Short Stories -by Lois Macdonald

The Story Maker -by Lois Macdonald

There was a simple charm about the 50’s and 60’s. Quiet streets in northern Ontario were perfectly lined with cool, shady maple trees. Freshly painted doors greeted strangers and family alike. Children swarmed like bees from yard to yard gathering momentum until called indoors for dinner time. Radio Flyer bikes and tricycles, scooters and red wagons full of baseball bats, and cowboy attire were rounded up at dusk, and not released until the sun rose once again for another day of endless adventures.

Carriage houses, or in our case an old weathered barn with loft, stood as proud reminders of a period not dependant on cars or petrol. No electronic games or gadgetry could begin to compare with the memories fostered in that loft during our famous summertime sleepovers. It was the perfect setting for our father, the “Story-Maker,” to weave his web of nail-biting mysteries and eye-popping bedtime stories, while bats swooped back and forth mere inches from our heads! Perhaps father felt more himself within the rustic walls of the barn, than inside the tastefully appointed rooms mother loved so well. Most likely his storytelling began around the open campfires in the Wild West, during harvest time. This soft-spoken man could capture the hearts of any audience by molding descriptive words the way a conductor frames musical notes into a finished symphony. Listening to father’s stories was like taking a ride on a verbal roller coaster. Each magical story began modestly, with a sprinkling of humor to tease, sound effects to draw one in further, vivid words to paint a bolder picture until reaching that a grand, awe-inspiring moment when all eager faces holding teddy bears would cheer and beg for more!

The 50’s and 60’s were character-building years. Not rich in finances, but wealthy beyond in imagination, creativity, and love. Thanks to the “Story Maker.”

More of My Personal Favourite Stories:

The Ocean and Her Master:

The Ravine:

Seasons Tapestry of Life


The intricate tapestry of life evolves as instinctively as the colorful seasons. The Creator’s Masterpiece. Predestined to be one for, “All are from dust, and to dust all return.” Ecclesiastes 3:20.

Whenever nature weeps and moans in despair, shades of azure and indigo spread out across her blueprint. A bittersweet reminder that winter storms will end and so will suffering. Keeping her promise, Spring arrives with new hope for the broken-hearted. She prepares the forest beds with soft, fresh linens of emerald green moss. Then waits patiently, knitting forget-me-not threads of new possibilities and a mother’s love, into swaddling blankets to wrap each precious babe. Choosing delicate soft baby blues and rose-bud pinks from her ever-growing forest palette. Life, like a lovely garden, steps bashfully into the sunlight and takes her first curtsy. She is wearing a floral patchwork celebrating all the events that have shaped her story. A landscape bursting into a kaleidoscope of ever-changing colors announces the glorious season of Summer. Songbirds serenade her new lovers, as the forest witnesses their stolen kisses. Life goes on while the seasons mature, but wisdom makes its final home in Autumn. A time of harvest. A time of peace. And by far the most beautiful season of all.

“The tapestry of life was woven together with threads of love, that although weathered, had stood the test of time and grown lovelier with each passing season.” -by Lois Macdonald

  1. My Almost Perfect Mother
  2. Facing the River by Lois Macdonald
  3. Nighttime by Lois Macdonald
  4. The Ocean and Her Master





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