blueberries and mink - Jane Spavold Tims - Bog

When August arrives, I always remember the summers of my childhood when I visited my grandfather's farm in Nova Scotia. It was a place of rambles, exploration and discovery. I looked forward to returning there each year, to reconnect with the farm and my extended family, especially my cousins. I was a city kid and loved the country life, picking berries, tramping hay and playing in the hay mow.My grandfather's farm was part of a small community including my aunts and uncles, and, of course, the cousins. These were families who depended on the forests, fields and lakes for their livelihood. Food was mostly local, grown on the farm or gathered from the fields and woods.The farm was like a community itself, a miniature village of buildings-the main house, the big barn and various out-buildings, each with its own purpose and its own sights, sounds, smells, tastes and stories.These poems and drawings explore those buildings, summer life on the farm and the gradual changes to farm life over the years.