Columnists
November normal
On the Prairies, we are. From the moment we stepped out of the airport, hopped into the rental car and headed west, it was easy to see we weren’t in Ontario anymore. From Winter- peg to Brandon is about a two-hour drive. The landscape is so flat it’s almost possible to see Brandon from the Winnipeg Airport. That’s our little joke. There are hills, here and there. As we drive along we laugh at a billboard in a field offering a great vacation at a ski resort. I imagine all of the hills will be bunny hills or, at the very least, artificially created. As usual, on our drive to Brandon our first order of business is to stop at Nick’s Inn for lunch and to buy a pie. Not an inn, by any stretch of the imagination, but a great place to fuel up after tasty airline food. The second thing to do is find a radio station in the rental car we both agree upon. We’d all but forgotten the rule on the Canadian Prairies is if you like country music you’re in the right part of Canada. Nine out of the eleven stations we can pull in are all-country, all the time, reminding the listener of the pain of loving, the depression of losing and the price of cattle. On the newsy side of radio life, grain prices trump DJTurnip and not a whisper of the bully-bravado escapades of Doug Ford is mentioned. For some reason, LOML and I relax a bit knowing that there’s pie on the back seat for later this evening and get a bit giggly knowing fresh pie is available at the coffee stops along the way. Of course, the bonus is a new grandson at the end of the line.
American news doesn’t seem to be a big deal in these parts, especially on local radio. It probably should be. And as close as Brandon is to the US border, folks here seem to have more important things to do than listen to the cheap shots coming from the White House or get too excited about his “buy American, tax Canadian”. I get it, music is better than histrionic rhetoric and a lot easier to dance to. My guess is that it’s hard enough to make a living in farming (and that’s what this part of the country is all about) without having to listen to the fantasy and mindless claptrap from the world’s biggest GMO turnip. Just to be clear, if you haven’t been to Manitoba, it isn’t a province of quaint family farms dotting the landscape. Most of the farms around here are massive, sprawling operations. These are big business farms producing mostly feed, seed and oil products. You’d be hard pressed to find a section in the local Sobey’s featuring produce or other foodstuffs from local farms. It’s also difficult to find a farm stand or small dairy producer on a drive through the countryside. By comparison, we are fortunate in the County to have so many family farms and farm stands bringing local produce and products to the market. Grocery shopping here is not small town at all.
Do I miss being at home? Yeah, I do. I miss my bed. I miss the gym. I miss my friends. I don’t miss the visually shocking and incredibly intense news from Toronto and that which bubbles up from our southern neighbours. And I miss the vivid fall colours. As beautiful and quintessentially Canadian as white birch is, they just don’t cut it at this time of year. It’s only been three days, as I write this, but I’m more relaxed. I’ve got my youngest kid, LOML and the newest grandbaby and his daddy close by. That alone is a mood-changer.
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