Dutch Creek, Alberta Dutch Creek, Alberta For several years in the 1980s, I received a large number of commissions from the Calgary area. I always took the opportunity when in the West to travel, not always to the usual beauty spots, around the province just looking for things that charm. This ink drawing, with watercolour, shows a quiet corner of Alberta not far from Edmonton. I always promise myself that I will return to the Rocky Mountains and spend an extended period just painting and enjoying the view. I never know when some randomly captured view like this will turn out to be the basis for a more extended painting, possibly several years later. A sketch, a note really, of a piece of mountain scenery farther south in Alberta near Sunshine formed the setting for a painting that I composed called "The Homesteaders". That painting now hangs in Buckingham Palace. It was presented by the Prime Minister's Office to the Duke of Edinburgh. The Banff area is waiting, I'm sure, to give up to me some dramatic bits of landscape. I've always thought that a month in Banff, maybe at the Banff School of Fine Arts, would be thrilling. This summer might be the summer to travel west, perhaps not to the school at Banff but definitely to the mountains.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Coal Mine at East Coulee, Alberta Coal Mine at East Coulee, Alberta This mine has now found new life as a tourist attraction offering tours of the minehead and the mill. I discovered this site when, in 1988, I was commissioned by the then President of the National Trust Company to paint a mural for their new headquarters in Toronto. This mural was to describe Canada from coast to coast, so Marilyn and I set out on a three-month journey that provided the raw ingredients for this design. Since we had already visited most of eastern Canada, I had in my files, photos that could serve as a resource for that area. Using the old idea that was popular when I was a kid, I laid out the images in the shape of a map of Canada. Our visits across the country included advice sessions in the various regions with people from that bank. We wanted to know what the locals thought was important in their neighbourhood. A little over a year later, the painting was complete. All that remained was installation in the new boardroom. Because of changes dictated by the fire warden, the configuration of the hallways was changed and I was not notified. You can imagine my chagrin when, on a visit to the new site two weeks before our supposed installation, I discovered that the mural would not fit through the hallways. Because I had painted this piece on stretched canvas over an aluminum frame, I was able to take this fifteen-foot-long painting off the stretchers and re-stretched it right in the new boardroom. My worries were not over because construction was running late for the grand opening. It was discovered that the light engineer had specified too much light in this room, so a decision was made to re-paint the ceiling in a much darker colour to soak up the light. There we were re-stretching this huge painting on the boardroom floor while overhead painters rolled a darker shade on the ceiling. This company has since changed hands. My mural is now at the headquarters of the Bank of Nova Scotia on Front Street in Toronto. That trek caused me to consider what an important part geography plays in the way people live. The industries, such as this coal mine, determine the shape of daily life. How different is the life of fishermen from the daily round of farmers or ranchers. The weather dictates the style and materials of buildings, even the colours. The topography heavily influences the type and nationality of the immigrants attached to a district. The knowledge and skills of newcomers encourage various occupations and pursuits. The density of population is affected by the possibilities both agricultural and commercial of any area. I think too that the density, or perhaps lack of density, affects social interactions. People who live miles away from their neighbours are more eager for social contact than people who live in multi-storied apartments who often don't know even the name of the person in the next apartment.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

One View of Beaver Point One View of Beaver Point Salt Spring Island is one of a gaggle of islands that float just off the edge of Vancouver. Reached by ferry, this island, I don't know about the rest, was once the playground of hippies, back to the earth, and all that. Now, however, this island has come up-market much in the way that Key West, Florida has changed character and price bracket. Many media and business types commute to Vancouver for several days in the city, only to retreat to the pleasant calm that Salt Spring offers. Perhaps the most famous of these is Robert Bateman, that outstanding painter of nature subjects. The title of this small acrylic painting (10"x8") suggests the idea of many other possible takes on this subject. Although weather, season, and light greatly affect the impression that any subject makes, the most important for me is the point of view. By using raking light, the subject displays a dramatic, theatrical pose. Perhaps this desire to light the subject in a stagey way reveals my dramatic ambitions. I don't know. I must admit that I do have a tendency to imitate the accents of people that I meet, but as a friend explained, "The reason that you do the imitations is that you simply do not have any personality of your own." I will leave you to decide if the accents are linked to the stage lighting. Perhaps the accent thing is a totally different issue.