Weather or Not

I'll bet there’s a long lineup for the job of weather forecaster in Saskatchewan.  It’s a bonus career, kinda like a teenager testing mattresses as a day job. If you look out the window, you can see the weather that will be there tomorrow. Forget about the dog that ran away 4 days ago, see that tornado in Kansas?

You can also guarantee that there will be strong winds that day, the only question is, from which direction? There’s a 25% chance of getting that right. Try matching that forecasting in Ontario.  The flat land and encircling horizon also gives a heart-stopping show when lightning storms decide to move in from the outer fringes.  You can see it coming for miles, and can predict when to move inside. At least, I did. The local residents all went outside to watch. Looking surprised when I offered to watch from the window. And across the room.

After following the Pacific coast and enjoying the delights of the glacial Rockies, I found there was a shortage of natural water in the southern part of our prairie province. Man-made ponds, easily identified by their precise rectangular shapes, are found on most homesteads but lakes are in short supply. But the pleasure one gets from watching waves ripple and dance with sunlight is not gone. Wheat fields in the constant wind have the same mesmerizing effect. The changing green on the crops as the wind creates ripples is exactly like the movement of the water on a lake. And I’ve been told that the rustle of the young wheat, or the rattle when it's golden and ripe, is as soothing as the rush of waves on a shore.

This rural peace is shattered by the now common sights of oil rigs, looking like big grasshoppers bobbing up and down in the fields, sucking blood from under the earth. This is the new skyline of Saskatchewan, replacing the iconic sight of wooden grain silos, which are becoming rare and seen only in the smaller communities. And is in dramatic contrast to North Dakota, where the wind turbines are king. Hard to say which is the greater evil.

Moving out of Saskatchewan and into North Dakota was a financial decision. With gas over the border averaging 90 cents a litre and campgrounds at half the cost, poor retirees on a fixed income can scarcely afford to be patriotic. The border agents don’t seem to care when we come and go, and since our plans are to stay in Ontario for the winter we figured we could get away with an extra trip into capitalism.

In North Dakota, the flat horizon changed subtly, with rivers branching out creating crowsfeet on the landscape and buttes sticking up like headless shoulders. It became cattle country with wheat only in the flat river valleys. Pronghorn antelope were replaced by an occasional deer, and small herds of buffalo protected by fences.

We visited the Buffalo Museum, and found it very sad that these animals that had once roamed in herds of thousands were reduced so dramatically by the introduction of Europeans and their guns.  Invasive species, indeed.

Our home in North Dakota was outside of Valley City, also known as the city of bridges.

We did a walk-about around town, enjoying the smaller bridges that the people are so proud of.  This  one is a footbridge leading to the State Teacher's College. It was repaired and reinforced in the '60s when a student tried to drive over it in his parents' car.

Not only are there several pretty road and foot bridges over the winding Sheyenne River inside the town, but because it is in a deep valley, the railroad built a bridge right over top of it!

Unfortunately, we were driving. Even with all the bridges in town, there was only one road up to the campgrounds. And it was under construction - or destruction, depending on how you look at it.

As a result, we did not do a lot of other sightseeing in the area. The one place we did stop at was called Frontier Village. Hubby got himself a new leather Stetson and we watched a stagecoach roll by.

After dragging the Airstream back through the mud of construction, we crossed the state border into the farmlands of Minnesota.  Corn, sunflowers, all kinds of crops spread out on both sides of the highway.  Even the twin cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul are surrounded by fields instead of suburbs. We stayed on the far east side of the state, right beside the St. Croix River that flows down from the nose of Lake Superior and marks the border with Wisconsin.

Again, our campground was bordered by cornfields – to the delight of the doe and two fawns that visited on an early morning. We also saw dozens of wild turkeys and a peregrine falcon family. A very peaceful spot indeed that we decide to extend our stay for a few days.

Perfect to enjoy the hot and sunny weather we're having.

W