the weather gods mock me so

As with the past few weeks, it looks again like it could start to rain. Thunderheads can be seen all across the prairie. From my classroom window I can see one that looks like it might be positioned right over my house. Each and every one of them threatens rain.

The pessimist in me says those threats are idle. When I get home the ground will still be dry, dust will still fly as I turn into my driveway.

The optimist in me says that it can't possibly blow over again; this time rain is sure to fall.

I suspect pessimistic me is right.

Because that has been the pattern lately - rain will appear in the forecast, clouds will build ominously leading up to the day in question, and at the last moment, when the clouds can't swell any more, they blow over to rain elsewhere.

I'm happiest in the rain. I love those cool days when you'd be crazy to go out without a coat and sweater and the rain runs down your face and neck. I'm most at ease when drizzle falls from the sky.

Every time I hear a weather man utter the words "it looks like it's going to be a beautiful day" I want to punch him.

"But Stu," you ask, "if you like the rain so much why do you insist on living upon the dry dusty plains?"

Dear reader, I often ask myself the same question.

A few years ago, when I went to Scotland (I guarantee you that somewhere, somehow my wife is muttering "oh god, he's talking about Scotland again") it rained every day. And I was gleeful.

Admittedly it didn't rain all the time - I have a stack of photos with blue Scottish skies to prove it - but it rained enough to keep me happy. My poor, dried out genes were able to soak up enough water to hold them over for a while.

Now that the prairie weather has chosen to return to dust storms and drought I find my poor soul longs for the rain to come down. The crops sympathize.

Dear reader, if you have any goodness in your heart take pity on a poor boy who longs for days of mist and drizzle: step out in your yard and do a little rain dance for me.

I'll owe you a debt of gratitude. The wheat will too.

meditations for a monday afternoon

If I've had one success over these past two years of teaching it's been that I've taught students how to appreciate poetry.

Which is sort of a strange thing for me to have done because I don't actually like poetry.

To be fair, I don't dislike poetry. I find it enjoyable to read. I own more than one collection of poems that I break out from time to time during the winter. The portrait of more than one poet graces my classroom wall.

It's the snobbery of poetry that I can't stand. Poems really aren't all that accessible to the average Joe and the thought of a poetry reading makes me want to vomit.

I did once try to attend one such event despite my fears that the room would be full of berets and turtlenecks.

"Go on," I thought, "you're just being prejudiced."

So I went.

And promptly left.

I have a problem with people who casually toss around the words 'synecdoche' and 'existential angst.' Some sort of primal urge takes hold and I want to hurt them badly. Because yes, I too know big words like that. Thankfully I'm not enough of a wanker to use them.

Had I remained in that room a bloodbath would have ensued. The jury is still out as to whether or not that's a good thing.

But not all poets can be insufferable twits. Sometimes they actually manage to locate truth and put it down on paper. And when they do one would do well to pay attention.

Which is why today I choose to leave the last words to John Donne, the great English poet. Donne was probably one the first poets who made me sit up and listen. Recent conversations brought him once again to mind.

And so, dear readers, I leave you to meditate upon the words (not strictly poetical) of the immortal Donne:

No man is an island. entire of itself;

every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;

if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less,

as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were;

any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind,

and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

friday afternoon house talk

In terms of farmyards, Kayla and I are awfully lucky.

At some point in time, I'm not too sure when, the majority of farm families around Endiang abandoned the old farm houses and yards and moved on to what I suppose were considered greener pastures.

For the most part this meant long, squat houses and yards sheltered by poplars on three sides, the fourth side generally facing the road. A caragana hedge lines the driveway. Farm equipment is parked around the back.

Which means that all around the country there are old abandoned houses surrounded by lilac hedges and old maple trees. Inevitable these houses have shady porches, elaborate windows, and spectacular views - all of which are now enjoyed primarily by the bats and swallows.

For some reason our house didn't suffer the same fate.

Actually, let me rephrase that - our house escaped that fate longer than most.

Because when we moved in the bats and swallows were the chief residents. You could see the sky through spots in the ceiling. My foot once went through the floor in the living room.

But we fixed it. The house that sat empty for nearly ten years was restored, if not to its former glory, then certainly to a state that can be enjoyed.

But for me the house is not the main draw. I fully expect that one day we will have to admit that time has won and let the old girl give up the ghost.

No, for me the major draw is the farmyard itself.

Because our yard keeps that old farm sensibility - all the necessary outbuildings within easy walking distance, windbreaks planted in a way that preserves the view, a scenic and tree lined driveway.