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Driving Into Veregin, Saskatchewan Driving Into Veregin, Saskatchewan Veregin, Saskatchewan, a tiny speed bump on the highway between Canora and Kamsack, owes what little traffic it has to the Doukhobor sect. In the early 1900's, this religious sect established a settlement here after political problems forced them to leave Russia. From this small village, this fervent group seeped out across the prairies, with many settling in British Columbia. Aside from that religious connection, Veregin resembles many other prairie towns that draw no visitors at all. In days of yore, this phalanx of elevators generated seasonal traffic, but now with the change in prairie grain shipments, Yorkton has stolen its thunder. Archival photos show these elevators with a tail of wagons and trucks stretching down the road, waiting for the chance to unload their cargos of grain. On my next trip West, I hope to arrange a visit to a grain elevator through a cousin who is a Saskatchewan farmer. I am curious to see the interior of these wooden hulks. Will the inside remind me of a giant version of a farm granary here at home or more of an ancient wooden ship? Will the structures creak and sigh, or does silence occupy the space between those walls?

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Mountain Neighbour Mountain Neighbour In the 1940's, Wilf Carter, a cowboy singer, had a daily fifteen minute program on the radio. "Those were the fastest fifteen minutes of the day" according to my Uncle George. Many of those songs, just like the Ian Tyson ballads, tell stories that describe western men in a heroic light. As a child, I had the idea that cowboys, men who lived in the West, were rugged, clean-cut, Roy Rogers type guys. Even though engaged in dangerous tasks, they were somehow always clean and invariably polite. I have been amused to find that in real life many of these pick-up pioneers living on acreages are often one-eyed men who are soap-challenged and dentally deficient. They are, however, physically fit. These men work rather than work-out, and the benefit to their physiques is obvious as many women will attest. Experienced blue jeans held in place by saucer-sized silver belt buckles stand above their cowboy boots. Their nondescript shirts offer no competition to the marquee-sized cowboy hats that ride their never styled locks. It should be said that although many of these individuals fall into the unpolished diamond category, they are capable in many areas. They can remedy the complaints of cattle and Broncos. Construction or welding poses no challenge. Just like many "individuals" in Key West, Florida, they harbour a desire to find a remote spot on which to build (in the words of Wilf Carter) "that little old log cabin on my claim". Certainly not all of the men engaged in mountain ranching are hiding from God-knows-what … bill collectors, ex-wives, or the facts of life … but the good old boy spirit flares into blinding brilliance when topics such as government and Toronto are mentioned. One of the pick-up posse once challenged me to find anything more enjoyable than driving a pick-up in the pasture, looking at cattle, with a pretty blond at your side and a case of beer in the back, which sounded like it had dropped straight out of a Ralph Lauren advertisement.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Hippie Haven Hippie Haven This view of Wells, B.C. shows only seven of the two hundred buildings that their website claims are being restored. That works out to one building per person in this 1930's village, 66 kilometers northeast of Vancouver. Picturesque and quixotic are two words that come to mind when I think about this village just three miles down the road from the legendary gold mining village of Barkerville. Barkerville is a painted, restored village, now overrun by tourists, that has felt the benefit of many government grants to bring it back to the style that it showed in the 1860's when the Caribou Wagon Road brought over 100,000 people to its doors. The contrast between Barkerville and Wells is stark. One is neat and organized while the other is eccentric to a near catastrophic degree. In Wells, old trucks with their hood agape slump beside frame buildings that show more flair than craftsmanship from a succession of owners. The hotel at which we stayed was welcoming but looked like it might have been the set for a sitcom: The Bob Newhart Inn on a very bad day. The food was heavy with nuts and twigs. We spent the evening sitting around the dining room table trading stories with the four other guests of the hotel. A family atmosphere of ribbing and rivalry filled the room outfitted with its oak table accompanied by wooden pressed back chairs that showed no kinship at all. Our bedroom, the bridal suite, was the only one with a toilet ensuite. Mind you, there was no furniture in the room other than a wardrobe in the Scandinavian country style, attractive, but a bedside table to hold the lamp would not have gone amiss. Never mind, we had a good time.