...on farms, and safety, and respect

Okay, now I am angry. Angry and disappointed. Stand back.

I am a rural Albertan. I was raised on a farm, and then gave 35 years of my adulthood to helping to manage our family farm. I have never lived in a town, unless you count the time I spent in university.  And I suppose that time counts for something; if nothing else, for helping me understand and articulate my anger and disappointment.

In May, although I did not support the NDP, (indeed, I campaigned for a more moderate alternative) I celebrated their win with joy at seeing a tired, corrupt regime removed from office. I had hoped for new ways of doing things.

Let me explain, from my rural vantage point. Where we live, outside of cities, most of the primary resource production in our province has a direct impact on us. We live in it every day. It is a tough price to pay for living in the revenue-producing part of the province. Pipelines?  Right through our fields.  Sorry about your crops.  Wells?  Oh, sorry. Was that your grain? Sorry, we had nothing to do with your dried-up water well. Cattle out on the road, or worse, killed by an unfortunate leak around a well head? No, it must have been something else.  Our guys close gates, and we don't leak.   Power line? No, sorry.  You will have to relocate. And it never ends. It never ends, and we can't say no.

Can you understand, then, why farmers have come to think that politics is something done TO us, rather than WITH us!  Why we react with anger?

A few months ago I drove two hours into Edmonton to share my feedback at one of the seminars hosted by our new government, and their climate policy committee. It was thrilling, and a great relief to be in a conversation with knowledgeable, respectful people. Yes, I thought! This is the way forward.

However, for the past week or more, I have been jostled by the increasingly rough rural response to a new Agriculture Bill. Bill 6. And I am angry and disappointed.
I am angry and disappointed that our rural families were not given the opportunity for round table, fact-gathering sessions by a government that can hardly claim solid understanding of the realities of farm life.  I can understand that there is a knowledge gap, but I think it is unacceptable that there is no effort to bridge that gap. Case in point, the poor soul who suggested to a room full of farmers that they might try just turning their bulls out with the cows during the daylight hours, to avoid night time calving. Please! A calving season on a farm ought to be your penalty.

I am angry and disappointed that when bureaucrats are sent out to meet with farmers, the format is not set up to be a respectful dialogue, and that people with a real working knowledge of family farms are not on the panel. There was a time for respectful dialogue, and that time was before Bill 6 was tabled in the legislature, not after. Please, come with questions.  Farmers love to talk about what we do.

I am disgusted that a bureaucrat would say, in public, that farmers are whiners and complainers. Sir, you haven't been a mile in our shoes.  We are angry and disappointed, but we are not whiners and complainers. Try to get your definitions straight.

I am angry and disappointed that, once again, it seems as though politics is being done TO us, and that this government is losing a very real opportunity to build confidence and support in rural Alberta. Because I really wanted this government to show rural Albertan families that they have a place at the table, so that they will stop trying to rely on other, less worthy politicians (and I think you know who I mean.)

But I am not reserving my anger and disappointment for just our government. I'm an equal opportunity crank, and my anger and disappointment (gosh, is there another term I could be using?) at my farm community is an even more bitter pill for me. So forgive me, Mr. and Mrs. Rural Alberta, but I think you need to smarten up a bit. I think you need to approach this with the respect you have not been shown, and bring this government into a conversation.  You might begin by helping Ms. Notley and her people understand that there is a difference between corporate farms and family farms, and that a one-size-fits-all plan is not a solution to anything rural-related. But beyond that, you need to stop griping about a plan for safety regulations and working conditions.

I am angry and disappointed that any farmer would expect anyone to accept that accidents and loss of life are inevitable on the farm. An absence of safety regulations has not made Albertan farm families better off than farm families in other provinces. Please try to imagine what regulations you can see working in your situation. And be ready to communicate that with the Minister of Agriculture.

I am angry and disappointed that any farmer would not want the same kind of work security for the kids on his or her farm that he might expect for them in a working situation in any other industry. That is not common sense.

But mostly, my farm people, I am angry and disappointed that your own anger and disappointment are manifesting themselves as rudeness and shouting, when what is most needed is respect and dialogue.

