Alan Skeoch

Begin forwarded message:

From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: ANGUS McEACHERN WITH HIS PET CATTLE…JUST BEFORE HE DIED

Date: April 2, 2023 at 12:00:19 PM EDT

To: john Wardle <jwardle@rogers.com>, Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>

EPISODE 790    ANGUS WAS A NEIGHBOUR —MUCH MORE THAN THAT, A CARING FRIEND

alan skeoch

April 2, 2023

Angus McEachern —his barn in the distance when it was intact 

Mom often said that Marjorie and I named our first born, after my favourite stuffed toy….a ’teddy’  bear that 

I slept with as a child.   Partly true and partly false.   The stuffed toy  was called ‘Angus” but the name

chosen was certainly not fictional.   Angus was a real person.  The kind of person that makes an

indelible mark among the neurons of a child’s brain.

Angus McEachern watched over my  grandparents, Ted and Louisa Freeman.   His farm fence was  a joint fence.

“Your Granddad owns the first and last half. We own the middle”  

Angus kept an eye on the whole fence lest his herd of cattle got in among the wild apple

trees on the Freeman farm.

Angus cared for the Freemans When they reached an age that they 

could no longer handle their small 25 cre farm.  Angus McEchern  picked up 

the slack.  Helped  grandma and granddad overcome the problems of aging. 

 In those  days

of the 1940’S and 1950’s Angus often wheeled his tractor in behind the Freeman farm house and cut enough fire wood

to cover the winter months.    

When a hole in the rail fence allowed  Angus’s cattle to break through and gobble their way through the piles of

wild apples.  Really nasty danger of Bloat which could kill.  Angus fixed the fence.   When the icicles began to form inside the Freeman farm house

Angus often dropped  by  just to see that grandma and grandpa had safely retreated into the front room where

the wood stove was belting out life saving heat.  

As a child and young adolescent my brother and inoiticed this.

Time moves forward.  Eventually grandma and grandpa Freeman passed on.   And Angus got older.

Eric and I got older as well.  Became grown ups,  albeit grudgingly.

One day in early fall, around 1980,  I  got word that Angus was selling his Hereford herd of beef cattle.

It was a sunday. I Walked down the fifth line and up the maple tree lane to see Angus.  I know this

was  tough time for him.  And knew it would get worse.   Angus pulled up  a couple of stools in his woodshed and we spent a couple 

of hours sipping Scotch whisky from a bottle hidden away among the split maple.  Seems to

me the bottle came from the Isle of Islay.  the Scottish island from which the McEcherns emigrated 

in the early 19th century.  I think They were Scottish hand loom weavers displaced by the steam driven

 mills of the  industrial revolution.

I will never forget that afternoon because it was the last time we talked.  The following Wednesday

the auctioneer arrived to auction off the McEchern herd of Herefords.    Angus died before the 

auction.    He was torn by the necessity of the auction and the fate of his beloved cattle.

“Let’s go up to the barn, Alan, I want you to meet some friends of mine.”

Angus was lame so the effort to reach the barn was not easy.  So he fired ups his John Deere tractor 

and idled  along beside me as we headed for the barn.

“these are my babies,  Alan”

Angus could name each one.  Rubbed

a neck on one ….scratched the forehead of another…rested his ar across the

back of another.   

“Feeding time…..they know that.”

There was much they did to know.

I do not want to say anything else about that afternoon.  I hope you can peruse the photos and

feel as choked up as I did.

alan

POSTSCRIPT:  Special Note to my cousin Ted: LEST I FORGET!   ANGUS was not alone.  Others helped  Grandma and Grandpa through the last years

of their lives.   Their son Frank Freeman, his wife Lucinda and their son Ted were just as caring as Angus. Moreso which I will record later.

My mother, Elsie Freeman, also did much to help her mother and father from money earned in the 

sweatshops of the needle trades.  Every second week end she went back to the taking Eric and I along.

Dad helped  a bit but he had racetracks to support as well.  

Our little section of the Fifth line, Erin Township,  was settled by Scots.  The land was not terrific.

Lots of rocks which land agents felt Scots could handle.

Jean and Janet McLean farmed across the road and dropped by often as did Janet MacDonald

who had her own farm to run as well.  Both these farms were operated by women who took

time to help Grandma and Grandpa Freeman.  None were wealthy.  All tried to live off farmland

that was really a terminal moraine where an ancient ice monster dumped gravel and boulders and

a touch of top soil.

There may have been anti-English prejudice when the Freeman moved into their farm surrounded

by Scots.  But that did not last long.

Angus was not alone….lots of welcoming thoughtful people around

alan

SWAMP
A swamp, a fen, a marsh, a bog;
they’re all the same.
You trudge, you slog.
The ground is soft and wet and spongy.
Stay a while and you’ll feel grungy.
Walk a little further yet.
Your feet sink in;
your legs are wet.
Stay long enough,
you very might
be getting a mosquito bite.

There’s dogfish, cattails,
frogs and otters,
some turtles, beavers, in the water,
hawks and ducks and northern pike,
bald eagles, black birds — 
much to like.
So grab your boots and come on in.
It’s better if you do not swim,
but save the wetlands
marsh and bogs
for all the turtles
ducks and frogs.

By Denise Rodgers

Copyright© Denise Rodgers
Great Lakes Rhythm & Rhyme