Daddy's hands

For every housewife there is a husband. The father of her children, her partner and her support. Growing up I watched my father do what he could. He taught me to water ski, swim, snowmobile (I threw him off the sled and took off without him on that one) and more. He took us to from PEI to Key West and from Cape Breton, Novia Scotia to the Grand Canyon.

Now what do fathers have to do with housewifery and fiber arts. At work I talk about how a marriage is  a team of oxen. Our culture today almost diminishes the work of housewives but at one time it was an honor for a man to choose you for it meant not only did he think you were a good match but also thought you could care for him. Equally of course the woman had her say.

A father taught his son, protected his family, and cared for them. If his wife was sick he'd attempt to cook (simple things), after which many housewives vow to never be sick again. He'd fix the roof or minor house repairs. He'd cut firewood and get food. While a garden was the wives domain the fields were the husbands. It was a team neither the father or mother was more important even if there was a division of labor.

So here's to the men who care for us. The men who taught us to drive, who picked us up after we fell. Who taught us to paint, behave, and best of all our fall back to when mom says no. (Unfortunately that didn't work in my house unless cars were involved).