There is an old saying that goes "you can watch your dog running away for three days". That is probably not much of an exaggeration.
I'm not much for flat. I grew up here, but I have never felt the pull of this place, so I was thrilled to hop on a bus to head up to Saskatoon to catch a ride with my parents up to Waskesiu in the northern end of Saskatchewan.
I met a dragonfly outside a showhome we stopped in to see along the way. He seemed unperturbed by my iPhone being shoved all up in his grill.
And then we arrived in Waskesiu!
The water is so high this year that the breakwater, a cement walkway that juts out in front of the main beach, is submerged. Only its back wall is visible.
The seagulls are happy about it. There are fewer people to disrupt their pooping.
I spent every summer between the ages of 6 months and 19 years up at Waskesiu. Since becoming an adult, I've only been here a handful of times.
The drive up always feels portentous, like I'm a reluctant traveller running headlong into a confrontation with my past.
Hello, past! How've you been keeping yourself? Still a knot of fear and wonder, I see!
I've learned to laugh in my present, and I'm thinking my next job is to learn to laugh in my past.
I'm going to become a time traveller extraordinaire and head into 1986 to teach that kid how to shake loose some of her seriousness already. She's so goddamned grim. She thinks she's contemplative, but she's downright grim. With a mouth full of braces and a Little Orphan Annie perm to top it off. Jesus Christ.
At least there's some fun to keep me afloat while I'm here,
and there is some delightful sightseeing to be had, what with all this rampant nature happening everywhere.
More later, my pretties! This hotel lobby will only have so much of me in one afternoon, and the tone deaf family I'm sharing it with just started belting out "Country Roads", which is apparently the antidote for one of them having said something unpleasant to another one. Jesus Christ.