I was born on our family farm in southern Manitoba in the mid 1920's. At the first indication of my impending arrival, my father made a phone call to our family physician in Carman, nearly 20 miles distant. A registered nurse had been engaged prior to the expected birth date. She was to live with our family for a week or ten days, providing care for our mother and her baby.

Our doctor was Dr. Cunningham and our nurse-supervisor was Nurse Gordon. My memories of these two people are from the perspective of a three- or four-year-old. They were still characters in the same roles when my two younger sisters were born. Dr. Cunningham I remember as a gentle and kindly man whom I'd trust as I would my father. Nurse Gordon seemed to me to be kind and firm. She was very efficient and direct. There was no doubt who was in charge when she was present.

Springtime always brought the birth of lambs in March which meant many sleepless nights for my father. Later, there would be the arrival of at least one new colt and always there were many new calves. One of the most "funtastic" experiences for us children was the arrival of a big case of baby chicks from the local hatchery. We thought our neighbor friends fortunate because they owned their own incubator. We were always invited to "walk over" to see their new chicks - ovely balls of fluff!

Spring and birth seem so real and wonderful from that perspective. One spring my brother was born in May. He was the youngest child after four girls. That spring we felt especially blessed! On reflection I realize that our birthdays occurred in April, May, June and early July. No wonder springtime is a favorite time for our family.

A tragic accident happened on our farm long before I was born. It cast a shadow over the lives of my father and grandfather and the farm itself for many years. My grandmother had taken a lunch to the men in the field who were cutting grain with a horse-drawn binder. The horses were "spooked" by something and they trampled Grandmother and Grandfather.

By the time my Dad, then only 15 years old, was able to stop the horses, the machine had run over his parents. Somehow, he was able to lift the machine far enough to free his father. Together they freed Grandmother and carried her to the farmhouse. She died later that day. My father and grandfather carried the scar from that incident for the rest of their lives. I was named Edith Mae for Grandmother

. That farm will always be home for me. Although as the wife of a member of the RCAF I have made my home in many places in Canada and abroad, it is on that farm that I was close to the experience of life's wondrous cycle: birth, life, death, birth.... All that life is about!