SIGHTS AND SMELLS

Back in the day, many days ago, we had 12 quarter sections to our name.  I was new to this corner of the RM but my husband had lived and breathed this land all his life.  I wanted to be a part of the operation too so there was a lot to learn – beginning with all the land locations.  It’s pretty important to know where you’re going when you are assigned to go harrow NW34-08-31-W1, or whatever other mystical set of numbers he would rattle off.  It was a game to him so as soon as I had gotten the RM map figured out, he switched to ‘the old Belva place’ (the pioneer method), and then ‘just across from Jamieson’s gravel pit’ (the landmark method). 

For your information, these are all exactly the same place and there were 12 pieces of land at play.  Eventually there came a time when he couldn’t confuse me anymore, though.  I felt like I had graduated and it was now my farm too.

He's always said that he could take land identification one step farther.  He says that if someone dropped him in the middle of one of his fields in complete darkness all he would have to do was reach down, scoop up a handful of soil, taste it, and he would know precisely where he was.  This method has never been tested that I know of, but I know how he loves his land so it might be true.  Our little place on the Saskatchewan prairie is pretty special to us.

Sometimes, though, the opportunity for adventure comes up.  This past week the place to be was Vancouver to visit, and sight see, and hike up mountains.  We explored beaches at low tide taking in the salty air, hunting for sea shells, and tipping rocks over to discover tiny crabs scurrying away to new hiding places.   We took a ferry to the island to visit more family there too.  We stayed at an Air B&B, ate different foods, saw wonderful scenery, showed the grandchildren the aquarium and Stanley Park.  There was a bit of that ‘liquid sunshine’ BC is famous for but lots of the regular kind too.  We took one umbrella which broke so we bought another one.  We did the Skytrain/subway, the SeaBus, and numerous other buses.  One teenager lost his phone on a bus, but we got it back, and the other teenager left his backpack in a restaurant and managed to run the 3K necessary to retrieve it and get back in time to catch the ferry.  I know he’s an athlete and all, but that was impressive! 

The walking trails we explored took us through the tallest trees we’ve ever seen, the forest air was refreshing and smelled like moss and mushrooms.  We looked for our souvenir rocks and clambered over boulders to check out the babbling brooks beneath them.  Our walks around the neighbourhood took us past so many lovely front yards and gardens that it hardly mattered that we didn’t get to visit the world famous Butchart Gardens.  Grandma stayed home with the kids while the middle generation took on a grueling hike called The Grouse Grind in the rain.  They returned very pleased with themselves – a day full of making memories together, and they were still alive!

The last day dawned though, and it was time to go home.  One more bus to catch.  And then the train.  And then the plane.

The take off takes you out over the water before the plane turns back inland for its flight east.  I could see the waves, and possibly whales although I’m not too sure about that.  In no time at all we were over land again, first the city and then more rural terraine.  Being so high you can see how the roads and rivers wriggle around.  Common sense tells you this is because obstacles like rocks and mountains get in the way but from 15,000 feet up you can see no texture.  The scene that fades away into the clouds as we climbed even higher looked curiously random and haphazard.

Less than two hours later we descended back down through the clouds to find the order that prairie people feel comfortable with.  The scene below is as if someone had laid out an heirloom patchwork quilt, horizon to horizon; half mile squares of greens and golds for as far as the eye can see.   Saskatchewan’s way of saying “Welcome Back!”

It was after dark before I got home but the moment I opened my car door I knew my return was complete.  The late August scent of ripe harvest enveloped me; I took in a deep breath of home.  This patch of prairie is part of me and I am part of it.

I think maybe it’s my version of tasting the dirt.

 

 

LONG TIME, NO SEE

My very first thought this morning was “I wonder where they are now?”

The answer was – and still is – somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, headed north and east.  The Pacific Ocean is one heck of a large body of water to fly over.  I know in 2024 the flight is measured in mere hours and weirdly, even though they have been in transit for almost 24 hours, (including a stopover in New Zealand) they will arrive in Canada before they left Sydney, according to the International Date Line.

But, back to me, and how it feels to know how soon we will be seeing them. It gives me butterflies-in-my-tummy anticipation every time I think about how close they are.  This next week is going to be time precious beyond measure.

