COLUMN: Tales from the Gravel Ridge – The value of family archives

In recent years the term “de-cluttering” has become one that is frequently referenced when we find that we’re running out of storage space in our homes. Perhaps this is particularly relevant when we see advertisements that virtually beg us to acquire new consumer goods that would make our lives so much simpler than they currently are. How can we possibly resist such compelling common sense?

Whether we are successful in ridding ourselves of some of the items we have accumulated over the years, but no longer need, is a personal matter. The question of whether we discard items that hold personal, historic significance for us, and possibly for future generations, are in an entirely different category. In my opinion, retaining such items, be they documents or written records, as well as keepsakes or heirlooms, is a way of keeping a family’s memory, and the life experiences of the individuals who were associated with those items, alive. Bernie, my husband, names objects from the past and related items, “touchstones to memories”.

By keeping such memories alive, we can educate ourselves on how we as members of the larger family have evolved. We can learn from how others, be they our parents, or members of our extended families, responded to life’s circumstances as they experienced them. When we look at events in the world today, we must surely recognize that much has changed within the global community in recent decades. Regrettably many parts of the global community are engaged in conflicts of mass proportions, while the suffering of those who have no say in these matters is beyond comprehension.

Many living in Canada today are immigrants or descendents of immigrants. My own parents were in that category when they, along with their three young children arrived in Canada in January, 1929. I personally am astounded at their capacity to cope with life’s vicissitudes, in spite of having experienced so much trauma, including the death of loved ones due to epidemics, and further having lived through war and revolution, along with anarchy and famine, in the Mennonite village of Schoeneberg, in Ukraine. The lived experiences of my childhood provided powerful examples of the phenomenal strength my parents had. In a sense, the stories I heard from my parents are a form of oral archives. The photographs we have of extended family members and events help to put those stories into perspective.

My family also has written records that tell stories of immigration and resettlement. Some of these, such as passports and travel documents, have survived. One larger record is in the form of correspondence and other documentation relating to the Canadian Mennonite Board of Colonization, and its activities in the context of arranging for families from the Mennonite villages in Ukraine to emigrate to Canada during the 1920s, sailing on board CPR ships. My father, Cornelius Falk, was the district man for Rosengard and surrounding areas for collection of money owed to CPR, along with certain levies including support for refugees to Paraguay.

These documents and considerable correspondence speak volumes of the willingness of individuals along with members of the board to work together in order that the debt to CPR would be paid. My father was a meticulous record-keeper. That he was able to keep such careful records given that we were a large family living in a small house, astounds me more and more the longer I reflect on those circumstances.

Why bother, you might ask, keeping such family records? The reasons no doubt would vary from person to person. For me personally, I am endlessly amazed at the capacity of my parents and others in similar circumstances to survive, and indeed, to thrive in their own individual circumstances. Recognizing the names of the families, carefully entered on receipt chits, reinforces for me the value of these records. Some of the amounts were very small, but they all added up to complete what needed to be done, namely paying their travel debts. These memories deserve to be treasured.