Islands of Misfit Toys

In his book, “Beauty Tips From Moose Jaw,” Will Ferguson’s thesis is that Canada is not a country, but a clump of otherwise unrelated outposts. Yes, I just put Will Ferguson and the word “thesis” in the same sentence. It makes it seem important. In any case, our last series of encounters with various groups of Canadians, have brought me to a similar realization. We all imagine that we are somehow different or unique within our little communities.

If you're a Mennonite: is it a sin to be proud of your bull?

We visited the Doukabours, who moved here from Russia to continue their culture unimperilled by the Tsar’s Army. As previously mentioned, we spent some time with cowboys, who would prefer to continue their lifestyle unimpeded by government, oil prices, enviros, and god-damned vegetarians. We spent some time with the Métis, who developed a unique blend of French voyageur and first nations culture, but who are now a culture of their own. (How can you not like people who can fiddle and jig, make bannock, hit a target with an axe, make beautiful functional things, and survive on boiled muskrat?) And we visited the Mennonites, who imported a European culture to Canada, again to avoid persecution and harassment.

Bison Skull painted by Metis Artist Neil Fehr:

Hitting a quarter at 20 paces:

Caution: Objects in Mirror are Closer Than They Appear

Then there are the fervently non-Canadian “Northwest Angle” inhabitants. Not familiar with the Northwest Angle? Go to the most southerly portion of Manitoba’s eastern boundary. Surrounded by the Lake of the Woods, there is a peninsula off of Manitoba, not part of Ontario, that is actually part of Minnesota. It’s the most northerly point of the contiguous United States. Here in a weirdly American way, these people have developed their own lives, unimpeded by, well, anybody.

Jim's Corner: Shack and Telephone

Aside: The border crossing into the Northwest Angle is bizarre. For one thing you need to go down about 100 km of dirt road to get there. Then you see the sign, "Welcome to the United States." Further down, the next sign, " YOU MUST CHECK IN WITH THE US AUTHORITIES TO ENTER THE US". Further down, the next sign, "US IMMIGRATION AND CONTROL AT JIM'S CORNER." Then, "JIM'S CORNER 8 KM." so you're basically an illegal entry for 8 more km. Then you get to Jim's Corner, which is, a corner, a crossroads of 2 dirt roads and a little white shack. In the shack is a telephone. Press the left button to call USA authorities. Press the right button to call Canadian Authorities as you leave. Homeland Security is hard to take seriously in these circumstances. We brought our passports for this?

Back to the most important subculture of all: the lonely Westfalian’s who, after several dry provinces finally in Ontario see another couple driving a Westfalia and go crazy waving and honking.

I was beginning to think that each of these groups was good at seeing how others had impacted their lives, typically negatively, but had a blind spot regarding their impact on everyone else. The cultural museums that we visited showed each group's struggles to survive in a harsh landscape and showed their beautiful crafts and ingenuity. But a lot of these groups were living within the same territories and I wondered how did the (fill in the blank) feel about these newcomers who settled these lands.

How baby Kleenex are made:

Then our entry into Ontario greeted us with an endless series of “trading posts” which sell large quantities of tacky plastic things, chocolate fudge, dead animal pelts, indian crafts, and large wooden carvings of “Indians” with less than intelligent facial expressions. All of which may appeal to you if you happen to be an undereducated fat white guy toting a gun but unsuccessful at hunting. Otherwise it’s all a bit alienating. I had the feeling that these places were ignoring everyone. But then again, maybe they thought of themselves as pioneers starting up their own businesses etc.

Just a thought.

Wolfskin and 50 Fox tails reduced to tacky souvenirs

Food, Crude, Horsepower, and “Men of the Land”

For my birthday we took a hike in Riding Mountain up to Grey Owl’s cabin. For anyone who is not familiar with him, Grey Owl was a man who took on an Ojibwe lifestyle and became a conservationist focusing on reintroducing beaver and educating people to appreciate the value of nature. It was my birthday and it was a true gift to literally walk in the path of this fascinating man. Grey Owl of course turned out to be an Englishman who took on a first nations persona because it was the best way he could see of becoming close with the land. It just didn’t seem possible as an Englishman.

