

F e b r u a r y 7 - Cold y e t bu t sun s h i n e s .
Got 1 r a b b i t . Ben and Elmer wer
down t o camp, s o l d q u a r t e r o f meat.
I f i n i s h e d my washing.
F e b r u a r y 8- Nice s u n s h i n e .
Got Hugh's l e t t e r . Ben s e t 7 s n a r e s ,
wood a l l day. Men went by making road f o r teams.

sawe

F e b r u a r y 9 - Nice day'.
Layed around a l l d a y.

Snowed in n i g h t .

Got 1 tarmagin, 1 r a b b i t .

F e b r u a r y 1 0- N ice d ay .
ba k ed bread t o o .

Ben and Elmer sawed wood, went a f t e r m e a t . I

F e b r u a r y 1 1- N ice
d a y . Ben & Elmer went, j u s t h u n tin g meat, c h a s e d
m oose on t o th e m o u n ta in , g o t home a t d a r k . I made 3 p i e s , c o o k e d
F e b r u a r y 1 2- R a i n i n g .
Ben f i l e d w atc h. Hunted f o r r a b b i t s .
and s l e d went by on r i v e r .
F e b r u a r y 13a l l day.

Raining y e t.

F e b r u a r y 14- R a i n i n g .
G o t o i l and p e a s .

Ben's b i r t h d a y .

Made 4 p i e s .

on
be

One hous

Lay a r o u n d

Ben and Elmer went down a f t e r m a i l , g o t non e.

F e b r u a r y 15- R a i n i n g y e t .
Ben s h o v e l l e d o f f r o o f . B e n Sr Elmer went
j u s t h u n t i n g , g o t no game. I made 2 c a k e s i n the a f t e r n o o n .
Ben and
Elmer s h o v e lle d o u t c a n o e .
F e b r u a r y 16- Foggy i n n i g h t and mornig.
rab b its.

Ben & I went t o look f o r

F e b r u a r y 17- Nice d a y . S c u l l i t came o v e r to s e e u s .
Ben and Elm er
w e n t up s l o u g h , s e t some t r a p s . I made David a p a i r o f p a n t s . I
baked bread.
r

./

F e b r u a r y 1 8 - N ice d a y .
Ben and Elmer w ent on north t r a p l i n e , s e t
more t r a p s , g o t I w e a s e l , 1 tarm agin . Snow plow went by on r i v e r .
F e b r u a r y 1 9 - Sun fe h in e s .

Ben washed, th en we a l l w ent s l i d i n g .

F e b r u a r y 2 0 - N ice m o rn in g . Had dum plings f o r b r e a k f a s t .
Did some moi
w a s h i n g . Ben sawed wood.
Elmer went down a f t e r m ail - g o t m o th e r 's ar
B e r th a 's le t t e r s .
F e b r u a r y 2 1 - S u n sh in e a l l day.
made my d r e s s .
F e b r u a r y 2 2 - S u n s h in e .
w e n t by on i c e .

Ben and Elmer went down to camps.

I

Ben went o v e r t o camp a f t e r f i l i n g saw. Teams

F e b r u a r y 27- Sane as b e f o r e .

116

C'

r h uary 2*+- "'G a n came up r i v e r on ice by team. Cet to
H e n n i n R s v i l l e Saturday n ip h t. Found Pa and Bertha w e l l , s u r p r i s e d
themThe r e s t o f the summer we l i v e d a t H e n n i r . c s v i l l e . On August 1 7 , 1 9 1 3
Mary was born. We l i v e d there a l l winter and in March so l d t h e s t o r e
a n d on March 31st I l e f t H e n n i n p s v i l l e for Monroe.
G o t to Monroe, Washington April 4 t h , spent the summer a t f a t h e r ' s
a n d l e f t Monroe on September 24 th .
Got to G uilford S e p t . 30th .
Ben was t h e r e to meet me and Pa was w a i t i n g on the bank at th e c r e e k .
We l e f t the boat a t the creek and went home, was dark when we g o t
home.
Ben and Pa g o t supper by c a n d l e l i g h t .

The n e x t day Pa went ùp on h i s t r a p l i n e and Ben went over f o r "the
b o a t and trunks.
On O c t o b e r 3 B& k i l l e d a bear and Oct. 4 ben went up a f t e r the
and Pa came bak w it h him.

neat

b n O c to b e r 5th Pa w ent up on t h i s l i n e and Ben sawed wood and c l e a r e d
l a n d and dug p o t a t o e s . C urly came w ith d e e r. N ice w ea th er.

(%

O c t o b e r 1 7 th - Ben s t a r t e d up on m ountains w ith sto v e and met P a . They
cam e b ack and Sunday O ctober 18th th e y went down to our o ld c a b i n and
a t 2 o ' c l o c k Harboo B ro. came and i t rain ed and a t 4 o 'c lo c k B e n ar.d
P a c a n e b a c k . N arb oo's sta y e d a l l n i ^ t and Pa and Ben went u p on
m o u n ta in s O ct. 19th and I sta y e d home w ith c h ild r e n and dog.
O c t o b e r 2 0 - Cloudy and su n sh in e .
h o u s e m ost o f day.

Rain a l i t t l e

and we sta y e d

in

O c t o b e r 2 1 - N ice d ay. I baked bread and washed and a t 1 2 .3 0 I saw a
b i r d and s h o t i t . a l s o cooked b e a n s.
O c t o b e r 2 2 - N ice d a y . I baked b r e a d , washed and Ben n o t back y e t .
M ade some l i t t l e c a k e s , s ta y e d o u td o o rs w ith c h ild r e n and Ben % o t
b a c k a t 3 . 3 0 . He g o t 3 b ir d s , 1 w e a s e l.

