Stampede!!

Yeeee Hawww! That's the sound of the Ponoka Stampede, currently in full swing in my town. For those of you uninitiated, a Stampede is a festival of western and cowboy skills, held annually in just about every town in Alberta. Broncho busting, bareback riding, barrel racing, bulldogging steers, and bul riding, not to mention nightly Chuckwagon races - a canopied wagon pulled by six thoroughbred horses! The whole thing is wild and noisy, with a saloon thrown in for entertainment.

Our town of roughly 7000 doubles in size for the week of Stampede. The fifth wheel trailers stretch for hundred of yards in open space around the stampede grounds. This is abig deal for the town. Thne only stampede in Canada bigger than this 7 day stampede is the Calgary Stampede, which runs for ten days.

Spin-off sights produced by stampede week: a cowboy in full regalia - stetson, cowboy boots, jeans, a huge brass belt buckle and a leather vest - no six-gun - chowing down on a plateful of donuts in Tim Hortons. The upside of stampede week is a boost to the local economy. The downside is impossible traffic downtown, and the influence on the town's development by the 15 member Stampede Board. Way too much influence, in my mind.

Tomorrow is parade day - floats, bands, horses, the whole nine yards, plus a street festival to follow. AND, my granddaughter Emma arrived in the AM to work here all summer. A plus for us! alst year we took Emma and her brither Angus to the races one evening. This year, maybe not. Emma starts work on Tuesday morning, so this weekend is the sum total of her "summer vacation." More on this phenomenon in a day or two.

Books

Books. My mind has been on books for a while now. Our house is full of books. Old books, new books. They fill all the bookshelf space, and are stacked on tables and chairs, and on the counter in my office. Sometimes the floor as well. From time to time we talk about sorting through and culling out quite a few of them. But every time I look at some of the books that have been gathering dust on the shelves, I open one, and find my underlining and starring, I realize that although I can't remember a lot of what is in them, they are - and have been - friends for a long time. How can I 'throw out' old friends. So I put it off again.

My children gave me books for Father's Day. I've already read one of them - a really neat 'duo-bio' by Martin Sheen and his sone Emilio. I'm in the middle of a history of the Hatfield-McCoy fued in the Ozark mountains, and I've just started a book on predictions for the next forty years. Of course, I am seduced away from these last two by a mystery book by Jo Nesbo, a Swedish author I recently discovered, who writes a mean thriller about his hero, the alcoholic super-sleuth Harry Hole.

The whol book thing came to mind on Sunday as I was driving back from Red Deer. Stewart MacLean was going on about his favorite bookstotres in Canada. That got me thinking about mine. Pages in Calgary, Greenwoods in Edmonton, The Banyen Tree in Vancouver, where Vincent and I spent many a quiet afternoon, roaming around together. My fondest favorite is  Robinson McNally's flagship store in the Grant Park Mall in Winnipeg. That store was the first big-box bookstore in Canada, even earlier than Chapters or Indigo.

I have fond memories of Robinson McNally for another reason as well. In 1983, when they were just starting, they had a small bookstore near Kenaston, in west River Heights. I was newly separated, and rootless. For months, I spent every Sunday afternoon in that store, browsing and reading. I got to know Holly McNally, and we talked some. That place was a godsend to me, and will always be my favorite of all bookstores.

I'm at the point where i need my glasses prescription redone and probaby need new glasses. I know this because sometimes when I am reading relatively small print (and that print gets larger each year), I have trouble reading it. I reflect on what it would be like not to be able to see. I couldn't read. That would be…difficult. Oh, of course I could listen to Morgan Freeman's voice telling me many of the stories I would read. And while that would be pleasurable, it wouldn't be the same as readig myself.

Not often enough am I grateful for sight, simple sight, the ability to read and see things as they are. Tonight, I am grateful, and ready to read some more before bed. So…goodnight.

The Blind Man

Home from vacation on Monday. All week to reorganize and prepare for Presbyterian worship this Sunday in Red Deer. They finally have a new minister coming next week, so delirious joy abounds in their midst.

Rose this morning to a cloudy and chilly morning. It rained in the night, so everything is dripping. Planting perennials will wait till afternoon, I think. Went walking in a fog, and surfaced a memory that is foundational for my faith life: Mr. Farmer singing on Easter Sunday in Transcona. Cold March Easter - howling wind, roiling clouds. A parka Easter rather than a bonnet Easter.

