Histories, Mysteries, and Victories

Barbara Dickson

Writing about Everyday Heroes and Extraordinary Lives

Volume I Issue III Fall 2009

© Debra Tate-Sears 2006

Warmest Greetings!

The leaves in Toronto have mostly fallen, the air is crisp, and the first Christmas flyers have arrived in my community newspaper—three sure signs we’re well into autumn, with tinges of hope that a joyous Advent season is just around the corner.

Let me start by sending my heartiest congratulations to Mike Morin for winning my e-newsletter contest. Mike’s prize is a mug commemorating the Irish Memorial situated at Grosse Ile, Quebec. My husband and I took a day trip via ferry to the long abandoned quarantine station during our holiday in August, and I don’t believe there is a more fitting gift to bring back to my readers, given Grosse Ile’s tragic legacy, and the fact that my favourite English immigrant, David Cragg landed there on June 1, 1833.

The Irish Monument stands strong and true, honouring the over 5,000 Irish immigrants who died from Typhus the summer of 1847 onboard ships bound for freedom. That summer, Grosse Ile (Quarantine Island) groaned under the press of human misery. The Irish came by the tens of thousands, homeless, penniless, and starving due to the potato famine in their homeland. Canada was their last chance at life. The memorial reminds us that while they may have stepped upon our shores, they died before they were able to live.

I bought a book, “The Voyage of the Naparima” by James J. Mangan, based on a diary written by an Irish immigrant, Gerald Keegan, who came to Canada with his young bride that summer. His tale is a terrible one, truly heart wrenching. Coming from Irish ancestry, I had no idea my distant family endured such horrific hardship to start lives in Canada. I’ve been proud of my heritage always, but after spending a day at Quarantine Island, and after reading this diary, I have a renewed and deepened respect for the Irish people.

There’s a lot of news and material in this e-newsletter. Grab your favourite beverage, snuggle down in your most cozy chair, put a log on the fire, and enjoy!

Until next time, I wish you a wonderful autumn and Christmas season, filled with candy cane wishes, mistletoe kisses, and savoury dishes...made with the love of treasured family and friends.

If you drop by my website, please let me know you’ve stopped by!

As always, feel free to forward this newsletter to anyone you feel might enjoy it.

Barbara

P.S. Mountains for Maddi continues to do well. If you’re thinking about your Christmas list, please consider ordering copies for your loved ones. Remember, half of the net proceeds go to the MS Society of Canada’s “endMS” campaign. Thanks to book sales, I have been able to donate $400.00 to research since May 2009. When you read the next story, you’ll understand the critical nature of each dollar raised, at this time in MS history.

Late Breaking News – The Liberation Treatment!

If you haven’t heard yet, let me the first to tell you that an Italian doctor may have discovered the CAUSE for MS! MS sites around the world are abuzz with the news – incredible news that with a surgical procedure MS may become a thing of the past.

It seems MS may not be an autoimmune disease as was thought (for eons, it feels.) It seems, from Dr. Zamboni’s research, that MS is caused by an overload of iron in the brain and spinal cord due to insufficient drainage of blood flow through constricted veins in the neck and back!

Affectionately christened “the Liberation Treatment” (what a great name!) it’s almost too much to comprehend – A CURE for MS may be just around the corner – it still boggles my mind. I don’t remember life without MS – I don’t remember how it feels to feel well. What an amazing discovery.

One of my contacts at MS Canada, Kim Steele, Senior Coordinator, Government Relations writes: “There has been tremendous interest and excitement about the chronic cerebrospinal venous insufficiency (CCSVI) and MS story that appeared on CTV’s W5 program this weekend. While Dr. Zamboni is the first to comment that these early results require additional study, you will no doubt be interested to know that the MS Society of Canada has announced it will launch a competition to fund operating grants related to CCSVI and MS.”

I suspect the line up to have the surgery will look like the line at the Eaton Centre to see Santa!

Christmas comes early to people living with MS around the globe!!

I shared a wonderful evening with the Brantford MS Society in October, and thoroughly enjoyed a morning of fellowship and speaking early in November at the Cornerstone Community Church in Mississauga. I also was given the tremendous opportunity to speak to a standing room only crowd at a local Scarborough Library to commemorate GECO’s contribution to the war effort on Remembrance Day.

As we move into the holiday season, our thoughts are turned toward family and friends and public speaking takes a back seat. But I look forward to the New Year and the opportunities to join with others and share.

