photos supplied
Laurie Mustard’s grandfather, Arthur, stands in front of the home he built with an unidentified family member on a bicycle.
Mustard’s Aunt Madge, standing in front of the then-abandoned house in the 1980s.
Home construction isn’t what it used to be — and that is a very good thing.
Every day, I drive through Headingley, passing numerous homes under construction. And there is always a bevy of trucks and vans out front of each — indicative of all the tradespeople hard at work so the new owners can move into their dream residence ASAP.
And I am always dismayed, especially during the original framing and roofing period, right on through to lock-up phase, at the unbelievable amount of very usable material — especially wood — that goes into the massive garbage bins out front.
With a local home construction guru’s permission, I occasionally dumpster dive in those bins and bring home what would be hundreds of dollars worth of materials for projects around my humble abode. I also desperately hope the rest of the contents are going to some recycling/repurposing destination and not just the dump. I must go all "investigative reporter" on the destination of all that stuff one day.
Talk about Christmas, that’s exactly what "shopping" in those bins feels like. I mean, you just can’t believe what goes in there.
My grandpa, Arthur Mustard, who homesteaded on the bald prairie back in the late 1800s, would have thought he won a lottery with the wood from those bins. He would have been particularly thrilled with today’s engineered plywood, chipboard, and home insulation — all of which didn’t exist back then — and would have made his job a lot easier, the house a lot cooler in summer and warmer in winter. The drywall would have made him happy too.
Grandma and grandpa Mustard raised nine kids in the house that Arthur built, that contained, I do believe, not one ounce of insulation. My dad, Joe Mustard, told me that often in winter when they got out of bed (upstairs), you had to break the ice in the pitcher or basin to get at the frigid water to wash your face with. Brrrrrr. That’s cold. I am SO GRATEFUL to have been born in the age of central heating. Amen.
Grandpa must have been a good builder, because that home lasted almost a hundred years, before it was taken by a rogue grass fire. Cremated, and now at rest. The yard where it used to sit, with a million trees planted by grandma and grandpa, 21 kilometres northwest of Killarney, is now once again bald prairie.
Driving by the yard now, you would have no clue that decades of Christmases were celebrated on that rise about 200 metres east of the road, where the Mustard mansion once flourished with joy, laughter, and family — despite the discomforts that were the norm of the time.
Just think, in these wicked winters of ours, living in an uninsulated house on the open prairie with no electricity, only a well for water, and only wood, or coal-burning stoves that you had to keep feeding, to keep you warm. Kerosene lanterns, as high-maintenance as they were, contributed a lot to your heating as well.
Yikes. We are pampered, folks.
One of my favourite things to do as a kid, teenager and adult was to drive out to the Mustardosa and have dad do his guided tour of the then-abandoned home, describing all the family fun of years gone by... where things happened, who did what to whom, like the night the boys gave their sleeping sister a radical haircut — oooooh there was hell to pay for that — and so much more.
Wish we could still do that now. Miss you, dad.
Grandpa was also a stonemason who built scads of the chimneys on area homes back then, performed veterinary services throughout the area, along with weed inspecting and auctioneering. Busy guy. All accomplished without the use of an iPhone! Imagine!! How is that POSSIBLE???
Grandpa died in 1939. When he didn’t show up at noon downtown (Killarney) per his usual schedule, my dad and an uncle of mine found him at home, sitting at his kitchen table — those hands that had done so much work over the years, still holding on to the newspaper he had been reading when his heart simply stopped.
Such a peaceful way to go. So wish I’d been able to meet him.
And of course, as we head into this week before Christmas, it’s only fitting to take you into another happy home, that of my cousin Brian (wife Dona) for a look at what appears to be a Christmas morning way back in the 50s sometime. By the look on the baby boys’ faces (Glenn and Frank), it looks as though older sister Janie got better presents than they did. Sisters. Isn’t that just the way.
Whatever you’re celebrating in your home at this special time of year, the best of everything, and much love, to each and every one of you.
Comments or feedback, love to hear from you!
lmustard1948@gmail.com