O ctober 23- Ben went down to Harboo Bros, got bacon. Nice dieÿ. He got
bacot\. I made two pumpkin pies and cooked stuffed bird for supper.
I and Bessie ironed.
O c t o b e r 2 4 - N ice warm d a y . Ben and B e s s ie and David w en t a f t e r m a il.
G o t o n e l e t t e r from M other and B ^rtha che t o o . P u t up h e a te r *

:.Qçtober
' family. w e# ^ # t _ to èiàtiéWl''
^ ^ o lic went awt^* Ben got apples and Oranges on tra in

hoHe

O ctober 26- GloUdy tdday. Ben and Jasper went up on mountains. I sewed
some and looked u p stairs for things in boxes.

t bm

117

O c t o b e r 23F r o s t y , sun r h i n o s a l l day.
Pen and J asp er rot b a c k .
C o t two b i r d s .
I ba ke d b r e a d and b i s c u i t s .
O c t o b e r 29Nice day.
Ben helped me wash and he p u l l e d a l o t
s t u m p s with the capson and k i d s .
I t ra in ed a l i t t l e a t n i p n t .

of

O c t o b e r 30- Cloudy and su n s h in e a l l day.
Ben and k i d s p u l l e d stumps
a l l f o r e n o o n and a l l a f t e r n o o n we burned and c l e a r land and Ben went
a t 4 o ' c l o c k to s e t 2 t r a p s fo r water r a b i t t s , c l o t h e s g o t d r y .
O c t o b e r 31- Su nshines.
Rained hard a l l n i p h t .
Ben po t one b i g water
rabbit.
Put paper on w a l l a l l forenoon and c l e a r e d land in a f t e r n o o n .
I made a cake and i r o n e d .
November 1- Sunday. .Cloudy. We a l l went down to Penny and t h e n cane
o v e r t o the s t a t i o n , g o t two l e t t e r s .
Mother's and S t e l l a ' s .
Had
o u r d i n n e r on the r i v e r b a n k . Got a b i r d on the way home.
November 2 - Cloudy and su nny. Ben s e t more t r a p s and in a f t e r n o o n
c l e a r e a l o t o f land and burned brush.
Shot one r a b b i t on o t h e r s id e
o f riv er.
Snowed on th e m o u n t a in s .
November 3~ Nice day.
Snowed in the n i g h t but a l l went o f f ag:ain.
B e n l o o k e d a t t r a p s , g o t one water r a b b i t and one b i r d .
November 4 - Cleared l a n d , washed P a 's u n d e r c l o t h e s ,- made c o o k i e s .
November 5- Nice day. Ben c le a r e d land and h e l p e d wash c l o t h e s ,
b e a n s and beaver t a i l f o r d in n e r .

cockec

November 6 - Nice day.
Ben c le a r e d l a n d .
came down to d a y . I made pumpkin p i e s .

Pa

My headached a w fu l.

November 7 - Snowed a l i t t l e .
Ben went up t o ^2 a f t e r g e e s e , g o t 1
a t 5 .4 $ .
Got one r a b b i t .
I scrubbed and s e t bread.
November 8- Nice day i n fo r e n o o n . Ben and I went down to P en n y, got
o n io n s.
Pa stayed w it h k i d s . Got home a t 2 o ' c l o c k .
Rained hard ala f t e r n o o n , d i d n ' t go a f t e r m a il.
November 9 - Nice day. Ben & Jasp er and Pa went up to c a b in , s t a y e d al'.
n ig h t.
Snowed up t h e r e 4" in n i g h t .
November 1 0 - Ben g o t home a t 5 o " c lo c k - g o t 2 b i g m o o se .
B en s t a y e d a l l n i g h t .
Pa & J a sp er d i d n ' t g e t a n y th in g .

I sewed

soi

November 1 1- Nice d ay .
Ben went up on m ou n tain s, sk in n e d moose and
p a c k e d i t to ca b in .
I sewed some to d a y .
November 1 2- Nice d ay .
Ben & Ja sp er g o t home a t 1 o ' c l o c k , b r o u g h t
m eat.
I washed my s k i r t and w a i s t s .
November 13- Nice Day, b u t c o ld , f r e e z i n g in c r e e k .
J o e w ent t o s k in moose and g o t back f o r su p p er .
Joe
I w ashed.

Ben & J a s p e r and
st a y e d a l l n ig h t

November 14- Cold and snow . Ben and Joe & J a sp e r went a f t e r moose.
G o t g r o c e r i e s from P en n y.
I baked bread and wrote to m other.
118

November 15- Sunday a p a i n . Got m other’ s l e t t e r .
Ben took meat
o v e r t o G u i l f o r d , po t home a t dark, pot no g r o c e r i e s from Ror.r..
Cold y e t .
November 16- Nice day. Ben and J a s p e r went up on m oun tain s . I
g o t i n wood and covered p o t a t o e s .
Mary bu rn t her han ds. C o l d
y e t t o d a y , snowed on mountains t o d a y .
November 17- Snowed in the n i g h t , n i c e day, warm t o o . Ben and
J a s p e r g o t back a t 3 . ] 0 .
I baked a cake and ir o n e d some.
November 18- Warm day.
Ben and k i d s g o t in wood. Baby a w f u l
c r o s s w ith burnt h a n d s .
November 19- My b i r t h d a y .
Snowed 5" in th e n i g h t . I wrote to
Jenny.
Ben went o v e r to G u ilf o r d a f t e r m a i l .
Cloudy and r a i n
a little .
Ben g o t back a t 3 o ' c l o c k , g o t Cora and Hookers l e t t e r s ,
a l s o two o t h e r s .
November 20- N ice d a y. Thawing. We washed i n fo r e n o o n and a f t e r n o c
Ben to o k p i c t u r e s o f moose and h o u s e . Sawed wood and p i l e d i t up.
November 21- N ice day.
p a c k r a c k for h i m s e l f .

C'

We p u t down c a r p e t i n o t h e r room.
I baked b rea d and p i e s .

November 22- Sunday a g a in . Windy and t h a w in g .
r e a d i n g and t a l k i n g about my n e i g h b o r s .

