I'm going to attempt to write an insightful and intelligible entry here, despite being sick and on powerful cold medication to combat said illness. I admittedly may need to revise it in a few days before posting it. So, apologies if my writing isn't up to its usual standards.
One thing I now realise that I dearly missed in the last few months are my peaceful mornings. There is nothing quite like that wonderful 7:30am morning light streaming in through the windows, a still and quiet house being illuminated and woken slowly by the rising sun, and a nicely caffeinated large mug of tea by my laptop as I read various headlines, analyse the latest breakthroughs in my field, and catch up on correspondance and writing. Although this morning, I admit I would much rather not be sitting next to a large box of kleenex and cup of cleansing tea for my sinuses and throat.
However, I also notice that there is something distinctly different, special about the mornings here in rural small town Saskatchewan than in the many other places I have lived in the last 2 years. For one, the extremely flat topography lends a certain unique quality about the sun, letting it stream practically horizontally in to windows and across the seemingly endless landscape, casting shadows and light to the white and dark high contrast backdrop that is present here for most of the year, creating unparalleled scenery, effects, and sense of surroundings. There is also an incomparable sense of stillness and tranquility one finds in the rural Canadian Prairies where the population density is a meagre 1.67 people per square kilometer that is difficult if not impossible to find elsewhere, even in a small town in the Swiss Alps. As a result, just sitting here at the kitchen table looking out the window almost has that meditative quality I cherished so much about hiking and walking in the Swiss Alps. Of course, at present moment this could partly be due to the cold medication.
I've been back in Redvers almost three full days now and I'm going on the third day of my cold. This parallel is no coincidence as I'm positive that it is my body manifesting a physical protest of going from the 15C to 20C brisk fall weather of Switzerland and Belgium to the -10C to 0C frigid dry cold, snow and wind of the Prairies. Not to mention the intense sleep deprivation and time upheaval. At any rate, with the medication hereand the fabulous English meds I have, as well as the inordinate amount of free time I have here, the cold is manageable. The only problem really is that my inability to drink at the moment is severely hindering my integration in to the social life here that is almost completely and totally centered on drinking. Not that they're all alcoholics mind you, it's just, well, its different here. But this is a topic for my next entry I believe.
Back to the topic at hand though. This intense sense of isolation and tranquility tends to understandably have an effect not only the air of mornings here, but on the very character of life and people. Just as when you are embracing the meditative nature of a hike, and time feels like it is ceasing to exists as you feel at one with nature and your surroundings, time has a very different conception here. Life is not centered around time as it is in many other places, but as you have an overwhelming sense of a vast abundance of time, both in hours, days, and of a lifetime itself, time does not seem to play an important role in structuring your day. Your day rather seems to flow naturally from one event to the other. Rather than a schedule and events planned accordingly, people characteristically tend to only have a sense of what they would like to accomplish in one day, leaving the flow of life to fill in the blanks.
Some people call it a "go with the flow" mentality. Here however, it seems to be a way of life. As you run in to people you know at every turn, be they friends, family, or acquaintances, and as everyone is incredibly friendly, due to the isolation and tranquility, small town nature, and Canadian nature itself, and finally, as everyone drives and has a sense (again due to the isolation) that a 5 hour drive is perfectly acceptable afternoon activity, anything is possible.
Indeed, brunch at the only restaurant in town may turn in to a country drive, which then turns in to visiting friends in another town, which then turns in to drinks with these friends, which then turns in to some crazy adventure stemming from a 'brilliant' idea. Or like just the other day, a friend coming over to visit in the early afternoon, turns in to a drive, which turns in to picking up another friend, which turns in to driving to the nearby town to get beer, which turns in to running in to friends that are drinking there, which turns in to many drinks with them, which ultimately turns in to a 'tour'. But again, this last example will be further analysed and discussed in my next blog.
The main point is that while I have always possessed this 'go with the flow mentality', and share it with a few non-Prairie friends such as Vera, here it is the norm. This makes it so that despite the obvious lack of viable entertainment and activities here, with an adventurous spirit and a bit of creativity, anything can happen.
But I have to end this entry here, on a somewhat ambiguous note, as the house has officially stirred and woken up, and my cold meds aren't letting me concentrate. This is of course the downside of the often deafening silence and calmness of the Prairies: Once you get used to this atmosphere and embrace it, as I do in the mornings, almost anything can seem like a disturbance. Particularly when everyone's blackberries start going off...
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