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March/April 2002 issue	In this issue Table of Contents Editor’s Notebook Inside Story Feature: Walrus À la carte Mosaic Reverberations

Amber waves of grain

I GREW UP on a farm in Saskatchewan and am among the first generation of my family to live off the farm. My father has worked the land for well over half a century and has always stayed true to his belief that cereal grains are the most prized, most noble crops that a farmer can grow ("Raising bread," CG Jan/Feb 2002). My brother, who now runs the farm, has had to diversify into the production of many other crops more profitable than wheat. But the pride of growing up on a farm that helped produce the "finest bread wheat in the world" stays with me. Those endless waves of gold are part of my soul.

Robin Bristow, Regina

BREAD FROM THE ACE BAKERY is a bit of heaven on Earth. I was a white-bread kid in my early days in Winnipeg. With five siblings, we bought a lot of it. My mother would often say: "So fill up on bread." But my father loved real bread. He would make a trip to City Bread on a Saturday morning to buy his personal stock of caraway and dark Russian rye. At the time, we thought it was disgusting stuff.

Pat McGee, Port Credit, Ont.

IN THE 1920s, Wonder Bread was wrapped in heavy, printed, waxed paper: the bottom had a pinked seam that was heat-sealed, and the ends were folded like a Christmas present and also sealed by heat.

Frugal mothers everywhere unfolded the empty waxed paper, tore it in half and wrapped lunch sandwiches in the polka-dot paper. It was quite a moment when no leftover wrappers were available and a fresh piece of plain white waxed paper could be used. No zip-lock bags, no sandwich baggies, no cling wrap!

Edith B. Shore, Sutton West, Ont.

A taste of home

THE MENTION of dulse set my taste buds tingling (Editor’s notebook, CG Jan/Feb 2002). There is a bag of dulse somewhere in my cupboard, but it pales in comparison to what I remember as a child. For five cents, I could buy a handful from the grocer’s barrel and four chocolate buds. The salt and the sweet seemed to complement each other.

I have been a displaced New Brunswicker all my married life and recall my mother sending me dulse, which I craved when I was pregnant. The seaweed I could buy in packages here on the West Coast had been cleaned and was quite devoid of the interesting inclusions of tiny blue mussels and tangy clumps of sea-salt crystals — and the smell of the Atlantic surf.

Ruth Howard, Vancouver

Canadian helpers

AS CANADIANS, we need to learn more about how our countrymen are making a difference where it is needed most. The Canadian Foodgrains Bank ("Harvest of goodwill," CG Jan/Feb 2002) is accomplishing small miracles without evangelizing or furthering political agendas. How refreshing! Hopefully this story will inspire Canadians to jump on the foodgrain bandwagon and volunteer their time and dollars to help those in need.

G.W. Malloy, Orleans, Ont.

Organic experience

I THOROUGHLY enjoyed "Helping hands" (CG Jan/Feb 2002). I hope you have also sent copies to the ministers of agriculture and health. If government would do more to promote smaller, healthier farms, rather than supporting the non-sustainable agri-giants, I believe we would all be better off.

Patricia Roozendaal, Canmore, Alta.

I EMPATHIZE with your position on sustainability, as it seems to be an ingredient missing in the recipe of life in today’s fast-paced society. We have almost removed the sense of accountability in a great deal of our consumption choices. We can’t change the world as individuals, but we can certainly make choices that change the way we impact the world.

Robbie Stevens, Pemberton, B.C.

Fruit fetish

WHEN Ray Guy mentions old folk calling the bakeapple "berry-cappel" (In habitat, CG Jan/Feb 2002), it tweaked my memory to something I heard in Newfoundland in about 1943: the name "bakeapple" came from a question in French, "l’aie, qu’appelle?" Translation, "What do you call this berry?"
Newfoundland is full of translations, transpositions and downright mis-translations from French. The best one I know is "Baie d’Espoir," or Bay of Hope, which has been crossed over into English as Bay Despair.

P. B. Waite, Professor Emeritus of History
Dalhousie University, Halifax

I TASTED bakeapple jam for the first time last summer when some friends from the Rock introduced me to it. The result was the first genuinely new taste experience I’d had in a very long while: slightly like a fruity bubble gum, and nothing like any berry I’ve ever tasted. I must must must have more more more! Sadly, none is to be found in my portion of the prairie.

Kathleen Gibson, Yorkton, Sask.

Food reviewed

I WAS SO touched by the "Family feasts" essays (CG Jan/Feb 2002) that I was crying one minute and laughing out loud the next. Each story is so unique and personal, culturally diverse and human. Food, glorious food!

Tara Qua, Gabriola Island, B.C.

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* Letters may be edited for length, accuracy and liability.