Ben made

Lay around a l l day

November 23- N ice m orning. Ben and I sawed down t r e e and t o o k
p i c t u r e o f me i n t r e e .
A ftern o o n i t r a in e d and I made A l i c e b la c k
p a n t s and Ben sk in n e d moose h e a d . Wrote to m oth er, s e n t p i c t u r e s .
November 24- N ic e m orning. Ben w ent to G u i l f o r d a f t e r f l o u r and
m a il.
A ftern oon w indy. Ben g o t f l o u r and Pa a l e t t e r .
*I ir o n e d .
S t i l l a w fu l w indy.
November 25- Snow a l l g o n e . Wind b lew h ard a l l n i g h t . N ic e m ornir
We saw ed down 3 t r e e s .
Ben c l e a r e d la n d , n i c e a l l day. M a r y 's
h a n d s d o in g f i n e .
November 26- T h a n k sg iv in g Day. N ic e and warm. Ben c l e a r e d la n d
a l l d a y . I made mince meat and s t a y e d o u t by f i r e s w ith b a b y .
November 2 7- A l o v e l y b r i g h t d a y . Ben h e lp e d J a s p e r b u i l d h o u s e ar
I w as h e r e f o r d i n n e r . A ftern o o n I to o k p h i ld r e n down to h i s h o u se
s t a y e d u n t i l Ben came home, made 3 mince p i e s .
M is s e d November 2 8 .
November 2 9- Sunday and snow ing a g a i n .
Ben i s g o in g ov er t o
G u i l f o r d . Sen t m other a l e t t e r a l s o th e Hudson Bay one f o r m ilk
and b u t t e r . Got s h o e s , g o t no m a i l .
(N ovem ber 2 8 t h ) - S a tu r d a y - Ben h e l p e d J a s p e r on h o u s e , snowed a
l i t t l e . I made 3 p i e s , one c h o c o l a t e c a k e , washed B.&D.&A. h a i r .
W rote t o mother.
November 30- Monday- Ben h e lp e d J a s p e r i n fo r e n o o n .

German h e r e
119

f o r dinnerCold in fornnoort, nnowed a l l n i e h t .
g a s o l i n e lamp. I -.ended st o c k in /r s f o r c h i l d r e n .

Ben fixed
191!+

December 1- Snowing a l i t t l e .
Ben saw in g wood.
Made B e s s i e a
p a i r o f j um p er s, a l s o A l i c e a p a i r o f p a n t s to put over her c l o t h e s
when o u t d o o r s .
In e v e n i n g s t r u n g b e a d s , to bed a t 1 1 . 5 0 . M o o n l i g h t
n ig h t.
December 2 - B r ig h t , c o l d morning.
Ben has e-one h u n t i n g . M a r y ' s
hands nearly a l l w e ll.
Ben g o t back a t 1 o ' c l o c k but saw no pame .
A f t e r d i n n e r s t a r t e d t o work on p a n t r y , worked t i l l l o o ' c l o c k .
M oonlight n ig h t.
December 3~ Cold and c l e a r .
Ben f i n i s h e d work on p a n try . I b a k e d
b r e a d and c le a n e d up d i s h e s .
Ben saw f l a g and f i l l e d h i s p a c k s a c k
t o s t a r t on mountain i n morning.
Decem ber !+- Cold and snow.
Ben s t a r t e d up m ountain a t 7.15*
w a sh e d and g o t some w o od . Snowing.
Made a c a k e .

1

Decem ber 5 - I made 4 p i e s , 4 l i t t l e p i e s t o o .
Baker was h e r e . Ben
g o t back a f t e r dark. S h o t
one m oose, g o t h e a r t f o r supper. C o ld
a l l d ay , snowed at n i g h t .
D ecem ber 6 - Snowing some. Ben s t a r t e d o v e r to G u ilfo r d a f t e r m a i l .
W rote mother a c a r d . Ben g o t back a t 1 2 .3 0 d i d n ' t g e t over r i v e r .
I t i s n e a r l y fr o z e a c r o s s . Made a s l e d to go a f r e r meat. A b r i g h t
day.
D ecem ber 7 - Cold l a s t n i g h t . ,^^n & J a s p e r & Baker went up and
s k i n n e d m oose, g o t i t p a r t way home, g o t home a t 5 - 3 0 , had s u p p e r
here.
I baked bread and sawed some wood.
S u n sh in e a l l day, c l o t h e s
g o t dry o u td oors.
D ecem ber 8 - S u n s h in e s, b r i g h t .
Cold a l l n i g h t . B & J sta y e d a l l
n ig h t.
B & J & B w ent a f t e r meat now. Got back a t 1 o ' c l o c k . J
s t a y e d t o d in n e r . Baker went home a f t e r d i n n e r .
Ben made D a p a i r
o f m i t t e n s , c u t wood.
Decem ber 9 - Cold as n e e d be t o d a y .
I ir o n e d and w r o te to H o o k e r s ,
E r i c and Ben wrote t o o , a l s o t o E a t o n s .
Ben and k id s walked a c r o s s
c r e e k on i c e .
J a sp er came up b u t t o o c o l d to go a f t e r meat.
Ben
g o i n g a f t e r m a il t o d a y .
I sewed on n ig h tg o w n s and Ben g o t no m a i l .
W ent s l i d i n g a f t e r h e came back w i t h k i d s .
D ecem ber
h e ife r s,
D ecem ber
h e r e for

1 0 - Cold y e t . C lark g o t h o u s e . Ben
w ent h u n t in g ,
g o t two
g o t home a t d a r k .
I sewed and p a t c h e d .
1 1 - Ben and J a s p e r s k in n e d m eat.
I cooked h e a r t . J . was
su p p e r .

D ecem ber 1 2 - Cold y e t :
Ben and J a s p e r g o t meat o u t , g o t home a t 8
o 'c lo c k .
Got sack o f su g a r , i c a s e o f m i lk , a l s o jam. J . s t a y e d
a l l n ig h t.
I wrote t o A gnes.
D ecem b er 1 3 - Cold y e t .
a ls o g r o c e r ie s.

Ben and J a s p e r w e n t up t o s t o r e , g o t k i t t e n ,
120

Opcpmbmr 1^- C old y e t .
Bpn wont a f t e r h i s e n e i n e .
Ben worked on h i s en g in e i n e v e n i n g .

