February 16, 1909
Kelowna, B. C.
My dearest Kathleen,
I haven’t anything worth writing about this week. We have got a return of winter with a couple of nights very nearly zero and now quite a fall of snow. I wanted the snow but not the zero weather. The snow makes good sleighing and I have a lot of hay to haul up to the barn, which I couldn’t do except on sleighs as I am short of horses and have to use Jess as one of the team and she flatly refuses to pull a wagon even empty, while on sleighs nothing is too heavy for her. Odd, isn’t it?
I went down to spend the weekend with Barneby, the fellow I came home with last time. He is going to be married in a fortnight and is busy putting his house in order. It seemed to me that there was quite a lot to do too. A house that’s only had a man in it for some years gets to have a somewhat neglected appearance. The toboggan slide is close to his place and quite a crowd of Mallams and Thomsons turned up on Sunday afternoon and we had some quite good tobogganing, only the track hadn’t been prepared before the winter came and consequently was frightfully bumpy.
I don’t approve of your casual way of letting off revolvers indiscriminately at farmhouses [see Kathleen–January 26, 1909]. It doesn’t sound very safe for anyone. I can see myself washing dishes for you while you sit on the kitchen table with a gun in each hand telling me to hurry up; or worse still, fancy being compelled to eat tough pie-crust at the muzzle of one’s wife’s revolver! I really don’t think you need learn the art.
An amateur performance of “The Pirates of Penzance” comes off next Thursday. Harry and I are going with the Cleminsons. I am not a bit particular where I get seats this time [see Robin–September 23, 1908 amd Kathleen–October 15, 1908]. Tomorrow night the Hospital Ball comes off, the last big dance till after Easter and incidentally the last dance I go to in town without you to accompany me. There will be nothing for me to tell you about this time, Kathleen, you may be sure of that.
Wednesday. The dance came off last night. It was rather fun. The orchestra is getting awfully good now and I haven’t danced to such good music since I left England last, only the time is awfully slow. It was just the evening for a dance, as since I started this letter we have had the heaviest fall of snow this winter and I could go down in the cutter, which is a great improvement to wheels. It rather disorganises the next day’s work but I managed to get in a load of hay and now I am finishing this while waiting for Mrs. Mallam and old Mrs. Thomson to come to tea. It isn’t often that I have anybody to tea so I rather enjoy it, and I want them to see the house too. The last time Mrs. Mallam was here it was more or less unfinished. There isn’t much to do to it now except colour or paper the walls and I think that will be better left, as it depends on the colour of the curtains and things that I hope to buy in England; and further, I have as much idea of interior house decoration as a blind man might be expected to have.
No more at present except my love.
Yours as always,
Robin