Welcome to the Club - Volume 1, Issue 1

Welcome to ...
THE Club
Sometimes, no news really is good news.
The Old Elm Tree
By Laurie BurrowsBreakey, Southampton from Daytripping July-August 2020
Welcome to ...
Winter 2021
Life is Better
When
You’re Home
Seniors live at home -
independently,
comfortably & happily.
It doesn’t matter how old you are, life is always better
when you’re home. There’s a deep comfort that comes
from being in familiar surroundings, sleeping in your own
bed, and living under a roof that belongs to you.
Established in 2010, Shine at Home serves seniors who
wish to live in full independence. Since our earliest
beginnings we have learned that with just a little help,
people can remain in thier homes for many years safe
and free in the knowledge that a dedicated team is
there for them.
Housekeeping
Transportation
Companionship
and Care
Mom!
"All the staff go out of thier
way to make life easier for our
Mom when we aren't able to
be there everyday! We
definitely recommend Shine at
Home to others looking for
excellent care for their elderly
parents"
Heather – Daughter of Client
"The lady who does my
housekeeping is so nice and
efficient and always fits in
special requests"
Ruth Ann - Client
Call today and find out how
Shine at Home can help you:
519-336-9898
shineathome.com
You can get meals,
housekeeping, and
door-to-door
transportation!*
Love Jen -
P.S. for much less than
a retirement home!
There was a tree that excelled beyond
all others on the farm where I grew up. It
stood outside the hedge that surrounded
the garden and the old farm home. It
was an elm, proudly stretching its one
hundred feet of maturity above all the
other trees in the farming community.
The elm’s growth was unparalleled
by the old maples marching in a row
along the fence line, across the road.
As a youngster, I would climb upon the
fence and hoist myself up into the leafy
seclusion of the maples, but the elm was
as unattainable as my thoughts of ever
climbing it. The rough, greyish-brown
trunk of the elm stretched branchless,
skyward, from its broad reaching rooted
level, spreading vast limbs some twenty
feet above ground.
Through harsh winter storms the
elm creaked and groaned. The elm, as
all trees, suffered greatly when an ice
storm hit the area.
Limbs would crack
and break, falling
with the weight of
the ice build up,
plummeting to pile
scattered on the
earth, or leaving
the splintered and
hanging limb precariously balanced
on the remaining branches. Every
spring with the nourishing drops of
rain it sprouted green leaf buds, and as
the sun warmed the new growth, the
heavily veined toothed leaves unfurled
toward the heavens, filling in the gap
of lost limbs with abundant foliage
while creating a canopy of shade for the
ground below. We falsely assumed that
the greatest threat to the elm would be
lightning. Due to the fact that lightning
usually struck the tallest obstacle, in its
zig zagging path of destruction, the elm
would be a direct hit. I don’t ever recall
the elm being struck, however the lone
fir tree that towered beside the house
was decapitated in a violent thunder
storm one summer evening. It was my
father’s habit to awaken and keep watch
over the homestead during extreme
electrical blasts and in the morning, as
we gathered around the top six foot of
the fir lying upon the ground, it’s pine
cones still intact, he related how the hair
stood up on his neck as he watched from
his bedroom window as the great
flash of lightning burned
into the tree’s towering
top. We all gazed
up in amazement
at the beheaded
fir, resuming its
stately existence
beside the stone
house, albeit a little
off balance. My sister
brought our focus
back to the tree top lying
spent upon the ground, when she
exclaimed that it was
a shame Christmas
was too far away to use the top
As the seasons marched on
through the years, the elm
withstood all that ‘mother
nature’ bestowed upon it.
as our Christmas tree.
I imagine the elm tree waving its
rain soaked leaves in great relief after
each battering of the elements left it
unscathed. Perhaps it was a bit too smug.
Spring brought to life a goose berry
shrub that grew at the base of the elm.
In June, Mother would beckon me with
pail in hand, to help her pick the berries
before they became too ripe. There was
only one goose berry shrub, so it was
slim pickins’, but the few jars of jam
and jellies that where preserved from its
scant offering were delectable.
Long and hot the summers ruled the
land creating growth in all things. The
elm had become a family symbol. Tall,
majestic, strong and seemingly very
healthy, it continued on, turning its leaves
of rich green to golden yellow when the
days became short and autumn brought
nights of cold temperatures. Golden
leaves cascaded to
the ground, turning
brown and crisp,
swirling in the
fall breeze. As the
seasons marched on
through the years,
the elm withstood all
that ‘mother nature’
bestowed upon it.
Dutch elm disease hit our eastern
shores sometime during World War II.
We learned at school about the terrible
disease that would devastate our forests,
killing our giant elms as the sac fungi
was spread by the elm bark beetle. My
father remained proudly protective of
our family elm, claiming its strength
would overcome the disease, and he
would point it out to anyone that was
interested as to how tall and strong
it was. Dutch elm disease was only
beginning in Canada, and it worked its
way from the east and upward from the
south, claiming the lofty elms growing in
its path. By 1967 it was hugely evident
in Ontario.
My father died in 1969, the farm was
sold, all my siblings and myself had
moved on to lives of our own. I returned
as we all do, to the old homestead for
a brush with my past in 1970 and as I
drove up the old road, scanning the
horizon for the familiar landmark, stark
reality settled over me. I stopped my car
and tears filled my eyes and my
heart as I looked upward into
the leafless elm that had
finally succumbed to the
Dutch elm disease.
Today as I travel the
southern Ontario
roads, I find great
satisfaction in being
able to still see the
elm trees stretching
skyward. There may not
be as many of them, but
at least the few remaining
ones soldier on and I think my
father would be very happy
indeed, to hear of their survival.
P A G E
34
Who gossips with you will gossip of you. (Irish Proverb)