I sewed a n d

patched.

D e c e m b e r 1*5- Cold y e t .
Bent went o v e r to G u i l f o r d , g o t mother's,
Cor as, C r i s s i e s and Lauras l e t t e r s and c a r d . Got Pa 4 l e t t e r s
as w e l l .
J a s o e r and German went a f t e r meat, s t a y e d h e r e a l l
nigh t.
I sewed some to d a y .

December 1 6 - Cold y e t .
here f o r dinner.

We washed some.

Pa came down and J. Was

December 1 7 - Warmer t o d a y .
Snowing a l i t t l e .
We washed and Ben
sawed some wood. I baked p i e s and bread i n the a f t e r n o o n .
December 1 8 - Warmer t o d a y .
Ben c l e a n e d u p s t a i r s i n the f o r e n o o n .
A f t e r n o o n he went t o Narboo b r o t h e r s p l a c e .
I wrote mother a n d
s e n t p a c k a g e too.
December 1 9 - Snowing some.
baked a c a k e .

Pa f i x e d l a d d e r .

I c le a n e d house

and

December 2 0 - Warmer t o d a y .

We washed.

December 2 1 - Snowing t o d a y .
t o C u l l e n , E lin o r , S t e l l a .

I gave k i d d i e s a bath and Pa w r o t e

Pa lo o k e d a t t r a p s .

December 2 2 , 191^- I c le a n e d house and hung c u r t a i n s , washed
windows and scrubbedd. Pa w ent to m eet Ben and i t snowed h a r d a l l
day.
T hey g o t home a t d a r k .
December 2 3 - Snow d e ep . Ben and Pa w ent o v e r t o s t a t i o n a f t e r
t h i n g s and Narboo B ro s, came back w ith them . Snow ab ou t 3' d e e p .
December 2 ^ - Ben and Me Narboo w ent o v e r t o s t a t i o n , g o t r e s t o f
g o o d s and B e r th a 's c a r d s . I baked b r e a d ,
p i e s and c a k e s .
/ December 2 5 - Had a t r e e . C h ristm as Day.
We had a f i n e d i n n e r ,
s p e n t t h e day e a t i n g , s l e e p i n g and r e a d i n g .
V ery warm.
December 2 6 - Narboo went hom e.
December 2 7 - Sunday a g a i n .
n u t s and a t e a p p le s .

Ben and Pa worked on snow s h o e s .

S ta y e d around home a l l d a y, c r a c k e d
Î

December 2 8 - Cloudy t o d a y .
Ben worked on snow s h o e s .
som e.
German came a f t e r sta m p s . A d u l l d a y .

Pa w a sh ed

December 2 9 - Dull day. Ben and Pa f i n i s h e d snow s h o e s and Ben
sawed w ood . I ston ed r a i s i n s .
December 3 0 - S t i l l
I sew ed on A l i c e ' s

d u l l . Ben and Pa w ent h u n t i n g , g o t no game.
d r e s s . Snowed a l i t t l e .

December 3 1 - S t i l l d u l l . Ben and w ashed. Sun sh one a l i t t l e .
Cold i n n i g h t . Made t h r e e p i e s .
121

191^'
J a n u a r y 1- Cloudy but n i c e .
Mew Years Day. Ben sawed wood and I
made steam pudding and r o a s t h e a r t .
Cracked nu ts and a t e them
and baked br e a d.
J a n u a r y 2 - Cloudy, snowed a l i t t l e l a s t n i e h t . Ben sawed wood.
Pa lo o k e d a t t r a p s .
I p a tch ed s t o c k i n g s and o th e r t h i n g s .
J a n u a r y 3- Sunday- Ben went a f t e r m a i l , g o t Evas, m o t h e r s , Ednas
and J e n n i e s l e t t e r s , a l s o package.
Gave c h i l d r e n a bath S a t u r d a y
n igh t.
Snowed Sunday e v e n i n g .
J a n u a r y 4 - Colder to d a y .
Ben and Pa went down to Penny with mead:.
Got f l o u r I jam and macaVoni.
I darned s t o c k i n g s .
Mary was s i c k a t
h e r stom ach a t n i g h t .
J a n u a r y 4- C older to d a y .
Ben went h u n t in g . Pa looked a t t r a p s .
Baked c h e r r y and apple p i e , a l s o b i s c u i t s fo r d in n e r and meat.
Ben g o t back a t 3 o ' c l o c k .
Got no game.
J a n u a r y 6 - E v e r y th in g warmer to d a y .
and P a w en t h u n t in g , g o t no game.

I washed and baked bread. B e n

J a n u a r y 7 - Warmer to d a y .
Ben went to lo o k f o r moose, saw c a r ib o o
track s.
Pa look ed a t t r a c k s . I made bread and c a k e s .

1/

J a n u a r y 8 - Warmer and c lo u d y .
Ben and Pa s t a r t e d a f t e r c a rib o o
a t 7 o 'c lo c k .
Morgan came a t 5 o ' c l o c k .
Ben and Pa g o t back a t 6 ,
g o t 4 c a rib o o .
Morgan s t a y e d a l l n i g h t .
Snowed hard n e a r l y a l l day.
J a n u a r y 9 - Sunshine n e a r l y a l l day. A f t e r d in n e r Ben and Morgan
w e n t o v e r t o G u i l f o r d . P a tc h e d D a v id 's p a n t s .
J a n u a r y 1 0 - Cloudy and sn o w in g some.
fix e d h id e .
I made pumpkin p i e s .

Morgan went up to Bend.

Ben

J a n u a r y 1 1 - Ben went up t o Bend and Pa and J a sp e r went a f t e r c a r i b o o .
Ben came home w ith them a t 7 o ' c l o c k .
Snowed t o o .
J a n u a r y 1 2 - S u n sh in e .
P a lo o k e d a t t r a p s .

I t o o k k id s down th e c r e e k .

J a n u a r y 1 3 - Cold in m orn in g.
Ben s t a r t e d down
on i c e , came b a ck , made s l e d . I p a tc h e d .

