Until the day of her birth, the world was a relatively stable place.

People pretty much trusted their government to get things right and to keep them safe. Communication systems were not as sophisticated as today and when there were contentious issues in other parts of the country, most people were blithely unaware. They needed to focus on earning a livelihood and raising large families.

On August 4,1914, the day Mary Agnes Roberts was born, the conflagration we know as WW I erupted. From that point on, change accelerated and the globe seemed to shrink.

Mary Agnes was the first to ride a bicycle (wood rims) on her block. Her family owned the first radio. Music was played on a hand turned gramophone. Ladies wore pantaloons for swimming.

She was still a pre-teen when Henry Ford introduced his revolutionary Model T in 1924, and then the more advanced Model A.

As a young woman of 25 she fell in love and married George Roberts. They were like-minded in many ways and had almost 26 years together. Their happy marriage ended abruptly when he suffered a heart attack and passed away. This made it necessary for Mary Agnes to develop the character and strength to carry on, in a time when society did not yet have an advanced network of supports for women living without a mate. She did not feel entirely bereft, however. “My husband gave me two wonderful children,” she said. “They have been a great support to me all these years.” In spite of having lost her husband, she was determined to make a difference, especially in her family.

Until a few days before her birthday, one of the remaining items on her “bucket list”, was to ride on a motorcycle. Grandson Tim Roberts has a bike and was delighted to make this wish a reality. Once she had mounted the passenger seat, with the help of 2 men, she expected they would go in a straight line. She was startled when Tim turned the bike around to return to their starting point. Although they stayed on the parking lot of the longterm care residence, she was pleased

At the August 2nd birthday celebration, it was noted that she had made the first financial contribution to the One Way Adventure Foundation. This organization, established to work with troubled teens, was founded by her son Len, and daughter-in-law Jean.

Nearly 100 friends and family members came to the party.Constable Anthony Pankratz, a 6 foot 8 inch Mountie wearing the traditional Red Serge and Stetson, held her left arm as she walked with careful steps to the front of the Baptist church in Princeton. On her right side was Princeton Mayor, Frank Armitage. During the program, messages were read from the Queen, the Governor General of Canada, Premier Christie Clark, John Horrigan, Leader of the Opposition, and other dignitaries.

Toward the end of the celebration, Len invited guests to speak briefly of experiences with Mary Agnes. Several grandchildren expressed appreciation for her many prayers for them. They said, “ this has made a positive difference in our lives”.

Mary Agnes was a member of the generation that contributed significantly to the creation of Canada as we know our nation today. In her personal life she was sustained by her faith in God, the support of her family, and her determination to not stray from the good path she had chosen many years ago. She is inwardly strong, wonderfully resilient, and she possesses a great clarity of purpose.

By her words and example, she has pointed her family and many of us to a path that promises a life of significance and hope. Congratulation Mary Agnes, on 100 productive years!

Dad didn’t actually go to Guatemala that summer in 1994. It just seemed that way. Although it’s somewhat of a stretch, I could say that Guatemala came to him.

When the Mennonite Central Committee told him about Hugo, a 36 year old man who worked on a hog farm and lived in his car, Dad knew someone had to do something. “Why not me?” he said. “The evenings are long when I’m here by myself. I have a 3 bedroom home, and I’m happy to share it with Hugo.”

Hugo walked in the first evening carrying everything he owned –

which was pretty much just the clothes he was wearing. Dad had supper waiting and over the meal, they began to talk – only to discover they didn’t understand each other well. Hugo’s English sounded more like a Guatemalan version of Spanish.

During the first couple of weeks they collaborated in developing a simple system of signs and words that enabled them to somewhat communicate. Neither seemed troubled if they weren’t understood. They were like 2 kids who haven’t yet learned they can’t communicate unless they speak the same language.

“Jake, you want?” Hugo would say, holding up his offering.
Sign language was unnecessary when Dad said, “Hugo, you want coffee?” Hugo was well acquainted with that word.

On work days, Hugo got up at 5 a.m. and prepared breakfast for himself and Dad. Often this was a fried egg, unbuttered toast, a spicy green pepper and black coffee. Since Dad had no reason to rise until whenever he awoke, his egg, unbuttered toast and black coffee retained not even the slightest hint of warmth. Only the green pepper was hot. Dad ate all but the pepper and did not complain. “I lived through the Dirty Thirties,” he told us. “My parents taught me to be grateful for whatever was placed on the table”.

At supper time it was Dad’s turn to cook. His specialty was vegetarian soups and pies. Except for his Guatemalan foods, Hugo had a teenager’s palette. He loved greasy foods, especially hamburgers and fries. He always praised Dad lavishly, smiling broadly and saying something like, “good food Jake. I like.” Dad did notice that Hugo didn’t eat much. “I don’t think he cares much for my cooking,” he told us. “He probably stops at McDonald’s on his way home”.