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Dot's Café Dot's Café Small towns attract, comfort, and amuse me with their often plain spoken and unsophisticated ways. On a recent car journey to the West Coast, we stopped in Cut Knife, Saskatchewan. This tiny town, eighty miles southwest of Saskatoon, has become a bit of a joke with a couple we know. Her mother comes from this small spot on the map, so Glenna occasionally returns with her aged Mom to this prairie village whose only claim to fame is the installation of the world's largest tomahawk. This monument to an Indian battle was erected by the Department of Indian Affairs. A Cree friend of ours represented the Minister at the inauguration ceremony, so our interest was aroused. With these two ideas in mind, we stopped our western progress for a look and coincidentally a morning cup of coffee at the local Chinese restaurant, the local coffee spot. Clearly the only strangers in town, we were quickly approached by several of the regulars. "Why are you here?" Obviously this is not the sort of place where tourists stop, so we must have a reason for our visit. Not knowing Glenna's mother's maiden name, we were placed in an embarrassing situation. We were not queried when we stopped for lunch at Dot's Café in Arrowood, Alberta. This Chinese restaurant was tiny, on a rutted road bisecting a village of two dozen houses. We noted with interest as four young men occupied a booth near us. These roughnecks wearing grimy clothes arrived on a filthy pickup. Their lunch quickly dispatched without any chat, they all tilted their caps, slid forward on the bench seats and went to sleep. Direct speech was the style in a pub in the small village of Frittenden, Kent. We had just arrived to spend a dream vacation of four months in a rented 17th century cottage at the edge of the village which was only two miles from the fabled Sissinghurst Gardens. Showing great restraint, I waited for the second day to visit the charming, tile-hung pub just over the road. This foreigner's presence turned heads as I entered the low-doored establishment. After a pint or two, the publican enquired as to where I was staying because I had walked, not driven, to the pub. I was delighted to explain our situation, Canadian artist, four months, rented cottage and car … the lot. "You mean," he said incredulously, "that you could have holidayed anywhere and you chose here?"

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Indian Camp Indian Camp Growing up in Waterloo in the 40's and 50's, my exposure to North American Indians was minimal. The closest that I got was the occasional black athlete who came here to play for the Waterloo baseball club. My exposure to race was limited to stories and to Tonto (Jay Silverheels) who came from the Six Nations Reserve at Brantford. My years at the Ontario College of Art were my first experiences with a real Indian guy from the Six Nations at Brantford. He was the Indian guy. I was the Mennonite guy. Simple definitions! Unfortunately, I did not make an effort to get to know this fellow who carried his background as a flag for all to see. He was not belligerent, just unequivocal about his heritage which flavoured his paintings. Even my time with the Grand Valley Foundation did not expose me to much Indian culture or people, even though the Six Nations' reserve is firmly placed on that waterway. My most profound insight into the First Nations' mind was through the multifaceted paintings of Arthur Shilling, an Ojibway artist who attended the art college several years before me. I had an exhibition of my Waterloo County Mennonite paintings in London, England in 1979. In the gallery hung with all those images of farmhouses and horses, strangely the most asked question was, "Do you do paintings of red Indians?" Clearly to people in Britain, Canada means a massive undeveloped country full of "red Indians". Late this past summer, Marilyn and I had the good fortune to drive to the West Coast of Canada. I was startled to find at Riding Mountain National Park in Manitoba that the local Indian tribe had set up a wigwam motel. On the shores of Lake Katherine within the park, a person can stay for a night in a teepee. Nearby is a restaurant, showers and laundry, all run by the tribe, so this experience is not a "roughing it" adventure, but rather a gentle insight into traditional Indian life. We were there too late in the season this time, but I would not rule out a night in a deer-skin hotel room. Returning to Ontario, we stopped to visit old friends who live near Kenora. While his wife hails from the Kitchener-Waterloo area, the man is a Cree