This summer I traveled to Saskatchewan to visit the home towns of my maternal grandparents. They both grew up in small towns on the vast prairie, far removed from the mountains and forests of British Columbia that I have known all my life. The artefact I have chosen to represent my familial belonging is a brick from the house that my grandmother was born and raised in. The house was built in 1919, and was unusual for the time because of the brick materials. In those days brick was almost unheard of in Saskatchewan as it had to be shipped all the way from Ontario (the brick is stamped with "Redcliff Coal" from the Ontario town of Redcliff). The main thing I took away from the entire trip though came from the many stories of farming life. Farmers are bound by the patterns of the seasons, and they literally reap what they sow. The law of the farm does not allow for procrastination. There was also a lot of talk of farmers being gamblers. I never considered that if you choose a living as a farmer you are completely at the mercy of the elements. You could invest your entire savings in a crop, only to have it completely destroyed by a one hour hail storm. It was a life that took a lot of hard work, and courage to take chances year after year. I'm proud that I have farmers in my family history.
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