"Reading in My Garden"

On Sunday, August 23rd, 2009, I was invited to a lovely garden party hosted by author Bruna Di Giuseppe-Bertoni. There were several authors and poets in attendance, and we each read from our work. Bruna, a dear friend of mine, opened up her home and garden, and served a lovely buffet replete with traditional Italian dishes. The rain threatened, but in the end, the sun broke through and we enjoyed an exquisite afternoon.

"Cornerstone Community Church"

I was afforded the wonderful opportunity to speak to the women’s group of the Cornerstone Community Church on Saturday, November 7th, 2009. It’s always a treat to meet new people and the women of Cornerstone Community Church were truly a pleasure. Several ladies in attendance were Spanish-speaking, and I had the honour to work with a Spanish translator, Carmen. She did a terrific job! There was a book signing after the event.

Scarborough Unveils Golden Mile Plaques

On Wednesday July 22nd, 2009, Heritage Toronto presented two plaques celebrating the history of Scarborough's industrial district the Golden Mile.

I attended, hoping GECO would be mentioned and honoured as well. After all, the Golden Mile was the natural commercial outgrowth to GECO, established years earlier. As I stood in front of Starbucks at 1900 Eglinton Avenue East – the site of the plaque ceremony – I could see immediately I wouldn’t be disappointed. Former GECO employees, adult children of GECO employees, and GECO enthusiasts were there. I had a great time meeting new people, as well as reconnecting with folk I’d had the pleasure of meeting on previous occasions.The stories of dedication and the pride shining on their faces reaffirmed what an incredibly important part GECO played in the history of Scarborough.

You can read more about the day on my website here.

I can’t help but wonder how Scarborough would look today if GECO hadn’t set up shop in Scarboro(ugh) so many decades ago. There may have been no Golden Mile. The popular line from the movie, “The Field of Dreams” comes to mind: “If you build it, they will come.”

If you build GECO, Scarborough will come.

Long live Scarboro!

Rogers Communications Inc. Honours GECO

I had the unique opportunity to help put together a Remembrance Day vignette for Rogers Communications Inc. honouring GECO. While both me and my dear friend Dorothy, a GECO employee, enjoyed the excitement associated with being filmed for TV, that wasn’t what made my heart soar. I was thrilled to be a part of remembering the incredible contribution over 6,000 women made to the Allied war effort at GECO, and knowing one of the largest electronic providers in Canada was providing the vehicle to inform and inspire fellow Canadians.

The spots ran on Rogers Cable TV from November 2nd to the 11th. The shoot also included a tour of the GECO tunnels. When it comes to tooling around the underbelly of Scarborough, I’m like a little kid on Christmas morning. I’ll add the vignette and tunnel shoot to my website when I receive my copies, courtesy of Rogers Cable.

New Webpage: GECO Post War Housing

After WWII ended, GECO closed and some of the buildings were converted into post-war housing. Residents who lived there from 1946 – 1951 contact me regularly to share their fond memories of living and going to school at GECO. I have created a new webpage Post GECO Residents and hope to add much to it over the weeks and months ahead, including newspaper articles, a graduation yearbook from the GECO school, and pictures of GECO children. I’ll have more to share next time. In the meantime, feel free to check the webpage regularly for updates.

Honouring GECO on Remembrance Day 2009

On November 11th, I spoke to a standing room only crowd at the Eglinton Square Library, Scarborough, Ontario. There must have been 80 – 100 people in attendance, all eager to learn about GECO and its incredible contribution to WWII. I had the pleasure of meeting many people as they introduced themselves after the one-hour presentation. I look forward to following up with the many new contacts, and I’m sure in time, many new friends, I made.

The Face of MS is on Facebook!

The MS Society of Canada has launched a presence on the Facebook social network in an attempt to reach and educate others about MS, as well as giving those who live with MS a place to share their stories.

I’ve been asked to contribute, and I look forward to sharing my own experiences with multiple sclerosis, as well as advocating for those who live with MS. You can catch all the latest and join the conversation at: www.facebook.com.

Oh! What a Night! Highlights of the June 24th GECO tour!