"Remember you belong to nature,
not it to you." - Grey Owl
The interesting thing that I have discovered in Southern Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta, is that most prairie people consider themselves to be people “of the land.” The farmers, the ranchers and cowboys, and even the truckers and oil cowboys think of themselves this way. Maybe it’s just having all this sky around them and not many people. This is an irony to me considering we daily pass farm fields that have signs advertising: “Inputs proudly provided by X” (Inputs meaning chemical pesticides and fertilizers). Beef cattle get their own hormone “inputs” in their ears, urea growth enhancers in their stomachs, while creating loads of greenhouse gases. And then there is Jack and Lori off in their big vehicle spewing almost 2 tonnes (to date) of CO2, and looking at the bigger rigs and shaking their heads.

The Hard Way:













We spent the weekend at the Austin (Manitoba) Thresherman’s Reunion and Stampede. This is an event where everyone brings out their horses, steam and old gas tractors and give us all a blast from the past of how things were done “in the olden days.” I learned about mowing, stooking (setting up sheaves to dry), horsepowered (literally) plowing, bailing, threshing etc. The first thing you notice about the old-fashioned way of doing things is how many people it takes. You cannot be a loner and succeed as an old-time farmer. A threshing crew requires many steps and even more bodies.


The next immediate thing you notice is what a dusty, hot, dirty job the whole business is. When the wind blows at all, the straw, which is well chopped up into sharp little slivers by the thresher, will blow into your eyes, up your nose, down your shirt collar and somehow under your bra to make you an itching watering mess in less than 20 minutes. Not to mention the dust. Good thing the days are long and there’s only 12 more hours to go.

Jack recalled his mum talking about having to feed these crews as they came through to do the threshing on the farm, and her most disgusting job: washing all the men’s dirty handkerchiefs. Ewww. One of the old-timers here did point out that when the threshing needed to be done, everyone would get together to get the job done. People worked together, and they played together too. People knew their neighbours well and relied on each other whether they needed help or could give it. Now he says, nobody knows their neighbours. Interesting that this is happening out here on the farm and not just the cities.

Try to make a $10 T-shirt this way:

It was telling how, as the hour changed and the farmers started winding down their machinery, that it was obviously getting time for the rodeo to begin. It was like the changing of the guard, all the farmer hats & overalls left and the Stetsons and the Wranglers moved in. The rodeo guys are a different breed. They do work independently and it seems to attract a different style of person. For these people, “nature” is defined as a wily horse or a runaway calf.

Trust:













I don't have any earthshaking conclusions from all this. Maybe I've just found that for all of us who claim to have a connection with "The Land" it's important to stand back and ask how close that tie really is.













Observations from the Threshermans Reunion:

• Even though there are no safety guards on the equipment, the people here all seemed to have most of their appendages.
• Horses blow up more often than steam boilers. We saw at least two runaways, and these were mostly sedate draft horses.
• Not that much time has passed since these “rudimentary” machines were in regular use. 70-80 years?
• The carbon emissions from the boilers and engines must have been astronomical.
• Everyone here is white.
• The bigger the truck, the fatter the man.

Smoke + Fog = Smog:













"Whoa Dammit!"

Ironies for a “history based” event:

• The entire area was sprayed for mosquitoes twice prior to this event.
• The winter wheat fields used for mowing, sheaving, stooking and threshing demos were “dessicated” or “artificially ripened” with RoundUp prior to the event to ensure that the grain was ripe and the stalks brittle enough to do the jobs properly.
• Nothing sold in the concessions was made with whole wheat flour. None of the serving implements were on reusable plates or cutlery.
• Again, no Canadian beer to be found on the site.

Too cheap to buy more rodeo tix