When our family moved to Winnipeg, Manitoba, in 1962 I began attending a ‘big city’ high school, Daniel McIntyre, in Grade XI. I was surprised, as I got acquainted with some of my classmates, that some did not know their grandparents. At the time, that was almost unfathomable to me. My grandparents, Maria (Marie) and Franz (Frank) Enns, and their farm 5 miles northwest of Winkler in the Burwalde school District, had been a major portion of my life from the time I was born.
Indeed, when I was born, my mother Margaret was staying with her parents and it was Grandfather who took her (and me, as yet unborn) to the new Bethel Hospital in Winkler, Manitoba, some 75 miles southwest of Winnipeg, where I was born in a snowstorm. Mother and I were staying at Grandparents Enns because our family, now three, was living far to the north in remote and largely isolated Oxford House, Manitoba. My parents had gone there some 15 months earlier – not even three months after their marriage, which itself had occurred less than two months after they met! - to begin a term of service in pastoral ministry to the indigenous people there under the auspices of the United Church.
In terms of our reuniting with my father, my birth came at an inopportune time, as it was ‘freeze up” of rivers and lakes in the north, so there was no transportation in or out, as boat and airplane were the only means. Airplanes that flew into these communities at the time could only do so if they had floats for summer or skis for winter, as they had not yet developed permanent landing strips within most of these settlements. So, mother and I stayed with my grandparents for a good month before it seemed that it was acceptable to travel north to The Pas to catch a flight home.
Grandfather, mother and I took the train to The Pas. Perhaps partly because it was freeze up, but also because it seemed that there were difficulties with the aircraft we were to fly in, the wait to fly out stretched on. Grandfather stayed on for a while but eventually had to leave us, as his eldest son's marriage was coming up (Uncle Frank). Grandfather had a couple of unmarried children (Marvin & Marian) still at home, and the farm to manage, but his accompaniment of us reflected in part his paternal love for his descendants as well as his interest in missions, which we were engaged in. He trusted the farm to his wife, who still had the help of the oldest son and youngest one, these two boys separated by three sisters, all already married, and no longer living on the home farm.
Grandpa, as we called him, had been born in the greenfarm school district, just a couple of miles northeast of Winkler. He and grandma had been married for three years when my mother was born after her older brother, and a year later, the young family moved to take over their own farm, in 1923, in the Burwalde School District.
I believe our grandparents again showed their brave commitment to our family and our mission work by making the long trip by steamship and then canoe to visit us while at Oxford House. I am not sure when our family left Oxford House, but I know they were back at the farm again at least by the time I was about a year old. Nor do I know how long we stayed there at the time. We were in transition from Oxford House to a new mission venture in Buffalo Narrows, Saskatchewan, which began October 7, 1947.
By March, 1948, we were again back at the Enns farm in Burwalde. Once again, mother was expecting and in May my first sibling, Loretta Margaret, was born. Again, we experienced the patient, loving, care and hospitality that our grandparents showed us for this four months stay with them.
As if that was not enough, grandfather again showed what I think was his combined love for his daughter and her family and for missions, by joining us in our new mission venture in Grand Rapids. In fact, he and his brother–in-law, John Braun stayed for as long as it took to get a new house built to a point where it was satisfactory for us to move into. Our family then settled into life in this new community. In the fall of 1949, our grandparents again showed their devotion to us when grandma and our youngest aunt, Marian, took the steam ship up Lake Winnipeg for a visit with us.
Not six months later, our family, now for with a third child on the way, was back at the farm for another lengthy stay. This was to accommodate the birth of our Leslie David, as there were still no medical facilities in Grand Rapids and I guess our parents did not have sufficient confidence in whomever might have been an indigenous midwife in the community. Again, just as with my birth, the timing was not the best but this time it was because of the break up. I am not sure, but guessing from the pictures we have, I suspect we did not get back to Grand Rapids for sometime. The winter of 1950 was one of extra ordinary snowfall and we had fun playing on the high snow drifts on the lee side of the shelter belts on the farm, digging tunnels and hiding places. We watched uncle Marvin use his home made snowblower to clear the driveways. Then came the flood that wreaked havoc with transportation.
Really, we spent practically a month at our grandparents pretty much every year in the 40s - 50s. To begin with, until 1952 or 3, we crowded into the old two-storey house. I remember the old swinging door between the front room and beyond with its cracked paint, the kitchen at the back where we enjoyed scrambled egg breakfasts which our crazy uncles taught us to use sugar and syrup on. Like pancakes I guess. From there it was a small step to put syrup, honey or jam on toast or bread and flip it over into a helping of greiven/cracklings to come up with a nice sweet and salty dish long before sweet and salty granola and crackers!