It is obvious to me that this Bill should go back to the drawing board for more input.
I hope our premier will make a second attempt to get it right with the rural community.  And if she does, I hope that rural Albertans will draw a collective breath and concentrate on how to bring safety regulations into our farm lives. There is a lot to be gained...in our lifestyle, and in our politics. How about it, Premier Notley?  Join us and we all win.

Disclosure: I am writing as one who is heartily sickened by bureaucratic misunderstanding of the farm family life. But more, I am writing as one who has lost a treasured family member in a farm accident. This topic is vital to me.

on hugging trees, tree huggers, and Swedish forestry

We have a friend in Dala-Järna who is a management consultant with Mellanskog, (Central Forest), one of the three largest member-owned forestry associations in Sweden.  Forests here are privately owned, unlike in Alberta, and owners can choose whether to use the services of Mellanskog, Norrskog, or Sörskog, or one of a number of smaller forest management companies, or they can handle all aspects of managing their property themselves. Mellanskog has 32,000 members, and the association writes 100-year management plans for each of them.

Property lots vary in size, and each is divided into management blocks, which our friend can view on the internet at the touch of a screen, c/w details and the work plan for each bit. For example, one of the properties Edwin toured was roughly 100 acres, divided into about 25 plots at all stages of development.  Each owner is required to leave 5% as natural forest, and as they thin and work their plots, they work around wildlife -- bears' dens, bird nests, and such -- as much as possible. Monitoring, over the past 6 or 7 decades, has shown good results for the wild life. Indeed, the moose (staple meat here) are thriving to the point where the annual hunt (staple autumn activity here) has quotas which must be met to keep the population under control. But I digress.

The association administers planting, removal of underbrush, thinning, more thinning, harvesting, and marketing, and preparing the plot for the new planting, according to each individual owner's goals. They also handle the legalities of contracting and drawing the management plans, to the best advantage of estate planning and equalization of taxation over time. They contract with harvesting companies (also privately owned), and will build and maintain roads if necessary. They are seriously representing their members, getting every benefit possible for them, and for the obvious long term success of each project, and of the forestry industry, which remains the biggest part of the Swedish economy.

The initial clearing of underbrush leaves the material in the forest for fertilizer. After that, as it grows, every tree is sorted, graded and used to its best commercial and environmental advantage.  A fully grown pine tree here requires about 130 years, so I guess you never expect to do the final harvest on what you've seeded. But there are earlier stages:  the early thinning (at about 15 years) mainly provides material for pulp and paper. As the world market for newsprint is declining, there has been an upsurge in requirements for organic packaging material, as a result of a reduction in the use of plastic packaging. Some of the bottom logs would be sorted and milled into octagonal posts for export to Germany, Austria and Switzerland for use in the wine industry, and to Great Britain for posts for sheep fences. The second thinning might happen at about 30 years, depending on how the plot is growing. Now we have saw timber,  posts, and more pulp material at the tops, all cut into lengths and put into separate piles in one fell swoop (fjäll swoop?) by the harvester. Near the end of the cycle, the plot is thinned to about 40 foot spacing between trees so that there is room for the crowns to spread, for light to reach the forest floor, and for the root systems to be as strong as possible. As it is with any crop, optimal growing and harvesting require close attention and response to climatic and soil conditions.  Pine timber is sorted by the man running the harvester into four quality levels of saw timber, as well as posts and pulp. Spruce goes into a separate pile, as does birch and other hardwood. The market varies for each product. When necessary, to differentiate piles, the harvester machine is equipped with paint spray bombs to mark the different qualities. The fellow in the harvester has a huge responsibility and has obviously had a lot of training.

When the final harvest of mature trees is done, some nurse trees are left to provide natural seeding for the next cycle. The plot is prepared for the new crop by furrowing throughout for the new seedlings to take root more easily. Natural seeding is augmented by the addition of planting in areas as needed. Eventually, once they have done their job, the nurse trees are taken down and harvested as well.

Every ten km takes us past many plots at every stage of the management plan, and saw mills of every size and proportion. Last word on Swedish forests: there is allamans rätt in this country. This means that every citizen has the historical and constitutional right to walk on these properties, maybe have a picnic, but permission is required to pick berries or mushrooms. In the north, snow machines are a big thing, but only on trails, which are plentiful. And the last last word -- my god, it's beautiful here!

