Some Tidbits

I have a new appreciation for the Lions Clubs. Thanks to the Lions Clubs across the nation, we can pretty much count on even the tiniest of towns having a campground. No, better yet: a campground with a shower. Until we took this trip, I didn't realize how much the Lions/Kinsmen, etc. did for their communities.

I know, I know. It's a bit odd to have grown up in a small town whose only campground was the Lions' Campground and not realize that Lions do that kind of thing for their communities. Honestly, I didn't really put together that the Lions Campground in town was developed by, uh, the Lions Club. I think when I was a kid I just kinda thought that was the NAME of the campground (possibly having something to do with mountain lions). But then again, it was odd for me to be shocked by the quality of food served in small town diners. In my defense, we never ate at those diners (and now I know why!) because we always just ate my mom's cooking from the garden. Anyhoo, I can see how all the Lions parks and campgrounds and info centres can really boost these little towns and think it's pretty cool that the Lions give back to their communities so much. It all got me to wondering: Is there a similar women's group common to small towns? If not, I'm going to start a Cougars' Club (har!) if/when we have a town to call home.

Yes. We've certainly gotten to experience a big slice of life in a small town. Including witnessing first hand the gossip for which small towns are notorious. And, no. It's not the women who sit around clucking and cooing about the various misfortunes and misdeeds of their neighbours. (At least not publicly; perhaps women prefer to gossip by phone.) No, it's the men. Walk into a diner anywhere in the prairies and you'll find an ever growing cluster of men, ball caps perched on their heads, coffee cups in hand, and a river of gossip flowing between them.

Here's a transcript of a conversation overheard at the cafe in Delia, Alberta:
Farmer 1: I was kinda surprised how Tracey stood up to Ben there.
Farmer 2: Yeah? Naahhh. I wasn't.
F1: No?
F2: Nah. [Waves hand] You seen the way she is with them kids.
F1: [Chuckles] You got me there. You got me there.
F2: I heard he's staying up there on Griswold's couch now. [Chuckles] I guess the other gal he took up with there won't have him back neither! [Both laugh.]

And because I made a big deal about it last time, I feel obliged to provide some follow-up. The headwinds continue unabated. In fact, they've worsened. (Our ability to cope with them has markedly improved, however, thanks to some good hearty meals.)

In manner of true Canadians, we've taken on an attitude of a perversely healthy learned helplessness towards the horrible weather pattern by which we're plagued. A sort of "Sure, this is really terrible and absolutely everything would be easier and more pleasant if only the weather was different or if I lived somewhere more hospitable to human life, but I can be miserable and be happy and have fun at the same time!" attitude.

And, just as every March it seems that this this year might actually be the year that winter doesn't end and you resign yourself to that possibility since it's been so long since you felt the sun on your skin anyway and you've forgotten what you're missing, we've resigned ourselves to the idea that the headwinds might never end. It's been so long since we've been able to travel at speeds over 12 kilometres per hour or since biking wasn't a patella crushing grind that I think we'll be really surprised--pleasantly surprised--when one day we breeze along the road at a nice brisk clip with minimal effort thanks to the tailwind that's decided to show its face. (Are you listening Universe? If you could arrange that, that would be GREAT.) In the meantime, the headwind has become as integral to biking as pedalling and although we occassionally suffer from anxiety due to our slowed timelines, we don't fuss much over it anymore.

On a somewhat related note, Mom said that after my (admittedly) somewhat disheartened posts about Saskatchewan, folks were concerened that we weren't enjoying ourselves (such is inevitably the case when you have an extended network of concerned aunts and uncles reading your blog). Indeed we are. This trip is not easy--nor was it expected to be--and I don't think fun is quite the right word, but we feel alive. We're working our bodies hard and we're outside in the sun and the wind and the rain and there's deer and ducks and bird calls and dangling our feet off of docks and, all in all, we feel pretty much the opposite of what it feels like to sit in a cubicle rotting in front of a computer. In fact, in many ways this whole trip may have been an elaborate scheme to ensure we didn't spend another summer cooped up in an office. (For the record, I am currently in the market for a scheme that will prevent me from ever returning to an office job. I DON'T WANT TO GO DEAD INSIDE EVER AGAIN. I'm just saying.)