A couple of the guys in my class ended up in Australia and made their lives there.  I remember thinking at the time how far away that was, and felt a little sad for their parents for the missed family contact, never dreaming that it would be our family story too.  But I have to say sadness at being separated is only part of the experience, it has also been a reason to travel and explore, learn more about their lives and chosen country, and read up on poisonous spiders and snakes.  We have been there three times and they have come home once for a family wedding and once for a white Christmas in the 17 years they’ve been gone.

Covid came along though, messing with the rhythm and making an already expensive trip much worse.  It’s been seven years since we’ve actually seen each other.  Thank goodness for Messenger video chats.

As I was putting supper on the table last night, we received a message saying they were on their way through security at the Sydney airport.  Although the plans for this trip have been building for more than a year suddenly it was real.  Shae was coming to Canada on a volleyball scholarship, Wayne was accompanying him to get him set up.  Jesse, her kids, and I are going to spend a week with them in Vancouver.  We have booked an Air B&B and looked into a bunch of touristy things to do.  Even though the charges for these things have all showed on my credit card it didn’t seemed true until that message said they were on their way. 

Since then I’ve been doing the countdown in my head.  By bedtime they were in New Zealand.

By 6:00, when I woke up, they were approaching Hawaii.

I just checked their flight’s status: at this very moment they have begun their descent into Vancouver.

We Saskatchwanites won’t arrive until Tuesday around noon.  Hopefully that will give them enough time to recover from jetlag and reset their body clocks for Canadian summer.

I’ve also been thinking about Jacqui, the mom who has already kissed her boy farewell as he set out on his big adventure.  I know that feeling.  The pride in his success, the worry for his safety and happiness, the struggle between smiles and tears as you wave goodbye.  The well-founded possibility that he will fall in love on the other side of the world and build his life there.  We both know this is a thing that can and might occur. 

We also know it’s not the worst thing that can happen.

So as I finish this, their plane might be touching down on Canadian soil.  Only one time zone away, which is quite refreshing in this family. 

Because I also have two grandsons fast asleep in South Africa where they and their parents have just settled into their house and started school and work.  They will be 8 time zones away for at least two years.  Going to visit them will take even longer that the Australia trip, but I’m not going to worry about that right now.  I’m waiting for the “We’re here!” message that should be coming in at any moment.

 

PUBLIC PRIVATE SECRET

A while ago I read an excerpt from a book on Jackie Kennedy Onasis where she was quoted saying that she had three lives: a public life, a private life, and a secret life.  I hadn’t thought about it that way before, but don’t we all?

Not that my life in any way compares to that of a world-famous woman such as herself – and I wouldn’t trade places with her for any price – but what she said perfectly fits how I see myself. 

There is the public Jocelyn who you will see out and about in stores, at the post office, at public functions.  I’ve also written a newspaper column for a local audience for years, candidly telling stories of life in our house to the point where people who read them think they are being told the whole story.  Because my writing style is relaxed and open there is an illusion of full disclosure.  Believe me, the line may be blurred at times, but there is always a line I don’t cross.  Public is public, private is private.

Occasionally I do venture into writing about what I think – my private side.  These are the more thoughtful pieces.  I guess it could be said that my public side strives to entertain while my private side wants to make the reader think, and I’m willing to let enough of my inside voice speak to accomplish that goal.  Mostly though, I am the same as everyone else.  We tend to keep our private selves at home and share our idiosyncrasies with only our family and close friends.

Then there’s our secret self that only we know.

Think of it this way:  the public you sings a song out loud for all to hear, the private you has told a few friends that it’s your favourite song, but only the secret you knows why the song holds so much special meaning.  Everyone sees the public you, a few people know the private you, the secret you is invisible.

Or maybe not.

Last week I was in Regina doing some shopping.  Just wandering around a Walmart Supercenter with a list that took me to what seemed like every corner of the store.  Eventually I had crossed off all the items I was looking for and it was time to find the checkout and exit, but this wasn’t my regular Walmart and I was lost.

I was in unfamiliar territory, disoriented, dealing with too many foreign landmarks, and trying to make sense of the various signs along the walls.  I just wanted out of the maze.

If I would have thought about it, I’m sure I would have believed it was the public me standing there with my shopping cart.  Or maybe a combination of the public/private me.  But it seems that the secret me must have shown through.

“You look like you could use some help.”

A lady with kind eyes, a caring smile, and her own shopping cart pulled me back into my day with her suggestion.

Of course, I immediately said I was fine. 

That’s what a person does, right?  No matter whether we are, or not?  Besides, I had finally spotted the checkout sign.

