Ernestly ?!Ernestly ?!By ERNIE NEUFELD, Weyburn Review Associate Publisher
Ask a fisherman about his experiences, and you invite some pretty tall tales. I could tell a few myself, and I only went fishing half a dozen times, with the last outing just about 20 years ago. Mention fish to a survivor of the Dirty 30s in Saskatchewan, and you beg stories you could not imagine - and they have nothing to do with catching the denizens of the deep. But everything about their use.
While spinning out columns on the depression years based on the "Vinge Papers", I mentioned the gratitude of prairie folks for the carloads of apples, vegetables and canned goods received from other Canadians - particularly Ontario people so often maligned by us nowadays.
This inspired me to ask readers about their families' experience with the codfish sent here, also in large quantities, by sympathetic folks in the Maritimes, who were experiencing their own hard times, but were glad to offer prairie chickens a change of diet.
Naturally, you have heard of people using the salt cod to line barns and sheds, but I received one letter that told of even more unlikely uses.
Doug Welland, who was born in Weyburn, and worked at the Review for five years - two qualities that almost guarantee probity - wrote some months ago from Red Deer, Alberta (not to be confused with Green Deere), where he now lives with his wife Gladys.
I have been holding on to his unusual report in the hope of getting some equally original examples of use - or disposition - of those fruits of the deep and very, very briny, that were received here with mixed feelings and some offended palates.
"As kids we found a number of other uses" (beside eating) "for the frozen cod. My sisters and I would somehow fasten them to our boots and use them as snowshoes. It worked quite well, actually, and I presume these fish were not used in my mother's recipes.
"We would also measure out a softball diamond in the snow and use the frozen cod as home plate and the bases." With the salaries being paid pro ball players today, I guess the Welland kids just missed their calling. Can you imagine, in the homeland of hockey, youngsters being dedicated enough to the summer sport to play softball on the snow, and as described? Move over, Dominican Republicans!
It isn't clear whether the players used the cod as snowshoes while engaged in this sport, or if this represented two separate activities.
If the foregoing seems a bit far-fetched even for a former labourer in the Review vineyard, I must take refuge in the excuse that Doug worked at the paper before my time and did not have the benefit of my elevating influence.
Doug remembers the codfish arriving at the siding of his hamlet (Talmage, maybe?) in big wooden barrels. "Of course, there was no refrigeration in those days so these fish were salted, and I do mean salted, and packed flat in these barrels.
"The fish were impossible to eat by cooking them in a normal manner. My mother would boil them in a large container of water for what seemed like several days, changing the water every few hours to remove the salt. She would then mix the cod with other ingredients which I cannot recall and the end result was a dish that tasted quite good."
And here's another Welland twist on the handouts from the ocean: "And who could forget the shipments of some kind of brown pickled herring with no eyes? These were also salted, but were edible if cooked in the same manner as the cod. These also became a source of amusement for us as we would divide them evenly among our playmates and play different games to see who could win the most herring."
Monopoly, anyone?
I've received a few more comments about the codfish benefaction, and I would welcome more. Perhaps you can even beat the Welland fish story.
My address (also listed on the Review's Website) is ernestly@pathcom.com.
Box 400, 904 East Avenue
Weyburn, SK
S4H 2K4
Phone: (306) 842-7487
Fax: (306) 842-0282
E-mail: weyburn.review@sk.sympatico.ca
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Review (1987) Ltd.