Ben sawed w o o d .

to P en ney,

but w a t e r

J a n u a r y 1 4 - Cold in th e m orn ing but snowed b e f o r e n i g h t . Ben w ent
down t o Penny g o t f l o u r , so d a and g a s o l i n e . D a v id 's b i r t h d a y ,
made
i c e cream and c a k e . P a tc h e d
some t o o .
J a n u a r y I S - S e n t m others l e t t e r . Warmer. Ben sawed wood and I
b a k ed b r e a d and iro n ed som e. Wrote t o Fred.
C,'

J a n u a r y 1 6 - Warm to d a y .

Ben sawed wood.

I p a tc h e d and sewed s o m e .

J a n u a r y 1 7 - Sunday. Ben to o k meat t o Penny.
E t h e l ' s l e t t e r s , took Mary f o r a r i d e .

Got m o th e rs, Agnes and
122

J a n u a r y 1^-Snowine a l l n i r h t a l i t t l e and a l l day.
b r e a d and p i e s and n o o d l e s .
Ben worked on h i d e .

J a n u a r y 19- Snowed bad.
Morgan. We washed t o o .

German was here f o r d i n n e r , a l s o

J a n u a r y 2 0 - Warm and thav/ing some.
tree .
J a n u a r y 2 1 - Cold a l l day.
and Hookers l e t t e r s .

I baked

Ben burnt some wood around

Ben went down to Penney, g o t S t e l l a ' s

J a n u a r y 2 2 - Warmer a l i t t l e .
n igh t.
I i r o n e d some.

Ben went up to b e n d , s t a y e d a l l

J a n u a r y 2 3 - Ben g o t home b e f o r e su p p er, warmer to d a y .
I
scru b b ed a n d baked b r e a d . Cooked c a r ib o o ton gu e. Ben g o t 3 cans
o f m ilk and $ 1 0 . 0 0 . Wrote t o Mary M o f f a t t .
J a n u a r y 2^ - Sunday a g a in . Ben s t a r t e d down to Penney but met
Me Narboo and came back home. Me s t a y e d a l l n i g h t . Warn in
f o r e n o o n and snowed a l i t t l e , c o ld a t n i g h t .
J a n u a r y 2 6 - Me s t a r t e d home.
Ben went down to Penney. Got
100 o f fio u r and 2 s m a ll c a n s m ilk , c o co a n u t and fo u r c o f f e e .
T ra d ed M acaroni to C lark. Warmer. I sawed wood.
J a n u a r y 2 6 - Sun s h i n e s . Ben to o k meat t o Bend. Clark c u t wood.

I made 12 b u tto n h o le s .
J a n u a r y 2 7 - Cold n i g h t . Ben s t a y e d a l l n i g h t g o t home a t 7
o ' c l o c k . G ot 6 l i t t l e cans o f m ilk , d r ie d a p p le s and I made
some pumpkin p i e s , 2 b lu e b e r r y p i e s and c a k e. Sun h o t , c o ld a t
n ig h t.
J a n u a r y 2 8 - Ben went h u n t in g , g o t no game.
sto c k in g s.
Sun h o t , c o ld a t n i g h t .

January 29- Sunday. Sun h o t.
German Im beri was h e r e .

I sewed and p atch ed

Ben and I washed.

Ben cu t wood.

J a n u a r y 3 0 - Sun h o t .
Ben w en t a f t e r b e a r t r a p s , g o t n o n e. Got
coal o il.
I r o n e d , made c a k e . Cold n i g h t .

January 31- Ben went down to Penney, g o t Tom's l e t t e r , none from
hom e.
February 1 - Warm and thawing.
I baked b read , p ie s and cake.

Ben went hunting, g o t one moose.

F e b r u a r y 2 - Awful warm and th a w in g .
m eat.
I w r o t e t o Edna.

Ben sawed wood and went a f t e r

February 3 - Cloudy and warm. Ben and I took ch ild ren and went
a f t e r m eat. Ben sawed wood and burnt down t r e e s .
F ebruary 4 - Ben w ent down t o s t a t i o n b e lo w P enney, g o t f r u i t and
g r o c e r ie s.

A l o v e l y day t o o .

I cooked r a b b i t s f o r su p p er.
123

^

F e b r u a r y S- Ben s . //ed wood up c r e e k .
February
A n i c e day t o o .
and s t a y e d he re a l l n i e h t -

A n i c e day-

Pon sav/ed wood - lerman went a f t e r m e a t
I baked bread and c a k e .

F e b r u a r y 7Sunday- Awful warm and thawine a l o t .
m a i l b u t g o t o n l y fur l i s t F e b r u a r y B- Cloudy today- We washed in f o r e n o o n ,
sawed down b i g t r e e F e b r u a r y 9t r e e lim bs-

A l i c e ' s birthdayMade puddingCloudy and snowed in e v e n in g .

F e b r u a r y 10- Snowed i n n i g h t .
I b ak ed bread and cake F e b r u a r y 11- A n ic e day.
on m o u n ta in s .

Ben went a f t e r
i n a f t e r n o o n Ben

Bensawed

wood and burned

Ben sawed wood and burnt brush a l l

day -

Ben sawed wood and f e l l e d t r e e s . Pa w e n t up

F e b r u a r y 12- Snowed a l l day.
I p a t c h e d som e.

Ben f i x e d w a ter c a n . H is ’’a g o t b a c k .

F e b r u a r y 13- Sun s h i n e s .
B e n 's b ir t h d a y . He w ent down t o L in t h r o p ,
s t a y e d l a s t n i g h t . I baked bread and p a tc h e d . Gus g o t game.
F e b r u a r y l 4 - Midday Sunday. Ben and McNarboo g o t home . Got m o th e r s
and C r i s s i e s l e t t e r , a l s o m o c c a s s in s . Me s t a y e d a l l n i g h t . Ben grot
50 f l o u r , 6 to m a to e s, 2 b u t t e r .
F e b r u a r y 1.5- Sykes went w ith Me home. Ben f i x e d s l i d e .
c h ild r e n .
N ice day.

