麻豆传媒AV

I have told this little story before, but feel it might resonate with some more of our fellow Saskatchewan friends.

Because it happened several years ago, I have taken the liberty of doing a little paraphrasing. But a couple of lines my sister uttered while we were making our way back to our home town after her many years of absence, stayed with me.  

You see, my sister decided in her mid-teens she no longer liked living in Saskatchewan. Bald prairie, limited resources for things she wanted to do. All the things a typical teen might use to speed up the process of departure were high on her to do list.

Shortly after graduating high school, my sister departed for university studies in Toronto. She loved the lifestyle, also didn’t finish her degree because a little thing called marriage and motherhood got in the way more quickly than anticipated.

No problem, life went on for her now in the bustling city of Hamilton.

I too had ventured into southern Ontario for a trio of years in the newspapering business and enjoyed it thoroughly, including a continuing connection with her, but the prairies eventually called me home.

The prairies had not called my sister home though. In fact she had only paid a visit on three occasions. Once to celebrate Christmas with a young son, another to bring her tiny daughter, still using high chairs, around Easter and one other occasion to attend a high school reunion with a new husband.

Years rolled by, a couple of decades in fact. There were no visits from her and it didn’t matter.

Then I received the news that our mother’s cancer situation had turned terminal. A few months, the physician informed me. I phoned my sister. It was time for her to come home to say goodbye.

My wife Jan and I, now living in Estevan, met Oralee and Ian at the Regina airport on a beautiful mid-August day. They rented a vehicle and we formed a tiny two-car convoy to east central Saskatchewan, to our childhood home where our mother was still located, holding final court.

We cruised behind their vehicle on Highway 6 and just a few kilometres before we were about to wend our way into the Qu’Appelle Valley, their vehicle made a sharp left turn into a farm field entry.

My sister got out of the car and waded into what could only be described as a perfect field of golden wheat, the kind of crop that could have found its way onto a co-op calendar if it had been photographed.

Jan and I exchanged looks of surprise, but we pulled in behind their rented vehicle and I got out to join my sister. Spouses stayed in the cars.

I wandered into the hip high crop to engage.

She turned toward me, a trickle of tears making their presence felt on her cheeks.

“Oh, it’s about mom, eh?” I inquired. “You’re thinking about her and what’s to come?”

Her response surprised me.

“No, I’ve done most of my grieving about that, but this,” Her voice tailed off. “It’s this,” she said quietly, sweeping her arm around and through the tall standing crop of passive gold. “It’s the damn wheat. I never ever thought I would miss it … miss this. It’s fantastic and I’ve missed it.”

With that, I discovered my eyes were turning a bit misty too. I put my arm around her shoulder and we viewed that huge, bountiful crop together, probably for a good two minutes with a now setting sun adding to the near perfect Saskatchewan picture in front of us.

We hugged then made our way back to vehicles. No probing questions. Just quiet time.

She had not seen a mature Saskatchewan crop in her previous visits. Crops that she had been ho hum about for all her growth years in small town Saskatchewan had now somehow and suddenly taken a grip on her emotions. She was taken aback by a special personal moment in a Saskatchewan wheat field.  

Four months later she was back for the funeral, promising me she would make it back again to reconnect, not just with us, but with Saskatchewan, the province she had taught herself to hate, but obviously hadn’t achieved that target and now regretted it.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t to be.  Within two years, I was beckoned to Hamilton to say goodbye. She had passed away, unexpected, untimely at the age of 49.

Some memories remain positive forever however and I do owe one unknown farmer on the south side of the Qu’Appelle Valley, just off Highway 6, a sincere thank you for giving my sister and I a wonderful unexpected connection moment that is seared in my memory.

And I promise you we did not damage your crop. We’re from Saskatchewan … we know those unwritten farm rules.