Lögberg-Heimskringla - 07.07.2000, Blaðsíða 7

Lögberg-Heimskringla • Föstudagur 7. júlí 2000 • 7
Islensk kona: Portrait of Ásdís Anderson
Continued from the previous issue.
Katrina Anderson Koven
Toronto, ON
Little Jacob’s partner was a tall,
gruff, older man with a coarse
white beard who kept mostly to
himself. The two of them made quite a
comical pair. Each time they headed out
for their next stop in Selkirk, we would
gather in silence at the frost-covered
window to watch the fish-packed sleighs
disappear over the horizon. Manima
once broke our silent spell with, “The
one with the beard talks as if his mouth
were full of oatmeal.”
The camp itself offered no conven-
iences at all. It was no more than a two-
room lumber and tar-paper shack heated
with a kitchen cook-stove and one small
wood-buming tin heater. Each moming
Birgitta and I would walk down to the
lake and dip metal pails through a hole
in the ice to collect cooking and drink-
ing water. Some days we’d scoop up a
few tiny fish and take them home to play
with, but before handing the water to
Mamma for boiling, we’d pour our fish
into smaller play-buckets. We would
laugh at the thought of these wee fish
being poured into the boiling pot by
mistake and ending up in Pabbi’s kaffi
(coffee) cup. The lard-pail fish seemed
even smaller the day Pabbi caught a
ninety-eight-pound sturgeon. Before
sending it to the frying pan, he let me
hold the ugly creature while he took a
photograph, a rare occasion, as Pabbi
rarely used his camera during those
years.
Our shack was confining at times,
especially during December and
January. Nonetheless, we all managed to
get along. Mamma spent more and more
time indoors. She was pregnant again
and so appreciated those mild days
when she could send Birgitta and me
outside to play in the snow, giving her
tiine to rest. Birgitta and I were only too
happy to spend the day outside making
secret forts and snow angels in the high
prairie snow drifts.
Mamma would often send Birgitta
and me through the bush to a neigh-
bour’s place to borrow things like sugar,
flour, milk, etc. One day, we were sent
to borrow a bar of soap. On our way
back, we came across a bush of wild
Catherine Johan
(Kay) Eliason
Dec. 27, 1918—May 19, 2000
Although reason tells us
that living four score years
is a fair share, our feelings
see it differently. Time with those
we love is always too short. When
Kay became seriously ill this last
winter it was of deep concern to
Magnus, her husband, and to her
extended family. To those of us
who knew Kay, but stood at a dis-
tance, it seemed like all of a sudden
she was gone from our midst. She
died peacefully at home with fami-
ly around her on Friday, May 19,
aged 81 years.
Kay was born on December
27, 1918 in Faulkner, Manitoba.
Her parents were Murdo and
Catherine Macfarlane. She lived in
Faulkner and Winnipeg before
moving to Scotland in 1934. She
trained as a nurse at Stobhill
Hospital in Glasgow and graduated
in 1940. Kay nursed in Scotland
until she retumed to Canada in
1948 and lived in Montreal and
Toronto. In the early 50s she came
to Winnipeg where she worked at
the Winnipeg General, the Victoria,
and St. Boniface Hospitals. She
was a Head Nurse of the Eye and
Ear Ward at the General Hospital.
On February 27, 1965, she
married Magnus Eliason.
Following her retirement from
nursing she joined her husband’s
insurance business, retiring in
1985.
Kay grew up in the
Presbyterian Free Church, where
her father was a lay preacher. She
was only 16 years old when she lost
her mother and at that time she took
responsibility for her three younger
brothers, the youngest, Malcolm,
being only four years old.
At the funeral I saw sorne old
pictures the farnily had brought to
share with us, her friends. There
was a picture of Kay when she was
about 16 years old. On that picture
you see a young woman matured
far beyond her years, a person of
determination and calm compe-
tence. Though Kay did not have
children of her own, she became a
mother to her younger brothers and
a grandmother to the younger gen-
eration in her family. At her grave I
saw tears in the eyes of people she
had stood by with her considerable
strength. She was very supportive
of her niece Wanda Opanubi and
her family.
Kay had a lasting and deep
interest in both religion and poli-
tics. Brought up in the Presbyterian
Free Church she later joined the
Unitarian Church. She was a mem-
ber of the Unitarian Service
Committee for many years, serving
as treasurer and was deeply com-
mitted to their work throughout the
world. Later she attended at the
United Church and in the 1980s she
joined First Lutheran Church and
has been an active member and a
strong supporter of that church
since. She was a member of the
First Lutheran Church Women, and
she missed no opportunity to take
part in any classes that were oflFered
in the church.
In the political field Kay was a
social activist. Along with her hus-
band she was active in the NDP, a
member of the Winnipeg North
Centre Ladies Organization and a
delegate to many Provincial and
Federal Conventions in the I960s
and 1970s. Kay enjoyed political
discussions and although she had
her own strong opinions encour-
aged others in their diverse views.