I s l i d w ith

F e b r u a r y 16- Ben and I f e l l e d t r e e s and he burned stumps and t r e e .
Snowed a t n i g h t .
Nice day t i l l h o ' c l o c k .
F e b r u a r y 17- Snowed in n i g h t and t r e e f e l l .
N a r b o o s . Ben b u rn t b r u s h . N ice day.

B e n 's Pa g o t back from

F e b r u a r y 18- Sun s h i n e s h o t .
We washed i n fo r e n o o n and a f t e r n o o n
Ben b u r n t stumps and c u t wood.
F e b r u a r y 19- S u n sh in e s h o t .
Ben and h i s Pa f e l l t r e e s and burnt
b r u s h . I baked h p i e s and cake and bread.
F e b r u a r y 2 0- Sun s h i n e s h o t .
Ben and Pa burned b r u s h . Ben f i x e d
C h a r l e s saw.
I ir o n e d and p a t c h e d . I wrote B e r t h a . Pa wrote t o
Bascom e and Elmer.
F e b r u a r y 21- Sun s h i n e s h o t .
Ben went down to Penney, g o t C o r a ' s ,
and Mary M. l e t t e r s a l s o E a to n s g o o d s. B e s s i e s sh o e s s i z e 1, D avid
IO7 , A l i c e S i , Mary's 4^.
Got a l e t t e r from J a s p e r and Tom. We
w e n t down as f a r as C la r k s p l a c e on the c r e e k .
F e b r u a r y 2 2- Sun s h i n e s . Ben went h u n tin g , g o t no game. Ben g o t
b a c k a t 2 o ' c l o c k , c l e a r e d land by bu rn in g stum ps and limbs..
F e b r u a r y 23- Ben and Pa c l e a r e d la n d .

A n ic e b r i g h t day.
124

F e b r u a r y 24- P e c s i e ' s b ir th fln y .
Ron nnd Fa burnt treer. ana Ron wn r. t
o v e r t o G u i l f o r d , e:ot no g r o c e r i e s .
I baked bread and B e s s i e made
some l i t t l e cakes f o r her p a r t y .
Nice day.
F e b r u a r y 25-Ben and Pa went up the mountains. Sun s h i n e a l l day,
at night a l i t t l e Ben worked on stumps and c u t wood.
F e b r u a r y 2 6 - Su ns hine s a t 11 o ' c l o c k , but f o g r y in the morning.
washed in forenoon, g o t a l l d r y . Made pumpkin p i e s .
Ben s e t new
and t h e Germans came in a f t e r n o o n f o r meat.

rained

fires

F e b r u a r y 27- Foggy in morning.
Ben and k i d s went up to s e t t r a p s I
g o t b l a n k e t s on the l i n e .
I sc ru bb ed . Sen went to G u i l f o r d . Got m o t h e r s
l e t t e r d a te d January 16.
F e b r u a r y 2 6- Ben went down to L i n t r o f and Penney. Got Ednas and M r s .
M i d d y ' s l e t t e r s , g o t g r o c e r i e s and Ben's f a t h e r g o t b a c k.
Nice d s y .
March 1 .
Midday, n i c e .
Ben c l e a r e d land and a f t e r sawed wood.
M a r y 's p i c t u r e in th e e v e n in g .
Burnt h i s hand.

Took

March 2 - N ice day, b u t snowed a l i t t l e , we wpshed and Ben sawed w o od .
I made c a k e .
March 3 - N ice day. C lo th e s g o t dry and Ben and k i d s w ent t o G u i l f o r d .
I b a k ed b r e a d , cake and p ru n es.
March 4 - Rained a l l day and n i g h t .
and A l i c e .
March 5 - S u n sh in es b r i g h t .
p i c t u r e s by s u n lig h t.

I made two p a i r o f p a n t s f o r E e s s

Mr. M elsin was h e r e f o r d i n n e r .

Ben f i x e d

March 6 - Rained some. B e n 's Pa g o t back 4 o ' c l o c k .
I made ap p le p i e s .
W rote t o Mary M o f f a t t , C r i s s i e , J e n n i e , Hooker P h o to s t o o .
March 7 - Narboo came o v e r w ith Ben from Penney, g o t C o r a 's l e t t e r w ith
m a rr ia g e.
Nice day.
March 8 - Sun shone from 7 o ' c l o c k .
A l l day b r i g h t . Thawing f a s t .
w e n t t o G u i l f o r d . Pa went to l a k e .
C oyotes around.

Ben

March 9 - S u n s h in e s. Ben went h u n t i n g , brough t back m oose. Got s l i d e ,
g o t skunk a l l over him . Ben c le a n e d yard, had s o r e hand y e t .
March 1 0 - N ice day.
G ot home 3 . 1 0 .

Ben and Pa w ent h u n t in g . Ben g o t a l i t t l e

March 1 1 - S u n sh in es a l i t t l e .
sle d .
Took p i c t u r e s .

V>

m oose.

Ben and h i s Pa went up a f t e r moose on

March 1 2 - Washed.
e v e n in g .

Ben went up t o Melaas w ith m eat. N ic e d a y , r a in e d i n

March 1 3 - N ice day.

I scru bb ed and Melaas was h e r e . Ben sawed wood.

March 1 4 - Ben went t o B r in g m a i l , g o t m others l e t t e r .
E th e l.
Got SS p a p er s t o o .
I t r a in e d hard a l l n i g h t .

I s e n t one t o
125

' '

March
R aining hard a l l day.
up a t n i F h t .

Pen I'ixcd r n ^ i n e .

T ir o r r d . U i c a r o d

March l 6 - Froze hard in nie-ht.
p:ot f l o u r - Got boat brought i t
m ountains.