Indian from Saskatchewan. While they have visited our home many times, we had been tardy in getting ourselves to Kenora to finally accept their invitation to visit. We enjoyed a tour of their house, a pretty yellow and white building, sitting half way up a steep hill. After a lovely dinner, we mentioned the number of Indian owned and operated casinos that we had passed as we drove to the West Coast. We all agreed that perhaps these casinos were the Indians' new buffalo, providing all the needs of the First Nations. Silently, our Indian friend left the living room and returned with a quilt that he gave to us. We were overwhelmed at this wonderful gift. Why? Why? It is apparently the Cree tradition that a first-time visitor to one's home is given a blanket that signifies welcome and warmth—something that wraps around the guest. He also gave us a braid of sweet grass that he explained should be burned in times of stress so that the smoke could rise to the Great Manitou. We were so touched.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Transported Elevator Transported Elevator SPOOM is an organization that has an interest in the preservation of old mills. As a member of their Ontario chapter, I was saddened to read in their newsletter of the sale of milling equipment from a local landmark. The Blair Mills Corn Mills, which operated until September 2002, is selling its equipment and real estate. This historic mill is offering for sale corn grinders, shakers and cleaners that date from the early 30's. It is inevitable that changes like this take place, but it makes me sad. I felt the same unhappiness when we visited the Grain Academy in Calgary, a display that sprawls over 10,000 square feet. This model set-up in the Stampede Grounds clearly demonstrates the transportation of grain from the prairie farms all the way to the juggernaut ships that deliver the crops to international customers. Prior to our visit, we had visited a number of farms in the bread basket of Canada and realized that the interior of those Prairie Provinces is being hollowed out as changes in international agriculture take their toll. All through the prairies, the demise of small towns is obvious. The railway's demand for efficiency causes the grain elevators which were once the heart of the small town anatomy to stop beating. The other businesses in those burgs then gasp and finally fail. In places like Roleau, Saskatchewan, once a Mayberry sort of town, the café/grocery store can be purchased for $89,000, which includes the stock and business as well as the real estate consisting of the store with a three-bedroom apartment behind it. This is a rather low price for a business in a once vital town. Not far from Roleau in western terms, only several hundred miles north, a small commercial grain elevator stood on a farm. Purchased from one of these near extinct towns for only a few dollars, this 125 foot high structure had been carefully moved down the road six miles in an upright position. This once active elevator now serves in its retirement as a giant grain bin—cheaper, the farmer reckons, than building a group of shiny new steel grain bins. Mills, those Canadian castles, are falling one by one to the siege of progress. For further related images, to see our section on Mills and Grain Elevators.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Below Castle Mountain Below Castle Mountain Almost forty years ago when I decided to turn my attention to paintings of the Mennonites, I found, to my naïve surprise, that many of our friends and acquaintances thought the idea a poor idea. Now it is hard to remember a time when this genre of art work was non existent. A number of people took me aside and confided that "if I want to see someone cutting hay or making maple syrup, I can just jump into my car and witness all that old-time stuff. Why would I want a painting of farm life?" The second part of their kind advice, and it was kind, was "Why don't you do paintings of the Rocky Mountains? Now that's worth recording." Although I was dismayed, I was not dissuaded. Youth is so oblivious. Over the years, as you know, I did direct my attention to painting Mennonite life, but as well, with much travel in Canada and abroad, I also painted many other subjects. Last year, Marilyn and I decided that we should pursue the compilation of my many paintings from across Canada into a book. A study of photos of those works showed that our weakest area of the country was the western provinces. So last summer we drove across those Prairie provinces, hoping to mend the holes in our personal Canadian fabric. Just as a darning needle is moved up and down, we zigzagged across the west, avoiding the #1 Highway. Taking photos as we explored, we went to many new areas for us. Many of these views have been translated into paintings that will be presented with stories in a new book that will, we hope, be available this fall. Marilyn is writing the text with great diligence and finding that happily we have too much to say and to show. Gathered around the round table in my upstairs studio, Marilyn and I debate the virtues of this small town versus that. We are slowly coming to a set of decisions that will steer the course of our still untitled Canadian book. Since our travels, and hence paintings, span many years, this task will not finish soon. It is ironic for me to realize that after all these years, here I am composing paintings of the Rocky Mountains, just as friends suggested so many years ago. Life is indeed circular.