My mother, Edna Foulkes, passed away on October 30th. She was 95.
Born at the end of the great war, she grew up on a farm near Taber; everyone worked hard to force a living out of their family farm, especially through the worst of the depression.
She and my father married in 1941. They endured the challenges of the war; raised a family, bought a house, engaged in their community, enjoyed their friends, and lived a full active life. They loved their small town and never felt the need to stray far.
She was the queen of her domain, her house was her kingdom and her garden was her glory. She made a dollar go a long, long way; she made sure we never wanted, even through some tough times.
She always wanted to play the fiddle, loved Don Messer’s Jubilee and community dances.
I shall always be grateful for her energy, her fierce tenacity, her drive, her character, her gregarious nature and her many sacrifices, large and small, for her family.
She was a resourceful cook, specializing in comfort food long before it was identified as such. She cooked everything from scratch, I learned much of what I know about cooking from her even if I could never get her to put a bit more sugar in the stewed rhubarb.
I will always remember coming home from school on a Thursday afternoon to a house filled with the smell of fresh baked bread and a slice of still warm crust.
We are formed and shaped, for better or worse, by our parents, our siblings, our early friendships and our neighbours. My mother had an enduring impact on who I am and how I approach the world. I shall always be grateful for her part in stimulating my interest in exploring this world of adventure and opportunity where my curiosity is piqued but never satisfied.