No one ever seemed to put a limit on the sweet. We were spoiled, no doubt about it. There were cinnamon rolls, donuts (homemade), cakes pies, cookies, you name it. It seemed like every lunch, or dinner as we called it, and supper ended with dessert. If nothing else, there was jam, honey or syrup on bread or Grandma’s wonderful buns. Grandpa would come home from the daily trip to town for whatever was on a shopping list and mail and bring the famous Winkler Gardenland four quart cardboard buckets of ice cream, either fruit, vanilla or chocolate, (there weren't nearly as many favours then is now) and we would dig right in, either on a cone or in a dish, which I preferred, thinking I could get a bigger serving that way! In summertime, when we got to go along to town, we might get a popsicle or revel. Or, Grandpa would come home with ice cream wafers, fig newtons, chocolate puffs with that little bit of jam in the center open the wafer, nor toasted coconut marshmallows. At Easter we had our share of chocolate covered marshmallows, and those sweet small sugary coloured eggs. At Christmas we had those sour gooseberry and raspberry candies and other hard candies, sugar coated orange slices, nuts (which I was never found of at that age) and sometimes chocolates.
Before breakfast, or maybe sometimes lunch, grandpa would read from the scripture and between his dentures and residual German accent, we still heard the Word. At noon, we tuned in regularly to a farm show, the Jacksons, to follow their lives. I also have fond memories of grandma, likewise with a residual accent and false teeth, which she had sometimes taken out by that time, reading stories to us at bedtime, especially Johanna Spyri’s Heidi.
Sunday mornings found us in our Sunday best and all on our way to Sunday School in the local school, after which we would get back in the car and drive on to town for church. Sunday school was in English but church was still in German in those days. Sometimes we went to Sunday School there, which was changing to English. For the worship service, when we got a little older, he would sometimes go and sit in the balcony and read our Sunday School papers and look down at that memorable scene of fancy hats on one side of the centre aisle and many bald heads on the other!
Grandpa and grandma really believed in the family too. We had regular family gatherings, especially on Sundays, sometimes beginning with lunch or just the afternoon, ending with vaspa. Of course we had our fair share of what some would call traditional Mennonite food, such as arbus and rollkuchen in summer, with tart Pembina plum jam on the leftover crullers, or even syrup or honey. We certainly also had farmers sausage and verenika with cream gravy. For New Year's there was portzelke and sometimes in the summer we had apple fritters with farmers sausage and vinegar. There was roast chicken or ham with mashed potatoes and gravy, and egg salad. We would on occasion all pack up as extended family and share this experience at one of our uncle or aunts’ homes. Nobody lived more than half an hour drive away. One family who lived the farthest away, in Altona, did not have a car at the time, so grandpa would drive all the way over there and pick them up and bring them for the gathering and then take them home again. And this was in a car that lasted him over ten years! He was determined to have us together as much as he could. This family spirit was also evident in his joining in his family family-of-origin gatherings, which included us if we were around, helping is get to know we belonged to an even bigger kinship.
While the adults were visiting or sometimes the men would be inspecting the crops, we children did things like swing on the lawn swing, play croquet, or a favourite over the granary, “anti- anti over”. There were always a couple of bikes to ride too. That's where we learned to ride bike. When we were thirsty, we simply went to the well beside the house and pumped up cold fresh water into the communal cup that always hung on the pump. In winter we played indoor games such as Chinese checkers, regular checkers and, eventually a favourite, monopoly.
We learned to help too. Sometimes that involves taking a bucket of milk to feed the calf that may have been tied in the yard between the barn and the fuel tank. Or taking a dish of cream to feed the cats, or scraps for the dog. We picked a lot of raspberries, peas and string beans, shelling the peas and cutting up the beans.
Sometimes we would meet with uncles and aunts for picnics at the park in Morden or even over the border in Walhalla, North Dakota, where there was a pool we could swim in. When I spent the summer on the farm (see below), grandpa took me along to a rodeo at Manitou. We sometimes also visited the Morden Experimental Farm to wander through the park-like grounds with their many varieties of trees and flowers.
Overall, this life was very good. When we were living in Loon Straits lose five years before we moved to Winnipeg, we got our own car and so were able to make more frequent trips down to grandpa’s. There always seem to be a place to sleep and enough food to eat. Sometimes we would stay over at cousins. I have to think with much gratitude of all the extra work we seven must have made with our extended visits - finding places to sleep, making beds, doing extra laundry and extra meal preparation (aided by aunts when we had gatherings). Grandma did it all, with help from Aunt Marian and our mother and father and - sometimes us kids.
