I have a confession to make. Several years ago, my daughter and I were on a summer road trip traveling across the Canadian prairies. In Saskatchewan we had to take a detour because of road construction, and we managed - don’t laugh - to get lost. Yes, in Saskatchewan. We were on a secondary (or thirduary) road fast approaching nowhere, so we decided to stop for directions at a farmhouse situated about halfway between nowhere and more nowhere.
The day I shamed B.C.
It was a pretty farm, all wide-open and flat, a little mirror image of the province itself. Heather and I were in great spirits, because you just know you’re in friendly territory on a remote farm in Saskatchewan. Everybody in Saskatchewan is friendly, it’s a rule, I think, but the farmers must surely be extra-friendly. Dour looking but kindly and good. It’s not like a remote farm in B.C. where the backyard is probably piled high with graves from murdered victims and the farmer looks as though he is ready to add another once he sees you. No, this was friendly Saskatchewan.
As we sat in the car doing a final check of our map, we felt all B.C.-humbled by the vast expanses of flat farmland around us. We thought we might take the time to tell Saskatchewan Farmer about mountains, and the way they can really frame a scene. Saskatchewan Farmer would chuckle at our B.C. charm and wit, and then, being a friendly Saskatchewan farmer, he would probably ply us with homemade pie and coffee, after which he would tell us how to get back to the main road.
So, we got out of the car, breathed in the fresh country air, then headed to the door. And that’s when bad things started to happened.
We were ringing the bell, waiting for Saskatchewan Farmer to open the door to meet two fine representatives of the mighty (and mountainous) province of B.C.. He didn’t answer though, and we were suddenly aware that everything was deadly quiet except for an ominous sound of . . . something.
For a long nanosecond, Heather and I just stood there staring at each other.
And you know, to this day I have to wonder what Saskatchewan Farmer must have thought as he watched from behind his curtain. One thing is clear, he was far too knowledgeable about B.C. crazies to open his door to us and our billion companions, which only goes to prove that the whole ‘friendly Saskatchewan’ schtick is something of a scam.
I have a feeling he was laughing.
Sometimes I wonder, does he still tell people about the day Saskatchewan’s black flies took on two of B.C. innocents and won? Has he stopped laughing yet? Probably not.
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