Writing the Self 1: Home on the Prairies

The back door opens and slams shut, surprising me and stopping me in my tracks. Its early – 6:00pm, the sun is still shining through the open window and I’m not expecting him home, not at this time of year. The lazy winter days have gotten longer and turned into what seems like infinite hours of work in the wide open fields that surround us. But today, the afternoon rainfall has put a halt to the progress and I’m happily caught off guard and thankful for the opportunity. Change in plans, I think to myself, curious to see what might happen.  

“Drop everything, let’s go for a drive”, he says, and heads back out to wait in the mud splattered truck in the driveway. Instantly annoyed, I hurriedly put things away and change clothes. I know by now I should be used to this life; ready at a moments notice to help out, move trucks, or take advantage of a rain day. I’m torn between feelings of disruption and intrigue, but only for an instant before I rush to catch up.

I close the door behind me, feeling the cool, evening air hit my face. Outside, the trees are starting to look alive again, waking up after their long, frozen slumber. The roar of the diesel engine blocks out any sounds but I pause to wave to the neighbor next door as he cuts the grass for the first time this year, revealing new growth, green in color. The smell of dampness and fresh cut grass fills the air. Our street is abuzz with kids throwing baseballs and hanging from a backyard swing set. I see a neighbor in the garden and another at their barbeque. Everyone is taking advantage of the relative warmth from the changing season. It’s finally time to get outdoors and do the things we’ve been longing for. This fills me with a sense of excitement for the days ahead.

We ease out of town and make our way down a dusty side road that hasn’t seen gravel in years. It’s half covered in grass, with trees closing in on either side. We bump along the beaten trail and I’m forced to hold on to keep in my seat. We make our way to an opening in the barbed wire fence that runs the length of the winding path. Without missing a beat, we turn and creep through the open space towards the untamed lakeshore and pull to a stop.

The strong Saskatchewan wind has finally died down and the water is glass. The ground is soggy beneath our feet. We’re just in time to watch the endless prairie sky light up. The sun slowly sets on the horizon, mirroring a gold, crimson, and fuschia reflection across the water. We stand in silence, besides the soft sounds of wildlife in the distance. There’s no one around for as far as the eye can see. Nothing else matters in this moment. We are at peace.