Hold up in Thunder Bay

When I got up the Saturday morning, instead of heading out immediately, I thought I needed to find out what was behind the name, Qu Appelle.  I asked a young fellow hanging about the previous night but he said someone else might better tell it.

I found that person at a farmer's market on main street.  I think his name was Ken but it might have been Burt.  Turns out he's a history lover and proceeded to tell me lots about the surrounding area, how it was founded, the fact that the Dakota aboriginal people in town were the only first nations people without status in Canada because the gave U.S. status.

I sampled some cabbage rolls then drove a few blocks to Fort Qu Appelle where there's a beach.  

Though it was cool when the clouds closed up, these kids ventured out.

I stuck around for a few hours, getting out my folding chair for the first time since I hit the road.  I read a few chapters of  To Kill A Mockingbird then the clouds came back, the wind picked up and soon I headed out.

Oh, Qu Appelle, means Who Calls.  Apparently there was this young brave and his love.  While he was away, she took ill and as she died she called his name.  From his canoe on the river, he heard someone call out his name but could see anyone around.  He called out "Who Calls?" but got no response.  He returned to his village to find his love had died. 

I left Qu Appelle so glad I took the time to see what the town was about.  Again, the highway through revealed nothing of the town's beauty so I was rewarded for my curiosity.

Ah, tree-lined street - that deep shade on hot summer days.  Nothing like it!

I love these old stone churches.  Some of the oldest buildings in Canada I'd say!

Same church, St. John's Anglican. 

Speaking of churches, I was somewhere around Insinger, Sask. when I happened upon these two Ukranian churches and graveyard.  You can see the old country roots in the architecture.

I went round the side of this building and noted the lawn was like a wet sponge.  This was a week ago and there's been so much more rain since.

Right out in the middle of the prairies!

Tombstones written in Ukrainian language.

I arrived in Regina by mid afternoon and drove part of the way downtown, enough to find the government buildings.  I stuck around long enough to take some pictures, walked around the park a bit then left. 

Regina Legislative Building.

There was a lovely park just behind where I stood when I took the legislative building photo.  These fledgling Canada geese were only a few of the hundreds that took up this large lawn.

 

A beautiful park right in the middle of the city of Regina.  And I thought Saskatoon was exceptional!

The reflection of the water around this Mallard was exquisite.

A wedding photo shoot at the university buildings.  The little fellow is pretending to take my picture.

I tried locating accommodations in Regina but thought better of it.  I really wasn't in the mood for a big city so headed out after a few hours.  I couldn't image seeing anything more beautiful than I had already seen so sticking around had no purpose.  So I moved on.  I was going to head north, then east to Manitoba.  It was time to leave Sask. behind.  Then I remembered I had forgotten all about Neepawa which I thought was just east of Yorkton.  

I completely forgot.  Neepawa was the birth place of Margaret Laurence, that well known Canadian writer responsible for such works as Stone Angel.    She was also laid to rest there when she passed in '87.  Now I'm not a groupie (Bruce Springsteen doesn't count) but as an aspiring writer, it seemed like a pilgrimage worth making.  So I said to myself as I headed north, if there's a turnoff to Yorkton, I'm taking it. 

Well, there it was.  I thought for a moment about not going then turned west onto Hwy. 9.  I thought it was just an hour out of my way.  Turned out to be a bit longer.  I noticed that the sun sets around 8:30 here so time was running out.  

 

Texas Longhorns in Saskatchewan?  Note, two of them, the brown and the speckled one behind her are a little deformed in the horn department.  I mooed and they all looked my way. One actually answered me back, in English.  Freaked me right out!  You don't believe that do you?

When I drove down into the Qu Appelle Valley I was sure glad I took a detour.  OMG it is exceptional in its beauty.  The prairies continued to surprise me.  When I thought I couldn't see anything more beautiful, there it was. 

The west end of the valley, about an hour from Yorkton.

Looks like Sask. is a garbage dump for U.S. helicopters.

Another sunset.  Do they ever get boring?