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Buffalo Jump Buffalo Jump On a recent visit to the Canadian West, we noticed that buffalo meat was frequently offered on restaurant menus. I was fortunate as we drove across the gentle undulating prairies to see the source of those steaks so strongly recommended in these dining rooms. I had the opportunity to chat with a farmhand seated on a tractor near a herd of buffalo scattered across a large fenced field. Had I been casting a cowboy movie, this fellow would have been the star. He wore a battered cowboy hat stained with sweat that he used as a flyswatter and handkerchief. The plaid shirt he wore had seen better days, but half-covered by a leather vest, it looked almost too authentic to be true. Slim-legged jeans topped a pair of diamond-patterned cowboy boots. His hands were hard and thick. This guy obviously was used to physical labour, so it came as no surprise that his belt buckle with its longhorn cattle lay flat against a lean stomach. The only thing about this cowboy that didn't fit the laconic cinematic stereotype was that he talked like an auctioneer. I had stopped to take photos of the animals. He spotted me and felt, I guess, that I looked like a good listener. Presumably it gets lonely on the plains. "Nasty," he said of the buffalo. "I never get off the tractor when I am near any buffalo." "Stupid" was another word he used in their description. The animals always come into this field through the top gate, and even though I must open another gate only 100 feet away to bring hay during this drought, they will never use that gate to escape. Years ago the Indians knew the buffalo well and understood that these front-heavy animals could be stampeded over a cliff to their death. They would not swerve but pell-mell over the precipice. The government has preserved one of these sites in Alberta that really explains the process. That running instinct is so strong, I have been told, that ranchers who need to inoculate a beast must build a zigzag chute into which the buffalo is chased to be trapped, so that the needles can be given. This crooked gangway slows the beasts. If the chute is straight, the buffalo will run full tilt into the mechanical squeeze at the end of the catch and kill themselves with the impact, so strong is the stampede instinct. Just recently a rancher from Alberta, for whom I had painted a commission, told me that buffalo meat which was so popular ten years ago is no longer in demand. Five dollars is now the price for a buffalo calf. It would appear that there is fashion even in the cattle business. No wonder restaurants are eager to offer buffalo steaks. Strangely, the restaurant price seemed detached from the market price.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

A Comfortable Establishment A Comfortable Establishment I suppose, like most taxpayers, I get a little steamed when I see the amount of money that the government wastes on various boondoggles. I do not know how much money our fearless leaders in Ottawa spend on Parks Canada, but I'm sure that within any large organization there is some waste. I am pleased, however, to realize that some of the money that this government department receives actually makes its way into projects that restore these sites to a living state. I think it ironic that the Americans, who are portrayed as poorly educated, seem to have a much better grasp and appreciation for their history. Romance and patriotism are fondly fostered in their tradition. It certainly is true that the American study of history is U.S.-centric, showing to all their point of view, but at least a premium is placed on that subject. Most of us are not knowledgeable enough to appreciate the significance of various historic points in our past without the help of the costumed interpreters who guide us through these restorations, like the ones established by our National Parks system. As we drove across the Canadian West last summer, we had the good fortune to visit a number of Parks Canada sites. Because my bent is more historical than recreational, I took note of those places where watermarks from Canada's past showed themselves. Perhaps the most important site is Banff which is Parks Canada's very first preserve. I composed this painting after visiting Lower Fort Garry. Built between 1830 and 1839, Lower Fort Garry, thirty-two kilometers north of Winnipeg, served as a depot for the fur trade for the Hudson's Bay Company. The actual trading room, or store, was stocked with every article that a trapper could need, but interestingly almost no actual money changed hands. Trade was the name of the game. I found it fascinating to see stacks of pelts of various kinds in an upper storage