...on agreement, disagreement and mindedness!

Such a week!  Federal election campaign, in the age of social media!  Let us please see the end of this  nonsense of insults, lies, fear-mongering, name-calling and blind acceptance of .

A younger Facebook friend replied to a post of mine in which I'd asked how anyone could accept a Prime Minister who was trying to scare us into the belief that there was a jihadist under every bed. He sounded sincere in wanting to try to understand why we should not be afraid. I took him at his word and researched and presented a lengthy history of Canada's rather impressive record:

(It's lengthy.  Hang in there.)

This morning I took your questions regarding my comments about that hateful Conservative fear tactic seriously, as though you were really sincere about wanting to understand how it is, indeed, a fear tactic for political purposes. I have had a very busy day, but now, out of respect for your questions and in response to your subsequent comments, I am going to share about three posts: one to address the issue of refugees coming to Canada, one to address the parliamentary history of Stephen Harper and his worthiness to be Prime Minister, compared with the credentials of the other two front runners, and finally, a post regarding bleeding heart liberals. I hope you will take the time to read these in the spirit I. Which they are offered. Based on your gut-instincts, you won't likely agree with me.  But I have a fairly long history, some substantial research and as the daughter of a refugee, some life experiences that you might consider. Here goes:

Refugees
My dad's people were refugees, escaping a communist overthrow and civil war in Russia. From the stories, I know a bit about the terrors involved in packing three generations, old and young, male and female, and walking...yes, walking...away in the middle of the night with only what one can carry. Dad was an infant. When they came to Canada as part of a group of about 600 to the Battle River Valley, there were calls from some of the neighbours about letting communists in. Of course, had they stayed in their village, the communists would have killed them, as they did my great-grandfather's brother and all of his family.
I don't know how many Russian refugees were resettled in Canada besides the 600 who were part of my dad's group, but I found a web site that gave the number 20,000 Eastern European Mennonites who came during the 1920's as well. So the total is considerably higher.

Actually the Canadian history of providing refuge for displaced persons goes back much farther --
in the 1770's it was the Quakers, escaping persecution during the American Revolution. (The Yankees were against the Quakers' pacifist religion.)

In the 1780's it was African American Black Loyalists. Thousands came north from the US, and were settled in communities in Ontario, and the Maritimes -- 3000 in Nova Scotia, alone. They were provided with small holdings of land, and household provisions.

1830–1910: Thousands of Poles fled Eastern Europe after Russia, Prussia and Austria annexed Poland in 1793, beginning a period of brutal occupation and oppression. In 1831, a Polish uprising against Russia was ruthlessly suppressed, and a great number of Poles fled to Canada to escape economic, political and military reprisals. Many of these Polish refugees participated in the Lower Canada Rebellion of 1837, using their political and military experience to contribute significantly to the British campaign in that province. During the second half of the 19th century, Poles continued to come to Canada in search of a better life, and many became successful businessmen, politicians, farmers and artisans in eastern and central Canada. During the first decade of the 20th century, the largest wave of Polish refugees immigrated to Canada, and by 1910, Poles represented 0.5 percent of the Canadian population.

1870-1914: At the end of the 19th century, thousands of European Jews came to Canada to escape religious persecution, revolution, and the social and economic changes brought about by industrialization. The first wave of Jewish refugees came from Germany in the aftermath of the failed revolutions of 1848. The second wave came from the Pale of Settlement, a region in Eastern Europe and Russia that had a large Jewish population. Social and political upheaval in this region between 1881 and 1914 resulted in an increase in anti-Semitism, and Jews faced worsening restrictions on mobility rights and economic freedoms. At the turn of the 20th century, European Jews were coming to Canada in the thousands, seeking political, religious and social refuge. The peak year for Jewish immigration was 1914, when 18,000 refugees, mostly artisans, small merchants and unskilled workers, arrived in Canada.

1919–1939: After the First World War, Ukraine became embroiled in a bitter struggle for independence. The Soviet invasion, occupation and subsequent establishment of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic in 1919 created social and economic turmoil in the region. Thousands of Ukrainians fled to Canada, seeking refuge from religious and political oppression, and to escape the ravages of civil war. In 1932, a massive and devastating famine in Eastern Europe, called the “Holodomor,” forced even more Ukrainians to seek the safety and prosperity of the Canadian Prairies.