Nooooooooo!

So I arrive back in Yorkton and drive up to a motel that I had passed on the way out of town less than 48 hours earlier.  I wish I could remember the name of the place but the fellow who runs it was a funny guy.  I drove up to my room and was confused at first.  There was no key hole in the door.  I turned the knob and opened it.  Inside there was another door.  Usually outside doors are screen/glass combos.  Not this. 

It was just this door.  It freaked me out a little especially when I saw this odd looking young man handing something to a woman in the suite next to me.  A drug deal I thought! 

I was at the rear of the building, with little light and a lot of imagination.  Turned out he was a pizza delivery guy.  Still, I went back and told the guy I didn't really like the room and why.  He looked at me like I was a little weird.  I explained I was a bit claustrophic.  Not sure if he bought it, but I did get another room, on the street side of the motel with a 'proper' door.  I was happy.  

Before I left Yorkton, I decided to find a laundry mat.  I got there and realized I needed some change.  I had laundry detergent but no fabric softner.  I noticed a woman about my age had a box so I asked if I might buy one from her.  Marion gave me a sheet but insisted she wanted nothing for it.  I told her about my adventure and we chatted for a while.  Before she left I gave her one of my blog site cards.

One thing I learned not long after I arrived in Yorkton is Neepawa is not in Saskatchewan, it's actually in Manitoba.  I hit the road shortly after lunch.

I pulled into the Wayside motel around 5:30 pm and headed immediately into Neepawa and searched for the cemetery.  I found it in short order and quickly located the 'stone angel'. 

I looked online to make sure it was the one referenced in her book.  A passage from the first chapter reads as follows: 

Summer and winter she viewed the town with sightless eyes.  She was doubly blind, not only stone but unendowed with even a pretense of sight.  Whoever carved her had left the eyeballs blank.  It seemed strange to me that she should stand above the town, harking us all to h eaven without knowing who we were at all. 

The eyes might be hollow but there's a 'life' in them.  Remarkable work.

So that was two days ago and you might think that was the end of it but as has happened a number of times on this trip, one thing leads to another.  I had gone to the home where Margaret Laurence had spent six or eight years of her life.  There I met Elizabeth, a young woman attending the University of Manitoba who knew everything there was to know about the years M.L. lived there. 

When I asked her to recommend a place to eat and that I liked 'family restaurants' she suggested Wilson's.  That turned out to be the location of my next encounter.  I enjoyed a slice of home style veggie quiche and a wicked slice of rhubarb pie.  I sat there and watched the owner greet people she didn't know with the same enthusiasm as folks she knew. 

Val was the owner of the restaurant and I asked if I might speak with her.  Her Uncle Henry and Aunt Angele had just arrived but she took the time to give me a calendar and some information about the community and what I should see.

I ended up joining Val and her relatives including her cousin Doug at their table.  You'd think we'd known each other forever.  I'm sure I was there for a good hour or more. 

I'm holding a lottery contract and a lottery ticket we purchased together.   Val is in red.  Henry and Angele are behind me and Doug is to my left.  Angele and I have something in common, we share the same birth date.  Received an email from Val tonight to remind me to return when we win the $50 million.  No problem!  Wouldn't that be grand?  I left Neepawa grateful for yet more wonderful encounters. 

Just outside of Neepawa there's a lilly farm that ships out all over the world.  It started with a man's love of gardening who was looking for something to keep him busy during retirement.  They offer 2500 named lillies, eight of whom they developed themselves. 

It was outside of Neepawa that I saw something I hadn't seen across the prairies, something growing.

A field of conola.

This was a more common sight.  Bales of hay sitting in water.  So many farms were saturated if not flooded.  Tonight the weather network was talking about the emotional toll of this wet season on the farmers. 

This amazing looking building is a prison in Stoney Mountain, Mb.  The community of Stoney Mountain is right next to it - I mean right next to it. 