On Wednesday, June 24th, 2009, over 20 GECO enthusiasts gathered at the base of the Scarborough Water Tower at the corners of Warden Avenue and Civic Drive. There was an air of excitement as we donned hard hats and sturdy shoes/boots. Cameras and flashlights rounded out our funky ensembles. The casual passerby may have chanced a second glance at our little parade as we walked the short distance to Manville Avenue and headed south. If they knew where we were going, they’d probably have asked to join our procession. I wouldn’t have blamed them. We were about to embark on a remarkable adventure – perhaps a ‘once in a lifetime’ venture into the labyrinth of tunnels hidden under Scarborough.

Life doesn’t get much cooler...

Click here to read and see more of the great adventure...

“Mixed Feelings Greet Closing...Regret at the Impending Break”

This article was originally published in the “Fusilier,” GECO’s employee newspaper, May 28th, 1945, just after Germany surrendered. The very rare photographs that accompany the article were submitted by a GECO worker. Her son was a paratrooper who landed on the beaches of Normandy on D-Day.

”Word that Scarboro, as those of us here have known it for the past few years, had about reached the end of the road and that within a very few weeks the Plant would be closing down, met with mixed feelings.

Even though everyone always knew that at some time there would be no further need for fuses – and thanked God for it – the news came as a distinct shock, nonetheless.

When the implications of what was about to happen began to be realized, consternation could be plainly discerned on many faces, relief on others.

No other topic of conversation could be heard among the groups that formed in the Cafeteria, in the various departments and “cleanside” shops. “What now?” was the prevalent question. We heard it everywhere.

However, as previously said, after the first shock had spent its force, individual reactions became more apparent. “Golly, am I glad it will be over soon”, said one supervisor we talked to, -- and she really meant it. “No more night shifts – no more dirty gunpowder.” “Won’t it be swell just to stay at home and look after the housework” was another reaction. “Am I going to take a good holiday in the sunshine” was still another remark heard.

In one of the press shops the Fusilier observed a sign stuck on a press: “For rent, Cheap. One Press. Four Operators, One Supervisor, One A.F.” The folks’ sense of humor was rising to the occasion.

After talking to quite a few people, we got the impression that the thought uppermost in mind was the regret regarding the impending breaking up of the associations which have been built up in offices, in departments and particularly in the “cleanside” shops where lasting friendships have been formed.

Perhaps it was because this Plant was engaged in the production of vitally required war material. Perhaps it was because so very many of both men and women working here had close relatives in the armed services. May be it was a combination of the two. But whatever the underlying causes, Scarboro has always had an esprit de corps very similar to that found in the armed services and the bonds which tied all section of the Plant together, forged in the fires of a deep-seated patriotism, have grown stronger than most of us had realized.”

NEXT TIME:

• Meet GECO Worker Peggy McKay – A woman who lived with profound loss and sorrow, yet remained ever hopeful

My personal journey with MS

Stories of MS diagnoses tend to fall into the same category as labour and delivery tales – uniquely individual, and told time and again whenever a new mother, or fellow MS’er, comes on the scene.

Usually, when I meet someone who also lives with MS, our discussion is apt to turn quickly from superficial pleasantries to symptom management or to discussing treatment with disease modifying therapies. Formalities are short-lived; almost immediately moving to a much more intimate topic – life with MS. In contrast, MS typically doesn’t come up in conversation amongst my family and friends. It’s a given, a natural part of my life and perhaps in some respect, compartmentalized. Barb has MS. Move on. What’s for dinner?

I offer the following story – to anyone who is curious – from fellow MS’ers who want to learn about another MS patient’s unique journey, to those who perhaps just want to know more about MS, or me...

Click here to join me as I travel back in time...

NEXT TIME:

• When Life Hands You Lemons, It’s Time to Bake Some Lemon Meringue Pie!

In this e-newsletter issue, we’re going to take a look at the third of ten reasons why Moses is the guy to learn from, when it comes to managing blended families. If you missed Reason #1 or 2, you can find them in the Spring and Summer 2009 newsletters on my Newsletter page of my website, or on my What Would Moses Do? page.

We’ll also have a look to see if you have what it takes to ‘step’ into a blended family.

Reason #3: When It Comes to Lugging Emotional Baggage Around, Moses Shopped at Satchels R US

Moses must have seen a sale at Satchels Are Us. He lugged around a complete set of the heaviest luggage he could get his hands on. In fact, if he’d been travelling in the new millennium, he would have had to pay more to ship his baggage than to ship himself.

