I Need Flowers More Than Funeral Arrangements

By Nicole Ruttan-Sims

The remarkable life of Rita Valiquette is depicted in this book. Her story is shared through memories, stories, research, saved documents and foraged materials. It is a great view into her ancestors who immigrated to Canada, and a resource for those who know her or someone like her. Born in the early twenties, she and her family went through a depression and lived on a farm. The story continues to follow her life path through a marriage, a teaching career, children, retirement and old age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Nov 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228864141

Nicole Ruttan-Sims

Author, public speaker, retired Registered Nurse and Public Procurement Expert. Since 2017, owner of a gift and decor store in Bancroft, Ontario. Currently resides in Maynooth, Ontario.

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Copyright © 2021 by Nicole Ruttan-Sims

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-6413-4 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-6414-1 (eBook)

Contents

Foreword

Coming Into This World and Knowing Where I Came From 1924

The Conrads

The Hummels

My Parents and Their Relationship

My Father

My Mother

The Partnership that Lead Our Family and Influenced My Life

My Childhood: The Early Years

The Storey Farm

Our Farm

Family Life and My Role

Farm Life that Often Seemed to Be Nothing but a Series of Chores

The Most Arduous Chore of Them All!

. . .Something About Food

Kids and More Kids

Things That Happened and Random Memories

My Education Continues

The Learning Experience Continues…

My Teaching Career

Life With Don

Foymount

Cormac

A Family Tragedy

My Children

Robert (Rob)

Paul

Lynne

Eganville

I need flowers more than funeral arrangements!

Fairfields

2019

My health and COVID-19 2020

2021

Advice and Regrets

Appendix 1: My Ever Growing Family - The Conrad Side

Appendix 2: Highlights of My Life

Foreword

This is the tale of my life. Not everything could be shared. The decision has nothing to do with any possible loss of memory, nor my capability of recall. Frankly, it is not intended to be a tell-all, since some parts of my history shall remain private.

I have several reasons for sharing my story — at least most of it. Top of mind is the reality that I may not be around to recount the events of my past which many have asked for details. Frequently, I am approached about some historical fact or to provide some background on people and events that have occurred in the past. Too few of us are around that can remember the Opeongo, or Sebastopol Township, or Eganville as I can. If a new priest comes to town, I usually bring him up to speed . . .

I am not sure why people are interested in my uneventful life. Yet, when I mentioned my memoirs, biography or autobiography (depending on your definition) being written to a few friends, they seem enthusiastic about it. There are other reasons of course to have one’s past in print. Who would not wish to have their own story written and published? I have wanted to do this for a long while and so I am grateful to see it come to be.

When you read these words, please remember that this is my interpretation of events and circumstances. In no way is it my intention to do any harm. In fact, for my whole life, the one thing that I always tried to do, was be a person who did good deeds and avoided intentional acts of ill will.

The various communities that I lived in, especially Cormac and Eganville, as well as the early years on the farm and at schools where I taught, have undoubtedly shaped me into the person I became. Any one of you will know a different side of my personality and the experience of our history remains unique.

As the first lines in this book are written, I am ninety-two years, two months, three weeks and four days old, and have been here on Earth for 33,689 days. Google and the Internet are credited for that bit of trivia as well as other interesting tidbits throughout the book. Any other information of a historical nature has relied on my memory and various news clippings, or notes that I kept, or sources that are identified as required.

This whole project is taking longer than expected. I had commitments such as socks to knit for the food bank, some minor health issues, and other preoccupations . . . By the time that this book is published, I will be ninety-seven, God-willing. However, as I review the pages that my niece has written or listen to her read certain chapters, the memories are still as clear as when I experienced them. Oddly, I do not feel my age. Enjoy!

Rita!

Coming Into This World and Knowing Where I Came From 1924

Although I am credited with a good memory, even I can’t go all the way back to when I was born. According to my family recollections and records, my mother, Cecilia (Hummel) Conrad (age twenty-one) gave birth to me, Rita Marie Conrad, on Thursday, August 14, 1924, with the help of a midwife (Rosina Hummel). Women did not go to the hospital for such a natural process as delivering a child into the world and fathers did not really participate as they might in recent decades.

My father, Arthur Conrad (age twenty) must have been doing some tasks as he waited for my arrival. Not much was ever mentioned about how he might have been occupied during the long hours as my mother laboured. I imagine that it was not any different for him as any other expectant father. He probably felt redundant and tried not to worry.

There is no recorded weight or height that I am aware of. My birth was just one of the many natural events that occurred in our home in South Himsworth Township (now the municipality of Powassan since January 1, 2001 when the amalgamation of the towns of Powassan, Trout Creek and Township of Himsworth South occurred). This township is located about four to six miles (6.44 to 9.66kilometres) from the village of Trout Creek in Ontario, Canada.

Rosina was not only the midwife, but my grandmother. She and my grandfather, Ignatius Hummel, were my god-parents. In those days, a baby was baptized as quickly as possible after birth because of the high rate of infant mortality, and in addition, our Catholic faith prescribed that this ceremony must be completed in a timely fashion.

My birth certificate shows the name Rita Marie Conrad, however, my Baptismal certificate indicates Reta, which has caused some confusion in the past. I also saw it written as Reta (the Greek version) when referring to me in Our Chisholm Story compiled by the Chisholm Women’s Institute. My family only ever called me Rita. Many of you know me just as Rita. Others as Mum, Grandma, Sister, Aunt Rita, Mrs. V., and as a young teacher, Miss.