Kay was an active member of the
League for Life. She had seen
much hardship and poverty arnong
the eaily settlers and took great
interest in the plight of the poor and
less privileged in society.
Kay was well read, particular-
ly in history and biblical studies,
constantly seeking deeper under-
standing of life to the very end. She
attended various courses at the
University of Winnipeg. She had
travelled widely, including trips to
her beloved Scotland and to Israel
and she loved to stay at the cottage
at Brimnes in the Ames District,
built on the original Eliason farm.
Kay leaves to mourn her hus-
band and best friend, Magnus, her
sister Ann Large and her husband
Don of London, Ontario; her broth-
ers John Macfarlane and his wife
Ena of Oakville, Ontario, and
Murdo Macfarlane and his wife
Diana of St. Albert, Alberta; her
sister-in-law Dawn Macfarlane of
Selkirk, Manitoba, as well as
nieces, nephews, grand-nieces and
grand-nephews, great-grand-
nephews and well loved family and
friends both in Scotland and in
Canada. She was predeceased by
her parents and her brothers,
Donald, killed in action during
World War II in 1942 and Malcolm
in 1990.
During the years I knew Kay I
had observed in her a quiet
determination and inner strength
and dedication to her family. She
came acróss to me as a person of no
half measures. She was tirm in her
convictions, yet open to learn and
discuss. Her knowledge and under-
standing of the Bible and the
Christian faith was far above aver-
age.
The words written by the
Apostle James (James 1:22) applied
to Kay: “...be doers of the word,
and not hearers only...” She took to
heart the challenge of the apostle
and sought to live out her faith. The
apostle was of course reminding us
that Jesus taught us to use our lives
well to serve one another faithfully
in love, to care about the poor and
the sick. Such actions would speak
louder than a flood of words.
As a child Kay was brought up
on the Word of God, and she
received the blessing of God who
accepts us as his children. In her
adult life she responded by seeking
to live an honest life in service for
others, and she supported family,
her community, and her church.
That was her witness to the faith.
We remember Kay not just as a lis-
tener to the Word of God, but a
doer, who made an eífort to put the
high ideals of the Christian faith
into practice. When it came to serv-
ing and supporting others and thus
giving of herself, whether within
her family, through her political
involvement or through the church,
Kay drew strength from the deep
well of faith in her Risen Lord.
Kay will be fondly rernem-
bered by her family and ntany
friends and by all who found in her
a person of empathy and strength.
But above all, her husband Magnus,
will miss her and honour her mem-
ory.
berries. We put the soap down on the
ground while stuffing ourselves with the
fresh berries, but then couldn’t find the
soap again amongst the tall grasses and
weeds. When we arrived home, we
stood side-by-side facing Mamma, our
knees shaking nervously, and tried to
explain that the soap had disappeared.
Without saying a word, Mamma tumed
around, walked out of the house, and
went to look for the soap herself. She
found it, and that was that.
Evenings at the fish camp were
wonderful—sometimes silent and cosy,
other times filled with violin music and
laughter. Pabbi and Bjami, his brother
and fishing partner, shared a tremendous
passion for music. Everyone in the area
knew about the talented Guttormson
brothers. The Metis men fishing near
our camp called them “the little fid-
dlers.” As far as I know, neither Pabbi
nor Uncle Bjarni had ever taken music
lessons. Their talent must have been
passed down to them from their father
Guttormur, who could sing and play
guitar and used to perform at weddings
in Iceland. Apparently, after a few glass-
es of wine, Guttormur would entertain
the guests with both music and his com-
ical wit.
It always amazed me that Pabbi
taught himself to play so many different
jigs, waltzes, and reels; “The Red River
Jig,” “Big John McNeil,” “Over the
Waves,” and so forth. Uncle Bjarni pre-
ferred playing the classics. He owned a
collection of records by famous violin-
ists and could play almost any piece
after listening just once. I remember sit-
ting on uncle Bjami’s lap listening to
him tell the story about going all the
way to Winnipeg just to hear the
Symphony.
II
ON THE MORNING OF October
26,1917, while riding the streetcar
to work, Afi Jonas suffered a heart
attack. He died that day. He was only
sixty years old. Immediately after she
received the telegram, Mamma took the
train to Winnipeg. It was the first time
she had taken a trip by herself and the
first time she had to leave her children.
Right after the burial at the Brookside
Cemetery, she returned home and rarely
spoke to us about our Afi again, but we
could sense that there was a deep sad-
ness that she kept inside herself. Years
later, when Birgitta and I were old
enough to start asking questions,
Mamma finally told us the story of Afi
Jonas’ death. We were fascinated by the
drama of her telling.
To be continued in the next issue. Published
with tlie pemiission of Katrina Koven. Not
to be copied or reproduced without her per-
mission.
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