Moses’ emotional trauma started early in life, at the ripe old age of three months, or thereabouts. By decree of the Pharaoh, all male Hebrew babies were to be drowned in the Nile. But Moses’ life was spared when his mother packed his diaper bag and cast him adrift on the Nile River in a wicker basket, technically fulfilling the Pharaoh’s decree – tossing babies into the Nile – sort of. Pharaoh’s daughter discovered him, and Moses was adopted. Countless children throughout the ages have been adopted and live full and fruitful lives. Lugging around a smelly diaper bag wasn’t so bad. In fact, from that moment on, until Moses was fully grown, he knew nothing but extravagance and luxury, a life fit for a son of a Pharaoh.

But Moses was about to have a life-changing experience, that in this day and age, would have supplied him with enough baggage to last at least one lifetime – a life in prison.

Click here to learn more about Moses’ baggage claims...

A Quick Test to See if You Have What it Takes to ‘Step’ into a Blended Family

Or: Barb’s Top 10 Questions to Qualify for Evil, Wicked Step-mothering

Note: I have not personally experienced the situations I’ve outlined in this test. While the questions are meant to challenge you, your experience as a blended family will be as unique as the individual people who make up your family. The following questions come from hearing and reading many, many blended family stories, as well as interviewing both step parents and step children. They are not necessarily my own experiences, nor those of my family.

Click here to take the Test...

NEXT TIME:

• Moses: Rule #4: If You’re Carrying a Big Stick, Don’t Strike Rocks.
• A Letter to your Stepchildren.

Ah, yes, my back page...the page where I share more stories of history, mystery, or victory; a place where I talk about everyday heroes and extraordinary lives.

David Cragg’s First Impressions of Toronto June 1833

David Cragg, one of my most favourite historical figures, and a perfect definition of an everyday hero, landed at the docks of York (Toronto) at ten in the evening of June 17th, 1833. He and his family had journeyed long and far, setting sail from England over two and a half months earlier upon an immigrant packet ship. They had endured stormy seas, violent winds, rogue waves, cramped quarters, rationed food, and foul water.

They had put up with Quarantine Island in Quebec, and suffered through the difficult voyage up the St. Lawrence including climbing the rapids west of Montreal.

David had left three of his daughters behind at Prescot, (sic) Ontario as domestics because he knew he would not have enough money to house and feed them once they arrived in York.

June 17th had been a sunny, hot day, the kind of summer day for which Toronto was famous. He piled their meagre but treasured belongings on the wharf, and his oldest son, Isaac guarded the boxes while David and his younger children sought shelter at a public house for the night.

Despite their hard Atlantic passage, David’s optimism shines through, in discovering his family clock survived the voyage.

He writes of his first day in York:

“June 18th, Tuesday – A fine day – hot. We set to take a house or part of one this morning. Several to be met with. We took two rooms and the use of a cellar at no. 42, Hospital Street (Note from Barb: Hospital Street is present day Queen Street in Toronto.) A nice place and plenty of room for my family. Rent one pound per month. Hired a cart and got our goods to the house and got the clock unpacked and set up by ten o’clock in the forenoon and off it started tick-tock and had not received the least bruise or injury at all...

“...We have been 80 days from our home at Langthwaite to this place and are got to board and bed again in our own hired house at York, Upper Canada.”

David enjoyed walking the streets of York that first summer and he writes of his observations in his diary. He is quite taken by the everyday activities of the town, seemingly fascinated by small yet remarkable details:

“The streets, the name set up at every corner. The houses numbered. The number set over the door in fair figures. One side 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, etc. The other side 2, 4, 6, 8, etc. Streets wide. In some places a row of trees before the house doors. A foot path on either side of the street ten feet wide, some places flagged, some boarded, some nothing but soil. Streets not paved or Mac-Adamed. Very dusty when dry, desperately mucky when it rains. Very little sweeping of the footway and the steps at the doors, only some smarter houses and shops. Windows never cleaned since the house was made. Horsemen all go a-gallop through the dust and mud. Wagons and carts go along trot, loaded or empty. Wagons of hay at the rate of seven miles an hour. 50 or 60 stone for two horses. Oxen not so fast.

