Ladys Life on a Farm in Manitoba | Page 9

to the front
door and not to the kitchen one, which, being the nearest, is the
handiest. He, poor man, has given up his bed and dressing-room to us,
and we find ourselves very comfortable.
* * * * *
C---- FARM, May 24.
The two young men, Messrs. H---- and L----, who inhabit a tent about
two miles from here, and who are building themselves a stable, are
going into Winnipeg to-morrow for more lumber; and as I don't know
when I shall have another opportunity of sending letters in, I send you a
few lines. These two men have been living with A---- all the winter,
and only turned out for us the day we arrived. It was such bad weather
they hoped and speculated on our not coming; so that when we were
seen in the distance there was a general stampede to clear out. I must
say I should have been very loth to turn out, during this cold weather,
of a comfortable house into a tent, and, had I been they, should have
wished us somewhere. We have already had a taste of the cold in these
regions. Friday, when we drove out here, was bad enough; but on
Saturday, when E---- and A---- went into town again to take our
carriage back, they were nearly frozen with the biting wind and sleet
they had to face the whole of the sixteen miles home. On Sunday the
thermometer was down to 22, or ten degrees of frost, with a bitter
north-west wind, and we had an inch of snow on the ground; and
though the sun melted most of it, the thermometer at night went down
again to 24. I don't think I ever felt so cold in bed, in spite of a ton
weight of clothes. Luckily the stoves are still up in the house--in
summer they are generally put away in the warehouse to give them
room--so that we have been able to make a light both night and day.
We are told the weather is most unusual; anyhow, it is mighty cold.
Those poor men in the tent have suffered a good deal; one night the
pegs to the windward gave, and the snow drifted against their beds as

high as their pillows. They luckily have got a stove, but are obliged to
leave their door open to allow of the pipe going out; unfortunately they
have no extra tin or iron to put on the canvas round the pipe, which is
the usual way to prevent it catching fire.
To describe our life here will take some doing, and, after the novelty
has worn off, it will not amuse us quite so much; nor shall we be so
keen of helping our Abigail, who is the wife of the carpenter and
maid-of-all-work, in everything, excepting that she must always have a
great deal to do for a large household like ours, consisting of four men
and our two selves, and we shall always want employment, and I don't
think we shall either of us care to ride or drive much.
We have fallen into it (the life) wonderfully quickly; completely sunk
the lady and become sort of maids-of-all-work. Our day begins soon
after 6 o'clock by laying the breakfast, skimming the cream, whilst our
woman is frying bacon and making the porridge for the breakfast at
6.30. Mr. B---- and A---- are out by 5 o'clock, in order to water, feed,
and harness their horses all ready to go out at 7 o'clock, when we get
rid of all the men. We then make the beds, help in the washing-up,
clean the knives, and this morning I undertook the dinner, and washed
out some of the clothes, as we have not been able to find a towel, duster,
or glass-cloth, whilst Mrs. G---- cleaned out the dining-room. The dirt
of the house is, to our minds, appalling; but as Mrs. G---- only arrived a
few days before we did, and all the winter the four men were what is
called in this country "baching it" (from bachelor), namely, having to
do everything for themselves, it is, perhaps, not surprising that the
floors are rather dirty and that there is a little dust. The weather is much
against our cleaning, as the mud sticks to the boots and, do what you
will, it is almost impossible to get it off; not that the men seem to have
thought much about it, as, until we arrived and suggested it, there was
no scraper to either door. Poor Mr. B---- was rather hurt in his feelings
this morning on expressing some lament at the late sharp frosts, that all
his cabbages would be killed, when we said that it was a pity he had
sown