 It was about 8:30 p.m. when I rolled in Stonewall, Manitoba to stay with a Leah (my former branch manager in Calgary).  It was a short visit but I was glad to have had a chance to spend some time.  When I saw Leah and Kevin last, they had one child, Kaitlyn and she was just a baby.  Now there's another addition, the energetic Matthew.  Thanks guys for the bed and thanks Kaitlyn for making it so comfy and thanks especially for the early morning hug before I left. 

I crossed over into Ontario yesterday morning and I have to say, it was a bit depressing.  There was a thick cloud cover, oppressive really, and I drove for hours through a wall of trees on either side.  After the prairies, it was claustrophic.  I noticed when I headed towards Kenora through the rock cuts there were Inukchuks erected.  I kept going and soon feared the rock cuts would end and I would miss my chance.

So I pulled over, stepped into a ditch next to a rock cut & created my own Inukchuk with a buddah on top. 

I believe they mean "I was here".  If not, that's what mine means.  Thanks Brendan D. for the buddah.  It's one of the many protective things I have in my car.  There's a dream catcher, a St. Christopher's medal, a  medal that belonged to my mom Betty, a pink chrystal, a frog angel, holy water, a stuffed bear and bumble bee.  I feel completely protected and it must be working because I've missed all the dangerous weather that's been going on around me.   It's amazing really. 

Finally, I'm caught up.  I sure hope I didn't miss anything but it's heading for 2 a.m. and I want to be on the road before noon 2moro.  Been relaxing in Thunder Bay last two days - reading and updating the blog.  I needed the rest.  The hot weather was taking the good out of me.  It's only been hot one day, that's all it takes.  I'm a hot weather whimp!  

A gal from a local business said the there may be a blockade 2moro by the area first nations people to protest the upcoming summit in Toronto (yeah the one costing $1 billion in security).  I'm sorta hoping there will be a blockade.  It'll make for an interesting story and, if I'm lucky, photo opps.

That's it,  I leave you with these last images.

Abstraction!

Northern beauty!

Soggy Saskatchewan

 Let me start by saying that I was not affected in any way by the flooding and hail that has hit Saskatchewan of late.                     

Someone definitely has a sense of humour in Sask., the land of tornados. 

Left Alberta Tues., June 15 heading to Saskatoon.  This would be my first stranger encounter.  A few days before I decided to put it out there.  I sent an email to a Saskatoon writer's group telling them about my adventure and asking if anyone would care to put me up for the night.  I got an immediate response from Wendy Weseen of Saskatoon stating she was willing to take a chance on me.  That's how I ended up there instead of further south where the flooding was taking place.
Hey, I admit, I felt the fear but did it anyway.  Ok, not fear just a tad bit of trepidation. It was groundless.  Moments after we met, we started gabbing like old friends.  Didn't someone say once 'strangers are the friends we haven't met yet".  Wendy is a multi media artist and, like myself, likes to write and is currently working on her memoir and if memory serves, one of her art exhibits is about to hit the road. 

The night I arrived, Wendy was hosting her writer's group, Sisters Inc.  So here I am, a mere two hours after we meet, participating in a writing exercise and feeling fortunate to be sitting amongst these talented women.  The next day I was up and out exploring this beautiful city and Saskatoon is beautiful.
Downtown is the hub of this vibrant city.  If you think the prairies are endless miles of flat land with no end in sight, you haven't travelled them.  Take a look.

No doubt the tremendous amount of rain has contributed to the voluptuous landscape.  The prairies are an oasis of green. 

This is the Delta Bessborough an impressive structure along the river, downtown.

One of many decorative features on the Bessborough's exterior.  Why does this remind me of Silence of the Lambs.

A fish with 'tude.

Exquisite interior of the Bessborough.  I had thought of going there for breakfast the morning I left but that didn't happen and that's ok.  Probably would have cost me a king's ransom.