I don't remember that we ever experienced much discipline from our grandparents. Perhaps that was left mostly to our parents. I do remember one occasion when a cousin and I saw our grandfather and perhaps an uncle or two working on a field some distance away. We decided to head out through the field to see what they were up to. Grandpa let it be known that he was not impressed that we had trampled down a lot of grain.
We had only lived in Loon Straits some nine months when we had to move from one rental home to another. It was March but still possible to cross the lake with a vehicle. Grandpa and Uncle Marvin came with the latter's Chevy pickup to help us make the move. I have mentioned the grandparents support of our mission endeavors, of which you could say this was an example. They were open to connecting with the indigenous people. On one occasion, one of our school mates had a severe case of poison ivy that required prolonged medical attention. Where did we all stay? At grandpa’s so he could go to Winkler for treatment.
After Grade 11, I spent the entire summer with the grandparents on the farm. I helped with the gardening and regular mowing of the large lawn spaces. I helped with some fieldwork such as haying. However, I never really did to learn to do much tractor work from grandpa. My major occupation that summer was to scrape paint off all the farm buildings except the house, and then paint the lot. I learned to use a spray painter and that certainly helped speed up the process. Sadly, I don't think some of the buildings have been repainted since (see photo 1 below).
All of this left me with a deep and abiding love for these wonderful grandparents. I could not have wished for better. When I was older, I continued to visit them, thinking especially of occasions like birthdays and anniversaries. When I started going with my wife, Anne, we made a visit to the farm early in our relationship. I heard later from Grandpa that they had sensed right away that I was going to marry Anne. Again, their generous loved showed itself in their openness and impartiality, already referred to when it came to indigenous people, was the same for Anne, who was Chinese extraction. When Anne had some family troubles after she had gone back for a visit to Taiwan, and couldn't return to get married at the time we had planned, she called in a panic to let me know. It seemed I knew exactly where to turn for help. She was expecting me to come and rescue her, but I had no such funds. I went to see Grandpa and without batting an eye, he gave me enough to cover the return trip to Taiwan. Of course, I repaid him when I got my next bursary. Then, when we got married, where else but in their church, Grace Mennonite in Winkler, my mother no longer living, and father in Mexico on assignment and unable to come, our dear grandparents were pleased to have the seats of honour with us at the head table (See photo of us four below, September 24, 1977).
They came to love Anne dearly and when we went for a visit, they often wanted to gift us with something necessary, such as an extra hand mixer they had, garden tiller-which we borrowed for a while and returned, an heirloom clock from Russia - which we did not take, knowing that should be kept in the Enns' family, cookie cutters and a rocking chair when our first child was born. Indeed, such was the level of our relationship that even though our first home was some 115 miles from the old family farm, grandpa and grandma came to visit after the birth of both of our children as soon as they could. With our daughter, that meant they were already in their 80s.
Indeed, when they reached their middle 80s, they began to show signs of decline. First they moved off the farm into an apartment in town. Then grandma ended up in a care home and passed away. Grandpa followed suit a year later. They never lived to see the nineties. It was a great loss but they were of the age and state of health where they were expected to pass to the next life and we knew they had an even better future awaiting them there. For myself, with all the memories that farm holds of people and events, I am glad at least the yard is still in the family.
These grandparents were, to me, wonderful role models of love, nurturing care and generous hospitality. They were quiet and humble Christians, faithful and devout. They weren’t overly religious about always needing to attend church or Sunday School, but they did so quite regularly and faithfully, again, taking them with us and providing that modeling. This also extended to community events such as picnics, nahverein (Women’s Auxiliary) and Jugendverein (Youth programs) when they featured missionaries or held sales to raise money. Grandpa added to his mentoring and role model status by actively canvassing to fundraise for the Russian Mennonites when they came in the 1920s, actively supported the Mennonite Central Committee and served on the local school board.
To honour my grandparents and remember their enduring love, and the home and yard where all this took place, I had a picture enlarged, framed by a drawn-in window, as if inviting me in, hung in my living room. It is of the drive way between two rows of evergreens, leading into the familiar yard and ordinary bungalow where Grandparents Enns used to live, where I still could imagine Grandpa's swift (running?) walk as he would come to meet us when we visited, or Grandma gazing through the kitchen window towards her dear grandchildren playing in the yard, soon to provided us with her warm cookies. We all knew, they loved us always!
- Lorne Brandt, with help from Anne 2023 10 18
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