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of us began to pray for help. Suddenly, before we knew it, the fire subsided, changed direction, calmed down, and burnt itself out. A little miracle. We ended that spring day with frazzled nerves but a tidy schoolyard!
    Most teachers at that time still had to board with a student’s family or with a household looking to make some extra money. Some teachers had to live in granaries, bunkhouses and, in some cases, barns or tents. I was fortunate to reside in the teacherage adjacent to the school, so I did not have to commute daily.
    The little teacherage was conveniently located by the school, but was isolated. At night, the coyotes howling on the prairie and the squirrels scurrying up the side of the house kept me company. As a young single female teacher, I occasionally enjoyed the local social scene: the box lunch socials, sweetheart dances, hockey nights, and curling bonspiels. When I arrived back to my living quarters, after a winter evening out with friends, frost glistened on the ceiling, and half-inch hoarfrost icicles clung to every nail on the wall. I will never forget the cold. I want to impress upon you that winters in Saskatchewan could be bitterly cold with the temperature dropping to 30° below and even lower. It was so cold I would layer myself with longjohns, PJs, a hood parka and, occasionally, even mitts. This is how I warmed up in bed. Oh, what memories!
    Some of my brothers left school to help father on the farm as there was always plenty of work. A number of them eventually took up farming as an occupation. My sisters married farmers. I always knew that I would marry one day even though I knew it would be the end of my teaching job. I had witnessed my parents’ happy and productive marriage and saw that as my goal.
    It was love at first sight when I met my husband-to-be, John Kotelko. He was tall, dark, and handsome. He was twenty-six and I was twenty-four. We married in August 1943 in a church on the farm in Cudworth, Saskatchewan. I wore a beautiful long, white dress with a lovely veil that trailed behind me as I walked down the aisle. The whole community of 400 people came out to wish us a happy and prosperous life. A korovai is traditional wedding bread that symbolizes community: it takes the place of wedding cake at a Ukrainian reception. Usually, the family and the entire village bake it as an expression of support for the newlyweds: everyone contributes flour to the cake. John and I did not have a korovai , but we did have three special breads, or kolachi . We did not receive wedding presents, but we did receive $137.21 as dorovinya from the guests, quite a lot of money for 1943.
    I remember as John and I were leaving the church after the wedding, a sudden gust of wind blew the veil over my eyes, temporarily blinding me. Perhaps that was an omen. I was blind to how my married life would unfold. I believed in the sacrament of marriage as being an expression of total devotion and commitment to family. I dreamed that my husband and I would love each other for life, just like my parents had done in their marriage. I wished for a lovely family, and was granted this wish when we had two beautiful daughters, Nadine and Lynda but, sadly, the happy family life was not to be. The name ‘Kotelko’ is believed to have originated from ‘ kotel ’. In a farm house, a kotel is the name for the container that holds hot water within a wood stove. My husband, like his namesake, was prone to over heating when it came to his temper.
    John was not a farmer; he worked for an insurance company, which caused him to travel extensively and be away from home for long periods of time. He also preferred activities that took him away from home: he played the fiddle, and often was invited to play at weddings and dances, leaving me at home with Nadine while he went off to enjoy himself. No, he did not stay home and keep me warm. As they grew older, I would warn my two daughters against marrying a man who has to travel for his