THAT WORD "CAN'T"

My grandmother had a saying for everything, and one of her favourites (at least, one I heard often) was “Can’t is a sluggard too lazy to work”. Telling her “I can’t…” was, in her mind, an excuse, or an unwillingness to try. It never worked. Unless we could prove beyond a doubt that whatever we were trying to avoid doing was physically impossible, she would not accept the little word ‘can’t”. Laziness was on the top of her list of vices; right up there with telling lies or taking the Lord’s name in vain. Because of this, we (my brother and I) learned very young that many things we thought were impossible were indeed do-able. Even more important, we realized that one does not shirk a task, whether physical or emotional, because it is unpleasant. One bites the bullet and does one’s best to get it done. It is a lesson that has stood me in good stead more than once.

We had no running water on the farm, therefore there was no need for sewers. The dishes were done in a deep pan, and the water was then carried a little distance into the back field and thrown onto the ground. My brother had mentioned seeing a long, green garter snake in the same area, so I always looked for something else to do, usually with success, when it came time to throw out the dishwater. For some reason, even knowing they were harmless, those slithering reptiles petrified me…they still do.

It was inevitable that my turn to empty the pan would arrive. My whining “I can’t…there’s a snake out there” did me absolutely no good at all! In those days, it was unthinkable for a child to refuse heeding orders. You did what you were told. I picked up the pan and, paying more attention to where I was walking than to the water slopping over the edges, I began to goose-step my way out into the field. Sure enough, I met the snake. In fact, I nearly put my foot right on it. I screamed…and kept screaming. The pan became a missile; it and the water it contained went flying through the air. I imagine the dance I did strongly resembled the Russian Bear Dance, heels kicking high. It lasted for a few seconds before I gathered myself enough to high-tail it out of there back to the kitchen door!

Nobody looked around, or seemed to pay attention to my little drama. My grandmother had seen it all, and there was a suspicion of a smile still on her face when she turned and asked me where the dishpan was. I can remember staring at her, still blubbering from my fright, and realising with dread that, yes…I was going to have to go back out there and retrieve the dishpan. There would be no getting out of it. I waited a few minutes then, holding my breath, mumbling repeatedly my grandma’s assurance that the snake was more frightened of me than me of it, I carefully made my way back into the field. There was no sign of the culprit. I gingerly lifted the pan, then ran as fast as I could; the awful feeling that the snake was right behind me putting wings on my feet.

There was no open praise for my achievement. I did, however, overhear Grandma telling my Grandfather about the episode later that night. I detected a sliver of approval in her tone when she said “…scared as she was, she went out there and brought back the pan!”

Grandpa chuckled. His pride was evident. “That’s our girl!” he answered. I went to bed floating on a cloud. I could do it!

But only if I had to. I still used every excuse in the book to avoid that area of the field. Suddenly a barrel appeared just outside the door. It was to be used to dump the dishwater, my Grandma told us; no use making the field muddier than it was already. I hugged her a little tighter that night on my way to bed.

Events this past weekend renewed these memories. Sorry, but if anyone tells me “I can’t” without giving it his/her best shot, I am inclined to consider it a “cop-out”. There’s no empathy there. Blame it on my upbringing.

Thinking about the snake gives me chills; but thinking about my Grandma, and all her invaluable lessons, makes me SMILE, because she is the one who taught me that I CAN handle nearly anything you throw at me..

Luv from the Bush in Quebec