But as she walked away I remembered the warmth she had spoken with, and how she had worded her offer.  Somehow she had seen all of me.

In hindsight I wish I had thanked her and invited her for a cup of coffee.  I have a feeling that her secret self and mine might have a lot in common.

 

ONE MORE BUCKET LIST CHECK OFF

When you get to be my age you find that you have assembled a bit of a Bucket List.  You know: things that you would like to do before you ‘kick the bucket’.

Some people are organized enough to write a formal list on paper while others might read about an adventure and just say to themselves “I always wanted to do that someday.”  Either way, it amounts to the same thing … time is marching on.  If you’re going to do it, you best get on it.

For instance, throughout all of my working years I envied the people who could spend their days working in their yard and gardens.  I worked fulltime and squeezed in raising and feeding kids and tried to help out as a farm wife in my ‘spare’ time.  I was lucky if the grass got mowed and the peas got picked.  I don’t know that retirement should be counted as a bucket list item but it is what has allowed me to realize the pretty yard we live in now.  This earns it a big Bucket List check mark from me.

If it were up to me, we would travel a lot more than we do.  In that way, in our marriage we do not have compatible bucket lists.  On the other hand, because our kids feel the need to live on other continents and hold our grandchildren hostage, he will leave the farm for them.  We have visited the Forbidden Palace in Beijing and climbed the Great Wall in China.  We have also collected sea shells along amazing beaches and camped at the edge of the Outback in Australia.  I’ve dreamed of seeing Greece too but my trip to Croatia last fall was pretty close so I’ll call that one crossed off.

Not everything has to be that big of a deal though.  There are also much more reasonable requests.

Back when Craven became a thing I wanted to go so badly.  I think it was a residual regret from being too young to experience Woodstock.  There was an (underdeveloped) piece of my brain that romanticized extremely loud music, crowds of intoxicated people wallowing around in mud, and no way to escape the hordes until you could finally make it to the road out.  The news reels of the intoxicated/loud/mud/crowds have helped me get over this little bit of insanity – mostly.

Anymore it has been scaled back to a much tamer version and much closer to home.  There was still mild curiosity to see what a music festival would be like.  You know, just so that I could say “Been there.  Done that.”

It came to pass last Christmas, when my husband was desperate to find a gift for me our daughter convinced him to buy tickets to the Bengough Gateway Festival.  She would take their camper and we would all go together.  You have to understand what a special gift this was … he’s not much of a camper, he detests loud music, and he doesn’t like leaving home.  On the up side, his sister and nephew live in Bengough to visit, and he would be able to hang out with his grandkids.  The part about leaving hay laying on the ground to go holiday for three days didn’t rear its ugly head till the week we had to go.  He went anyway, amazingly enough (grandkids are like a trump card in the game of life.)

How was it, you ask? 

The weather was stinking hot and the skies were smoky.  The genre of music was all over the place so there was something for everyone.  There were food trucks and face painters and balloon animal artists and vendors and a car show which all pulled together to give it a carnival feel.  We were camping with some of my favourite people, got to spend time with the Bengough relatives, and I even ran into someone from my Canada Post past.  We took the kids out to explore Castle Butte and I was also gifted with a small rock for my collection from this iconic place – a family tradition.  It was a good weekend.

I’m not sure what the next item on my Bucket List will be.  It’s funny, as much as it’s fun to get away for a bit, the best part of any trip is returning home.  Besides, he has hay to bale and I have peas and beans to pick. 

              In closing I just have to say Kudos to the community of Bengough.  I have been part of planning much smaller events and could see the staggering amount of work that goes into this festival.  Everything from turning a field into a campground right down to surveying out lots and flagging off the fire lanes to run through it, all the way to the gal who would be cleaning the campers that local folks donate for the musicians to use while they were there.  Some jobs are visible but a lot of them aren’t.  I am in awe of the whole spectrum of volunteers, from the top organizer right through to the folks up at 5:00 a.m. wiping down the beer garden tables to get ready for the pancake breakfast.                                               

              You people are amazing!

 

 

TO THE WIND

There is a painting hanging in our porch.  It’s not a scenic landscape or a family portrait or even a still life.  If you need a label I guess it would be best described as a ‘thought provoker’.

