what you may find on an Albertan lakeshore

I spent this weekend picking my way along an uninhabited lakeshore with my dog trotting along ahead of me. She was chasing birds and gleefully bounding in and out of the waves while I contemplated what this lake might have been like a hundred years ago.

I've been reading a book of some of Grant MacEwan's writings. He is the namesake of my alma mater, but he was also a gifted writer and important conservationist, among many other things. His work has been satisfying my craving for stories of Western Canada as it was before the land was ripped up in search of oil, before cities sprawled on out of sight. 

On one of our walks down the shoreline, we met a beaver near his lodge. He swam away from us most urgently, while we admired the craftsmanship of his home. In the time MacEwan writes about, this beaver's pelt was highly prized, so much so that our country's animal emblem was nearly totally extirpated. But these clever creatures would not be wiped from existence. To his credit, the beaver is resilient and resourceful. A tireless worker and a keystone contributor to his ecosystem -- his community.

I will try to be more like him in the future.

pioneering

So often, I wish I were carving out life in the wildest west. That it could be a hundred-and-ten years ago, and I would rely on the strength and speed of horses to take me where I need to go. I think I could be pulling rocks out of a field in the unexplored Alberta prairie.

I wish I didn't know what it was like to have excess. Imagine not knowing what it's like to sit comatose in front of some electronic device or another. If lying around were not an option.

But it's too late for me; I already know what it's like to have this home and its refrigerator and a television and a computer and a cell phone. I doubt anyone can really leave these items and live pretending they don't exist, once they've lived with them and loved them for their usefulness.

I could have been a pioneer, if only I'd been born in a different time. I'm frustrated that my current self is not strong enough or determined enough for that life. Not at all, now that I'm already a quarter of a century into a certain way of life.

The task at hand is to find somewhere those two kinds of lives can meet.

twenty-five

Green grass and buds on my apple tree at last. I thought they'd never come. I've been plotting my escape to somewhere with real trees for weeks.

It's been a busy week. I turned another year older, and had more celebrations than I'd planned. I feel like I've done a million things this weekend. I bought an asparagus plant for my sister, searched three greenhouses until I found Autumn Gold pumpkin seeds (as I hate to deviate from whatever Lois suggests -- she knows best, doesn't she?), I cleaned the house, went to the farmers' market and bought a ham and some bread, had tea, wandered around the city with my sister, came back to a surprise party in my back yard, ate veggie burgers and drank beer and sat around a campfire with family and friends. And that was just on Saturday.

Just now I've filed an article I've been putting off (its deadline is today and I only just finished it). I'm sitting in a cafe downtown drinking chai while my husband is just a block away, digging up the road and wrecking havoc on traffic.

I am finally, finally going out to the lake this weekend and I can hardly wait. It has been too many months since I've stood on the beach by myself, staring out at the lake and willing that fluttery, anxious feeling in my chest to go away.

I've got five or more articles due this week before my dog and I can get away to the relative wilderness of the cabin lot. They might as well put me on payroll. All in all, it's not a bad gig.