Mr. Farmer was the blind operator of a little canteen at the gates of the CNR shops in my home town. Almost 3000 mean passed through those gates daily, and they all knew "The Blind Man." Only the Church attenders knew that Mr. Farmer had a rich bass-baritone and sang solos from time to time.

Easter Sunday, 1943 or 1944: I was eight or nine years old. Mr. Farmer's daughter Joyce led him to the choir rail, where he stood straight, his hands on the railing. One organ note sounded to start him off, and then it came pouring out of him a cappella - gentle but powerful, simple yet rich. When I try to remember Mr. Farmer's voice, I get a picture of polished dark oak: solid, gleaming deeply, and rich beyond imagining.

As he sang, the clouds above us opened for a moment or two, and a shaft of sunlight beamed in the arched window high on the south wall of the church. It flooded the spot where Mr. Farmer stood like a spotlight. He stood there, bathed in sunlight, and, as he sang, eyes closed, a broad and warm smile spread over his face at the warmth he felt. He looked as though he was welcoming an old friend. In the most profound but simple way, my interior life was changed in that moment. I believe my faith-life was born that day, 'born from above' as John's Gospel puts it.

The memory came back to me as I read a piece by Jean Vanier on the 'net about "Seeing God in the face of others." I'm sure that's what happened to me that day. I'm sure that experience lay behind my strong desire to have my first tattoo be an image of Moses' 'burning bush that is not consumed': the presence of God in light and heat.

I never learned Mr. Farmer's first name. I rarely saw him outside of worship. He was a "friend." Yet, in some ways, I owe the beginnings of whatever trust I have in God to the image of his face, brightened and opened by the sun on a cold and dark Easter morning. Through my life there have been other "Mr. Farmers," but none so basic as the Blind Man who helped me to see.

One hundred and thirty-seven

Last full day of our two weeks in and around Grasslands National Park. Grey day, 'rain-on-a-wind' kind of morning. We are planning a trip to Climax, SK, to attend worship with a UCC congregation. Then back here, read, pack, dinner with our hosts, and off early in the morning. If the sun shows its face, perhaps we'll hit a trail this PM. Time will tell us.

When I started researching this trip, discovering the Park and it's offerings, we noted that it was "near Val Marie." Val Marie? Who's that? Nothing significant or important to our visit, we were sure. I'd worked in small towns before in Alberta - 650-800 people. How could a hamlet of 137 people have an impact on us?

Over the two weeks of our stay we have learned that this place packs a significant wallop and has been at the core of our lovely visit to this blessed land. Val Marie sits at the bottom of Saskatchewan, only a short drive to the US border. It has the 'small town look:' street as wide as the main boulevard in Beijing, China (a common prairie feature); shabby old building, some of them closed or abandoned. Trucks parked here and there, most of them, like our car, covered with beige mud. But life sparkled in a few places. There's a hotel with a steady custom of drinkers and eaters. Plans are made in that smoky and run-down place; jokes are shared. Locals know it as a sort of home. Then we discovered, across the street, a small grocery store. Again, steady custom. And we learned that local investors keep it healthy and providing it's vital service to the town and Rural Municipality. It's a good long drive to any other grocery! Nearby, one of the village's gems: The Harvest Moon Cafe. Sounds wonderfully prairie, doesn't it? In many ways it is, but it's also a surprise. Run and staffed by young people who are making a commitment to the community, it serves a menu of really good food, well prepared, and served in 'Saskatchewan servings' - large. The desserts are made on site, but smack of the fancy cuisine of the big city: white chocolate cheesecake with Saskatoon topping; homemade rhubarb, or green tea or Honey Betty ice cream! Where else would I find that for a few bucks?

The folks who cook and serve are cheery, friendly and competent. (One of the cooks recognized Beatrix when we ere shopping in Swift Current (130 km away), and stopped to speak to us! The Harvest Moon may not qualify as 'fine dining' in Toronto, but it comes pretty darn close in the ways that count.

Down the street there is an Art Gallery featuring work by 24 artists, most of them local, some from as far away as Swift Current or Regina. It's actually the best Art Gallery collection we've sen so far in a small town - a really small town. We dropped some serious money there!

