The Diviners et al.

Before I moved to Toronto in 2005, I had a yard sale. Not only did it provide me with some well needed extra cash in my pocket, it also helped me cull some possessions I no longer needed or wanted. At that time, I also culled some books in my possession. I recall at that time though, looking at the bookcase that held all of my Acadia books and thought “No, I am not ready to part with these quite yet.”

A bookcase in my parent’s living room has held all of my novels and textbooks from my undergraduate degree. Some were purchased during my exchange year in Scotland, but most were obtained via my studies at Acadia University. As I did a double major in English and History (minor in Political Science and Art History), the majority of books were paperback novels and history, poly sci, and art history textbooks...and I treasured them all.



I took a variety of English classes at Acadia – 16th century literature, Victorian literature, Women’s literature and in my second year, I was introduced to Canadian literature. I will have to say that prior to this class Canadian literature was completely foreign to me. Unlike students in most other Canadian provinces, I had not read Margaret Atwood in high school. I will be honest and say I hadn’t even heard of her before going to Acadia. I sincerely hoped this has changed in PEI schools. Come to think of it, I remember looking at one of my grade ten English books that consisted of short stories written by contemporary American writers and thinking “Why are we reading this?” Anyway, I digress...

My classes of Canadian literature taken at Acadia opened up a wonderful new world to me – especially the third year class I took with Professor Jack Sheriff. We had to read one novel a week and took turns presenting – each time focused on the four elements of theme, character, style, and structure. One by one, we dissected novel after novel. I spent every waking moment reading that semester, but I loved every minute of it. I read Ernest Buckler’s Mountain and the Valley, in the ‘valley’ that it was written. Percy Janes’ House of Hate left a lasting impression on me. I was introduced to Margaret Atwood through The Edible Woman, a book that still puzzles me. And then I was introduced to the ‘other’ Margaret.


The Diviners was my introduction to Margaret Laurence and it was a book I would come to love for so many different reasons. I loved all the different themes that ran through the book – most of all the awakening that comes in one’s connection and /or discovery of family history. The Stone Angel was next and with it and many of her other books, Laurence’s female perspective on contemporary life drew me in. The Prophet’s Camel Bell and Heart of a Stranger were also engaging reads, but it was Laurence’s autobiography Dance of the Earth: a Memoir that is still one of my all time favourite books.

In the many years since my studies at Acadia, I have continually turned to Canadian Literature. I have come to love the work of Farley Mowat, Timothy Findley, Mordecai Richler, Ann-Marie MacDonald, and Robert Sedlack to name a few. I am so grateful for that class I took with Professor Sheriff so many years ago. He taught us how to dissect a novel and it changed the way I read books.

As connected as I was to these novels, I decided it was time to let them go. The older I get the less attached I am to material possessions. These books gave me so much and I will always have that – with or without their physical presence. While I was home at Christmas, I decided one of my projects was to go though all my books. I went through my three book cases and I will have to say that my archival appraisal skills came in very handy. Before I knew it I had four banker boxes full. The following day, I donated all four boxes to my local library. Hopefully somebody else will enjoy reading these Canadian classics and happen upon an author they will come to love.


Completely cleaning out the small bookcase in the living room also gives my Mother more room to house her own growing collection of books. My Dad doesn’t tend to read novels per say and tends to stick to the daily newspaper and monthly Ayrshire Review. But one book of Dad’s holds a special and amusing place on the bookcase. A few years ago, we cleaned out the attic at Auntie’s house. Going through boxes of books, I happened to come across the book below. Awarded to Dad when he attended St. Peters Bay North School, this book was a gem to find – even if he has no memory of receiving it. So it is an old, but recent addition to the new holdings in the Rossiter house. Out with the old and in with the new – to us.

My Family Cookbook

All the women in my family are/were fantastic cooks. Auntie and Grammie were both known for their abilities in the kitchen. Everything they made tasted delicious and was made to perfection after years of perfecting every recipe. My Mother has also followed suit – capable of whipping up a meal for ten with no fear and a pan of biscuits at a moment’s notice. Like Auntie and Grammie, she has all kinds of “tricks of the trade.” She knows what textures should look and feel like and how to manipulate recipes to work in her favour. The older I get, I am increasingly aware that I still have so much to learn with respect to cooking and baking. So every chance I get, I bake and cook with Mom and I pay a little more attention with the hope that something will *stick*.

For Christmas 2007, I asked Hilda for a different kind of Christmas present. I asked her if she would write out all of her and Auntie’s recipes in a book for me and she happily complied. Dated December 2007, Hilda inscribed the book:

Dear Juanita,
These recipes were copied with love from old and not so old books that Auntie used over her years of baking. I hope you will keep it going with recipes of your own now and pass it along.
- Auntie Hoolie

This little black binder contains recipes, but what I am also grateful for is that Auntie Hoolie noted the provenance of each recipe and little antidotes where the recipe warranted it. In addition to Auntie and Hilda, there are also recipes from my cousins, Great-Aunts, and Aunts from the paternal side of my family including Toddy Ryan, Aunt Babe, Margaret Ben, Margaret Reggie, Little Joe (Lewis), Aletha, Loretta Lewis, and Marion McIsaac. I then had my Mom add to the book, including her and Grammie’s recipes.

Just re-reading Hoolie’s inscription in the book, I realize I now have to add some of my own recipes to the book. I don’t have a lot of things I make from scratch, but my chicken lasagne comes to mind....and I haven’t made it lately!

