Musing

[written and published from south Calgary, near Fish Creek Park]

0C/32F, raining since late yesterday afternoon, now turning to icing-sugar-like snow; as we tested the claims of Gore-tex this morning as our stroll around the lagoon was interesting revealed open water in the centre populated by a pair of Mallards and a pair of Canadas; the Mallards respectfully step out onto the ice the moment the geese return, re-entering the moment their larger cousins lift off for a short flight; Gusta had a great weekend too but I think she, like me, is happy to be home amid familiar surroundings and routine

friend and golf buddy MM celebrates a birthday today, confirming once again that she is a little more ‘matured’ than I . . happy 56th

“I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape – the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.” – Andrew Wyeth

Wyeth’s view is not wrong; it is not my view but I can see his; that place needs sunshine on it to show the grasses of spring turning green, moisture on it to nurture the few trees that struggle to survive on it; but the tug, for me, of the place is better described by Arthur Golden:

“Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are.”

the wind does that for that landscape, it does that for me . . . I need to see that place again in the sunshine, I need to see it at night, I need that to fully feel it; the wind blows there a lot; 28 acres comprises of a windswept hillside and its top, prairie grass and sandstone outcroppings, a place that stands firm bracing against the wind . . a world to see from there as it has been unchanged each day for millions of years

finding a weekend getaway place remains a strong pull for me unlike that 'move to Hawaii' one; a parcel I saw yesterday NW of Pincher Creek would have so much greater appeal if there were things like power, gas and some form of dwelling already there, or if the price was lower; for now it is under consideration - within my 2-hr. driving criteria and, even on a blustery day, is a pretty incredible spot for a 'home on the range' where the deer and the antelope play; the drive to & fro on the Longview highway comes with the opportunity - the requirement to drive that road twice each weekend might well seal any ultimate deal; I'm focusing my search from their north to Claresholm, west of Hwy 2 . . a place where ranchers really ranch, where wind really blows, where the landscape lets you see as far as eyes can see

as far as I could see without anything but weather restricting, I could see myself calling that spot home; I could see myself looking out at it each morning as I write, each afternoon just for staring at it, each night sleeping just knowing it is there; I'm not sure the one I saw yesterday will be the one; maybe it will be another one like that one, nearer than that one, less windy than that one . . . but it will have so many of the ingredients of that one; a place that connects to me and me to it, an ageless place where few footprints of human development have altered what glaciers an ice-age ago left behind, a place where I can step softly where someone else has already, though I see a cabin where the tack-shed is now . . . or maybe a window in the tack shed would do the trick

Mark Kolke
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