Homestead 119 acres of mostly hardwood, and at the far side of the next field the "little woods" of about five acres and mostly softwood. Our farm had its simple landmarks. Nestled at the entrance of and partly within the big woods was a three-acre clearance known as the "little field" in which it was always a joy to work because of its peaceful setting and quiet charm. Toward the back or "up a-back" as we always called it, there were several beech nut trees all in a line which we used to raid each fall for their tasty fruit. Also near the back at the land's highest point and along Farrell's line stood a lone gooseberry bush almost lost in the cluster of undergrowth around it. We could find it quite easily and delighted to stop there in season and nibble often of its abundant yield. Not far from there ran an old stone fence well grassed over with age. Extending across the farm's width it was known to us simply as "the dyke". Coming down the farm path to the next division of fields was the "strawberry fence", a name that appears to have come from a planting of tame berries there many years ago. Not far from there and smack in the centre of a seven-acre field stood a lone spruce tree well matured and looking fine despite its lonely vigil. We never questioned how it got there or why it was left standing in an open field. We looked at it often, especially when working our way slowly across the long drills of potatoes or turnips, for it marked the dead centre of the 14-chain fields. Above the tracks remained until roughly 1940 the long-vacated former dwelling, alone at last and left to witness the closing of an era. Even as a tender youth I was captivated by this ancient structure known to us charitably as "the old house", with its somewhat spooky presence and strug¬ gling to survive despite its warped floors, twisted staircase and open windows with remnants of wallpaper and curtains moving almost sadly in the breeze. Nearby remained the well sur¬ rounded by a rickety fence and serving during most of our youth as a dumping place for garbage of all sorts in an effort to fill it up and close it off. I was always terrified in being near that old well and often had visions of falling inside. Obviously a work of art and in its day a valuable water supply, it came to a rather inglorious end. Along the lane between the house and road was a cluster of three apple trees very similar in appearance. The centre one was known to us as "the sweet apple tree" since its contents were so pleasing to our taste. The other two were unnamed. Half way between the house and road and a few yards away was a small depression which was known to us as "the old cellar". It was the fading outline of the first pioneer dwelling on