My mother was born in this farmhouse, along with eight of her siblings. There was no hospital in the village, though there was a school and a curling rink. Even after we moved farther west, we came back for a good part of every summer. The house was filled with books of every description, since my grandmother was an avid reader. There was also a windup gramophone with dozens of cylinder records. And my mother’s uncle Ivor, who taught us kids to play cards.
The farmhouse had recently been slated for demolition. I drove out to take a few pictures and failed to observe the No Trespassing sign. This can be a useful trait in photography.
In 1940 my grandfather, Mason Wardrop, died of a heart attack at age 42. Soon after a government official showed up and offered my grandmother public assistance, on the condition she sign over the farm. She declined the offer and was told she would never manage on her own. She was small in stature and tough as nails. She cut wood in the lumber camps during the winter, worked in the local brickyard in the summer, and never married again.
The older kids looked after the young ones. They managed…
“Devour old films, new films, music, books, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. “~Jim Jarmusch
Location: Whitemouth, Manitoba
Date: Summer 1989
Source: Pentax ME Super with Fuji Black and White film
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