Lenora Buffi

 I spoke only German until I was three years old. Like many Canadians, my ancestors were immigrants. My father’s family came to Canada in the early 1900s. At the time, the government was offering homestead lands to those willing to do the back-breaking work of farming. And it was extremely difficult. But despite this, they thrived, producing 15 children, 14 of whom survived, and the youngest of them was my father, Neil. Around 1924, my mother’s family landed on Canadian soil. They also struggled to farm, but two children died before reaching adulthood. My mother, Helen, was the oldest of 11 and there was so little money that even when I was a year old, my grandparents were still living in the cinder-block basement of a partially constructed house. The rafters sat directly on the basement walls for many years until they could afford to build the main floor.

 Both my parents became teachers and after they married, they began their careers in Cormorant, Manitoba, where there was no electricity or phone. I was born in 1964 and until I was nine, we lived in Manitoba’s far north. I have fond memories of exploring the woods behind our home, searching for animal skulls, making forts and collecting ‘magical’ rocks splintered from the region’s prominently visible Canadian Shield. The area is quite beautiful, with mile after mile of lakes, coniferous forest and pristine wilderness. Because both my parents loved music, they enrolled me in piano lessons when I was five years old and I was fortunate to have an excellent teacher. In 1972, I gained an adopted sister who had immigrated from Frankfurt, Germany. Then just before I turned ten, we moved to southern Manitoba, where I spent my teenage years and later met my husband. The wedding took place only two months after my high school graduation (I wasn’t even 18 yet!). Then we took over his parents’ farm, had three children and raised beef cattle for 30 very eventful years.

 I’m very thankful for the experiences I’ve had and would like to highlight those which may pique your interest:

• As a young girl, I saw one of Hitler’s prison camps and his mountain hideout in Austria (an education trip with my parents). The solemnity of the sites is indelibly etched in my mind.
• I have worked as a waitress, an enumerator, a deputy returning officer, an educational assistant, a computerized note-taker for a hard of hearing student, a piano teacher and a librarian.
• I helped install flooring with my husband in various homes – from mansions, to a rickety clapboard building with a metal pail for a toilet and a dead muskrat hanging in the basement.
• I saw countless cows give birth and helped feed some of their calves.
• On several occasions in the first years of marriage, I helped my in-laws butcher chickens (plucking pin-feathers and pulling entrails) and I also helped butcher steers when our freezer needed replenishing. My apologies to any faint-of-heart vegetarians, but believe it or not, my in-laws were hardy German stock and they still stoutly performed this task in the farm yard; the quarters of beef were hung on large hooks from the garage rafters to cure for two weeks before cutting.
• I tended my youngest son when, at under two years old, he required two urgent surgeries to repair faulty kidney valves.
• I served meals to the needy at Siloam Mission in Winnipeg; I also helped do repairs on a church in Nicaragua, where termites, scorpions and iguana are endemic.
• I’ve been to the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra and the Royal Manitoba Theater Centre.
• I served as a volunteer Ladies’ Auxiliary convener, catering meals for up to 250 people.
• I attended three summer sessions of Deaf Immersion School (knowing some sign language comes in handy when you need to communicate with someone across the room!).
• For over three years, I suffered such severe Fibromyalgia pain that my husband had to help me dress.
• I toured a Manitoba beer brewery and a winery at Niagara on the Lake in Ontario.
• I sat, weeping, at my parents’ bedsides in their final hours. May they rest in peace.
• And since this list is getting much too long . . . I’ve driven a dirt bike, gone ice fishing, blown the anterior ligament in my left knee while downhill skiing, filed a lawsuit (I don’t recommend this, it’s very stressful), made homemade pickles (the vinegar brine makes the entire house stink!) and have consumed far, far too much chocolate!

 Well, here I am, three grown children, one cattle industry crisis, and one grandchild later. We no longer farm and I decided to pursue a lifelong dream of becoming a writer. My goal is to create quality literature – distinct, honest and probing. Truly inspiring stories are masterfully nuanced and often allegorical, so I have set my sights high.

 Indeed, there is something spell-binding about holding a heavy, cloth-bound tome whose musty pages have endeared untold readers. A generation raised on Google and YouTube may never share this sense of wonder, but to me, discovering a truly profound piece of literature is akin to finding buried treasure. I have my favorites, tucked into shelves at home where they surround my desk as I type. Like great architecture, good books stand the test of time. Now, with Vista complete, I have a new book underway and I’m eager to bring it to life.