Provincal Flower The Wild Alberta Rose

Book Of Poems

In Loving Memory Of The Pioneers

"This Page is Dedicated to all of those who came before us in search of a better life. Who overcame many trials and tribulations to build us a future! "
This is a product of various family members who had a first hand look at the past. I, take No credit for these writings. Poetry books have been published by my cousins Marjory (Pedersen) Huntley and Marion (Pedersen) St John . If you would like the copies please contact the following link. My Hometown Gull Lake, Saskatchewan Thankyou.

See where the first known Wannemacher family first lived Darmstadt Germany History. The village that many of my second cousins "Kosny" still live today is Katowice Poland History.

To The Pioneers

A chapter of history has been written
Each time a pioneer passes on
And their story is almost completed
For those oldtimers will soon be gone.
No longer we'll hear from their own lips
Of the many adventures they had
Of the hardships and trials they endured
In poor times, and when the weather was bad.
Now they came to the west in a wagon
Drawn by oxen, through wind, rain and sun
With only their folks few possessions
To find a home in Saskatchewan.
Many days over trails they did travel
Through the long prairie grass, their way made
Suffering sickness and many misfortunes
And the fear of an Indian raid.
When they finally located a homestead
A small shack was built on the land
The early pioneers made sod houses
Where no wood could be found at hand.
You may hear about all of their hardships
But they'll tell you some 'fun' stories too
Of the school dances, socials and picnics
And their own community do's.
The men helped their neighbors at threshing
Or a barn raising bee, often held
Traded what they'd not need to another
Or help dig a new neighbor's well.
The women assisted each other
Whenever a new child arrived
Did chores while her husband was working
At odd jobs, to help them survive.
But not all of course were just farmers
For they came here from all walks of life
Some to live in a village or hamlet
They experienced their full share of strife.
Now to those pioneers yet remaining
Our respect, admiration we give
May your courage, your strength and your spirit
In generations to come ever live.
written by Marion Pedersen St.John
*my cousin*

The Homesteader

The homesteader
Lived in a small one room shack
Until he could build something better
And sometimes a shack only made out of sod
Was the home of the earliest settler.
The homesteader
Walked behind oxen and plow
To break up the land he first seeded
He only had but a meager supply
Of all the equipment he needed.
The homesteader
Had to be strong to survive
For his work was one of hard labor
He depended alot on the mate at his side
As well as his friends and his neighbors.
The homesteader
Suffered trials and defeat
You couldn't find men any braver
Through all kinds of weather he kept plodding on
Though sometimes his spirit did waver.
The homesteader
Much like the farmers today
Was forced to take many chances
And hardships encountered were hardest of all
When his land drifted over his fences.
The homesteader
Had the will to stay on.
When depressions his dreams nearly finished
A lot of his friends gave up and moved on
Before all they had diminish.
The homesteader
Strove to follow those dreams
Of someday being a rich farmer
And tho there were many who did not succeed
There were those who, in time did prosper.
written by Marion Pedersen St.John
*my cousin*

Lamp In The Window

She was a mother in the thirties,
Her boy left home like all the rest,
Left the cities for the prairies,
To make his living way out west.
She left a lamp lit in the window,
To shine it's beacon soft and warm,
In case a stranger might be wandering,
Cold and hungry, far from home.

He was a hobo from the prairies,
His home and family he did leave,
And road the rails to seek his fortune,
To make a better Christmas Eve.
She heard a voice out in the darkness,
Calling for a helping hand,
And the stranger on the door step,
Had travelled far from prarie lands.

The young man said " I saw the lamp-light,
It's been a long, cold weary day,
Please let me stay this Christmas Evening.
Then I'll be going on my way.
I sent a letter to my mother,
To say I'm sorry I can't come,
And hope your boy is welcomed,
Safe and warm in someone's home".

The weeks went by - another letter,
Came in the eastern mother's mail,
"God bless you for your kindness,
My boy is home, happy and well,
I left a lamp lit in the window,
To shine in the dark and light the way,
I was so glad Your son was guided,
To be with us on Christmas Day".