After a successful production of Auntie’s meat pies, my Mom and I then decided to try our hand at a Sultana Cake. After my Mom’s cherry cake, it is my favourite of the Christmas season. And like our meat pie production, I decided to provide a visual of this production.



When Mom looked at me (above) beating the wet mixture she chucked and said “Look at your little hands beating away.” This was in reference to a story brought up over the holidays that I had never heard before. While visiting my Aunt and Uncle in Brudenell, somehow the subject of “hands” came up. My Mom shared a story about when her and Dad were on one of their first dates. They of course held hands, only to have my father blurt out to my Mother, “My God you have big hands!” My mother, who inherited her Mother’s large working hands was of course horrified – and forty five years later, is still indignant about the comment. I thought the story – and my mother’s delivery of it – was priceless.


Once again, we incorporated both Auntie and Grammie into the experience. We used Grammie’s mixing bowl and Auntie’s cake pan (and recipe). And here is my Mom (with her big hands!) holding the cake just before we popped it into the oven.


The cake took 2.5 hours to cook, which seemed like forever. And because it is something we only make once a year, we were a little more observant than usual. We spent the majority of that waiting time in the kitchen. I worked on a craft project and Mom kept me company. At one point, Mom felt the cake was rising a little too much so she started talking to it with the hope that it would listen. Above, she pointed to the cake and told it to “STOP” as it still had 45 minutes to cook. Thankfully, it listened.



The cake turned out to be very level, which Mom said it sometimes difficult to achieve. She then gave me some hints as to how to get the cake out of the funnel pan. And flop, before we knew it, it was out.


I treasure these recipes – especially because they are written out by Auntie Hoolie and Mom. I treasure the well seasoned mixing bowl and cake pans once used by Grammie and Auntie. And I of course treasure the time and experience of baking with my Mom...and the laughs we have in the process.

Meat Pie Anyone?

Every family has its Christmas traditions. Growing up, a typical Christmas Eve for our family began by attending Midnight Mass at St. Peter’s Bay RC Church. I recall singing in the choir with my friends and cousins, all of us struggling to get through the “G-l-o-r-i-a” stanza of “Angels We Have Heard on High” because (A) We were all so tired and (B) None of us knew how to get through the long stanzas properly. The church was always full as many families from nearby communities “came home” to the church they had grown up in for the Christmas celebration.

After Midnight mass, we all gathered next door to ring in Christmas Day with Auntie, Harold, Joe and Hilda. Sometimes it was just our immediate family and sometimes we were joined by cousins and neighbours. One thing that remained constant was Auntie’s meat pies. We all looked forward to this treat as this was the only time of the year she made them. Meat pies were therefore one part of the Christmas equation in our family.

Auntie’s meat pie recipe written out by Hilda.

Auntie and Hilda generally spent all day Christmas Eve making the pies. I was never involved in this baking and therefore didn’t pick up any of Auntie’s baking tricks of the trade. After Auntie’s death in 2003 this family tradition of having meat pie Christmas Eve lapsed for a few years. Circa 2008, my Mother expressed interest in possibly reviving the tradition. I recall my Father’s excitement; mainly because I had no idea he missed it so much. My Mother said she also loved the tradition (and the pies) so we decided to give it a go.

We dug up Auntie’s recipe and Mom talked with her nursing co-workers about their plan of attack with respect these pies – as many people make them. We were a little nervous about living up to Auntie’s high standard of cooking, but we decided to give it a shot. We made six or eight pies that first year and we were relieved to discover they were completely edible! One batch under our belts gave us the confidence we needed and we’ve done it every year since. Each year it seems to get easier and more familiar.

We’ve increased our productivity each year and this year produced fifteen pies - our largest number yet! We’ve made the process a little easier by involving the use of a food processor that greatly reduces the manual work involved (cutting all the meat!). In our pies, we use a combination of roast beef, pork and chicken, and we use Bertha MacAulay’s pastry recipe. Here’s a visual to this year’s Rossiter production line of meat pies:

The Pastry Master!

I still find the pastry difficult so Mom generally does this component of the process. Although she would never admit it, she’s a master of most items in the pastry field (her biscuits are second to none!). We also included Grammie in our annual tradition by using her bowl.

I somehow managed to forget to take a photo of the fifteen pies upon completion. But here is a shot of ten shells and four pies ready to go in the oven.

This year, I also decided to channel my inner Auntie by donning an apron, which I believe would have made her smile. You *never* saw Auntie without an apron. She wore one everyday (many of which she made herself) and she always had a clean one on hand in case unexpected company dropped by.

Although I forget to get a photo of the final fifteen, here is a close up of a completed pie to wet your appetite. I have two pies in my freezer here in TO and look forward to nibbling away at them well into the New Year.

And doing this with my Mother means of course we have a lot of laughs along the way. Some of the more memorable Mama Rossiter quotes from this year’s maratheon:

In reviewing the recipe prior to beginning my Mother said out loud “Bake at 400 degrees? That sounds kind of ferocious!”

Finishing the last pie she looked into the empty pastry bowl and said “I didn't think I would ever see it again (an empty bowl).”

After learning that her daughter-in-law Karen uses the left over juice that the meat was cooked in for gravy, Mom meant to say “And all the years I threw it out,” but instead said “And all the years I threw it up.”

I am already looking forward to doing it again next year.