room above the company store—rows and piles of fur in stripes of gray, umber and burnt sienna. These colours contrasted with the pale yellow of the pine interior. Standing in the dim light with dust particles illuminated by the shaft of afternoon sun, it was easy to imagine the fur business which was so much the reason for Canada's beginnings. Even the smells from the furs and the wood fires added to the experience. This visit would have tinted my whole view of our past if I had been able to experience this when I was a child. Now restored to a like-new condition, this garrison is staffed with costumed interpreters. Over many years I have visited historical sites preserved and staffed by Parks Canada. Parks Canada has opened their photo files in Ottawa to me and anyone else who is really interested. I have painted Sir John A. MacDonald's house in Kingston and here at home, Woodside, once the boyhood residence of William Lyon Mackenzie King. The staff members at the various historic sites are so well informed and sincerely interested in the complex, but fascinating, story of our past. I say, "Three Cheers for those Parks Canada people who help us gain and hold our history." For further related images, to see our historical section.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Kicking Horse Cascade Kicking Horse Cascade The Kicking Horse Pass was first mentioned in the report of the Palliser expedition in 1860. This team was investigating various routes for the C.P.R. between what became Lake Louise and Golden, B.C. Dramatic scenery draws armies of tourists today. Although the spiral tunnel (that engineering wonder that eased the gradient for train traffic) is much talked about, I found myself more impressed by the natural wonder of the pass itself. From an elevated ledge, I noticed a group of people down by the river. I decided to scramble down the steep incline to get really good photos of the waters as they rushed through the pass. Once down there, I realized that I was not nearly as fit as the young people beside the torrents. The drizzly conditions made for treacherous conditions as I moved carefully to new vantage points. My bride is not very happy when I do these small adventures, thinking that I may well end up in the drink. She has some reason to be concerned, I admit, as I did have a bad spill on some seaweed-draped rocks in Prince Edward Island some years ago. I managed in that episode to also cause great damage to my camera when I went east and it went west. I knew that I was going to get old. I just didn't realize that it would happen so soon. Places of natural beauty like this one drive me crazy because of the potential paintings that I see at each vantage point. I know that I can't record it all or deal with even a miniscule portion of the countless views. I actually get a physical response to such a painting opportunity. My heart races as I see new possibilities. Excitement combined with the physical exertion of demanding terrain produces quite a sweat. I was not alone in my interest in this noisy site. The water plunging and crashing attracted a group of black leather-clad Harley riders who jumped from rock to rock, cameras in hand. Some of these same motorcyclists showed up at our hotel that evening. Their powerful machines leaned in a neat parallel fashion near the door of our lodgings. I remember the days when Harley riders were tough and nasty. I recall vividly the broad black leather belts studded with "coloured" gems that old time hard rocks wore over their scuffed leather jackets. The next morning the motorcycle guys and gals drifted into the breakfast room. One of their group looked like the nasties that I remembered from years ago. He was a large man with a pirate-style bandana, dodgy dental work, and a stomach that perched precariously, cantilevered over his saucer-sized, silver, Harley belt buckle. When asked by one of his group in line for the breakfast bar whether he wanted some toast, the big man erupted, "No, no. I gotta stay away from the carbs." I'm sure that those tough guys from years ago thought that a carb was part of an engine.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

At Home At Home As part of our preparation for a new book of my paintings from across Canada, we spent an enjoyable interlude in the Jasper area. We did a needed visit to a laundromat in Hinton, Alberta, just east of Jasper National Park on our journey to Vancouver Island. I was surprised to find an Internet hook-up ($1 for 10 minutes). This busy place also had a bulletin board that I perused while waiting for the laundry. A free community space brings out so many aspects of an area that do not appear in any travel guide. My apologies to the C.A.A., but even though their guide books are very comprehensive with hard data about hotels, roads and tourist spots, they cannot convey the flavour of an area as well as a simple corkboard can. Next to the photocopied advertisement for the local seamstress was the offering for sale of a Honda Goldwing, a Browning rifle, a "hardly" used computer, some attractive maternity clothes, and a notice for a Bible