This Bush Is In Dangerous Proximity To Mr. Forrest's House.
The fire ran
through it in the spring, and many of the trees, which are still standing,
are blackened by its effects.
One night in April, after a prolonged
drought, just as the household were retiring to rest, Mr. Forrest looked
out of the window, and saw a light in the bush scarcely bigger or brighter
than a glow-worm. Presently it rushed up a tall pine, entwining its fiery
arms round the very highest branches. The fire burned on for a fortnight;
they knew it must burn till rain came, and Mr. Forrest and his man never
left it day or night, all their food being carried to the bush. One night,
during a breeze, it made a sudden rush towards the house. In a twinkling
they got out the oxen and plough, and, some of the neighbours coming to
their assistance, they ploughed up so much soil between the fire and the
stubble round the house, that it stopped; but not before Mr. Forrest's
straw hat was burnt, and the hair of the oxen singed. Mrs. Forrest
meanwhile, though trembling for her husband's safety, was occupied in
wetting blankets, and carrying them to the roof of the house, for the dry
shingles would have been ignited by a spark. On our return, it was
necessary to climb over some "snake" or zigzag fences about six feet high.
These are fences peculiar to new countries, and though very cheap,
requiring neither tools nor nails, have a peculiarly untidy appearance. It
is not thought wise to buy a farm which has not enough bush or growing
timber for both rails and firewood.
In clearing, of which I saw all the processes, the first is to cut down
the trees, in which difficult operation axes of British manufacture are
rendered useless after a few hours' work. The trees are cut about two feet
above the root, and often bring others down with them in their fall.
Sometimes these trees are split up at the time into rails or firewood;
sometimes dragged to the saw-mills to be made into lumber; but are often
piled into heaps and burnt - a necessary but prodigal waste of wood, to
which I never became reconciled. When the wood has been cleared off, wheat
is sown among the stumps, and then grass, which appears only to last about
four years. Fire is put on the tops of these unsightly stumps to burn them
down as much as possible, and when it is supposed, after two or three
years, that the roots have rotted in the ground, several oxen are attached
by a chain to each, and pull it out. Generally this is done by means of a
"logging bee." I must explain this term, as it refers neither to the
industrious insect nor the imperial bee of Napoleon. The very name reminds
me of early rising, healthy activity, merriment, and a well-spread board.
A "bee" is a necessity arising from the great scarcity of labour in the
New World. When a person wishes to thrash his corn, he gives notice to
eight or ten of his neighbours, and a day is appointed on which they are
to meet at his house. For two or three days before, grand culinary
preparations are made by the hostess, and on the preceding evening a table
is loaded with provisions. The morning comes, and eight or ten stalwart
Saxons make their appearance, and work hard till noon, while the lady of
the house is engaged in hotter work before the fire, in the preparation of
hot meat, puddings, and pies; for well she knows that the good humour of
her guests depends on the quantity and quality of her viands. They come in
to dinner, black (from the dust of a peculiar Canadian weed), hot, tired,
hungry, and thirsty. They eat as no other people eat, and set all our
notions of the separability of different viands at defiance. At the end of
the day they have a very substantial supper, with plenty of whisky, and,
if everything has been satisfactory, the convivial proceedings are
prolonged till past midnight. The giver of a "bee" is bound to attend the
"bees" of all his neighbours. A "thrashing bee" is considered a very "slow
affair" by the younger portion of the community. There are "quilting
bees," where the thick quilts, so necessary in Canada, are fabricated;
"apple bees," where this fruit is sliced and strung for the winter;
"shelling bees," where peas in bushels are shelled and barrelled; and
"logging bees," where the decayed stumps in the clearings are rooted up by
oxen. At the quilting, apple, and shelling bees there are numbers of the
fair sex, and games, dancing, and merrymaking are invariably kept up till
the morning.
In the winter, as in the eastern colonies, all outdoor employments are
stopped, and dancing and evening parties of different kinds are
continually given. The whole country is like one vast road, and the fine,
cold, aurora-lighted nights are cheery with the lively sound of the
sleigh-bells, as merry parties, enveloped in furs, drive briskly over the
crisp surface of the snow. The way of life at Mr. Forrest's was peculiarly
agreeable. The breakfast-hour was nominally seven, and afterwards Mr.
Forrest went out to his farm. The one Irish servant, who never seemed
happy with her shoes on, was capable of little else than boiling potatoes,
so all the preparations for dinner devolved upon Mrs. Forrest, who till
she came to Canada had never attempted anything in the culinary line. I
used to accompany her into the kitchen, and learned how to solve the
problem which puzzled an English king, viz. "How apples get into a
dumpling." We dined at the mediaeval hour of twelve, and everything was of
home raising. Fresh meat is a rarity; but a calf had been killed, and
furnished dinners for seven days, and the most marvellous thing was, that
each day it was dressed in a different manner, Mrs. Forrest's skill in
this respect rivalling that of Alexis Soyer.
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