More impressive architecture

Pelicans spend their spring in Saskatoon.  Colour me surprised!  I think Pelicans, I think Florida, not Saskatchewan.  I took a boat tour along the South Sask. that runs thru the city.  Wasn't too impressed with this outfit because they couldn't answer many of the questions myself and the couple from Toronto posed.  The gal at the wheel was able to tell us that the Saskatchewan River is the second longest river in North America (or was it the world?), the first being the Mississippi River, so it wasn't a complete waste.  Not surprising, the prime waterfront real estate is dotted with high end homes.

I don't know why but I got a lot of satisfaction knowing Canadian geese were using this front lawn as a nursery.  Does that make me petty?   I watched a comedy special last night starring Chris Rock.  He would say yes.  Poor folks can poke fun at the rich but if the rich were to do the same, we would call them mean. 

Wendy invited me to stay a second night and I did, enjoying her company and this beautiful city another day.  Saskatoon is vibrant, active, beautiful and from what I can see from around town, a happening place.  Thanks Wendy for your generosity and Jim for passing along my email.

The day I left, Saskatoon was hit with a torrential downpour.  It had rained while I was there but nothing like Thursday morning.  It was as though the faucet was opened wide.  I thought about Noah and the arc.  It must have been rain like this that caused the world to go under water so fast.  The drive east to Yorkton was challenging but by the time I arrived, the rain had ceased, for the moment.  I went into a business to ask advise on what to see in town and the young woman actually encouraged me not to stay.  Well, I said to myself, if she doesn't think it's worth my while, I'll heed her advise and get out of Dodge.  I wasn't overly impressed with the city anyway. 

Unlike Saskatoon, it was non-descript, except for the box stores all over the main drag.  I try not to have expectations but with a name like Yorkton, I was expecting something more elegant.  I heard good things about Regina and although I wasn't interested in staying in big cities, I thought I'd go take a look.  I was leaving Yorkton but needed gas.  Next door there was a casino so I thought, what the heck, I'll check it out. 

One vice I haven't spent much time on is gambling.  Years ago I lost $20 within seconds of sitting down and knew it wasn't for me, although I did win $17 in Vegas four years ago though Lisa did have to drag me away from the slot machine. 

In Yorkton, the woman who greeted me took great pains in explaining the process.  They don't do coins so I had to get cash from the ATM put it in the machine and voila, credit.  She actually stood next to me and talked me through it.  Within two minutes, I was up $38. 

The desire to continue was strong.  I had butterflies.  Now, Wynn Ann can attest to the fact I'm not big on delayed gratification but I said to the gal, "the wise thing to do right now would be to get up and leave, right?"  Her facial expression told me she agreed.  I suspect she didn't believe I would but I did.  That was a bitter lesson learned all those years ago.  I've gambled three times, twice I've won.  Those are good odds!  Suddenly Yorkton wasn't so bad afterall!

Somewhere north of Qu Appelle, Sask.

Bloody Sunset!

I ended up spending the night in the little community of Qu Appelle.  The Country Squire does not live up to its name.  I wouldn't recommend it mainly because of the smoking.  Saskatchewan doesn't have smoking laws like Alberta and B.C.  Hey, I'm a reformed smoker and you know there's nothing worse, however, my biggest gripe about this estabilshment, besides the fact it could use a major overhaul, is you have to walk through a portion of the smoking section to get to the non smoking rooms.  What's wrong with that, of course, is the smell but as well, the smoke doesn't know not to cross over into the non-smoking area.  Yuck!  It wasn't as bad as the Econo Lodge in Edmonton for the wedding last month but close.  It was late when I arrived so it was off to bed.

Darn, this blogging takes time.  I gotta stop for now and get outta here before they kick me out!

Least I forget!

I'd be remiss if I went any further without mentioning Holly (Wynn Ann's sister) and Steve in Calgary who put me up for the night a few weeks back.  They, along with their puppy Charlie, took me in on my way to Fernie. 
After my employer and I parted company in January, I felt a little, I don't know, unsure?  It wasn't a surprise but it did come a little earlier that I expected.  It's like leaving a relationship you know is doomed yet when it happens, you're still a little thrown by the whole thing.
It was Steve who reminded me  of my dream to travel the country, as we sat watching Lisa's  last basketball game.  I tried to change the subject.  He persisted.  So thanks for the nudge Steve! 