On the corner sits the old brick school building. In other nearby towns, the same type of building sits, gone to rack and ruin, broken windows, sagging roof and dereliction. This old school is buzzing with life. A credible museum, soon to be upgraded with help to an Eco-museum. A huge mounted bison head dominates the entrance: you know where you are! An historic quilt hanging before you tells personal stories of the old timers.And then there is "Prairie Winds and Silver Sage," a combination souvenir store, incredibly rich book collection about the region, the park, the animals and the people who have lived on this land over the eons. The Prairie Ground Espresso Bar I have mentioned before - best latte south of Swift Current!

Across the grass, and on the same large lot as the PWSS, sits the Val Marie School. Maintaining a school in a village of 137, even with kids from the RM, is a tough task. But the school is clearly a multi use facility. A day care centre lives there, the Prairie Learning Centre - a unique educational venture by the Chinook School Division, the Grasslands Park, the village, and a handful of other supporters. Outdoor education on this land, about this land.  A fitness program utilizes the facility as well. The school sounds like a hub, very busy hub!

A regional economic development council contains a number of Val Marie residents, and works hard to shift provincial money and interest into better roads, Internet, and other services for this deep south region of the province. One hundred and thirty-seven people? Wow! Imagine if they were 500, or 850, what might happen here in the south. Fact is, it's happening with 137!

Looking down…

"There are people who think the prairie is boring. It's hard not to pity them…" Thus Candace Savage begins her beautiful volume Prairie: a Natural History. It's an attitude we flat-landers encounter all our lives. In the nineteenth century, the noted naturalist J.J. Audubon pronounced the western prairies of the USA a "barren desert," not worth the naturalist's time, nor the settler's, for that matter.

A wiser instruction comes from the Canadian writer W.O.Mitchell - a prairie boy himself: "to appreciate the prairie, you must look down…" He was referring to the countless tiny wildflowers that grow and replace themselves in the long grass every few days.

Walking the rolling hills of the Grassland National Park has been a kind of homecoming for me. It has been a long time since I have lived and walked on true prairie. Where I live now, the country is parkland, with lots of open land, but it was, and is, quite heavily treed. Few spaces are allowed to grow wild, and those that are "grassed" are covered with the invasive strains brought from Europe by arriving settlers.

When prairie is returned to its natural state, the land becomes covered with up to seventy different strains of grass and other plants. Small cacti sit waiting for dry years, when they can grow and thrive. Delicate flowers dot the landscape with patterns of violet, yellow and bright red. Sage bushes thrive, so the air is filled with their pungent perfume. These last days, walking on the flat, or into the curving uplands has filled me with a sense of peace that I have missed for a long time. It has surprised me! I hadn't expected to be so affected by the landscape, to have strings pulled that reach far back into my youth on the land east of Winnipeg where I lived as a  boy.

As we enter our last two days of this visit to the Park, I am hopeful that the return to warm and sunny weather will afford us the opportunity to walk onto the uplands and perhaps encounter the bison herd grazing, as we did yesterday. Encountered…but not approached. They are peaceful, look gentle and bucolic, but they watched us…carefully. Five or six hundred yards was close enough. Then we moved on and away.

We spent some time over the last two days checking out other B&B's in the area, and have found two that are different from each other, unique and quite beautiful in their own way. Coming back here with boots and books would be a lovely way to recoup for winter. August would be the best time, when the nights are longer, and the dark, open sky more available for viewing. I was up in the night - 3:00 AM - and stepped outside to look up. When there is little light pollution, the night sky above us is overwhelming. I could see the full swath of the Milky Way, constellations unfamiliar to me because usually unavailable because of intruding earth-light. This aspect of the south Saskatchewan is hard to appreciate in June, when "night" is only full from eleven-thirty till about three AM. There was dawn rimming the horizon as I stared upward last night at that hour.

Today, it's more of Broken Hills, and at least another hike we can find north of us in the Park. We are to have a traditional German breakfast today - bread, cheese and old cuts. A strenuous walk is the only way to deal with such a delightful red-light meal. (See G.I. Diet on the Internet.) But I'm definitely up for that!

The blessings of a vast and ignored land

Walking the hills and buttes of the Grassland National Park is, at times, a sublime experience. This high country, rising above the flat prairie surrounding it, has survived four ice agea without ever being covered - and then scraped - by mile-thick panels of ice. Between the Rocky Mountains and the Laurentian shield, there is no other land space in Canada that can say the same.

The hills roll and rise like the rounded tummies of pregnancy; the buttes lift high in the air, baring short cliffs of clay, perfect for the bison drives used by ancient aboriginal residents to slaughter the animals in large numbers for processing for winter food. A hike up the hills takes you through knee deep native grass, sage and many tiny wildflowers of all hues, brilliant yellow, ochre, violet and deep purple. They are tine, and unobtrusive, but a glance down reveals the blaze of subtle colour.