Ben, kid s and I went over to Germans
to C la r k s p l a c e . Bens Pa went on

March 17- Cloudy, but warm wind.
Ben sawed wood and cle an e d h e a d .
I baked bread and cake and darned s t o c k i n g s .
March 18- Awful warm, sun s h i n e s a l l day. We washed and Ben w e n t
o v e r t o meet t r a i n , t r a i n d i d n ' t come. Ben g o t back 6 .3 0, a l s o h i s
Pa
too.
C l o t h e s a l l dry.
March 19- Ben f i x e d h i d e s to go to T.G. I i r o n e d . Many s i c k y e s t e r d a y
and t o d a y .
March 2 0 - Sun s h i n e s h o t . Ben went t o T.G. I baked bread and c a k e .
Mary b e t t e r to d a y . Warm and th a w in g .
March 2 1 - Sunday a g a in . Sun h o t . Creek openin g up f a s t . Took Mary
f o r a r id e .
March 2 2 - Warm sun. Our wedding d a y , been m arried 10 y e a r s t o d a y .
B en n o t home y e t . Got b i g b la c k f i s h e s .
Mr. M elaas was here f o r
d i n n e r , he b ro u g h t p i c k l e s o v e r and g o t meat r e c e i p t .
^ .

March 2 3 - S u n sh in e s warm, and wind warm to o .
c l o t h e s dry and s p r i n k l e d , r e a d y to ir o n .

I washed and g o t t h e

March 2 4 - S u n s h in e s . I iro n ed i n fo r e n o o n , i n a f t e r n o o n made 12
b u t t o n h o l e s in b la c k p a n t s , a l s o washed B e s s i e , D a v ie , A l i c e s ' and
my h a i r .
Ben n o t home y e t .
March 2 5- S u n sh in e s h o t . P a tch ed som e. Ben g o t home a t 4 o ' c l o c k .
March 2 6 - S u n s h in e s h o t .
Ben and Pa went over to s t a t i o n , g o t no
g r o c e r i e s . McNarboo came b a c k . Me s t a y e d a l l d ay . We made ic e cream .
I s c r u b b e d . Ben sawed wood.
March 2 7 - McNarboo went home.
Ben & Pa went t o g e t g r o c e r i e s , g o t
th em home i n b o a t . A l o v e l y
d a y, su n s h i n e s .
March 2 8 -

Sunday. I had to

bake b r e a d and c a k e . A l o v e l y day t o o .

March 2 9 - A l o v e l y day. Ben w ent h u n t i n g , g o t a c a r ib o o and one f i s h .
H i s Pa w ent up on the m o u n ta in s. A f t e r Ben g o t back we b u i l t f i r e s
and c l e a r e d la n d . The Germans came and h e lp e d , s t a y e d to d in n er and
a l l a f t e r n o o n . Helped s p l i t wood t o o .
March 3 0 - A l o v e l y day. Ben w ent u p , g o t c a b le ands to n e and windows
up b y th e l a n d in g . A f t e r d in n e r
C la rk and Ben w ent a f t e r meat. I
b a k e d b read and p i e s .
\ '

March 3 1 - A r a in y and s u n s h in y d a y. Wewashed . Germanbrought l e t t e r s
B en f i x e d h i s p a i l f o r him, th e n t h e y s p l i t wood.
A p r i l 1 - Rained a l l n i g h t and r a in e d a t tim es a l l d ay. We saw a b i g
f l o c k o f g e e s e a t noon, fle w o v e r g a r d e n . Ben made D avids p a n ts and
126

s t a r t e d pac k s a c k ,

kixen my r.noor. t o o .

Ap ril 2 Rained a l l day and n i r h t . Ben sewed on pack sack and
f'-\ Mary two p e r m i c o a t s and did p a t c h i n g t o o .

I made

A p r i l 3- S u n s h i n e s and sh owers . Ben h e lp e d to s t a r t i c e i n creek , i t
went a s a i l i n g down stream. He burned and c l e a r e d a l l day. I cut
h i s h a i r , a l s o baked bread and cake and meat and p e a c h e s .
A n ril 4 Sunday a g a i n . Sun and r a i n a l l day. Lay around a l l day.
Looked a t c r e e k and read s t o r i e s t o o .
A p r i l 5- A l o v e l y , hot day. Ben and I c l e a r e d land .
a t n oo n , h e l a y around a l l a f t e r n o o n . We worked on
went o u t t h e 2nd o f A p r i l .

Bens Pa g o t back
land , i c e in r i v e r

A p r i l 6 - A l o v e l y day. Ben c l e a r e d laud
a l l day. H is Pah e l p e d some
I washed i n f o r e n o o n . Madei c e cream a f t e r n o o n , s e t out p r e - p l a n t s .

too.

A p r il 7 - A l o v e l y day t i l l 5 o ' c l o c k , th en a b i g shower came. I b a k ed
bread and c a k e . Ben and h i s Pa c l e a r e d and burned.
I ir o n e d to o .
A p r il 8 - Ben w ent down g o t m others l e t t e r t e l l i n g o f P a p a 's d e a th .
n ic e d a y .
I p a tc h e d some.

A

A p r il 9 - A l o v e l y day. Ben and Pa c le a r e d la n d . Clark was h e r e . I p a tc h e d
som e.
A p r il 1 0 - A l o v e l y day.
C :a n d s a u c e .

I baked bread and Ben c le a r e d la n d . Made b e a n s

A p r il 1 1 - A b e a u t i f u l day. We s t a r t e d t o P enney, g o t m others l e t t e r .
S e n t h e r o n e t o o . Narboos came back w ith u s , a t e d in n e r on th e r i v e r bank.
A p r il 1 2 - A l o v e l y day. Ben w ent down a f t e r f e r t i l i z e r f o r g a rd en . I made
f i v e p i e s . Ben f i x e d h o t bed a f t e r he g o t home. Rained a l i t t l e .
A p r il 1 3 - Ben and h i s Pa w ent up c r e e k ,
A fte r n o o n we p u l l e d stumps, n i c e day.

g o t a l i v e c o y o te i n . t r a p .

A p r il 1 4 - A l o v e l y day. Ben burned stumps and we washed and c le a n e d th e
y a r d . McNarboo came to go t r a p p i n g . I made f i g cake f o r s u p p e r .
A p r il 1 5 - A m ost l o v e l y d a y. McNarboo h e lp e d p u l l stu m p s, p la n t e d d a l i h a s .
A p r il 1 6 - A l o v e l y day. Ben and h i s Pa went t o lo o k a t t r a p s . McNarboo to o k
pack up t o snow l i n e . Ben g o t duck, cooked i t f o r su p p er.