1945–1952: In the wake of the Second World War, millions of displaced Ukrainians sought refuge in Western Europe and North America. Between 1945 and 1952, 35,000 to 40,000 Ukrainians settled in Canada, largely as a result of the lobbying efforts of Canadian-Ukrainians who had come as refugees earlier in the 20th century. Unlike the previous waves of Ukrainian immigration, those who came to Canada during the post-Second World War period tended to gravitate toward the urban centres of Quebec and Ontario rather than the Prairies. Ukrainian immigration to Canada peaked in 1949 and by 1951, there were nearly 400,000 Ukrainians in Canada, contributing significantly to the cultural fabric of the nation.

1970s: Between 1970 and 1973, Chile tried democratically to create a socialist system under the leadership of Salvadore Allende. Fearing the spread of socialism and communism in Chile and other South American countries, the Chilean military took down the Allende government in 1973. The socialist reforms were reversed and a capitalist dictatorship was established by military coup under the leadership of General Augusto Pinochet. For more than a decade, Chile experienced a period of brutal political repression, economic turbulence and social restrictions. Between 1973 and 1978, nearly 13,000 Chileans fled to Canada to escape persecution and the authoritarian rule of General Pinochet. By 1978, Chilean immigration to Canada represented nearly 2.5 percent of the national total.

1971: Between 1955 and 1971, a state of conflict existed between the Muslims of West Pakistan and East Pakistan who could not agree on political representation and economic systems. After a series of disputed elections, the Bangladesh Liberation War broke out in 1971 between the two states. West Pakistan troops attempted to suppress East Pakistan by taking control of the cities. When the population resisted, the army carried out a series of massacres and human rights atrocities. While East Pakistan won its independence in 1971, becoming the new state of Bangladesh, many thousands feared persecution and economic instability after the war. At first, only a few hundred Bengalis fled to Canada, but between 1971 and 1986, many hundreds more joined their family members in Canada.

1980s: Khmer Cambodians fled their war-ravaged country to find refuge in Canada. Cambodia was increasingly affected by the Vietnam War. Caught in the cross-fire between North and South Vietnam, over a million Khmer were forced from rural areas into Phnom Penh where thousands joined the communist Khmer Rouge under Pol Pot. When Phnom Penh fell to the Khmer Rouge in 1975, Pol Pot undertook drastic reforms to alter traditional society by engaging everyone in state-controlled rural production. He evicted the population of Phnom Penh to rural areas. Over three years, two million were murdered, starved or affected by disease. Vietnam invaded in 1979, driving Pol Pot out. The collective farms collapsed. People began returning to their previous homes, but roughly 40,000 fled to Thailand. They were forced back across the border until Thailand yielded to international pressure and allowed the creation of UNHCR camps. Canada began accepting Cambodian refugees in 1980.

2006: In the fall of 2006, Canada accepted the first group of 810 Karen refugees from Thailand. The majority of the Karen people live in Myanmar, Burma, but they also comprise the largest of the Hill Tribes of northern and western Thailand, near the border with Myanmar. Political struggle and persecution resound throughout Karen history. The Karen fled their Burmese homeland in waves throughout the 1990s and 2000s. Many went to Thailand where they ended up in camps and came under pressure from the Thai government to leave. Many were forcibly evicted. Canada continued to receive Karen refugees from Thailand and eventually resettled 3,900.

2015 only 2500 Syrian refugees have been admitted to Canada, from a commitment for 10,000. Many in government, military, and the diplomatic corps claim that even 10,000 is a ridiculously low number.

I took these examples from an article called Canada: a History of Refuge, on the government of Canada website. cic.gc.ca, on the immigration page.

My points are:
1. I have no doubt that with every new wave of refugees, there have been mean spirited people who have tried to resist their acceptance. I, myself, was called a dirty commie when I went to school in Rimbey. There were only two or three families of Russian descent there, and so there was no one else to target, I guess.

