Taking Sides

We had the "good fortune" to be in Saskatoon when "W" came to town.

We had heard there would be a protest at the site where he was speaking, and we wanted to swell their numbers by two. When we arrived, we found a few people milling about, but other than 3 old ladies with an unreadable sign, most looked like they were there to actually listen to W speak. (The whole idea of 1. George W Bush putting together actual sentences, and 2. someone wanting to listen to them, is unfathomable and I'm sure covered in someone else's blog.)

Kandahar Saskatchewan that is.
The bombed out looking building is a dilapidated decommissioned school.

Meanwhile, I was not sure to be happy that no one thinks W is worth protesting, or depressed that no one cared. Expressing this to my neighbour, she said, "Oh no they are gathering at the farmer's market and all coming together."

Does the farmer lean to the right too?

The interesting net affect was that I was standing on the "secure" side of the barricade when the protesters did arrive. By then, there was a huge long line of people waiting to get into the show. They were mostly white men wearing crisp white shirts, black leather jackets, shiny black shoes, and expensive jeans: the chamber of commerce type. (sorry Rob).

On the other side of the street, behind another barricade, were the protesters, wearing a colourful assortment of woolies, with banners, signs etc.

Because I was wearing a worn Gor-tex jacket, and was carrying a largish SLR camera, everyone must have assumed I was a journalist (as in, a REAL one.) A note to keep in mind if you ever wish to get behind a barricade.

Of course, W was escorted thru the back of the building and was never visible, let alone in reach of the few shoes that were thrown into the middle of the street, or within reach of the imaginary pie that Jack dreamed of tossing.

In any case, after taking a photo of the 3 elderly women, who were escorted by police to the correct side of the barricade, I was left with Global TV and an assortment of photographers who ignored me. Jack had left by this time, since this side of the street had become "the enemy." The feeling of discomfort at being left there was overwhelming in me. I wanted to ask some people why they had spent $150 each to sit and listen to this person. What did they really think they'd learn? But I found I was too lazy or too scared to ask the question.

These elderly ladies get police escort to the other side of the barrier

One of the loudest protesters had a megaphone and was insisting that "911 WAS AN INSIDE JOB." I didn't want to associate myself with this wingnut either. I thought it was unfortunate that the W-supporting wingnuts looked so reasonable. And then another protester tried to start a fight with an attendee who was smiling. So much for give peace a chance.

So much of our world is groups of people separated by barricades and lines, physical, mental, ideological. So much energy spent just trying to move those barriers around and saying, "We want more room on my side." On this trip I've been talking to hunters, loggers, chemical farmers; people with whom I would have thought I have little in common. But by talking with them about their passions, I've found that I do.

Round-Up or not, it's still beautiful

Finally I politely moved thru the lineup to the middle of the street where I stood, as usual, in the middle, thinking what a great metaphor this was. I also determined that I was invisible, because other protesters standing beside me were escorted by police back to behind their barrier while I was left alone.

In the end I did decide that I had to take a side, so I made my way to the protesters, having decided that the non-wingnuts need to be loud too sometimes.

These birds of a feather do stick together
(the snow geese were intimidated and left earlier)

Saskatchewan Culture Shock

Saskatchewan is a quirky little place. We're only here one more day, but we've discovered a shift in our views is necessary to appreciate what goes on here.

Parks
There is a pastoral quality to the beauty that we've found throughout the south of this province. Farms and old barns and homesteads. Lakes and more lakes and some lakes that actually turned out be huge fields of blooming blue flax flowers.
Huge horses and Rube Goldburg style farm machinery.

A lake:

...not a lake:

But when we went to the provincial parks we expected, well parks like the National Parks. That is, a place that let's it's natural beauty just be.

Grasslands National Park

However, when you live in a province that is a pastoral setting, I guess getting away from it all means going to Central Park New York. So in Saskatchewan, a Provincial Park is a place where they find a body of water, pave a road to it (so that the speed boats and jetskis can access it) chop down the natural vegetation, lay down sod and mow it. It also must be lighted like a maximum security prison. For miles around there will be only darkness but the provincial park will have high mast-head cobrahead streetlights and washrooms where you could perform dental surgery. (If you visit the washrooms at night, your eyes are so snowblind that then you do need the streetlights to get back to your camp.)