study. "No Offering," it said, in large printing underneath the time and place for the Bible study. A slight blond woman in this establishment was doing washing for oil rig guys. The machines that she used were especially designated for "extra dirty" laundry. She schlepped bags of wash to and fro from an extended white van parked right by the door. I got the idea that she ran this cleaning service for many grease monkeys working on rigs stashed deep in the bush. I had the chance to visit many of these sites years ago when I painted a series of pieces for Murphy Oil. These roustabouts are strong young men eager to make a great deal of money in the oil patch, often as a grubstake for some further adventure. Let's just say that hygiene is not a priority for them. I am surprised that they actually wash those clothes when their use as a barbeque fire starter is so obvious. Although the coal mines in the area were running short of both coal and contracts, the oil business continues as does the tourist traffic in this area within Jasper National Park. The dramatic mountainscapes as well as the wildlife continue to fascinate the many tourists who flood this area in the summer. Skiing is popular here in the winter, of which, a local barber told me, they get too much. As we drove toward Maligne Lake, we were halted by some confusion on the road ahead. Cars were not parked, but rather just abandoned, as people leapt from their vehicles to take photographs of a young bear grazing for lunch only twenty feet off the road's shoulder. Ignoring the tourists, he ambled along, turned over logs and shook bushes. I thought it most unwise that people did not heed the warning given in all Parks Canada material to stay in their cars when they saw a bear. Bears, the notice said, were unpredictable. I heard a radio interview with Ian Miller, the well-known equestrian, in which he said that in competition riding you can go from the penthouse to the outhouse very quickly. I would assume that in an encounter with a bear, the same principle applies.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Potash Plant Potash Plant Flat prime prairie stretches out for uncountable miles in the area of Saskatchewan. Here and there in ever diminishing size and intensity small clumps of farm buildings break the skyline. This is a place where if your dog runs away you can watch his departure for days. Reports in the newspaper headline stories such as "Local veterinarian charged with luring deer onto his property with grain" or "A recent ruling by Saskatchewan courts may soon outlaw any expression of the Christian faith". As a pick-up speeds along straight country roads, a plume of dust rises like the tail on a dog. In the heart of this featureless landscape, the giant structure of the Potash Corporation of Saskatchewan (PotashCorp) looms like an ominous headquarters of Dr. No in a science fiction movie. Hulks of square buildings crisscrossed with diagonal elevators seem incongruous in this rural farming area. This is a mine head, the processing area for potash that has journeyed up from 1,000 meters below the surface, after its six kilometer subterranean trip. These box-like buildings house the operation for washing the clay from the ore. Deep injection wells are then used to dispose of the excess brine which has been collected in the tailing storage areas. The tailings are vast mountain-like features that barricade the entire east side of the plant owned by the PotashCorp. Although Canadian potash has only been mined since 1962, at present Canada provides three-quarters of the potash for the United States, the world's biggest user of this fertilizer. This is a very important part of the agriculture operation as potash regulates the formation of protein and starch in crops. The potash idea is not new. Pioneers knew that potassium carbonate was necessary for making soap by evaporating water through filtered wood ash. This process was the first registered U.S. patent in 1790. In 1988 when I was composing a mural for the National Trust Company, I was cautioned not to emphasize too strongly the importance of potash to the Saskatchewan segment of my work. Although this financial institution had been a primary lender for the start-up of the mining operation, the fortune of potash had dimmed and great gobs of red ink splattered the balance sheet of the PotashCorp. Now fifteen years later, the red has turned to black. Besides my interest in the inclusion of PotashCorp in my mural which now hangs in the head office of the Bank of Nova Scotia, I was also drawn to the Lanigan area because I have relatives there. Around 1900 a number of Mennonites from Ontario homesteaded in that locale. Many of those farms are still in family hands. When the late summer sun creates long, long shadows over the wheat land at the end of day, there is a visual connection between the farmer in his air conditioned stereo infused combine cab and the mine where men work so far underground to help that farmer produce a good crop between the small dust-covered towns of Guernsey and Lanigan.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.