I'm seated at Cravings in Calgary having a chai tea latte. Antonio (my 2000 Cavalier - you haven't been reading my blogs!) is next door at Mr. Volvo's, on Fairmont Drive (more than just Volvo's). A young fellow I worked with a few years back recommended the place. He and his father had been going there for years. "You won't be disappointed," he told me. "and they won't rip you off". I was skeptical but decided to take a chance. He was right. Shout out to Tim and the boys. One last look see to make sure I get across Canada. It's more of a peace of mind visit.
I have so much to write. My blog was down for a few days, not sure why, but I'm really behind. For today I'll just say I was in Fernie for 10 days and oh, my, it was wonderful.
I left yesterday afternoon and headed to the Crows Nest Pass and stayed with the newlyweds in Coleman. We had a lovely supper, with some wine, read a little poetry, chatted and enjoyed one another's company. It was grand. Thanks!
I was out of there just before 9 a.m.and planned to just keep driving to Calgary. That's not always possible for me, especially when that little voice screams "Turn Around". I usually obey. Just outside the Crows Nest Pass in the southwestern corner of Alberta there's a tree that's touted to be the most photographed tree in western Canada. I don't know if that's true but I've taken a few shots over the years and did again today.
This is the Burmis Tree. Spooky looking, ain't it but I think it's beautiful.
Now it really looks spooky. It fell over or someone pushed it over a few years ago, now it's girdled and propped up with steel guide wires. If I had photoshop, I could get rid of them.
I took the Longview route north to Calgary. It's the most beautiful drive. The Foothills of Alberta are exceptional but don't take my word for it.
Didn't I tell ya. My favourite part of the drive to Fernie is the lower part of the Longview route. I've driven it a thousand times and each time it's like the first. I actually get butterflies. I'm getting butterflies just thinking about it.
Part of the reason I never tire of it, is because it's always different, depending on the time of day, the sky, the light, the wildlife.
Speaking of wild life, is there anything better than a cowboy, a working cowboy out on the range? It's raining and you know he's miserable. The cold and wet are chilling him to the bone as he drives the cattle forward. He'd rather be somewhere dry but if someone suggested another line or work, you know he wouldn't trade that life for any other. He's a man of the landscape and like the landscape he's rugged, strong, unpredictable and doesn't that make him attractive? I think that's why a cowboy never takes off his hat. When he does, he knows he becomes a mere mortal and all that allure may evaporate.
This is where I usually stop to take pictures of the foothills. It's a great vantage point.
This is looking west.
This is looking south
That's it for now. I'll just leave you with a story I started a few weeks back. I was undecided how to end it then I read Stephen King's Duma Key and got inspired so blame him, that's where he lead my muse. I didn't plagerize. His story is nothing like mine.
The Last Harvest
The gauges on the console of his combine suddenly flickered and the engine went dead.
"What the...” he said catching himself before the f-bomb dropped. Victoria had done a fine job training the swear words out of him, even in her absence he bit his tongue.
He pushed open the cab. A rush of hot, dry air rolled in as he stepped onto the ladder and down to the ground.
Swack!
“Gotcha, ya bugger.”
He opened his hand to see the crushed remains of a mosquito and a tiny droplet of blood, his blood. He wiped it off on his pant leg.
Mac mopped his brow with his old hanky. It was one of two he carried with him since Christmas 1967 when he received them as a gift from Victoria, the year before she died, some twenty years earlier. Both were monogrammed - one was embroidered with a picture of his dad’s old John Deere tractor and the other, a picture of his family’s farmhouse.
He always marvelled at her talent, whether it was embroidery, painting, quilting or sculpting. She could do it all, and raise the kids, and be involved with the church and community. Victoria was a dynamo.
The truth was Mac Myers had been amazed by only two things in life, her unlimited energy and why she had chosen him as a husband. Both were great sources of joy in his life.
He looked up at the knoll some miles off and could imagine her there looking up at the clouds.
He had never known anyone so taken by the sky. Some days she couldn’t contain her excitement and would grab her camera and run out into the fields.