I’ve had more than one criticism of the subject matter.  Not everyone would hang a painting of a few dandelions gone to seed in their house, but I did.  You see, these dandelions don’t stand alone.  There is also the message “Some see a weed, some see a wish” under where the tiny parachute-like seeds are letting go to drift on the wind.  As much as I don’t appreciate that my lawn is yellow with them in June every year, there’s still the whimsical little girl in me who likes to believe in magic and wishes, and being reminded of this as we leave and enter our house seems to be the right frame of mind.

This time of year, with the school year ending and graduations being celebrated, the concept of seeds scattering to the wind seems especially poignant.  They were born here, grew here, bloomed here, and over the last few years have matured (we hope) to the point where further growth requires that they take on new challenges.  They don’t all move in the physical sense to new addresses but their lives expand to involve jobs, relationships, travel.  Some find their new ground to put down roots right away, some drift on the wind for much longer.  Some stay close to home, some circle the globe.

The opposite of ‘scattering to the wind’ is happening in our community this weekend – the multiples of generations who have scattered to the winds have been invited back to their roots to share stories, renew friendships, and revisit memories – some of the most wonderful human experiences.  Everyone will return to their daily lives afterwards but for a few days they will touch base with their roots.  Sometimes seeing life through the lens of your personal history promotes new growth too, I wish a most wonderful weekend to everyone.

This summer is a time of some serious comings and goings for our family.  In less than a month we will say goodbye for a couple years to a daughter, son-in-law, and two grandsons as they move to South Africa for work.  In the intervening time before they go they will spend as much cousin time as possible at Grandma and Grandpa’s farm and we will all try not to think about how much they will have grown by the time they can do it again.  There are big adventures awaiting and we plan to go share some with them in their new home.  We are counting on these seeds circling back in due time, although with this kind of experience so early in their lives it is quite possible that Africa will only whet the boys’ appetite for more.  Their seeds, once they are ripe, may travel even farther yet.

This is also the summer when one of our seeds returns from Australia – almost.  We have a grandson enrolling in a college in B.C. on a volleyball scholarship.  We have an Air B&B booked for a week in August to spend some precious family time with him and his father as he gets in touch with his Canadian side.  Vancouver is still a long way from Saskatchewan but at least getting there doesn’t require a passport and 24 hours travel time.

My ‘weed or wish’ painting has a few other symbols to fulfill its promise of good fortune.  The artist (a talented friend) also added the silhouette of two hummingbirds as she knows how I love them, followed by a trail of tiny loose feathers which symbolize gifts.  All of this on a humble background of rough barn board and painted in low-key colours.  It is not meant to excite the senses or dazzle with flamboyant colour.  Rather, it highlights the idea of a ‘cup half full’ and an attitude of ‘what might come next’.  Originally it was commissioned to hang in another room in my house but both the painting and its concept were too large for anywhere else than where people enter into, or take their leave of, our home.

Some see weeds.

I see wishes.

 

YET

I remember, about a million years ago, when I brought my first baby home from the hospital, how I was overwhelmed with the responsibility of raising a new human being.  The weight of getting it right, of feeding her the right diet, of making sure she got the right balance of exercise and education, of tending to her emotional needs, of teaching her the concepts of right and wrong, and most importantly – not biting poor little Robbie Fitzpatrick every time she saw him. 

Well, I doubted I was up to the task of child rearing.

I’ve often thought that it is lucky that babies tend to happen with very little planning.  If we parents knew what we were letting ourselves in for and gave creating a baby even an hour’s worth of forethought the human race would have died out back when we still lived in caves.

But, being new to the game and wanting to do my best I got my hands on the parenting book everyone was talking about; Doctor Benjiman Spock’s Baby and Child Care.  I know I read it from cover to cover, and I’m sure little Robbie’s mom and I discussed it over coffee many times but all I really remember about it now is that I stopped hanging on his every word when a story circulated that his son had ended up in jail.  So much for advice from the experts.  (I just looked it up, the story was not true, but my trust in him had been tarnished so his book got shelved.) 

My toddler eventually quit biting Robbie.  If I remember right the cure was for him to bite her back.

Over my child-rearing years I did read other advice books and columns but mostly I relaxed into the job with the philosophy of ‘trust your gut’, which is quite ironic considering that in my research on Doctor Spock I discovered that his main advice to new parents was to ‘trust your instincts’.  I guess his book had a lasting effect on me after all. 