2. History has shown (and I heard this in a commentary on a radio show called The 180) that after the initial cost of resettling refugees, their contribution to our country has consistently proven to be economically profitable for the communities in which they settle. And for the country as a whole. They don't steal our jobs, they do jobs we don't want to do.  And they learn and participate and enrich us with their culture and their life experiences. Are there problems?  Sure there are. Just as there are among our already-existing Canadians. That's how it is with people.

3. There is a vast difference between a Syrian refugee and an Islamic Jihadist, and I have absolutely no doubt that Stephen Harper is drawing upon his own narrow-minded cowardice to fuel this notion.  Fear mongering has been a conservative tactic in many countries. It is unfounded. It is evil. Please approach it doubtfully.

4. Ours is a nation built of immigrants and refugees. It is what has shaped us to this point. We have never established ourselves as being too entitled or too cowardly, or too selfish to open our hearts and our communities before. It is to our shame that some are trying to do so now.

Here endeth the sermon. Stay tuned for instalments on the other two topics.

So he told me that Mr. Harper might be imperfect, but he is sure a lot better than the competition. I choked a little, and borrowed from my friend, Marc.  If this list makes a man better than the opposition, I weep:


My second topic, grown from your comments, is that of the merits of our Prime Minister compared with those of his challengers.

Stephen Harper is a student of Straussian Philosophy. Leo Strauss was a philosopher who believed that the elite should use deception, religious fervor and perpetual war to control the ignorant masses. We are the ignorant masses he is trying to control...through deception, through fear mongering, and through legislation, much of which we don't even know because it it hidden in massive, 400 page omnibus bills. But as long as he can keep you afraid of the jihadist hiding under your bed, you won't likely go digging into that legislation. And that is good for him, because most of it wouldn't withstand a challenge if you did know about it.

Stephen Harper gained the leadership of the CPC on a lie. He was leader of the Alliance Party at the time, and based on a signed agreement (a photo of which I will post here) with then PCC leader Peter McCay that there would be no takeover, blah blah blah, he didn't quite wait for the ink to dry before that takeover was a fait accompli. I don't know your position on honesty and integrity, but I do know mine.

Since then, every election he has contested has involved cheating...convicted in court. As I said, I do know my position on honesty and integrity.

Further to that, People, and politicians are flawed, so therefore, no party will suit you to perfection.  However, to vote Conservative I would need to plug my  nose and ignore:
1. Book burning

2. Scientist muzzling

3. Constitution ignorance 

4. Witness tampering

6. Baldface lying

7. Contempt of Parliament

8. Jailed MP (first in 60 yrs for actions as an elected official) (Irony Of Minister of democratic affairs being jailed for breach of democracy)

9. convicted of Electoral fraud (in every election they have won)

10. Poor economic management

11. Failure in their own most important files (think pipelines)

12. Pierre Polievre 

13. Worst economic performance of any Canadian PM - ever. 

14. Abdication of all things environment.

15. Did I mention baldface lying?

16. Refusal to speak to the 4th estate aka...Canadians. 

17. Centralization of power beyond anything we have seen in this country 

18. Nine straight deficits

19. A foreign policy that makes George W. Bush look anti-Israel and moderate. 

20. An expensive Dumb on Crime policy

21. Billions wasted on the F-35 

22. The death of ministerial accountability

23. A vision limited to "How fearful can I make the Canadian populace?"
24. And still with the lying.

25. Publicly funded partisan ads

26. Something about the Senate but who remembers?

27. Governing in the dark due to the end of the long form census. 

28. A disdain for the Canadian people by refusing even to campaign to non-Conservatives.

29 Paul Calandra... And the lying!

30. An international reputation so diminished that we can no longer support Canadians in trouble overseas. (Fahmy)

31. Vote rigging and strategic disenfranchising.

32. A cold-hearted silence towards and a departure from Canada's traditional role as a world leader in humanitarian causes.

33. Ministers (Chris Alexander) who blame the media for their own lack of action. Did I mention this minister lied... a lot...in order to point blame. 

34. Joan Crockatt.

Now some of those are bigger issues than others. It is extremely insulting, unsupported and difficult to swallow that "oh sure, he's bad, but the others would be worse." Worse based on what?  Precisely!  I must be tiring, because I want to throw that ball back into your court.

