Who would get married on February 29th? My grandparents, Shirley and Lewell did just that in 1916. Their decision, which according to good sources was something neither of them ever considered, allowed them an anniversary celebration only every fourth year. When my grandfather Lewell, died in 1971 they had been married 55 years but shared only 13 "Leap Years" together. Neither was terribly sentimental so I'm guessing this didn't create a big problem for them.
Equally odd to me is that February 29, 1916 fell on a Tuesday. Why Tuesday? Aren't most weddings on Friday or Saturday? Curious. I learned today from Mom and Dad that Shirley and Lewell were married in her home in Lisbon, New York. The wedding guests, family, bride and groom and another couple who stood up with them gathered in the parlor of the house and the ceremony was followed by a dinner prepared by her mother, Allie Keyes. Fern, Shirley's younger sister was the flower girl. The young couple boarded a train to Ogdensburg, New York the same day and spent their wedding night at a hotel in the big(er) town ten miles down the road.
The next day they set out on the journey of a lifetime west to Biggar, Saskatchewan, again by train but this time with their hearts and minds set on the mystery and magic of the open wheat fields of western Canada. Lewell and Shirley's dream was to farm the land. How bold to partner together and leave the known behind for the unknown ahead. During their years out west, Shirley was either by Lewell's side, raising the two sons born in 1917 and 1918, or teaching in the local one room schoolhouse in Biggar. Those early years of marriage challenged the young couple; the environment was often harsh and unpredictable. Certainly there were times when they must have questioned their choices. Nonetheless, they persevered until 1924 when they moved back to northern New York state. Dad still remembers life in Biggar, the horses, the rugged weather, and attending school where his mother taught.
Decades later, my grandmother Shirley wrote her memoirs about those years in Saskatchewan. In the late 1980's, almost 10 years after her death, my Dad took these rough drafts of her work, copied them onto the computer, edited and organized the chapters, and then gifted his family with a most wonderful accounting of those years out west. The memoir entitled "A Prairie Wife's Tale: Recollections of Farming in Saskatchewan 1916-1924" is a treasure. My grandmother had moxie, wit, and knew how to pen a story well. Her words make those eight years pop with the raw, brave energy that fueled their early life together; the partnership that started on a chilly February 29, 92 years ago.
That was a nice little story.
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