A View from the Road: Summer Colours, Textures and Stories

One of the things I learned while traveling last year was to really observe the details around me.  Everything was new and different and I was taking photos by the hundreds.  Thanks to the advice of my fellow travelers, many of those photos provided great memories of where we had been.  I’ve been working at keeping that sense of awe and wonder as I travel my home roads.  On the way to and from work, I’ve been stopping to take photos of interesting things, and even discovering bits that I had never noticed before.

My road is Highway 2 in Northern Alberta running from my home in Grimshaw for sixty kilometres south and west to Fairview where I have worked most of the last 35 years.   Allowing for a few years of part time, that is still about 850,000 kilometres.  The railway which was built in the late 1920s took the shortest line between Grimshaw and Fairview, but the road which came after generally followed the range and township lines with curves built for modern traffic to keep to speed rather than stopping to see what is new.

Summer in Northern Alberta is beautiful, green and warm enough to leave the coat and socks at home.  The sun rises long before I do and is already high in the northeastern sky.  It travels in a circle to set in the northwest long after I am in bed.  The land has been farmed for less than one hundred years; when we arrived there were still fields having the trees cut and piled for burning in order to open new land.  Before that, explorers passed through, but mainly stayed near the rivers. The stories the old timers tell of arriving here and working to make a life for their families is fascinating.

These pictures were all taken with my Canon Powershot camera – the same one that took almost 17,000 photos in our year of travel.  It’s a bit battered and temperamental but happy to be back to a reliable Canadian power source. The only editing I did to these photos was to auto adjust brightness and contrast and to crop for the best view. I will treasure the advice of a fellow traveler, Mark, who told me to “just take the picture, don’t zoom in, if you wait, you’ll miss your chance”.  I set myself the restriction that photos had to be taken from the road – walking a few steps from where I parked the car was OK, but driving down an interesting side road wasn’t.

Complete gear - camera, case, extra battery,
new tripod and piece of dicem for slippery situations.
My license to take photos (for Sabah anyway)

Starting at my Back Door...

It was an atrocious summer - tent caterpillars devouring the early leaves, no rain and a plague of grasshoppers - but this little fellow on the back door was just so photogenic and follows in the path of the many bugs who had their photos taken on our year of travel.

Blinking Light

In the 1980s, my children traveled with me to attend daycare and we got in the habit of counting the way home by the small towns – Fairview, Bluesky, Whitelaw, Brownvale, Berwyn, Blinking Light, and finally Grimshaw.  Yes, the blinking light at the last turn north to Grimshaw was as important as all the rest of the place names.

The Battle on the Sixth Meridian

About half way on the journey, I pass 118 degrees west.  Surveyors also call it the sixth meridian (so land east of this line has a land description that starts with “west of the fifth” and land west of this line is “west of the sixth”).  Check here if you are curious about townships, ranges, sections and quarters.  The sixth is also the border between two municipal districts and the site of an interesting bit of border one upmanship.  Some years ago, the MD of Fairview erected this sign – blue letters on a white background the shape of the district.  Only when I stopped to take this photo did I discover how unique it was – two pieces of metal with the lettering hand cut out of the front piece.  Then, not to be outdone, the MD of Peace erected their sign directly across the road – multicoloured, professionally made AND with the date of its incorporation.  Next, MD of Fairview added its incorporation date (two years earlier), and the wheat stalk.  The last piece, so far, was the addition of “Lac Cardinal country”, the original name of the Provincial Park near Grimshaw.  This line is also the boundary between two phone numbers, school bus routes and which public health office comes to visit you at home.  Our very own Great Divide.

An interesting bit of wood by the signs.  Colour and texture.

Relics and Old Buildings.  

Old buildings fascinate me.  Weathered wood and metal have fantastic patterns and textures that often make me think about quilt patterns. I wonder, too, what it was like to live in these tiny homes with so much distance between neighbours.  The stories these buildings could tell. 