Although my first name has been around for a few hundred years, I never spent too much time analyzing it or even contemplating whether or not I liked being called Rita. That would have been such a waste of time anyway.

The name Rita has its roots in Spain, America, Greece and Persia. In all of those places, it means pearl, except for Persia where it means child of light. I understand that it is the short form of Margarita or Margaret.

If you search the Internet, you will also find several other Rita Conrads as well as Rita Valiquettes (my married name) in North America, alive or dead. There are Rita Valiquettes living in Quebec and in the United States of America (USA) at the moment. You would not think it to be such a common name. However, it is.

Nothing remarkable or significant happened in the world on the day that I was born. If you check Wikipedia or any other historical search engine, that will be quite evident. Although some famous people were also born that year—Marilyn Munroe is one such person; she was born on June 1, 1924. Other important events took place as well. For example, the first television demonstration occurred by a Scottish inventor who called it a televisor, Henry Ford announced a forty-hour work week, Harry Houdini died, and Gertrude Edelle was recognized as the first woman to swim the English Channel. Interestingly, the Liberals were in power as well, with William Lyon Mackenzie as Prime Minister.

The year 1924 was when the world created the news. The first around the world flight took place by the USA. Germany accepted the Dawes plan (reparations to be paid by Germany as instigators) which helped to stabilize, at least short-term the countries impacted by WW1. The Paris summer Olympics occurred and 3,089 athletes competed, only 135 of them were women (none Canadian). William Einthoven won the Nobel Prize for inventing the electrocardiogram.

In 1924, the female labour force included children ten years of age or older, who were employed in the largest class of related industries that included domestic and personal services in Ontario. However, more women than men occupied professional positions like teaching.

Depending on the industry, the hourly pay rate varied from $00.2812 to $00.3125 per hour, with a weekly salary of $10.18 to $27.15. Women earned 65% for teaching in a town or 70% if in a village, of what a man was paid for doing the same job with the equal qualifications (first class certification) in similar locations.

There were only eight thousand cars and one-hundred-and-forty-four miles (231.75 kilometres) of paved roads in Canada with the maximum speed limit of ten miles per hour (or 16.09 kilometres per hour).

Fashion, at this time, was what you might expect in the 1920s. It was chic, stylish and trend setting. A wool coat sold for $22.50, a silk or beaded dress cost $14.95, and hats were all the rage at $2.95. The recognized turban hat with a wide brim and appliques, worn with a dress and two-eyelet shoes with low heels or satin step-in pumps were all the rage. These shoes could be purchased from $3.00 to $4.50 per pair. Leather tooled handbags went for $3.39 each.

Men wore tourist hats that cost $3.39, army-patterned shoes at $2.95, brown or grey suits for the tidy sum of $23.75 to $26.50, or a check sweater for $5.48.

People dressed-up before leaving the house. Hair was curled just so and the impression was of well pulled-together ladies going about their business doing some shopping or errands.

Of course, this was not how my family, or anyone we knew dressed or went about their daily lives. Except for rare occasions to wear our good clothes, which was a far cry from the latest fashion, we dressed simply. More for function and practicality, our attire might have raised a few eyebrows with city folk, yet we were content. This was just as well, since we did not have the kind of lifestyle or money that could be spent on frivolous items like fancy clothes.

Our clothing would have likely been second-hand to begin with, then remade or altered to fit. On rare occasions hand-made items from new materials from my father’s purchases of plain cotton fabric or wool for knitted hats and such.

Any photographs of that era showed relatives and acquaintances in somber black with white tatted collars for women and stiffer ties for the men. No matter what the season, these garments would have been their Sunday best clothes, strictly reserved for church, weddings and funerals, or photographic sessions. The later sessions took a half-hour or more to complete, often during warm weather or in stuffy rooms. This might explain, to some degree, why people appeared to wear such sour expressions of boredom or irritation in old pictures.

It makes you wonder why anyone tolerated posing for a photo. I expect that like in most matters, the times were different and influenced by history. Stigmatisms of past centuries followed the subjects around the world. Getting a photograph taken was like having one’s portrait painted. It was not only serious business, but represented more than just a visual documentation of one moment in time.

You have to understand that being immortalized forever was a big responsibility in those days. The notion that your captured image could define you as poor, drunk, stupid or innocent if you grinned, is not something that we even consider anymore. One of the more ridiculous beliefs was that if you smiled, you would be defined as simple-minded.

My ancestors that tolerated the personal preparation and lengthy imaging process at likely great financial and personal discomfort tells you a little about their tenacity and ability to embrace the future regardless of the cost. As we all know, they would require these characteristics and strengths to venture all the way from Germany to Canada and then within the boundaries of their new country.

Like many immigrants searching for prosperity and security, they needed to be determined and focused, and not just adventurous. From what I gathered, the journey for them was not as glamorous, nor as perilous as the cinema might portray. Despite illness, anxiety and the lack of modern conveniences and means, they persevered.

I still cannot imagine what they endured, never mind the sacrifices they made to leave all that they knew to start all over in a foreign country. However, as I understand it, the individuals within the ancestral families supported one another and it was a team approach to tackling every activity of daily living.

My relatives and parents regaled us with stories of our people once they immigrated to Canada. Most of what I know about my parents’ families is limited to their existence in North America. They settled first on land in Kitchener, Ontario. But more on that later.

One thing to remember as you read the