What about FERNIE, you ask?

I hadn't forgotten Fernie.  That's impossible!  I procrastinated, waiting for the perfect opportunity when I had time to give it the attention it deserves.  What happened instead was more days went by, other things happened, and the next thing I knew, there's this huge gap in my writing about the place and people that mean so very much to me.  Time to remedy that, right now.
When I was a child on Bell Island in Newfoundland, I recall sitting on the floor with a red viewfinder to my eyes.  I pulled down the lever and gazed at picture after picture.  One that captured my attention was a night scape of a mountain, blanketed in snow and surrounded by innumerable stars.  I couldn't seem to look at it intensely enough to absorb the beauty on that little piece of celluloid.  I sat there for the longest time forcing my eyes to take in every little detail.
 
Twenty some years later, I'm in a truck with my then boyfriend heading to a little town in the southeast corner of B.C.  It was a black night.  I couldn't  make out any details and soon fell asleep.  We arrived a few hours later.  It had been a long, anxious day and I was exhausted by trepidation and excitement.

The next morning I woke early and walked into the kitchen.  The curtains were drawn yet the room was lit with brilliant sunlight.  I peeked out and was blinded by its brilliance.  Hauling on my boots, I walked out the door, turned the corner and was dumb founded by what I saw.  I thought then, and still believe, I was looking at the same mountain I had seen all those years earlier. 

It would be a number of years before I understood  it was providence, not him, that was responsible for my being in Fernie. It would take longer still before I could see that relationship, painful as it was, as the vehicle that would deliver me to my destiny.  Sometimes I fancy it was a little girl's dream realized.  Who's to say?

That relationship ended and I tried to grow into a new life in that beautiful place.  I still had some hard lessons to learn, mostly about actions and consequences.  Then in 1982, in a shared laundry room in a fourplex on 9th Ave., I met a person who would change the directrion of my life.  That person was Wynn Ann, my dear dear friend who could tell you it wasn't an easy journey. 

I didn't have much left in the way of trust so trying to persue a friendship with me was akin to Thomas Edison's efforts to invent the light bulb.  It took a lot of attempts on her part but she kept on trying.  As a result of that friendship, I gained a whole other family.  Besdies Wynn Ann, there were her siblings, her husband-to-be Mike, his mother Jean (yes, Jean of Revelstoke), and later their two girls Krista and Lisa.

When Lisa was a little girl looking at a picture of her mom and family when they were kids, she asked, "where's Aunt Pat?"  She couldn't figure out why I wasn't in it.  Wynn Ann had to explain to her that I wasn't really her biological aunt.

During that same period I started, as I referred to in an earlier blog, picking friends like flowers.  And what I garden I have.  Mine are perennials.  There have been some annuals, the kinds of friends with whom a lot of time can pass but when you see each other again, it's like no time has gone by.

During this decade I left Fernie once but returned 18 months later.  There was something about the place that kept drawing me back.

The second milestone in my time in Fernie came in 1990 when I answered an add in the Fernie Free Perss.  WOULD-BE JOURNALIST WANTED is how it read.  Would-be Jouralist Wanted.  I read that and thought "I would be that".  I never questioned where that thought came from and, more importantly, I never questioned the fact I would answer that ad.

I called then editor Laurie Turyk and she invited me for an interview.  What I remember about that interview was the question, "so what have your written?" and my response, "well, nothing really".  Perhaps I should have felt sheepish but I didn't.  Instead I said, "I think I'd be good at human interest stories". 

Why I thought that is beyond me but I did.  You see I had been creating stories in my head ever since I was a child.  It was my refuge, where I went when I needed to get away.  I had attempted to write little stories earlier but they were not that good.

Laurie told me they wanted someone to follow around and write articles about the local hockey team.  I told her I hadn't been interested in hockey since Derek Sanderson was with the Boston Bruins in 1972 and that had nothing to do with hockey.  She thanked me for coming in and I thanked her for seeing me.