So he told me that the worst thing for this country is bleeding heart liberals. Of which I am one, he thinks. Episode 3:


You say that like it's a bad thing. "The worst thing in this country is you bleeding heart liberals." Well you can stop that right there. For one thing, you only say that because you heard some other person say it, and for another, you have no idea what you are talking about. Respectfully.  But that pinches a nerve. I am calling BS. It is unfounded, it is insulting. The worst things, in my opinion, in this country are ignorance, entitlement and selfishness.

This whole country was formed and developed by the bleeding hearts. When a new settler was moving in during the homestead years, whole wagon loads of bleeding hearts loaded up and trundled over to help raise a barn, set up a shack, work up some sod, lend a cow. When one neighbour finished up his fall work, his bleeding heart took him to help his next door neighbour. Until the whole district was finished and in the bin. I recall a family who lost an entire calf crop due to an illness brought on by the sour gas plant. Every family in the district donated at least one replacement calf.  We have always done for each other.  My families have been on both sides of the bleeding heart largess. We formed lifelong relationships that way. We gave with no expectation of payback, and we received with every intention of payback. That is how our country was.

What ever happened?  When did we suddenly find ourselves in the midst of you non-bleeding hearts? You tiny-pinched up-hard-hearts? You,who only believe what you hear on Fox News, you who instantly resort to finger pointing and name calling, you who think it is all ours, and our way is the only way. (Taking a break here to curse into a pillow.)

Whew. I am angry, fed up, disgusted and discouraged. But I hope you have taken the time to read and consider, and possibly learn and respect that other attitudes are worthy of consideration. That disagreements should be informed, And that our own convictions should be challenged so that we can defend them without resorting to name calling.

By this time, I was pretty suspicious that he really wasn't wanting to wrap his understanding around any new notion. Instead, he began posting clips from neo-nazi sites to my time line. A mutual FB friend sent me a DM defending him, and telling me I was narrow minded, and a FB friend of
his wrote a lengthy diatribe in the comments with all sorts of obscure references to a Muslim soccer team in Ontario. Proving my point, perhaps, that we are being fed a lot of fear.

However, in summation, I have learned that just because a person says he wants some understanding, he doesn't, necessarily. And more than anything else today, I know:

...on strong women, and inspiration.

I am sitting...well, lounging really...with my second cuppa, thinking about people who have inspired me; more accurately, about women who have inspired me.

My two grandmothers, who came from almost opposite backgrounds and situations. One, a refugee who trekked with her husband's family and infant son, my dad, across the great expanse of Russia, Siberia, and into China, and finishing up in rural Central Alberta, never to see her own people again. She was a woman of great strength, humour and love. The other, an immigrant farm wife from England with a strong sense of propriety, practicality and honour, whose husband and daughter (my mom) must have driven her to distraction with their idealism and dreams. I think of my mom, who admitted she was never really suited to farm life and raising family, although she loved her space, and her animals. In her too-seldom, too-short rest intervals, she was invariably buried in a book, soaking up ideas and information with enthusiasm.

I think of colleagues.  Women with so many, varied talents and skills who humble me with their excellent work. Names? Some of you are my facebook friends. Roxanne. I have never seen a teacher so in tune with each individual student in her class.  Your passionate caring for those munchkins, in spite of whatever else is going on in your day, is an inspiration. Rolanda. You light the planet with your joy and creativity and energy. You bring kids up to standards they never even thought to attempt. And your laugh. Oh my dear, your laugh. Sharon. Your talent from both sides of your brain. Your steady consistency. If only I had a little of that. And your humour and wisdom to accept that red and green could work for certain seasons.

I think of friends. Mae, who is my sister in every real sense of the word.  Loyal, supportive, smart and strong. How I have leaned on you over the years!  Maureen, who has emerged from every situation with her gorgeous smile and huge heart more or less intact, despite the cracks and dents it has picked up along the way. I learned a valuable lesson from Maureen: don't teach people to curl.  They will turn around and beat you every time!

I think of facebook friends, particularly Kathleen, who has taught me to think and maybe do some research before I spout my opinions, but once spouted, to stand by them. And who has walked the roughest road possible this past month, and graced us with her sharing.