Whenever I get frustrated with our old house (three or four times a week on average) I just step outside and remember how lucky we are to live there. Our trees are always full of robins and chickadees, orioles and waxwings. The wind (which hasn't stopped in four months) blows a little more softly. The sloughs and ponds that surround us are always full of ducks, geese, and frogs.

When I was nineteen I was sorely tempted to pack my bags and go live in the woods. Build myself a squatters tent on the coast and commune with nature.

As decrepit as our house is, nature is still right at my fingertips, the air is still fresh, and the living still pretty easy.

And whenever I pine for that squatters tent I just remind myself that my house is only marginally better at keeping out rain and bears.

sometimes a guy just feels a little bit country

In general I consider myself to be something of a connoisseur of music. Arcade Fire, Broken Social Scene, Against Me!, Mother Mother, Billy Bragg and countless others grace the CD towers in my living room.

It's safe to say that there is a general theme to the music in my house - for the most part they are socially progressive, indy artists. They share similar politics and themes. They challenge the boundaries of art.

But you can't spend much time back on the farm before the country music starts to work its effect.

In the circles I ran in in college and university it was, shall we say, uncool to listen to country music. This really wasn't an issue for me. Due to my parents fear that I would grow up to be a cowboy I was actively encouraged to listen to alternative music. College did not really require a great change in music for me.

But those years away from the good ol' country stations did have an effect on me. When I came back to the farm and found myself stuck in the tractor I found that country music is the best thing to listen to. Listening material needs a twang when cutting hay is the chief activity at hand.

I'll admit, sometimes it gets to be a bit much. The past few years has seen an increase in the number of songs including the words 'Jesus' and 'god-fearin''. Outward displays of religion make me uncomfortable. Actually, outward displays of anything make me feel uncomfortable. I blame my British genetics (anything beyond 'disinterested' makes me feel a wee bit queasy).

But in general I find that the themes addressed in country music are rather admirable - ideas like the value of work and family, pride in what you do, and an appreciation of what you have.

"But Stu," you ask, "How can you possibly stand the strange right wing political statements?"

Dear reader, I'm glad you ask.

You see, I ignore them.

Out here on the brush plain you either learn to live with the right-wing or you give yourself an aneurysm.

I chose not-an-aneurysm.

If you need me I'll be around back. And don't be surprised if I'm rockin' out to Garth Brooks, Dwight Yoakum and the like.

the post that isn't really formatted but i'm sure you'll all get over it

Since all of you are, I'm sure, avid news followers I think it's safe to assume that you are well aware that Bill 44 has passed third reading. Which for me poses an interesting problem. You see, I have absolutely no intention of changing the way I teach my classes. I try very hard to cover all aspects of any issue that comes up in class - there are really no issues that I refuse to address. As a result, I expect to be hauled before a human rights tribunal any time now. I'm all for parents' right to influence what their children learn - even if the greater society disagrees with those parents' decision. Already governments exercise too much influence over our family lives: the act of raising children has become less of a family matter and more of an exercise in bureaucratic gymnastics. But if you make the conscious decision to send your children to a public school it should be assumed that you accept the curriculum that school offers. If you disagree with the curriculum, there are lots of other education options open to you. As a teacher in the public school system, I am well aware that I am an employee of the state. As such, I am contracted to teach the government sanctioned curriculum, a curriculum that is already filled with biases and propaganda. I don't like it, but I consider myself to be an honest individual who fulfills his obligations: I teach the curriculum as it stands. But at the same time I follow the practice of critical pedagogy and encourage students to always think critically, never accept 'facts' at face value, and to draw their own conclusions regarding the issues they are presented with. The ATA naively takes the position that public education is a forum for free thought and open conversation. It would be lovely if that were true: it would also be lovely if lollipops grew on trees and leprechauns would sweep the floor for me. Some things just aren't going to happen. Public schools will always be a creature of the state and the state will always engage in some form of oppression - truly free thought can never exist in such an environment. The real issue with Bill 44 (and Bill 19 and many other bills before the legislature this session) is that it gives the government the ability to exercise enormous powers over an ever-widening sphere of influence. The checks on their powers are slowly being removed. "But Stu," you exclaim, "the government assures us they would never use those powers. It's not in the spirit of what they're trying to do." Ah, dear reader, that is true. Unlike many other liberal-minded individuals in this province, I choose not to paint the Conservatives as a walking force of evil, in league with the devil himself (amongst a host of lesser demons). I do think that, for the most part, elected Conservatives in Alberta believe they are working for the good. The scary thought is that the Conservatives assume they will be able to withhold themselves from using the full extent of the powers they have given themselves. In general, I don't trust any government any farther than I can throw them: if the temptation is there, eventually somebody will give in to it. On a happier note: the government has yet to find a way to legislate the weather, so enjoy the sunny day. Regards from Alberta's brush plain.

june, when dutiful young farmers tend to their gardens.