The next morning she called me and said there was a new drug and alcohol counsellor in town and how would I like to do an interview with her.  "See what you can put together and bring it in to me".

I got off the phone astounded by the call then immediately paniced by the prospect of writing an article.  Afterall, what did I know about writing anything.  What I did know was movies and all the movies I saw about newspaper reporters.  I particularly remember Cary Grant and Rosslind Russell in "His Girl Friday" and Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracey in "Pat and Mike"

So I said to myself, if I were a reporter what would I do?  I got a writing pad, pencil and called my friend Jean-Yves and asked if he had a tape recorder I could borrow.  He had one of those box shaped black things with six silver press buttons.  I showed up the next day and immediately fell into what would be my style of interview - chatting.  I figured that they knew everything on the topic, all I had to do was ask tthe right questions.

Thus started my freelance writing career.  I called Laurie when I was in town recently to say thanks for taking a chance on me.  That decision, all those years ago, started something inside of me.  I wish I had asked her why she took a chance on me but I'm sure that moment in time is not as chrystalized in her psche as it was in mine.

In the late 90s a full time Sports/Community writer position came up and I applied for it.  I had proven myself as a human interest/community writer but what I knew about sports you would fit in a jock strap (sorry, couldn't help myself).  My competition was a young fellow (I was about 40 at this point) who knew a lot about sports.  The editor, Steve, gave us two scenarios, sat each of us at a computer and told us to write two articles.  I was used to deadlines, could whip up a story quickly, had an outline and nothing to lose.  So I just went for it and got the job.

My week was supposed to be 32 hours, I'm sure I worked forty or more.  The pay was lousy.  My weekends were taken up with hockey and community events.  One Friday night I had to meet a bus at midnight and after a hockey game I was confined to a dungeon-like room in the basement of the Free Press developing film from that night's game, often at 1 o'clock in the morning.

Yet, I was happier and more fulfilled than I had ever been.  Nothing mattered because I was doing something that I felt passionate about - it filled something inside of me like no other job had.

Previously, I worked for the Fernie Women's Resource centre and it gave me equal satisfaction but the work was short term though I continued on as a volunteer.

Another plus of the job was getting to know so many people in the community.  One thing that used to throw me was my own notoriety.  When I wrote something, as soon as it went to print, I forgot about it.  I was on to the next story.  It always startled me when people came up to me to comment on something I had written weeks earlier, especially if they weren't too crazy about it.  I was blindsided a few times but I got used to it.

I kept working for the Free Press until I left in 1999 to return to Nfld. six months after my mom was diagnosed with cancer.  The battle was lost and I knew if I wasn't home with the rest of my siblings, I would regret it the rest of my life.  The new area manager at the time would not give me a leave of absence so I literally walked out of my life, a week later I was in Nfld.

I always say I was born and raised in Newfoundland but I grew up in Fernie.   All the important life lessons, all the true and loyal friends, many of my best memories, all come from Fernie.  When I go there, it feels like  going home.   

When I was there recently I felt like a minor celebrity.  It may have stroked my ego a little but the biggest impact was on my heart.  You see those people grew up with me.  We know each others struggles and successes.  We've got years of history together in a town that grew along with us.  Would I ever live in Fernie again.  I certainly can imagine myself doing so.  Will it happen?  I don't know.  Part of me remembers the old adage that says you can never go home.  Don't be surprised though if you hear one day that I have.

Ok, now I feel I've given Fernie the hommage it deserves.  I do wax sentimental but those who know me well will not be surprised.  I actually got through this without tearing up.  That will surprise them!

When I arrived in Fernie this time I stayed with my friend Philo and family. 

Philo tells the story of when we first met at the Fernie Bakery in the early 80s.  She had heard me say the word out in such a way she was convinced I must be from Ireland.  When she asked me if I was, I responded "No, but I wish I was".  We've been friends since.

Thanks Philo and Barry for the bed, sons Jon for the conversation and insight, Chris for sharing your music and Damien for the autographed copy of his first book of poetry, Absolute Heart.