Strong, inspirational women with intelligence and humour. Thank you all.

...on building, maintaining, and the question of faith in an apprentice

A political bedtime story.

Half a century ago, a group of clever, visionary people built a mighty structure...the Progressive Conservative Party of Alberta. It grew from the foundation of an idea, found room in the hearts and minds of Albertans, and established itself as a proud edifice, housing worthy tenants. Like many exciting new constructs, it flourished.

Sadly, over the years, those who originated this structure were replaced by others -- folks who were less inclined to maintain its systems and integrity.  Like slum landlords, they tried less and less frequently to keep up its original appearance because, frankly, they couldn't remember what it was.  Even more tragic, the structure's purpose began to change and adapt to these new managers. No longer a noble edifice for the care and protection of  Albertans, it had sadly morphed into some sort of large-scale garage sale, open for business to opportunists.

Those Albertans who were paying attention, and who wanted more in life than a diesel pick-up truck and a snow machine, began to get nervous and started to whisper among themselves. Soon the whispers grew in volume and intensity.

Hearing this, the managers of the structure began searching, rather frantically, for ways to dress up,the structure so that the rabble would think that all was as it should be.  In their search, the managers decided that their best hope going forward would be to hire an apprentice who happened to be between appointments.

One cannot help but think that by now, with crumbling foundation and compromised supports, this structure cannot be saved by an apprentice.

...on spouses, fun and labels

 So, we got married. Why? Sometimes neither of us is sure. After all, we have been a couple for more than a decade. I have never thought of myself as particularly excellent wife material.  What would a wedding do? 

For one thing, it brought us together with dear friends and family for a weekend of fun, and such fun it was!  A random, spoken thought of my daughter's set the tone for a costume/theme party and tent decorating evening with pizza and beer. We had hillbillies, we had pregnant brides, we had Vikings, and we had fancy ladies. The looks of surprise on the faces of our Swedish relatives were beyond priceless.  The looks of dismay on the faces of a few grandsons were hilarious. We laughed and sang and got the tent looking wonderful. The bonfire and s'mores and funny stories went late into the evening. It was all great, and never would have happened without the wedding.  So great, in fact, that we intend to repeat with a family campout next summer. 

The wedding day unfolded almost exactly as I had imagined it.  The weather was glorious, the event was distinctly without ceremony (except for the actual ceremony, which couldn't have been much more traditional), and we gave our five children and their spouses roles that demonstrated their importance in our lives. I have an aversion to off-the-cuff speeches, so there were none.  We wined, dined, danced and visited all day and into the night.  It, too, was great, but not to be repeated any time soon.

Another reason for a wedding?  In this language, appropriate terms for "that person I live with" are insufficient. Boyfriend? Please! I am 65 years old. Partner?  Only occasionally.  Sweetheart? Frequently.  In Sweden, the term is sambo (live together). It is such a massively fine term that many sambos leave it at that, raise their families and live their lives very pleasantly. But here, I wearied of struggling when telemarketers called and asked to speak to my husband. Um, er!  

Now I am a wife. I have a husband.  Not a great deal has changed, but at the same time, it is a nice feeling.  I like the sense of solidity in this new phase of our lives. I like being able to refer to "my husband."  I think it is great. So great, in fact, that I will do my best to have this husband still next year. 

Now, what to do about getting my name changed!

Tribute to my mother...

With love, respect and a profound sense of sadness and loss, I share these memories in honour of my mother.  Mom.  Annie Schofield Diggle Polushin – possibly the most unique and memorable set of names one little woman can have. I am mourning a unique and memorable little woman. 

Mom grew up in the Forshee district on the farm.  She had a great love of the farm animals and the outdoors, which she nurtured all her life. Her great talent and passion, though, was literature.  Mom loved words.  She rolled around and splashed in them, reveled in them and celebrated with them.  Her memory for lengthy pieces of poetry and prose was phenomenal, and passed along to some of her children, particularly my brother, Murray.  Her love of books and reading was shared with all her family.  I am not particularly proud to relate that I often took advantage of the fact that I could avoid after-supper dishes if I had a good book on the go.  Mom was a superb writer, evidenced by the beautiful poems included in her service leaflet, her well-worn dictionary, and a variety of publications that included her work over the years. Her creativity and love and talent for writing have passed, in some measure, to her children and grandchildren.