“People very civil, never a misbeholden word or skittish remark made upon one another, travel the streets as you will. An Englishman now and then may come up and say, “Let’s have a hold of your hand. I see you are an Englishman.” Same as neighbours from Cumberland or famers of Cornwall. Shops all called stores, many public houses and all the grocery stores sell drams and beer as well as many others. In some streets every house is a store of some sort. I almost think there are more stores than customers. Stables confined to one spot. Markets begin in the morning. Things as dear as in Lancaster. A very deal of building going forward, a hundred houses or more. I should think at this time. No pigs have I seen in York. Cows a good number, rather small Irish looking and apt to be good milkers, all wear bells. Land about is bad and sandy up to the top. The bush close to the town. In places thick, heavy, rank with pine. Many thousands of feet of wood per acre.”

David also wrote during his early days in York about his decision to emigrate from England to start a new life in Upper Canada:

“I am very satisfied with our situation here and as comfortable as could be expected. Our voyage hither from Lancaster having been exceeding long and very stormy, we have had a good deal of hardship to go through...Still we excaped (sic) without any particular loss or damage. We had our health very well all the way and myself I am as stout and hearty as any time this two or three years back.

“I am very happy I had the spirit and the resolve to emigrate hither and I am confident it will be of great advantage to my family.

“I have no fear if good luck attends, we shall be much better off than we had any chance of in old England...

“I’ll end my days in peace and comfort in a foreign land...I have done my duty now in this world to my family.”

David’s optimism is contagious and you can’t help but root for him as you read his diary. It strikes the heart heavy to read that less than two weeks after arriving in York, David is “taken with a lax.” It is the beginning of the end for David – he dies 18 months later, leaving his eight children to make their own way in the New World.

I have a few pictures of David Cragg’s memorial, but I chose to include this photograph because it depicts the young, remembering the old, paying tribute to the sacrifice countless thousands made to give their descendants a better life. I think it’s important to teach our children and grandchildren the precious legacy our forefathers left to us. They need to visit the graveyards, they need to hear the stories, they need to stop and consider from where they came...

And remember.

Quarantined at Grosse Ile, Quebec, Lower Canada

I originally wrote this article when I was guest blogging for an historical website, but my visit to the National Historic Site at Grosse Ile, Quebec touched me deeply, and I thought I’d share the entry here as well.

The Year: 1832

The Location: Somewhere off the Grand Banks, Newfoundland

Imagine you’ve travelling for weeks aboard a ship bound for the New World. What little earthly possessions you have to call your own are tucked in boxes and barrels around you. You are crammed, cramped and hidden away in the bowels of the vessel. Your bed is a narrow bunk – no more than a hard plank of wood really – attached to the inner wall of the ship. There are no bathroom, washing, or laundry facilities. The food is mouldy, if there is any at all, and the water is foul. The smell of human excrement and body odour makes you heave, adding the reek of vomit to the vile mix. Vicious Atlantic storms have battered the ship, tossing it like a toy boat upon the ‘rolling main.’ Rowdy shipmate neighbours hold dog fights, drink grog until dawn, and fistfight with the crew. One passenger is raped by the First Mate; another is drowned at sea.

But these ‘minor inconveniences’ are not the worst. You face a far greater enemy onboard. It is invisible, strikes without warning, and discriminates against no one. It is ‘the fever,’ the sickness that comes from poverty, close living quarters, and inadequate hygiene. It spreads with a fury only matched by the terrible ocean storms that rage around it. Like sea foam sprayed across the worn wooden planks of the ship, typhus, cholera, and small pox slip below deck, unnoticed, sowing their deadly seed.

Each day, as deadly illness creeps through the mass of human misery, the battered and tattered ship limps closer to its anticipated destination, a country that promises an easier life, and a bright, hopeful future.

As your ship draws near, you can see your beloved destination off the prow of the ship. The crew drop anchor. But before you can tread upon your new country’s promised land, you face one last hardship. You face quarantine, something just as vile, just as dangerous, and just as deadly as life onboard ship. You’re loaded into waiting boats, and conveyed to an offshore island where you will stay until you pass inspection.

All around you is a sea of ragged humanity, living and dying, waiting to be given the doctor’s blessing, declaring you are fit to occupy the land. If you’re not infected with one of the dreaded viruses while you sailed, you are bound to catch the ‘bug’ while you wait days for inspection amongst thousands of other poor immigrants.

And, if you don’t pass? You die, your dreams forever interred along with you, who are no longer a subject of your homeland, yet neither a citizen of your new land, in a mass grave.

One such quarantine station was opened at Grosse Ile, Quebec in 1832. Its operation is a ragtag affair, with hundreds of immigrants processed each day.