The "saddles" atop the hills reveal many tipi rings of stones, laid perhaps one or two thousand year ago by the people who roamed these hills. A perfect place to rest and live on a hot summer day. Here, the wind is a constant, keeping black flies and mosquitoes from landing and biting. In the Frenchman River valley below, a sheltered spot suitable for a winter camp out of the wind, the biting critters feast on bare skin with intense abandon. No wind does more than ruffle the grass down low.

The butte trails twist and curve around corners, the trail always clear through the foot-crushed sage and tiny cacti, revealing the absence of the taller waving grass which is delicate and cannot maintain itself if trod upon regularly. The trail is almost always a clear narrow path through grass and around sloping corners.

Every now and then, on the lower slopes, one comes across badger holes. A mound of dirt two feet high, with a hole at one end perhaps eight inches across: the home of the prairie badger. We saw not a one all week. I'm sure they saw us and let us pass their home in peace.An endangered species of black-footed ferret roams the high country as well, and was also invisible to us. Beatrix has been relieved that invisibility has also been the mode of the prairie rattlesnake. I wanted to a least see one, but blazing hot July is the time that brings them out to bask.

Reaching the top of a hill, or the edge of a butte in this country, provides a spectacular view of the river valley and the surrounding prairie in a 360 degree swath. What a boon for the ancient hunter! Bison could be spotted many miles away in any direction and tracked until the hunters were ready to move.

One day, driving north along the Eco-trail to a north-end walk, we met the huge grazers of the ancient prairie grass. Three or four of them, leisurely chomping their way toward the ruts of the road, blissfully unaware of our presence. We stopped and waited, like polite drivers, while the giants scrunched their way across the roadway without so much as lifting a head in our direction. Dusty and surrounded by swarming flies, they were majestic in their passing: this is their land, and they possess it with dignity and in peace. We imagined thousands, millions even, plodding the hills in the blessed wind, feeding as they move. Currently, the park supports over 300 head of bison. When the herd reaches 350, some of the adults are transported to other parks, keeping the herd static at a number that can be easily sustained by the native grass, so delicate and tasty.

Not every day has been "hike-able." Rain, sometimes light, now and them a downpour, comes and goes. One day, even large hailstones blanketed the earth in a nearby village, as well as south into Montana. A hard day's rain turns the park roads, most less than a decade old, into tracks fit only for four-wheel drive trucks, or SUVS. Park staff close the park on these days. Truck traffic on the infant roads makes them impassable for days. The trails on the buttes become dangerous if walked, because the shale and mud can slide under pressure, and off you'd go on a trip that likely would not end well. The grassy hills are safer, but access is difficult, and the critters are always waiting!

The sky in southern Saskatchewan is massive  and draws the eye upward. When you are on the flats, there is little to see but clouds and blue sky. As well as being huge, south Saskatchewan skies are wildly dynamic. It charges from minute to minute, hour to hour. Yesterday's forecast for the remainder of our stay was for rain every day. This morning, warm sun is the menu for the same time. While hiking or driving, you watch the sky: your immediate future swirls above you in clouds that produce racing shadows on the lower land when you are in the hills.

When it rains, we are not bored here. Our digs - quite spectacular and new, contain hundreds of books (if we had forgotten our own!), and two or three hundred DVDs. The little village of Val Marie, population 137, just down the gravel road from our cottage, boasts a terrific little Art Gallery, which hosts the work of twenty-three local artists. Nearby, the converted old brick schoolhouse is "Prairie Winds and Silver Sage" - small and interesting museum of the region, plus a creditable bookstore of information about the region, the animals, the night sky - one of the largest dark-sky preserves in the world - as well as information about the peoples who have lived on and off this land for thousands of years. It also boasts the "Prairie Ground Espresso Bar"! Best latte south of Swift Current, and homemade treats to tempt you. Afternoons find a steady stream of tourists in and out. It is a great hangout for a person with a book, or a desire to talk to the odd researcher who stops in for a latte and a spot of paperwork or computer time. WiFi makes it a haven for the techno-tourist.