They say God lights the way for wanderers,
Though many roads are rough I'm told,
When we reach Home it shines eternal,
And all the paths are paved in gold.
written by Marjory Pedersen Huntley
*my cousin*

" The Old Rocking Chair"

There are many things from childhood
That one's memory brings to mind,
Like a photo on the mantle
Or some old toy left behind;
Like our favorite secret hide outs
Where the little pathways wind,
Among the trees on the home-place
Where we shared dreams of every kind.

In the kitchen was a rocker,
It was plain and made of wood;
Just outside Mother's bedroom
Was the place it always stood,
'Til it wore out the linoleum
And my father said it should
Be moved to a new place,
But it seemed we never could.

For right there it was so handy
When baby's bed-time come
To sit and rock and cuddle,
And a lullaby to hum;
And my brother found it restful
With guitar to sit and strum
In the quiet evening
After all the chores were done.

It kept father rather busy,
Making rockers pair on pair;
I think perhaps I could retire,
Even be a millionaire,
If I had but just a nickle
Everytime some one sat there;
Oh, the miles it must have travelled,
That old wooden rocking chair!
written by Marjory Pedersen Huntley
*my cousin*

"Pretty Things"

A butterfly, a summer sky
The scarlet on a blackbird's wing;
The sunset glow, the crisp white snow;
All these we know as pretty things.

Bright autumn leaves and golden sheaves
The rainbow arc a shower brings;
Green, rolling hills where sunlight spills,
And my heart thrills to all these things.

Dense mountain sides and valleys wide
Rivers and lakes and deep blue sea;
A water fall and pine trees tall,
We're awed at all His myteries.

A rose in bloom, it's sweet perfume
A garden fair where robins stay;
Dew-drops at morn, each leaf adorn,
And once more is born a brand new day.

A silver stream, sparkling moonbeams
The wonderous birth of each new spring;
A twinkling star, shining afar,
These truly are God's pretty things.

written by Marjory Pedersen Huntley
*my cousin*

What Does A Man Plant, Who Plants A Tree?

He plants the friend of earth and sky
He plants the flag of breezes free
The shaft of beauty havering high
He plants a home of heaven nigh
For song of mother - coon of birds
In hushed and happy twilight heard
The treble of heavens harmony
These things he plants who plants a tree.
written by Rosie Suchla Klink
*my great aunt*

The Pioneer Women

Grandma, on her start of day
Milked the cows and fed them hay
Slopped the pigs, saddled the mule
And got the children off to school.
Did the washing, mopped the floors
Shined the windows and did some chores
Cooked a dish of home dried fruit
Pressed her husband's Sunday suit.
Swept the parlour and made some beds
Baked a dozen loaves of bread
Split some firewood and lugged it in
Enough to fill the kitchen bin.
Cleaned the lamps and put in oil
Stewed some apples she thought would spoil
Cooked a supper that was delicious
And afterwards, washed all the dishes
Fed the animals and sprinkled some clothes
Mended a basket full of hose
Then opened the organ and began to play
'When you come to the end of a perfect day'

"Grandma's Apron"

When I used to visit Grandma. I was very much impressed,
by her all-purpose apron, and the power it possessed.
For Grandma, it was everyday to choose one when she dressed.
The strings were tied and freshly washed, and maybe even pressed.
The simple apron that it was, you would never think about;
the things she used it for, that made it look worn out.
She used it for a basket, when she gathered up the eggs,
and flapped it as a weapon, when hens pecked her feet and legs.
She used it to carry kindling when she stoked the kitchen fire.
And to hold a load of laundry, or to wipe the clothesline wire.
She used it for a hot pad, to remove a steaming pan,
and when her brow was heated, she used it for a fan.
It dried our childish tears, when we'd scrape a knee and cry,
and made a hiding place when the little ones were shy.
Farm produce took in season, in the summer, spring and fall,
found its way into the kitchen from Grandma's carry all.
When Grandma went to heaven, God said she now could rest.
I'm sure the apron she chose that day, was her Sunday best.
(author unknown)

The provincal flower of Saskatchewan The Western Red Lily
The Provincal flower of Ontario The White Trillium
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