As I drive past the house where I was born memory takes over, particularly this time of year. My father was sent out to top a tree for the Christmas tree. I still have some of the original ornaments that once decked it.
My mother wrapped sweets in three layers of multicoloured tissue paper, fringed and tied on the branches. We stirred the Christmas cake with a wish and asked endless questions for clues to our one Christmas present. Neighbours dropped by constantly for a visit and tea.
I wonder about the traditions and memories of the new people in their stacked condos now planted in these farmer’s fields settled by the United Empire Loyalists.
What memories and traditions will they bring?