We have happily stepped into the social life of Val Marie. The Harvest Moon Cafe, recently opened, is run by young people who provide a limited menu (7 or 8 item), with special days - "Asian Night", "It's Greek To Me night", "Father's Day Special." The food is really good, and the portions prairie size (huge). Special treats: curried soups for lunch, and homemade on the spot ice cream; Green Tea, Rhubarb or Saskatoon flavoured. Try getting that in Calgary, or Regine or Ottawa, for under $2.00  a scoop!

Friday night this week is Grad - four students! - and of course we have been invited and will go! Saturday this week is movie night at the local theatre. One night a week, with an almost-first-run movie, sometimes right off the screens of Calgary or Regina. Popcorn and ancient theatre seats
for $6.00. And great conversations with people you've never met who will talk to you like neighbors while you are among them.

This vacation is turning out to be exactly what i hopped for Beatrix: a time away, no phone calls or funerals, no deadlines, and a rest. I get lots of down time at home, but I am enjoying the change as well. Today, if the sun holds, we'll tramp the Broken Hills before changing our shirts for "clean" to go to Grad, where jeans and boots is dress enough for these folks.

Back again soon, hopefully before we head home on Monday morning.

Relaxed raging…niot a vacation, really.

Windy day, with perhaps some sun. Possibility of a hike at Two Trees (where there is more than two trees!).Reading the news this AM, I am very disturbed by our Federal government's actions. The omnibus "Budget Bill," which will surely be passed because the Conservatives have a solid majority of the votes, contains buried within it a number of small Bills which cannot or will not be debated because of the size of the whole bill to be voted on. Some of these measures are actually sneaky ways of sliding in policies that would infuriate many Canadians, but will not come to light until after they become law.

For example, the Fair Wages Act will be repealed. This act, born in the 1930's, guarantees that workers on construction sites must be paid wages commensurate with the going wage in the community where the construction is taking place. With this repealed, the government is supporting the hiring of foreign temporary workers at substandard wages, while cutting out unionized construction workers. Big business will love it: screw the locals, it's called.

This Act also brings in the change in retirement age, from 65 to 67 years, although this won't come into effect for a few years - long enough down the road that people will have forgotten about it. Harper and Co maintain that the current system is "not sustainable." The Canadian Council on Policy Alternatives published a paper on the economics of it that demonstrate that sustainability is not the issue. The move threatens those who become vulnerable seniors with two more years of mandatory work. "Plan to take care of yourself," says Flaherty (Finance). But what about minimum wage workers, or those periodically unemployed? Adding to an RRSP is out of the question for them. It surely won't bother MPs with their fat pensions, or the PM, but thousands of Canadians will face hardship and perhaps welfare while they wait to retire!

The oil spill in Alberta last week (Jackson Creek near the Red Deer river) underlines the gutting of our environmental protections act. Oil companies need only slight environmental reviews, and then Cabinet support, to move ahead with controversial projects. Surely this deserves long House debate? It won't happen. Democracy be damned!

Spending time in a National Park also underlines the gutting of the Park system. Staff cuts make the service of the public very difficult, and compromise the integrity of the system. This also was slipped through in budget cuts. By constantly crowing about the importance of supporting the economy, Harper keeps everybody distracted to getting or staying wealthy, and allows the democratic process, and the well-being of many Canadians, to be eroded and even destroyed. These are not relaxing thoughts to harbour on vacation, but they fill my mind, so here they are. Sorry!

Grasslands experience

Grasslands National Park - the only national park on the Canadian prairies - came into existence in 2001, Parks Canada received a donation from the old Walt Larsen ranch. Since then, many more parcels oif land have been added, so that the expanding park consists of two large blocks of land, which will be joined as more land is added to the park. The hilly land formation which constitutes the park runs along the edges of the Frenchman River valley. The river meanders through the countryside, its flow determined by the rising hills and buttes that mark the landscape.

The Frenchman River Valley is the canvas upon which the park's West Block is painted. This glacial meltwater channel features deeply dissected plateaux, coulees, and the conspicuous 70 mile Butte which rewards the adventurous with an impressive view.

The park's East Block features the Killdeer "Badlands" of the Rock Creek area and is representative of the Wood Mountain Uplands. The landscape is characterised by the exposed layers of Bearpaw, Eastend, Whitemud, Frenchman and Ravenscrag formations. The Killdeer badlands untouched by glaciation, reveal the multicoloured hues representing 60,000 years of eroded strata.