At the beginning of summer, Hugo said one day, “Jake, my mother, my sister. They want come visit Canada 2 weeks. Is alright they stay here?”

Dad knew Hugo’s ties to his family were tenuous. This might be an opportunity for him to mend fences. Two weeks would pass quickly and it would be interesting.

“Yes, Hugo,” he said, “they are welcome in my home.”
The mother and sister soon arrived. They spoke only Spanish, so Hugo needed to interpret everything in his improving, but still very basic English.

The two women considered it their duty to feed the men folk and immediately commandeered the kitchen. Very quickly, the fridge had a stock of food – some of which Dad had never seen before. Tortillas, tacos, burritos, enchiladas and more. He was surprised and pleased to find a meal, always ready on time.

Reflecting back now, I don’t think Dad ever learned what the mother’s name was. Although we guessed she was very close to his age, when he spoke of her, he referred to her as “the old mother”.

Dad was mystified by the ladies shopping activities. Virtually everyday, while Hugo was at work, the old mother and her daughter visited the local thrift shops. Often they returned with bulging shopping bags.

Because Hugo left early in the morning and usually returned late, Dad was at home alone with the two Spanish speaking ladies during the day. With limited success, they also learned to communicate by signs and gestures.

We remembered that Hugo had told Dad the ladies wanted to visit in Canada for two weeks. The time passed rapidly and when we expected they’d be leaving imminently, Linda & I invited Dad and his “Guatemalan family” for dinner. Over coffee and dessert, Linda innocently asked what day they were planning to leave.

The Old Mother’s response gave us an insight concerning Guatemalan time and culture.

“When someone goes on a holiday in our country,” she explained, speaking through Hugo, “it is necessary to bring a small gift for everyone. Now I have a room full of presents but it is too much to take on the plane. I will have to buy a truck and my other son will drive it back. We will go with him.”

A few days later, Hugo provided Dad with another dilemma. His sister’s teenage daughter
wanted to come to Canada. “Can she stay for a little while Jake,” he asked?

Dad knew Hugo’s lovely black haired sister had six children. If one came, wasn’t it logical that all the others might come? And, would any of them ever leave?

We were beginning to realize that in Guatemala this was probably considered quite acceptable and usual. Since they had virtually adopted Dad, they were now all family. And when people have little, members of the family must help each other. Only by sharing can they survive.

Then Hugo’s sister was not around for a few days, so Dad asked about her. Hugo said she had gone to L.A. to be with a sister who lived there. She had not said good-bye to Dad because she had grown close to him and was afraid she would cry.

Now Dad had to deal with a cultural challenge. He, a widower, was well known and respected in his community. He had always tried to

set a standard that was above reproach. How would he explain having this woman, almost his own age, living in his house? Hugo was rarely at home anymore. It was not considered proper in his culture for a man and woman to live in the same house, outside the bonds of marriage.

For two more weeks Dad ate tortillas and tried to understand the mother’s Spanish. To avoid being in the house when she was at home, he devoted many hours to working on his yard. It was looking pretty spiffy.

One day when Hugo came home, he pulled into the driveway in a red 1979 Toyota pickup truck. It now seemed that the Old Mother would leave soon, but Hugo said, “brakes no good. My brother and I fix them when he has time from work.”

At the end of the sixth week, the truck was deemed road worthy, but Hugo’s brother couldn’t get enough time off from work yet. We were puzzled by the thought that the brother did not have time to fix the brakes, but he would have time to drive the red pickup all the way to Guatemala.

The Old Mother’s original two weeks in Canada had now stretched to almost eight weeks. It occurred to us that in Guatemala two weeks were apparently of indeterminate length. Fortunately Dad had long ago learned to appreciate and even enjoy unanticipated adventures.

Then, in the eighth week, Hugo came home from work one evening and said, “Jake, tomorrow my brother will come with the truck. He will take my mother to her village.”

At 9:00 the following morning, the brother came and began loading the red pickup. Dad was astounded at how much the Old Mother had managed to accumulate. When the brother had filled the truck box to capacity, he began jamming the remaining items into the cab of the truck. Would there be room for the Old Mother, Dad wondered. Maybe her plan was not to leave after all. Had she decided she wanted to stay in Canada? But there was a small space on the seat for her.

She came to Dad, holding a large, intricately woven Guatemalan straw hat with a bright red ribbon. Rather shyly she presented the hat to him, holding it with both hands. With tears in her eyes she said, “In my village you welcome to visit”. Then she added, “please, you take care my Hugo.”

Dad was surprised she had learned these words. He accepted the hat and placed it on his head. “Yes,” he said, “I will look after Hugo. He is like a son.”

Brushing away the tears still trickling down her cheeks, she climbed into the red Toyota and began the long trip to her village in Guatemala. She very likely believed she might never see her son again.

And so ended Dad’s Guatemalan summer.