Mom’s grammar was impeccable.  She was the family guru for English usage for at least three generations, as we pursued our various programs of education.  At a very young age, her children learned that there were correct ways to speak, and incorrect ways which must be avoided. I couldn’t have been much more than four years old when I went with Dad to the neighbours’ house one day.  Apparently I returned in a proper state of indignation and related my shock and dismay to my mom: “Do you know what that man said, Mommy?  He said ‘them buggers,’ and that was wrong, wasn’t it, Mommy?  He should have said ‘those buggers.’”  Correct English was the norm in our home, because we had corrected English – something that has become a sport whenever two or more of our family are gathered. 

I grew up thinking my mom could do anything.  Not once did she tell me that she could, but then, not once did she let me down on even the most ridiculous requests.  Indeed, some solutions were her creation.  When I started school, one of my classmates, a neighbor boy from a whole family of boys, took a shine to the little doll that I had brought with me.  I’m sure it was his delight in my distress, more than interest in the doll, that sent me home in tears.  My mom decided to make him a doll.  Out of a potato. Dressed in a lovely white Kleenex gown, and placed gently in a Velveeta cheese box.  He loved it.  I got my doll back, and my hero mama became my “go to” lady for the rest of her life.  My mom could make a Hallowe’en costume from scraps,  can a winter’s supply of fruit, and share it with all of us, write a script for a Christmas concert, make a plate of sandwiches for a class party at a moment’s notice,  and polish a second hand pair of figure skates late into a Christmas Eve night so that I might have my Christmas wish without breaking the bank.  She could resume her teaching career to cover a class for a colleague of mine, and she could edit my term papers.  My mom…

Mom was a great storyteller, or more accurately, story maker-upper. (Sorry, Mom.) As little tykes, we would follow her relentlessly, as she worked and told us about the little boy who fell down the mouse hole (moral – eat your supper), or paused to push us on the swing, but only until the poem she recited was finished.  Beth once told me, and I agree, we must have worn her out with our constant tumbling about her feet, but you see, we just loved her so much.  She was so interesting to be with.

Mom taught for about eight years in various country schools before I was born, and again when I was in junior high school, to help finance the building of the new house, which would be her home until illness forced her to the Care Centre.  I had the pleasure of teaching on the same staff with her at Bluffton School for a time, and after her retirement, she continued volunteering in Mary’s classroom in Rimbey, into her 91st year, reading with primary students and helping with marking.  Mary may have to suspend her daily math “Mad Minutes” now, as she brought them to Mom for correcting almost up to Mom’s last days. She had a wonderful connection with students, and my heart has been warmed by the tributes we have received from many of them.

So many things to say about such a wonderful lady!  I must mention her grace, her integrity, her patience and her wonderful, gentle sense of humour.  Particularly her sense of humour.  She loved to laugh; she saw the good and the amusing in so many things.  She even laughed at the stories my brother, Mark, shared.  Stories, I, for one, would not ever have told my mother, I am sure!  As I sat with her for the last while, I knew she was not going to be with us much longer on the day she did not laugh at some ridiculous comment I had made.  

I reserve my final comments for an observation of Mom’s Christian faith.  More than anyone I have known, my mom had “got it.” She was a sharing, caring, devoted Christian.  Her bible was every bit as well worn and well learned as her dictionary, and her life was a complete testimony to her conviction.  She set the faith bar very high for her family, and loved us all along our various paths. But Mom was also a thinking Christian, and she loved nothing better than a chat with someone who could challenge her, or whom she could challenge, as Reverend David can attest when they were discussing the Lord’s Prayer a few weeks ago.

In closing, I thank the staff of the Rimbey Care Centre for your gentle, loving care of our little mama.  She appreciated you all, so much.  You made her feel as though she was being spoiled.  And you were so kind to us as we spent increasingly long hours with her.  Thanks, as well to Reverend David Holmes for being her friend and spiritual companion for the past eight years, particularly in your capacity as Hospital Chaplain.  And thank you to all of you for loving her and allowing me to share a few of my memories of my mom with you.

Connie Jensen

June 9, 2013