This striking geological landscape with hundreds of metres of exposed sedimentary rock has opened a window to the brief interval of geological time representing the extinction of dinosaurs. Indeed, the revealing landscape of the Killdeer Badlands led to the first recorded find of dinosaur remains in Western Canada in 1874, by Sir George Mercer Dawson, a geologist and naturalist to Her Majesty's North American Boundary Commission.

Native habitation dates back to 10,000 years ago. By the 1600's, the Gros Ventre followed the bison herds in this area. More recently, the Assiniboine, Cree, Sioux, and Blackfoot also inhabited this grassland area on a seasonal basis. Campsites, tipi rings, vision quest sites, medicine wheels, and bison drive lanes are some of the cultural heritage.

By the 1880's, Euro-Canadian settlement had pushed farther west, bison herds were declining and so were other native species. Cattle herds replaced bison on the open range. Large ranches, like the 76 Ranch, held lease to thousands of acres of grazing lands. The cowboys who worked these ranches were the cowboys of the old west, their lifestyles romanticized on the silver screen.

The park contains a herd of over 300 bison, which roam freely over the grasslands on the prairie, and on the hills and saddles above. there are two large prairie dog "towns," horned lizards, rattlesnakes, prong horned antelope, badgers, and black footed ferrets throughout the park. The rising land provides a number of easy to challenging hikes upward to the tops of buttes and extensive saddles of high land, where ancient tipi rings over 1000 years old.

Hiking trails are reasonably well marked…most of the time…and can be quite challenging. There are steep sections, edged by small cacti and wild roses, as well as a kind of juniper bush that is common to the area. Fine shale covers parts of the rising land, which can slide when dry, or stick, when wet (as it is today). Up you look up, you can see hawks hunting the hills above, and at least one place, the nest of  a family of golden eagles can be seen. The eagles themselves are much harder to spot.

Walking up the hills is, in spots, a pleasant and slightly upward stroll. Then, quite suddenly, you are leaning into a steep stretch, and the walk becomes a climb, up and around hidden corners leading onto breathtaking views of the whole valley in all directions. The hikes, while challenging to amateurs, are not "difficult" in terms of terrain. They tax the energy, however, in terms of their length. Fiftenn to twenty kilometrre hikes require some training, preparation, and a willingness to sweat!

Parks Canada is still developing hiking trails in the park, so that it will become more interesting and challenging as time goes by. An exciting educatioinal program has also been developed, which sees school children from all over southern Saskatchewan spending whole days learning about their cultural and geographic heritage in the park.

Because of the extensive opoen prairie in the area, Grasslamnds is deemed one of the primary "dark sky" preserves in the world. As well, in daytime, it is a mecca for birders, who can kind many rare - for them - species of birds in the park.

So far, we have hiked six trails, with more to come as the weather clears. We have plans to spend a day in the East Block, where the terrain is different from the West Block land. So far, this has been a satisfying and relaxing vacation. The townsfolk we have met in Val Marie have been typical prairie folk: friendly and welcoming. We have shared "Asian Food Night" at the Harvest Moon Cafe, "Friday Roast Beef Dinner" night at the hotel, and Movie Night at the local theatre.

Today, it's pouring, so we are off to Ponteix and perhaps Swift Current, to hike in a different clime!

Vacation as holy-day

"Where are you going for vacation?"
"South Saskatchewan."
"Oh, you have relatives there?"
"No."
"Then why would you go there?
"Because it's so beautiful…"

You can't imagine how many times one of us has had that conversation with a Ponoka local. We discovered some years ago that this is an overlooked province when it comes to beauty and to vacation enjoyment. This is the fourth summer in less than a decade that we have spent one or tree weeks in Saskatchewan south of the Trans-Canada highway. This time it's Val Marie and the Grasslands National Park.

We are staying in a spectacular B&B, a fully equipped cottage, solar and wind powered. Great bed, hot shower, movies and books, and an overwhelming, light-free dark night sky. Our hosts live nearby in a converted Church (pun intended), also solar and wind powered, and beautifully finished, like out cottage.

The nearby park affords a unique experience of hills, bluff, draws and rocky crags rising up from the flat land all along the Frenchman's River. For miles, the valley wends its variegated way along the land. As the hills and valleys unfold under your feet, you may see black footed ferrets, prairie dogs, badgers, rattlesnakes(!) and free roaming bison munching their way across the landscape. Mule deer are everywhere, and down on the prairie, pronghorn antelopes scoot along.