A night or two after I arrived Philo and I called some gals and invited them to supper.  I wanted to see as many people as possible.  Everyone showed up at The Brick and we spent a few hours eating, chatting and laughing.  It was a wonderful time!

Ladies at Supper!  My friend Buelah sits right behind me.  I came to know her when we were neighbours.  She said before we met, she'd often listen to me sing.  I'm one of those who sings like no one is listening.  I can carry a tune, just not too far!  It was because of Buelah I started to sing again in public.  The first time was at her place and the song was "A Daisy a Day".  I learned so much more from her.  She's a prolific multi media artist, musician and a woman with a gentle spirit.  I love her dearly.

I prepared a few meals while I was there to say thanks but also because I love to cook for friends.  I like that whole process.  I hung out at Freshie's either to update my blog or see if anyone I knew would walk in.  I met a lot of people I knew just walking down the street.  More than once I got a double take and comments like "oh my God, are you back?"  "No, I would say.  I'm sad to report I'm now a tourist to Fernie.  How sad is that?"

Others suggested a remedy, "just move back".  I keep thinking I can't afford to live in Fernie since it's been discovered.  A shack which you couldn't sell one time will now go for $200K+.  Times have changed.  My ability to make money has not.

A highlight of my stay was hanging out with my buddy Jean-Yves.  He was the one who encouraged me in photography and has taught me so much.  As a matter of fact, he was the one who found my first camera in 1990, a Chinon which was probably 15 years old when I purchased it but it has served me well.  I won a sports action photo contest from the Sterling newspaper chain.  It was cowboy being bucked from a horse at the Fernie rodeo.  It was one of the first action shots I took so I was proud of that feat.

The thing he and I share is a love of photogrpahy.  It's great for both of us to be in the company of someone who feels about phography they way we do.  When you're with someone without a camera, you're always having to hurry up with a shot.  But when you're with another enthusiast, you can take as long as you like because the other person knows what's involved in getting a good shot.   One thing that's become clear to me over the years is that I take pictures, JYO creates them.  There's a enormous difference.  I'm more into capturing a moment.  He likes to create the moment.  It's an education when I'm in his company out in the field.

Setting up a shot for his on-line Strobist Sunday group assignment.

Getting down with Indian Paint Brushes.

Indian Paint Brush

Trying to describe the beauty of Fernie is impossible.  A picture does paint a thousand words, so I give you the following, you can come up with your own!

The Three Sisters

The Three Sisters watch over Fernie.  The mountain to the left, Mt. Fernie is the one I saw that morning when I first arrived in Fernie.  It's taller than it looks from this perspective.

That's Mt. Hosmer in the background.  In the summer, around 7pm a shadow appears on this mountain called the Ghostrider. 

Looking down the valley

If you can look closer, you'll see bald eagle. It's there I promise.  Just click on the image and zoon in.

The green tinge on the water is actually the reflection of the trees on the opposite bank.

Reflections!

Why the bus is on its side is anyone's guess but image being a kid playing on the school grounds with this as the background.

I was glad to get a visit in Bev from Sparwood.  We got together for lunch, compliments of her husband Peter.  We followed that by coffee at the golf course (which lasted four hours)  then decided, on the spur of the moment, to head to the Crows Nest Pass for supper.  We visited  John and Lorraine whom we've known forever.  I'll always remember the April Fool's prank he pulled when he wrote an article about tunnels he and someone else discovered under Fernie.  Boy, he got me good on that one!

Bev, me and John.  A lot of history.

The last night in Fernie, I was invited by Cindy to a poetry writer's group with Mary, Sandy and Keith.  Wow, wow, and wow.  It was so inspiring to hear what others are writing.  Thanks for including me!

My last supper was with the Roberton's, Loie, Pat and Joel (Happy 28th).  Joel is a chef at Banff Springs and shares a passion for food with his dad.  Thanks for your company and the fine food.

