Growing up on the back 40 in rural Canada was a lifestyle that few would be familiar with. Before the internet, and high speed global communications, small rural communities like our survived through shared values. Namely, we shared and helped each other out – not only because it was the good Christian thing to do, but because we really did need one another in order to survive the harsh winters. In many ways, I feel that it is the shared sense of community, the importance of helping each other, and working together to survive that has defined the global North. Unlike many parts of the world, cooperation and civility is not an option.
Even more important in such communities is (was) the role of family. We grew up understanding that family was sacrosanct. In a harsh and unforgiving environment, family was the rock upon which everything rested. As a Gen-X, I came along just as the sun was setting on the small Canadian farming community. Like all children, I was a sponge during those early years. I absorbed much, and can see clearly how my own values and ethics are grounded in the small town ethos.
By the mid 80’s our family was forced off the farm – an all too familiar story for small scale farmers of that era. We moved to the city, and did our best to embrace the very different lifestyle and culture we found ourselves in. I was young enough to adapt fairly well, and consider myself lucky to have experienced both urban and rural life during the most formative years of my life.
Although we changed individually, the larger family stayed much the same under the guidance and supervision of our Grandparents. We were blessed in that the grandparents were quite healthy, and all lived long full lives. On my fathers side, the family was small with just him and his two brothers. On my mothers side it was a whole different story. At ten children, it was a large family even at that time.
Generally speaking we spent the most time with the paternal side of our family. Christmas, Thanksgiving, and all the major holidays found us gathered at my grandparents house. the three boys each had two children, and so even when everyone was together the gatherings were still of a manageable size.
On my mothers side it was a whole different story. By the time I was old enough to join the family outings, the immediate family had grown to massive proportion. Each of the ten siblings went on to have children, and because the Hamilton’s (Mom’s maiden name) liked a good shin dig, the outlaws (what we called the in-laws) were all being made welcome, and even coerced into attendance. As such it was rare for small intimate gathering. No, the Hamilton clan became renown for parties of epic proportion. We called them reunions, but everyone showed up to party.
The first family reunion I recall took place in the Rockies, somewhere between Alberta and British Columbia. What I clearly remember is the massive scale of it. In order to accommodate the entire family with outlaws, an entire park campground was rented, and not a small one at that. It was like driving into a small town. I cannot say how many people were there, but it was hundreds.
With oversight of the Grandparents in the early years, family reunions were planned ever 2-5 years. Due to the sheer size of the family, they were all of monumental size and scope. The practice of renting campgrounds continued, and as individual talents began to emerge, the activities continued to evolve. There were full blown plays, talent shows, stand up routines, and costume competitions. The family reunions of my youth were more like traveling carnivals, complete with out own circus masters and carnies. It was truly epic.
Along with the revelry, came the touch of the creatives. With so much talent in the family all kinds of crafts began to appear. Paintings and books being the most common. A small group of the siblings focused on researching the family lineage, and actually managed to trace the Hamilton family origins to the crossing of the Mayflower.
The family historians compiled their work into a massive and beautifully crafted book detailing the entire lineage, complete with copies of many original documents sourced from libraries and archives in North America and Europe. In addition to this effort came numerous books about the history and challenges of living on the Canadian Prairies. Then there were the cookbooks.
While the family took itself very seriously, there was a deep vein of humor running through many of the projects, especially the cook books. With the reunions being so large and successful, nearly all able bodies family members were put to work in some aspect of the organization and execution. As might be imagined, it is no small task to feed a hundred or more people for several days – all while under the influence of good “spirits.”
At some point family reunion cookbooks started to appear. Then, to spice things up and add a little festive competition to the events, cooking contests were implements. The contests were divided into several categories, from appetizers to mains, to desserts. Beverages even found a section all to itself.
Having recently dug up the old cookbooks, my Mother gave me a copy of the last version compiled in 2014. By this stage of the game the family referred to our family gatherings as “Camp Hamilton”.
Within I found not only recipes, but also a sprinkling of the good natured humor that seemed so abundant in days gone by. Nearly everyone in the immediate family was asked to provide a recipe.
Being a great cook, Mom entered two. The first was a chocolate cake, and the second an adult beverage that won her first prize in the drinks category. Personally I do not partake of the spirits, but I do admire the creativity.
There were many witty and delicious recipes to be sure, but for me one stood above the others. Instead of long and complicated ingredient lists, we got a clever piece of prose.
The script reads:
The Wilder The Better Joe Hamilton
Wild game salt and pepper
Wild game seasoned to perfection.
Personal notes:
Grandpa Joe was not a chef
He knew what he liked the best
Moose deer, elk or duck
Which ever season brought him luck
Nothing fancy for this cook
Salt and pepper was all it took.
“Not too much salt Margaret”
All I can say is “What a legend.”
As always, stay Wild my friends.
The Wild 
Leave a comment