Yesterday, we passed by an eagles nest (no eagles visible), and had to proceed carefully down one road to avoid startling the grazing bison. A two-hour climb (moderately difficult) gave us a view of miles of the valley and prairie in all directions, as we stood among tipi rings laid down over a thousand years ago by aboriginal people seeking the high land to catch the wind, avoid the bugs, and watch for game…and enemies, I imagine.

Arriving at the trail head yesterday, we met a woman, nut brown and western-ly dressed, who was crossing prairies on horseback. She had just broken camp, and was loading her packhorse for the day's journey. Later in the day, we met her in town and shared a coffee table with her. Summers on horseback in Canada, winters with her retired mother in Thailand. A contemporary version of the drifter, seeking a place to settle to pursue her music more regularly. (see fiain-skuld.blogspot.com)

Who was it said Saskatchewan is boring?

Over coffee in Val Marie (home of Brian Trottier, of New York Islander fame), we met Asian tourists, flitting through with their camera, hunting knife toting hippies, complete with waist length dreads, two pencil thin women from California who were driving and biking slowly all the way to Philadelphia. All for the price of a $3.00 latte! The town sports a surprisingly good art gallery of local art, a very good prairie bookstore dealing in animal and human history of the area, and a passable museum! A new venture on the main street is the Harvest Moon Cafe - actually a restaurant which serves extremely good food in a simple and friendly atmosphere. And it's quiet on the street. Quiet. Peaceful. Is there more that I could want for vacation?

Next time: the hikes and the topography.

A faith renewed

An amazing weekend; not at all what I expected, or hoped for. It was the weekend of the annual meeting of our church's Conference - the larger-than-provincial judicatory. I went with Beatrix mostly because we were going straight to vacation afterward. Otherwise I would stayed home. So I had planned to spend most of my time outside the meetings, reading a book. I was looking forward to this uninterrupted time. To be polite, I attended the first gathering of table groups. It turned out that there were two or three people I knew at the table. Before I knew it, I became engaged in some of the discussions - mostly about budget crises and staffing cuts. From being engaged, I became involved, and before I knew it, my reading time was gone! At first I was annoyed at this, but gradually I came to see some of the positives in this turn of events.

Because I live most of my life in the milieu of profound conservatism, theologically speaking, I have become chronically angry at my theological surroundings. Most of what I write for the papers is against the fundamentalist mindset. I get 'bent out of shape,' theologically speaking. At our Conference meeting, I began to realize that I was suddenly at home in the midst of a less conservative, more open and joyful faith, a view on the world that is liberal, if not radical, in its orientation. I discovered that I was being fed just by the milieu, by the perspective on the world that my denomination takes. Before too long, I was not missing my novel, I was involved and contributing to the discussion and decision-making! It became quite wonderful. I didn't even spend much time in the display room. I bought only two books. I ordered a summer stole for worship; I purchased a design for another tattoo.

When the four candidates for ordination or commissioning were introduced and told us a bit about their personal pilgrimages, I was quite moved, and catapulted back into my own youthful enthusiasm for the faith and for ministry. As Wesley said many centuries ago, my heart was 'strangely warmed' by the experience. All of this came together on Sunday morning, at the Celebration of Ministry service. During this worship time, retiring ministers were recognized and honoured, departing staff members were bid farewell, and four people were set apart for ministry. All of this was happening on Sunday, June third. It struck me partway through worship that this was the exact same date on which I was ordained to ministry fifty-three years ago! I was quite overcome with this realisation, swamped by profound feelings. brought to tears as I watched these (relatively) young people taking the same step I had taken so very long ago. Memories of my early days in ministry came up, of days of decision-making about taking the family south so I could study in a psychiatric hospital, of moving into hospital ministry, and then into teaching and supervising ministers  preparing for chaplaincies of one kind or another. The whole thing was extremely emotional for me, but in a very positive way. I felt nourished by the memories and by the observation of commitments being made by others. In some ways, it was an experience of renewal of faith, of re-embracing (is there such a word?) my own passion for ministry. During communion, I found myself standing in line for the bread and the wine at two separate stations, so that I could receive communion from the two newly minted ministers with whom I felt some strong fellow-feelings.

I came away from the weekend experience with a renewed appreciation for my own denomination - with all its faults, and with a new and deeper appreciation for the ethos and theological stance of our liberal and left-leaning faith group. Although I didn't get to read more than a few pages of Jo Nesbo's latest thriller, I was a satisfied and happy man Sunday evening.