A pril 1 7 - N ice day. Ben went with Me and Pa up on m ountains, stayed a l l
nifA it. I baked bread.
A p r il 1 8 - S u n d a y . A l o v e l y d ay. Ben g o t home 11 o ' c l o c k . Looked a t t r a p s
a t c r e e k . Went f o r a b o a t r i d e g o t one w a te r r a b b i t .

.A p r il 1 9 - A lo v e ly day. Ben spaded ground- Caught 2 f is h on s e t l i n e . Shot
<von e g o o se f l y i n g over our house a t 5 o 'c lo c k in morning. Fixed h is en g in e.
I w ro te t o m o th e r ,
A p r i l 2 0 - R a in e d and snowed some. C loudy. Ben worked a t s p a d in g and
ca u g h t o n e t r o u t i n c r e e k . Wrote t o Eva and B e r th a . S t e l l a a card .
----------------------------------------- — — —

127

« p r i i <ii- A n i c e aay .
worked around h o u se .
^

l ooko<i

a t t r a p s , p r . one ro o a o r t o r .

i

A p r il 2 2 - We a l l went down to Penney, G u i l f o r d . Went up to Malas T o r
s u p o e r , g o t home 9 o ' c l o c k .
A n i c e day Got Krs. M id d y's l e t t e r and
papers.
A p r il 2 3 - John Narboo came o v e r.
I scru b b ed ard we washed in ô r e n o o n .
Ben lo o k e d a t t r a p s , g o t b i g w ater r a b b i t .
A p r il 2 4 - A n i c e day. Ben g o t one big- w a te r r a b b i t . John Narboo came
f o r su p p e r and s ta y e d a l l n i g h t .
I baked two c h o c o la t e c a k e s and 2
p i e s , r a i s i n and f i g .
A p r il 2 5- Sunday. A v e r y n ic e day. We w ent up r i v e r to Dome C reek. They
b u r ie d th e man t h a t drowned to d a y . We g o t p o t a t o e s , s e n t Eatons L e t t e r .
Got home a t 10 o ' c l o c k a t n i g h t , g o t su p p er and went to bed.
A p r i l 2 6 - Cloudy and r a i n i n g . Ben, B e s s and David went t o look a t t r a p s .
Saw a b e a r and Ben s h o t him . Got 10 l b s o f g r e a s e , g o t home f o r d i n n e r .
A ft e r n o o n Ben to o k t r a p s up in s l o u g h , b ro u g h t them home, g o t one b i g
and one s m a l l r a b b i t s . I f r i e d o u t f a t .
A p r i l 2 7 - Ben gone to s e t and lo o k a t t r a p s . 1 made 3 pumpkin p i e s ,
patched s to c k in g s to o .
Sun and c l o u d y . C lark g o t m eat.
A p r i l 2 8 - Ben spaded and p la n te d p e a s , o n io n s and r a d i s h e s and p a r s n i p s
our i n f r o n t . I washed u n d e r c l o t h e s and c o t t o n b l a n k e t . N ice day. Got
p o t a t o e s up t o o .
A p r i l 2 9 - R a in in g . Ben w e n t up c r e e k ,
4 m ince p i e s , gave Clark one o f them.

g o t 2 sm a ll w a te r r a b b i t s . I made

A p r i l 3 0 - R a i n i n g . I w ashed. Ben f i x e d la n d f o r p o t a t o e s .
May 1 - A l o v e l y d ay . I hung up c l o t h e s and scrubbed made fo u r p i e s , mince
and p e a c h .
Joe v/as h e r e f o r d in n e r and supper and b r e a k f a s t . Ben good
w a te r r a b b i t s ( 4 ) , cooked meat. I baked bread and b e a n s and ir o n e d t o o .
May 2 - Sunday a g a i n . N ic e day. A l l s w e l l . We went t o P en n ey, s e n t F reds
l e t t e r , g o t no m a i l . Awful windy on w a t e r , g o t home a t 5 . 4 $, g o t s u p p e r .
Ma
May 3 - N ic e d a y . Mr. Reed brought J e n n i e s l e t t e r and s e e d s b e f o r e
b r e a k f a s t . Ben lo o k e d a t t r a p s , g o t 1 s m a l l w ater r a b b i t and one g r i z z l y
b e a r i n f o r e n o o n . McNarboo came a t n o o n , he sh o t a b i g b e a r and wanted
d o g . I baked 3 mince p i e s and f i g c a k e , cooked beans and p r u n e s , cooked
b ir d .
May 4 - N ic e d a y . Ben and Me went a f t e r b e a r . Clark p l a n t e d p o t a t o e s and
sawed wood. I p l a n t e d t u r n i p s and c a r r o t s .
May 5- N ic e d a y . Clark c u t wood. I mended c l o t h e s . Ben g o t home.
May 6 - H ot d a y . Ben worked a t g a r d e n . We washed. Got 1 w a t e r r a b b i t .
May 7 - Ben w ent up to Bend, g o t home 8 . 1 $ . I wrote to m other and th e
Aluminum Company,
May 8 - N ic e d a y . I sc r u b b e d , made p i e s ,. Ben g o t b i g b l a c k b e a r in t r a p .
128

.P e t e r s o n came home w ith u o . n o t H orn 's l e t t e r .
May 10- R a in in g a l i t t l e . Ben n e t o u t l e t t u c e and cabbage and b e e t s
P e t e r s o n c u t wood and c l e a m d l a n d .
May 1 1 - N ice d a y, a l i t t l e r a i n . Me and Pa came down. Ben lo o k e d a t
trap s.

129

Appendix D Letters from Headwaters Ranch

s .c
yoc. 2 & 0 .

jW

y

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2 àX o J ,

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0

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130

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w o i^ n c ^

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j LaJ c *

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%(LO O a ^ a Ô>

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& /& Z K _

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131

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