Monday November 24, 2014


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Farm snapshots


Princess and I head home from Grandma’s house; the afternoon sun burns warm through car windows, separating us from -30 C.

We’re singing hard into the afternoon to a CD I’ve hardly heard. She knows most every word. When she grows up, she’ll be a singer and a dancer at the same time, Princess informs me.

“Why wait?” I tell her. She’s already dancing as much as anyone could in a seat belt.

Here we are, forging our futures over a mangled Saskatchewan highway, like driving on a fluted pie crust that has been endlessly patched yet smashed to pieces and warped by semi trucks for decades.

We’re heading home with fresh fruit, some of it even organically grown. We’ve planned baking for the next day: bread and muffins for lunch kits.

We’re both still thrashing to a fast song when I park in the driveway, where Farmer adjusts an extension chord and shakes his head at us. A trail of frozen vapour is rising up from his muttering lips.

Weekends are glorious, even when we’re keeping watchful eyes on the watering bowl and gathering eggs every few hours. Clear, cold skies have meant clear roads, too, so we don’t have icy pie crust to bounce on with the school bus. I’m grateful for any and every clear road day, but especially those during which we stay home.

It’s pretty much time to start this year’s herbs and onions, and sort last year’s tax receipts. We’re at the precipice of winter. The sun rises earlier and shines stronger, despite the unseasonable cold. It’s time to start believing in a new growing season and live like it.

My oldest daughter is once again moving out, making plans, and interior decorating an apartment she hasn’t even set foot inside. Her next great adventure: the unknown. She’s excited as God about her next creation and speaks of almost nothing else.

I got her to spend some time cleaning the sun room so it’s ready for this season’s transplants. She’ll be gone when the new babies fill that space. And I’ll be out there as often as possible, like some kind of sun-a-holic.

As I write this, she boils old sheer curtains in some ancient clothing dye I found in the basement. Princess and my son are making valentine necklaces and cards (our first year not buying any), and Farmer is doing chores.




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