Last night we planted the garden.

It was the climax in a long process of preparation that I don't claim to have enjoyed very much. The garden at our house, once renowned for its ability to produce crops considered exotic in Endiang (i.e. watermelons and corn) was left to its own devices for far too many years. The once-loose soil had grown over and turned to sod. I can tell you quite firmly that little kubota rototillers have little effect on sod. Our 200 square foot garden was the result of many hours and countless sore backs spread over two years.

But when we finally had all the seeds in the ground and were able to look at our network of stakes and walkways it was hard not to feel a sense of pride.

Which, of course, I don't expect our neighbours to understand.

For some reason, farmyard gardens have become not as much a place to grow food for the table as a showcase for the owners' ability to make a perfectly straight row.

Our garden, on the other hand, does not possess any straight rows. None of the rows are even a little straight. Come to think of it, we didn't even try for rows - we simply marked off a plot for each crop, took a hand full of seeds each, and went at 'er. There are no right angles - the garden itself is a bit trapezoidal. Our paths meander around the individual crops, marked off by old survey stakes, so it looks as if a condo complex is soon to be built there.

But there's a certain satisfaction that you take from raising your own food that overrides the geometric layout of the garden.

I'm not sure how our garden will come up. It will take a lot of weeding, a bit of watering, and a miracle or two, but I hope that sometime later this summer I'll be able to write to you about how the potatoes are coming or how high the corn has gotten.

As yes, dear reader, you will be welcome to drop on by and share in the bounty.

Regards from Alberta's brush plain.

we're from the country and we like it that way (even if others don't)

Alberta, rural Alberta in particular, gets a pretty bad rap a lot of the time. Alberta: home to gun-totin', tory-votin', Jesus-lovin' rednecks.

Which isn't to say that we haven't earned the reputation - Albertans have a bad habit of acting a little ... back-woodsy, shall we say, when the world is looking. But it's become habit for the rest of Canada, when the heat is on, to turn and say "at least we're not Alberta."

In Alberta, of course, this has turned into something different; "Blame Alberta" has turned into "Blame the Rural-folk."

The rural areas, some would have you believe, are filled with inbred, cross-burning, bible-thumping, Conservative-loving, ignorant, ill-educated, seldom-washed, gap-toothed hicks. All rural people drive huge, polluting trucks with a gun-rack in the back, believe the earth to be 6000 years old and flat, and wait for the local preacher to tell them how to vote. Rural evenings are spent at bush-parties, book-burnings, and tent-meetings.

All evils can be directly related to the population of rural Alberta: homelessness is the result of country-folks right-wing attitudes; numerous Conservative majorities the result of rural ignorance; private health care the brain-child of greedy country-dwellers.

Rural areas are devoid of culture, the people illiterate, the towns and villages suspicious of outsiders.

When spending time in one of Alberta's urban centres, rural people must make a decision: completely renounce one's roots, or face ostracism by enlightened city-dwellers.

Reasonable people realize what a load of horse-turds statements like these are, but reasonable people can be hard to find in a pinch.

There certainly are many people in this neck-of-the-woods who do fit the stereotype, but many more live in the shining cities and all across Canada. Are we to believe that there are fewer Conservatives in Calgary and Edmonton than in the rest of the province? Can it possibly be true that there are fewer Creationists in the cities than out of them? Am I to believe that urban centres are not plagued by racism and prejudice?

When I was in university I spent an awful lot of breath defending my rural background and the baggage that comes with it. Many felt I must be relieved to have escaped the ignorant country-side. When I returned to the farm I suspect more than a couple of my friends questioned my actions: I suspect they're still waiting for me to come crawling back to the city.

The issue goes beyond personal annoyance, however. It seems that nine times out of ten the people who denounce the rural areas loudest are staunch supporters of Alberta's non-right parties. What rural Albertan would vote for someone who holds them in disdain? The Conservatives, for all thier faults, know that rural voters hold the balance of power and to win you need to court that vote.

Be ye warned, people of the left, change will not come without the rural vote.

Thus, dear reader, I complete my post. Regards from Alberta's brush plain.