Thanks to all of you who view this blog regularly and who want to know if I am staying in Saskatchewan or if life will take me in another direction. There are really no answers to either of these questions because at this point I don’t know. The whole journey since I left Nova Scotia has been about a lesson in trust.
I have extended my stay on the prairies for many reasons, some I know and others I do not. That does make me wonder, however, what else is in store for me here, but I try not to dwell on the need to know. For if I knew what possibilities the future is holding for me, I would create many expectations around that knowledge. Whenever expectations are inflamed, disappointment typically ensues. Therefore, letting go of the need to know involves trust, believing that my future here or wherever it takes me will unfold exactly the way it is intended. For certain, I will be back in my RV as soon as the weather warms up.
For this cold season, however, I am living in an apartment; my trailer is in storage and the floor is being repaired due to condensation damage; I am beginning to sing again one morning a week at the local health center with a wonderful group of seniors; and every morning I watch how my pen glides across the ruled pages of my journal filling my heart and mind with inspiration.
I also spend a lot of time observing how the winter season blesses this part of Canada. I watch how the many storms have gradually blanketed the Earth with deep snow. I consistently witness temperatures so cold that the branches on the trees and bushes glisten each morning with a crispy white frost, and Jack always paints an abstract on the back door window pane. It is the kind of cold that can be felt indoors when the thermostat is already turned to 20° C, or can be heard crunching beneath my heavy boots as I make my way along the snow-covered street towards town. I watch the silent-moving and mesmerizing effects of the relentless prairie wind as it creates linear streams of drifting snow that flow across the front yard or on the road in front of me The effect of all this wintry weather on my senses makes me reminiscent of my childhood and what winters used to be like in eastern Canada.
One of the first things I did after moving into the apartment was have a block heater installed in the Buick. Everyone kept telling me that it was definitely needed if my car was to survive a winter on the Canadian prairies. On the major highway between Saskatoon and Regina, it appears to me that vehicles pass going the same speed that they did during the spring, summer and fall. One speed for all seasons. The land is so flat here that sliding off a slippery road into shallow terrain is perhaps more of an inconvenience than a disaster. The temperatures dropped early in the season, and just when I thought that it was the coldest weather I had ever been in, the locals were still walking around town without gloves or hats. After my attempts at complaining in public, I was responded to numerous times with “This is nothing. Winter hasn’t really started yet.” So I stopped looking for sympathy and moved on with accepting my decision to be here.
I watch the heavens above. The living room window in the apartment is very large with a wide view of the northwest. The sunsets are beautiful, the sky ever changing and the sundogs plentiful.
Ominous-looking storm clouds can roll lowly across the distant horizon one minute, and the sun can be shining through an expansive clear blue sky the next. The clouds in particular have certainly been capturing my interest and watchful eyes.
If destiny dictates that I eventually leave Saskatchewan, I will do so with conscious fond memories and with the heart-warming knowledge that this area will always offer a home to me. In the meantime, I will live each monent of the day in gratitude for being here. To not feel this way would be the result of blaming something else when the beauty around me, the experience of living a tranquil prairie life and the many kind hearts befriending me are all happening on my watch.