Home, thunderstorms, and horses

We went home again this summer. I never realize how much I need to go until we're on our way. Something inside uncurls and unfurls under the big skies, and time feels wider and more generous. I guess we are on holidays, not working, but on top of that, there’s some kind of dissolving of the rigidity of time there, I swear.

We did our usual loop, family reunion, friends, bluegrass fest, camping, and more friends and more family.

We started off as usual with all mom’s family visiting. Aunts, uncles, and cousins. A ball game in town, a surprise engagement party for my cousin, barbecues, and overnight omelet. And visiting mom’s grave, bringing her all of our frustrations and laments, sitting on the scratchy mowed grass getting bit by ants and letting the tears fall and the kleenexes ball up in damp piles. Coming face to face yet again with the always stunning realization that her ashes lie under the shadow of the G3 grain terminal and she’s not waiting for us to roll slowly up the driveway anymore, along the spruce trees and around the bend.

Then off to the Bluegrass festival where the Salt Licks fed our souls as the dance band for both nights of the festival. Every song was our favorite song, and we hardly sat down. Lightning strikes close by kept us dancing past our bedtime. We eventually made a dash through the rain to our cabin and a dry night nestled in our cozy beds.

Then onto La Ronge, taking in the endless aftermath of the fires, it just went on and on for miles. We spent time on the water, swimming, looking, sketching, watching, listening. Making lists of all the wildlife we saw. I read Mom's copy of “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain” by Betty Edwards. I really think it's helping my drawing abilities. Especially by learning to consider negative space more. And I got to spend lots of time hanging out there in the right hemisphere, just following shapes - of leaves, grasses, berries.

We cut short our camping trip because of the rain and thunderstorms. They were huge and beautiful and moving and terrifying in a tent when there was no gap between the flash and the boom. Counting seconds. Relief as the gap widened. Grateful for the channels we dug around the tent and for the big tarp we picked up at Pro Hardware in Air Ronge. And grateful to be part of the whole scene, feeling alive and at the mercy of larger things in the Big Mix. Our usual 7 days in La Ronge turned into 4 and we came back early.

Then Dad took us to the chuckwagons in Lloydminster, and I cried like a weirdo, tears jumping out of my eyes. I had no say in the matter. All the horses and riders were lining up and you could feel all the energy that went into that moment, all the preparation, all the emotion, and the horses were so gorgeous and strong and some of them were rearing up in anticipation. They were so powerful and fast and the track was groomed so perfectly and their hooves pounded and the dust flew in some kind of magical joyful riot. Which made me overflow. And I had perogies, with sour cream and sauerkraut and cabbage rolls and sausage and mustard. As John Prine said, How lucky can one (hu)man get. I tried to sketch the horses but they were too fast for me.

Then the last few days of our trip, days where Macy shared her time and horses and Grampa let Ada ride on her own. Many many treasures in time that I have been sketching since.

Lots more to add, but maybe for another post. I’m vowing to be more regular with blog posts from here on in…I'm realizing the benefits to my mind & heart of having a more consistent creative habit, and posting here could help with accountability. Thanks for reading ❤️