"A thing of beauty is a joy to behold! "

My biggest regret is not making it to Fernie in time to see my friend Monique, another flower from the 80s but we'll see each other again, I have no doubt.  I stayed longer than anticipated but as someone pointed out I'm on my own schedule so I can stay as long as I like.  So true.  To quote Arnold S. "I'll be back!"

A Close Encounter

I arrived at the Kean residence in north Calgary sometime after supper on June 10. I was going to head out early the next morning but was persuaded to spend another day when I was invited to join them the following afternoon at Spruce Meadows, an international show jumping event just outside the city.

I've attended before.  It's a great opportunity to get up close to the action. Friday was no exception.  I was as close as I could be without actually stepping onto the field.  I love photographing horses, such beautiful creatures.  I submit the following for your viewing pleasure.

To view larger picture, click on image.  To return to blog, press Alt. then press left pointing arrow.

So I'm taking some shots and I look to my right and think, hmm, that guy looks like Bruce Springsteen.  Wait, I heard his daughter Jessica was competing at the event.  OMG, that's Bruce Springsteen!  Ok, so I'm not a groupie but I have a history with Bruce Springsteen, albiet one-sided.  When I was a young woman, lo those many years ago, in Fernie, B.C. my friends and I would go to a place called the Sundowner.  Man, I haven't thought of that place in decades.  Anyway, it was a downstairs club, low ceilings with a projection screen on one wall and each time Bruce Springsteen's life size image appeared on that wall, I would abandon whomever I was with and start dancing with Bruce.  Major flashback as I stood there looking at him but I knew I wouldn't approach because I'm far to mature to make that kind of fool of myself.  He was surrounded by a number of folks, so close I assumed they were family.  A woman more mature than myself and a man approached him but he politely refused their request for an autograph, afterall he was there as a proud dad, not a rock legend.  Soon the security came by and ushered the people away.  I was within 20'.  There was a female security person next to me. 

"I don't have to move, do I?"  I asked.  "I'm not too close." 

"No, you're fine there," she responded "but I will ask you to move on up the stairs before he leaves." 

"No problem, " I said grateful for the heads up about where he would exit, which was directly behind me.  I made my way to the top of the stairs, and waited, knowing he would be moving my way soon.  I did get a few shots while still standing there, as discreetly as possible. 

Bruce at Spruce! 

He walked up the steps, fronted by a few security people. I was off to his right.

When he reached the top of the steps the same woman who tried to get his autograph earlier was in front of him.  "Oh Bruce, Bruce Springsteen I love you," she said in a heavy Eastern European or Spanish accent.  I couldn't really tell because I was mortified someone that age could do such a thing.  The security ushered her away just as he reached me.

"I'm afraid I don't love you," I said "but I do like you a lot."  I chuckled  and touched his arm, (he was that close).  I was rewarded with eye contact and a smile that seemed to say 'good one'.  I told the Keans and company about my encounter and anyone else who would listen.  Suddenly I understood how a mature female could make an absolute fool of herself.  Still, I was glad it was her and not me.  I had planned to leave that morning but made the decision to stay and am I glad I did!  Not just for the Bruce encounter but for the chance to spend time with friends, people I've known forever.  Although seeing Bruce took me back to a

moment in time, my friends, the Keans, represent a thousand moments over time all woven together to make a life.  This one encounter pales in comparison to the many with them - the times we spent, the memories we've made.  Bruce at Spruce was nice (for my ego) but really what does it mean to my life?  Nothing really (no offence Bruce - but let's face it, he's not sitting around today talking about his close encounter with me!)  Friendships, on the other hand, are what warms the cockles of my heart and are the real measure of success.  I may not have a lot of money or much stuff but I am rich in friendships.

"Never shall I forget the days I spent with you. Continue to be my friend, as you will always find me yours."  Ludwig van Beethoven 

The Weather's Lousy But It's Not Dampening My Spirit!

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

 Mackenzie Myers looked out across the field toward the horizon.  The immediate sky was a deep blue, dotted with a few billowing clouds but in the distance something looked to be brewing.
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.