“You know, I heard once that there are no original ideas,” she said one evening at the supper table. “I never used to believe that but when I look at clouds, I think people’s efforts are only an afterthought of the Creator’s original works.”
Mac didn’t always understand her point but he loved to watch the way her eyes lit up when she was excited, and Victoria was always excited about something.
Mac was still looking up at the knoll when he walked around the front of the combine, tripped and fell over.
“For heaven’s sake,” he muttered, got up and brushed himself off.
He looked down at a rock. It was oval in shape and larger than a football.
“What in the world is that doing here?” he wondered. Something that size shouldn’t be in his field, he was sure of that. Well he’d just have to put in it in the cab and dump it at the end of the day.
He bent down, picked it up and was surprised by its lightness. He tossed it up as if it was a ball.
“Strange,” he thought. He tapped it with his knuckles and it sounded hollow.
He walked back toward the cab, was about to step onto the bottom wrung when he felt what he thought was an electric shock pass through his body.
“Holy shit!” he gasped, dropped the rock and backed up. Feeling a little foolish, he looked around knowing full well he wouldn’t see anyone in the middle of his own field.
The combine suddenly started up. He jumped, startled again.
“What the heck is going on?”
He stepped forward, tentative at first, then, after a moment’s hesitation, bent down, picked up the rock and examined it once more.
“Must have been the combine,” he thought. Mac stepped up into the cab and sat down.
“I’m finally losing my marbles,” he said and deposited the rock on the floor just behind his heels.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately and wondered if he might be coming down with something although he wasn’t sure how that something could cause a rock to vibrate in his hand or his machine to start up without his assistance.
Victoria had been the one with an imagination, not him.
The rest of the day was a blur. Whatever had caused the combine to shut down was a mystery to which Mac gave no further thought.
When he walked through his front door that evening, he seemed startled at the sight of Victoria at the table making supper. He held the rock firmly in his hand.
“Oh, is that for me?” she beamed. “It’s beautiful.” She walked towards him and pecked his cheek.
“Well, give it up,” she said reaching for it. She took it and walked into the living room.
“Let’s put it on the mantle,” she called behind her.
Mac watched her every move as if he were in a trance. He felt dizzy, disoriented.
She returned to the kitchen.
“Mac, what’s wrong with you?” she asked.
He felt mesmerized just looking at her.
She touched his forehead.
”You’re burning up. Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m not sure what I’m feeling or seeing to be honest,” he said.
“Okay, then it’s off to bed with you. No arguments. I’ll call Doc Healey to see if he can come by.”
“I don’t think he’s made a house call in decades. Besides didn’t he pass away last spring?” he said confused.
“He’ll make an exception for you I’m sure,” she said, oblivious to his last comment. “Now, go upstairs and I’ll come up in a few minutes.”
Mac felt the room spin. He stumbled.
“Okay, that’s it mister. No more talk. I’ll help you upstairs, then I’ll make that call. I’ll bring some supper up a little later.”
“No, don’t bother. I couldn’t eat a thing,” he mumbled.
“Okay then, it’s straight to bed with you.”
She put his left arm around her shoulders, placed her right arm around his waist and all but lifted him up the stairs.
She was 5’2” to Mac’s 6’3” frame. How was she able to do that, he wondered.
“I’m a lot stronger than you think,” she said, as if answering his thought.
Mac could barely keep his eyes open, his head felt like a vice grip had been clamped onto it and he didn’t seem able to lift his feet off the floor.
Victoria picked him up as if he was an infant and placed him on the bed. His head fell to the side, immobilized.
He heard what sounded like a swarm of locust then felt a terrible piercing in his side. The pain was incredible, yet he couldn’t move.
The last thing he saw was the image of his late wife in the vanity mirror, her mouth bloodied, with his blood. The image transmuted into something hideous. Its mouth gaped wide. The stench of its breath was on his face.
He tried to scream but his mouth would not open. He tried to close his eyes but they would not shut. The only movement from Mackenzie Myers was a single teardrop.
