It’s a long way from Regina (pronounced in the most awkward way possible – you figure it out) to Riding Mountain National Park in Manitoba, especially if your GPS decides to take you off the main highway and down some of the loneliest roads ever.
What to tell you? Saskatchewan stretches out in wide open spaces and fields, more sunflowers, lots of wheat; the wind rippling through so that amber waves of grain are clearly not just a part of America the Beautiful but of NORTH America, the beautiful.
Little pools embedded in deceptively flat countryside, cows lazing nearby in clusters, and dilapidated farm outbuildings grown threadbare and worn, leaning with the wind into their future collapse.
The crossover to Manitoba, the changes subtle. Trees only marginally more plentiful, lakes work their way in among the fields. Really the borders are technical only; other than the roadside signs you’d never know there’d been a change. All still prominently farmland; a bright yellow harvester greets me along the way. The wind blows from the North, cool and blustery, whipping my hair when I step out for gas.
The plains provinces are not so unlike the plains States… Now showy but quietly beautiful, full of good kind people. Except on the metric system, so that I’m constantly doing math to understand distances. Not even bothering Re temperatures.
Good times, all in all.
More about “Where’s Rory” and Furiously Happy at The Bloggess (caution: frequently includes adult language)