Immigrant Susannah Moodie, in her book “Roughing It in the Bush: Life in Canada,” writes about visiting Grosse Ile that first summer:

“The dreadful cholera was depopulating Quebec and Montreal, when our ship cast anchor off Grosse Isle, on the 30th of August, 1832, and we were boarded a few minutes after by the health-officers...The vessel had been nine weeks at sea; the poor steerage passengers for the two last weeks had been out of food...As cabin passengers, we were not included in the general order of purification, but were only obliged to send our servant, with the clothes and bedding we had used during the voyage, on shore, to be washed...”

Mrs. Moodie is fortunate; she comes from the upper class in England, and she can afford a cabin passage. She did not live below deck.

Immigrant David Cragg, on the other hand, is a poor Englishman out of Lancaster, and is onboard ‘The Six Sisters’ packet ship bound for Upper Canada in June of 1833. Widowed, David and his eight children long for a fresh start, with cheap land, clean air, minimal taxes, and a bright tomorrow.

David’s writes of his unimpressive experience at ‘Perdition Isle:’

“...they appoint us a booth in a large building made like an entrance house of great length. All this time there is 1199 passengers performing penance here...we slept at night on beds made on the floor side by side, all together like a lot of pigs...the doctor in all pomposity came, looked us over, fooled among our goods for about two minutes and then said we were at liberty to go...”

Grosse Ile in Quebec will operate from 1832 to 1937. One year, in particular, stands out from all others – the spring and summer of 1847. The famine in Ireland has caused a mass exodus from its shores. Hundreds of thousands have fled their beloved Erin, their desperate poverty, their gnawing hunger, and their utter loss of heart and home making them easy prey to the ‘fever.’ And they died by the thousands that summer upon David’s ‘Perdition Isle.’

Gerald Keegan, an Irish emigrant from Sligo, writes of that summer in 1847 at Grosse Ile:

“They are calling now for volunteers to bring the sick and the dead to shore. The sailors are refusing to have anything to do with the task...I feel it my duty to render what will be my last service to these poor suffering creatures in offering myself as a volunteer...”

And this:

“...I have to learn to acquire a reasonable amount of detachment in my contacts with the suffering and dying. Most of them are in such a deplorable condition from illness, hunger and neglect that, if I let myself go, I would fall apart from the very sight of their intense misery. It is, however, very difficult to be detached when in so many ways they try to express their gratitude for my simple services. I spent most of the day today with tears in my eyes...”

An Irish Monument is erected on the west tip of the island to remember the thousands who died. There are similar memorials scattered along the shores of the St. Lawrence River, a ribbon of blue seawater marred by the death and despair of the Irish people. From Partridge Island at Saint John, New Brunswick, to Hospital Island off the coast of St. Andrews-by-the-Sea, New Brunswick, to Grosse Ile at Quebec City, to Montreal, Quebec, to Toronto, Ontario; tens of thousands of Irish have been laid to rest, along with countless immigration staff and clergy who died while serving at immigration stations.

Susannah Moodie will continue her journey to Cobourg, Ontario with her husband, and then north, past the growing town of Peterborough, where she will ‘rough it in the bush’ of ‘rural’ Upper Canada. After six years, she will concede defeat, and move to city life in Belleville, Ontario.

David Cragg and his family will make it to York (Toronto) and eventually buy 100 acres of farmland north in Reach Township. But David will not live to see the fruits of his labour – he dies less than two years after arriving in his Promised Land.

And Gerald Keegan? His story is the saddest of all – after laying his dear bride of only two months to rest in an unmarked grave at Grosse Ile, he himself contracts the dreaded fever and dies.

Grosse Ile at Quebec is now a National Historical Site, visited each year by countless thousands yearning to learn more about the immigrant migration that shaped North America. The Canadian Governments has endeavoured to recreate life during the quarantine station’s time of operation with tours, and restored buildings including one of the actual ‘fever sheds’ of 1847. The Irish Memorial is on an apex at the west end of the island where the wind whistles through the tree branches, the air is fresh, and the surroundings eerily quiet.

We all have a history story to tell, whether we are the first or the tenth generation to call North America our home. May we remember the personal sacrifices our ancestors made to leave their motherlands, hoping for a better life in the New World.

NEXT TIME:

• David Cragg's journey up the St. Lawrence Rapids