Being from a large family with thirteen children, we were not what most people would consider rich. Truthfully we were probably not even what most people would consider “comfortable”. We didn’t eat out much and we all had our chores ever since we were little. The nine girls of the family were taught to cook from an early age. This made for a very interesting diet. If one of the girls burned everything she cooked, the next youngest under-cooked everything in her paranoia of burning the food.

When we cooked or baked it was quite often that we did not have all the ingredients or baking utensils the recipe called for, especially the expensive ones, and no one was willing to go and buy them for a learning cook. This led us to regularly improvise or invent our own recipes using what we did have in the house at the time. As could be imagined these meals or desserts were not always pleasant dining experiences. Even though the food didn’t taste very good it did get eaten since none of us were picky eaters and we wanted the same consideration the next time we cooked.

One day my younger sister Gabrielle, who at the time was about five years old, decided she was going to bake something. No one realized that she was in the kitchen unsupervised at the time. She had seen us cook so many times she thought she knew just how to do it. She got a big mixing bowl and started randomly dumping in ingredients. She was making muffins and she put in milk, flour, margarine, raisins and sugar. Of course the measurements were way off since it was a five-year-old deciding how much sugar or raisins would taste good in a recipe. She had made such a big batch that no one wanted to throw it out and waste all that food, so one of my older sisters started dumping more unmeasured ingredients into the bowl. She kept adding things until she felt it was the right consistency and then we poured them into muffin tins and baked them.

When the muffins came out of the oven they were rock hard little pucks that had not risen at all. Since all of us kids were curious to see how a five-year-old child’s invented recipe of muffins tasted, we tried them. They weren’t very good and we didn’t want to eat them all so we went around to all of our neighbour friends and asked them if they wanted to try the muffins that Gabrielle made. They were surprised and said yes and eventually they all ended up being eaten. My little sister then thought she was a great cook since all of her muffins disappeared so quickly. Since none of the ingredients went to waste and everyone enjoyed a fresh batch of “muffins” our parents didn’t get upset with anyone.

Since that experience a new rule has been instituted in the Bryant home that the younger children need to ask permission and find a recipe to follow before they are allowed to attempt cooking. This has led to a much better quality of food.

Most people take it for granted that their car will start in the morning. They turn the key and the engine runs, the windows work, there is fixed seating, it is equipped with factory parts installed at a licensed garage and it has heat.

Not in my family.

True we have been known to own a vehicle fitting this description, but not for long. Dad just couldn’t stand the stability of it all. He enjoyed the challenge he faced every morning of starting “The untamed wild beast” as we affectionately named one of his horrid contraptions.

The typical family outing would begin with a call that it was time to go. Ten kids would file through the kitchen each grabbing a kitchen chair as they passed by. We would all jump into the van and line the sides with our chairs. Then we’d all hold our breath as dad turned the key. It started!

In the summer, the lack of heat didn’t bother us, we just wanted some fresh air. To open the driver’s side window you would hold your hand on the glass, remove the screwdriver, let the glass drop the desired amount and then jam the screwdriver back in place. The passenger side window was “the Bryant luxury model,” you turned a pair of vice-grips (which were attached to where the handle used to be).

At some point during the outing we would find ourselves in the middle of a famous side-of-the-road repair job where dad saw it as a test of his ingenuity to be able to fix the van without the proper tools. He would use only things he could find in the van at the time.

Since I left home, one of the sweetest pleasures in life is starting my car each morning.

As we chattered and laughed our way out to the field, we ran into a former employer who looked at me and my room mate and said with a grin, “I see you’ve come with two old crows.” Taken aback and speechless, I smiled weakly and the moment was gone. For the remainder of that stifling hot morning, I simmered and stewed inside that I had not spoken up in defense of our close friends.

After arriving home I just had to sit down and put my feelings on paper. I wrote a letter to our former employer explaining that although aging folks (“old crows”) may appear to be past their prime, my close companions, Cecile and Laura, were simply young, vibrant women in old skins.