Free Kittens? How much?

The latest humorous "buzz" at the Holstein General Store involves a poster on the info board that you see immediately upon entering The Mall: a cutely drawn illustration of two kittens, one popping his red and orange head out from behind the other fat feline's bluish bushy tail with huge bubble/balloon letters, written by a girl of about 7, across the bottom stating a phone number and "FREE KITTENS FOR SALE".

What did you look like, Hols-a-Wood?

According to the History of Holstein 1850-1996 book (available at the General Store – from which the one situated beside my computer is currently on loan), settlement of Egremont farmland began in the early 1850s. Originally known as Hols-a-Wood, in 1905 Grey County designated this hamlet the “Police Village of Holstein” (an odd-sounding ring to that name?).

I often wonder about the appearance of this country originally – before the nestling instinct of westerners scratched a new template from the wilderness. I’ve observed the endless prairies (absolutely breathtaking normally and even more so when lightning storms hit) – were the trees in this part of Canada as endless as the prairies? Instead of golden wheat field after wheat field shimmering into the horizon did the forests seem to go on and on and on? Was it terrifying - manufacturing sentiments of disparagement and that almost belittling sense you feel when standing in a place like the Grand Canyon and realizing just how little, and unimportant, you really are? Or was it jaw-droppingly stunning – an environment to embrace despite its untamed ferocity?

What did Holstein really look like when Europeans arrived? What did it smell like? Wouldn’t a time machine come in handy? (Especially when your husband has no desire whatsoever to aid in your living-life-like-a-pioneer vision. No blame – toilets can be particularly and luxuriously helpful, as can running water, gas heat, and those funny things called automobiles.)

The Start of the Holstein Mini-Series

Photo from "Seasonal Ontario Food" Blogspot

Affectionately known as "The Mall" by locals, the Holstein General Store, built and began in 1890 by Neil D. McKenzie, located on Lot 22 in the hamlet of Holstein, Ontario (about 200 people reside here) is the hub of life in this rural area. My parents bought the business in Nov 30 1999, on the cusp of the millennium (though sometimes by the feel of it you may think as you step inside that it was 1899 rather than a century later).

Dad's motto is "if we don't have it, you don't need it" and if, on the rare occasion that something isn't to be found in the store, we will try to uncover it from somewhere (a neighbour's barn? mom's garage?). Once, at about 2 am, a local telephoned mom and dad desperately seeking a sump pump as theirs had just exploded and gushing water was frantically filling their cellar. They didn't know who else to call??? Dad found him one, took it over, and installed it.

On Saturday mornings, at 7:45am, I roll into the store for a morning of work. Brushing aside the newspapers chucked around 3am on the front step so I can yank open the new steel door, I enter and angle towards first, the coffee maker (water dumped, button pushed, customers soon to arrive for bubbling hot liquid), second the light switch, and third the antiquated safe with whom I have a tumultuous relationship. Some days the sucker withstands kicks and unkind rebuffs before allowing access. (What was that film in which two kooky, suicidal dudes created a business where you could be videoed hurling your technological arch enemy over a cliff, and for a larger fee, see it explode and burn??? The safe, and our computer printer - who lovingly completes any job my husband gives it but jams up whenever I am near, for me, these two would be the disdainful objects I would gleefully launch.)

You may think I am merely a "clerk" (supposed to dust and vacuum and check out customers) but no, no, no....there are many more roles than just this that I play at The Mall. I am: source of information (though limited as we are a post office and so can not legally give specific details, such as home addresses or directions), police officer (or so the not-so-young man I caught stealing this morning would acknowledge), psychologist, lock-mouthed gossip-catcher (especially from the regular morning "coffee club" that knows all), and oh so many more...

Follow along with me on my "Holstein Mini-Series"...