There is only one other article that stands out in my memory.  I must have been raising teenagers by this time and the writer was talking about how difficult and also important it is to have rules.  And how the more rigid the rules are the greater the likelihood of failure.  She used the example of a game of tiddlywinks where you use one small plastic disc to move another one by pressing down on its edge.  If you press lightly it only flips a little distance, but if you apply a lot of force you might not ever find that disc again.  So it is with kids – apply too much force and you drive them away.  I don’t know why but that one always stuck with me.  You can take what you want from this … one of my kids lives in Australia and another is headed to Africa for a couple years.  I don’t think it’s related to tiddlywinks.

Regardless, I have moved on to grandparenting now.  It is absolutely no easier on the nerves to watch my kids raise their kids.  The challenges are the same, the stimuli of phones and computers and the Internet are everywhere, and the stakes are every bit as high.  All you want to do is raise a caring, confident, responsible, kind human being.  It’s so much hard work!

But, every-once-in a-while a true parenting nugget of wisdom comes along and you just have to appreciate its simplicity.

While I was visiting with my daughter and her kids on the weekend we went to a playground and she and her son were playing catch.  She was trying to teach him how to improve his throw but he told her “That’s as far as I can throw it.”

“Yet.” she said.  “That’s as far as you can throw it, yet.”

See the difference? 

By adding that simple, tiny, three letter word on at the end you have taken a statement of self-limiting acceptance and opened the door to possibility.  From a statement that sounds like defeat, into plan to do better.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen three letters – y-e-t - work so much magic before.  Who knew that synonyms for yet were hope, confidence, courage, inspiration, optimism, promise, and potential? 

Whatever we can’t do becomes a goal to work towards when you add ‘yet’.

This is not only my new go-to for parenting advice … but for life in general.

 

BITTER SWEET

I think I’ve told you this before: my favourite word is ‘serendipity’.

I’ve been writing all my life, beginning with letters my cousin and I used to exchange, and then other pen pals I had during my school years.  I’ve written journals too, it just feels good for me to put my thoughts down on paper. 

I suppose some people would call me a nerd and others might think I’m a bit obsessed but words and language and punctuation and syntax; they call to me, fascinate me, intrigue me. 

My dad once told me that they thought I was deaf as a toddler because I didn’t talk (hard to imagine now, I know).  They even had my hearing tested but I was fine.  Eventually they realized that as I played I would practise words quietly to myself – I wasn’t deaf, I was shy and didn’t want to say something the wrong way. 

I still hate being wrong, just ask my husband.  Luckily it hardly ever happens.

I also remember my grandmother (a woman of words herself) looking me in the eye when I was probably 7 or 8 and telling me that she could see I had a book in me because of the way I loved to use language.

I tell you this to show that my love of words is life-long, and as I said, ‘serendipity’ is a favourite.

‘Poignant’ is another.

Back in the innocent happiness of last fall, while I was waiting in an airport for a flight to a wonderful holiday, I went looking for a book to read on the plane.  There happened to be a buy two for $40.00 deal so that’s what I did.  One was a book I had been meaning to read since it had come out and the other looked okay-ish.  At the time I thought it was a love story.

Fast forward to the reality that is the of spring 2024.  I finally finished the first book and decided to pick up the second one.  It’s called Bitter-Sweet. It’s not a love story, after all.

Not only that, it’s not my kind of book at all.  If I had paid more attention in that airport book store I never would have bought it, but here’s the thing … Serendipity must have whispered to me “This one is for you” and I listened.

In this book the author, Susan Cain, explores personality types, citing many studies, interviewing many experts, and backs her theories up with anecdotes – definitely not my choice in reading material.  And yet, by page 5 I knew I would read the whole thing; she was talking to me.  Or rather, she was talking about me.

This is over simplifying the book but Bitter-Sweet tries to describe the personality type that sees/feels/embodies happy and sad simultaneously, or maybe better put, people who experience sad but use that experience to grow it into something good, or even joyful.  Her examples often cite great works of art or music like the work of Leonard Cohen and Beethoven.

Obviously I am not in that league, but I immediately recognised my life-long thoughts and philosophies in how she was describing others.  In her intro she lists several things bitter-sweet people have in common but the one that claimed me with the most power was when she asked if the work ‘poignant’ ‘resonated’ with me.  This is the perfect way to explain how that word affects me.   

I recognise that this is the perfect book for me to be reading at this time in my life.  I also understand that serendipity saw to it that I would have it when I needed it.

The next chapter is “What is sadness good for?”

I hope I can turn it into something good.