It's 2:00AM, do you know
what your Westfalia is up to?

not an abstract or a satellite view,
but a paint spill in a provincial park lake

The Friggin' Gophers
As kids we had gerbils, so I tend to be kindly towards cute little rodents (Okay except for the rats in my house, but that's another story and they weren't cute). However, the gophers here are unbelievable. They dig under, around and up through anything. They undercut everything from gravestones to buildings. And it's really hard to concentrate on your standing bow-pulling pose when one tries to climb your leg. So here's one for the locals. I'm developing a definite attitude of gopher-overload.

Straight up through the asphalt

Weird Names
I've discovered the fun game of finding weird prairie names on the map. It started with the list of entries for the rodeo. "Did the announcer really say that guy was from 'peepot Saskatchewan?'"

So here goes... from the sublime to the ridiculous

The pious:
Sceptre, Bounty, Salvador, Unity, Sanctuary etc, etc. (many in this category)

The unlikely:
Marriot, Cadillac, Plato, Marquis

The somewhat braggartly:
Biggar, Major, Superb, Success, Renoun, Conquest, Climax

Those of somewhat lower self-esteem:
Canuck, Tiny, Tadmore, Findlater

The almost offensive:
Foam lake, Piapot (just sounds like 'peepot'), Old Wives, and Big Beaver

The weird:
Eyebrow, Hudson Bay (were they lost?), East End (located in the West of the Province), West End (located in the East of the Province and also located next to Round Lake which is not round but is long and winding), Amazon and Kandahar.

Oh, and I almost forgot, but who could forget, "Forget, Saskatchewan"

"Saskatchewan - Hard to Spell - Easy to Draw"

I wish I had thought of that saying, but as soon as you've been here you get it. I was hoping to be less wordy, but I'll try to include a few images with my wordiness this time. (Just a few, since the term "highspeed" internet, seems to have a different meaning in the prairies.)

Saskatchewan Traffic Jam:

We spent 3 days living on the rodeo grounds at Shaunavon, SK during their "Boomtown Days." We were without running water, but were with wild horses, cowboys, dust, trailers, bulls and more dust. The water gave me a bellyache, but at least during the rodeo itself, they had both kinds of beer: Bud and Bud Light. Each day without a shower, my skin and hair would be covered by another layer of find amber dust, to which I'd add another layer of sunscreen.
The people have been welcoming everywhere. Even the cowboys in their shy way. They have no trouble walking up to a bull and pushing it around, but they needed company and a beer (at 9:00 am "to wash down the coffee") to get the nerve to come up to us and politely ask us to move to a more appropriate location on the rodeo grounds. [Read: you're in the way.]
We went to a pancake breakfast and I'm looking forward to sending a postcard to one of my alternative healthcare providers that I'm living on white flour, refined sugar and meat. (It's hard to be vegetarian when you're living on the rodeo grounds.)



We visited Old Man on His Back, the Nature Conservancy short grass prairie preserve set up by Sharon and Peter Butala. The caretaker at the visitors centre was practically part of the Butala family and has an adjacent farm that is currently growing organic feed grain. Her husband custom farmed the Butala property for 25 years before the Nature Conservancy purchased it, and for several years after as well as they discovered how to replant the indigenous grasses.

Dark Green Ocean ("Oatsean"?):
We and woke up this morning in Grasslands National Park. The wind has been wonderfully incessant. The oat fields really do look like dark green oceans.
(please excuse the poor video quality from my pocket camera, and the poor videography from being battered by the wind)



Saskatchewan Butterfly Collection:


And I must add, yesterday we went through a small community called "Climax". As you enter the town there is a sign saying, "Welcome to Climax" and as you leave (I'm not making this up) it says, "Please come again."