"The Haunted House".  I first heard about this from the
hospital dietitian who lived here.  Cal had the story confirmed by
the boys on his basketball team.  Of course it is haunted.
I had to take it as a black and white photo.

Modern art.  My shadow taking a photo of a group of old
buildings.  Amazing how much my little camera will zoom in
(see below).

The Waterhole Post Office.  On the road, but south of Fairview.
Built in 1911.  I've always smiled when I see the roof to protect
the old building (which continues to return to the earth).
In Viet Nam, at My Son, they were doing the same thing
to protect a damaged 8th century temple before they could
restore it.

I watched the farmer bring these old vehicles into the tiny field by the road in early summer.  At first it looked like tidying up all these wrecks from other parts of the farm (many farms have a burial yard for no longer working machinery).  But day by day, a sense of order and display became apparent.  Things got grouped, then moved from back to front and adjusted just so.  The funny thing is that when I was talking about this at work a co-worker laughed at me – this had been happening for years and of course it was proud display not just storage.  “Just you watch the portable mill machinery in the back corner – some days there is wood positioned to be cut and then other days there is nothing”.

Modern (and not so) Art

You can find interesting shapes and colours anywhere you look.

You find the most interesting things on the lawn.

When we first moved here, the sign was freshly painted.  I
wonder if the honey is still for sale?

Coming into Fairview. This land is reclaimed from the
railway after the line was closed. Little blue Vibe in the
background having made another successful trip from
Grimshaw.

I have no idea what is down this old road, but the
fence fascinates me.

Little blue Vibe waiting patiently for me to take yet one more
picture.

I innocently mentioned to an older farmer that I had noticed
a tractor pulling a tank and got an intense explanation that
he was applying anhydrous and it needed to be cold to do so,
as well as the fact that he thought this was a stupid thing to do.
I've learned the art of asking leading questions even if
I'm a townie.

New condominiums going up where the arena used to be.
Shape and texture is everywhere.

Bugs and Beasties. 

Here’s some of the critters that live along the road. Along the curve at  Whitelaw, there's a huge pasture of domestic bison.  This llama is in the same field, and I've wondered whether he is there to protect the herd (surely bison can protect themselves) or whether he actually thinks he is a bison?

I was totally astounded at the quality of these photos.  I saw this large family of deer as moving black dots at the back of a large field.  In the spirit of  "if you don't take the picture, you don't know if it will work", I aimed, zoomed in as much as my camera would let me, held my breath and took a few photos. These deer were almost a km away from me.

Hundreds of Colours of Green (with a touch of yellow and purple). 

 Will Ferguson, in Road Trip Rwanda, described the colours of the tropical forest as “paint by numbers with every colour being green” and that is also how the view from the road is during summer.  Everything is rushing to grow in the long hours of daylight and has their own special shade of green.

I have no idea what this is, but this small field has been growing
these plants for as long as I can remember.

Stopping to take photos of the border war signs, I discovered
these flowers taking over the road.

I stopped to take a picture of this beautiful dugout one
early morning and discovered a family of ducks out
for a swim.

This weed is annoying and irritating in my garden, but growing
in the cracks of the sidewalk at work, it is quite beautiful.

The railway right of way.  From Golden Meadow to Fairview,
the road ran beside the railway line.  Even though the line has been
removed, the bed is still there as are the old fences.

Just a wet ditch in town...

I had no idea what was growing in all the fields this year
until I got out to take a photo.  Peas/beans/lentils of some kind
(townie speak).  Major export to India according to the noon
farm show.  I wondered if I was actually eating Alberta
lentils when we were in India.

Every morning as I passed Berwyn, there would be people on this
path.  What a beautiful place for a morning walk, especially
when the flowers were in bloom.

Magic markings on the grass near the library.

Memories along the way

This structure is part of the flood diversion system aimed to let the spring run off get down the hill to the Peace River but leave the fertile soil where it belongs.  For most of the time, you wonder what these deep ditches and metal fence things are.  But there's been a few years when the water is pouring off the fields, down the ditches and over the top of the dams.  Also the years when we are pumping water out of the basement.

This is the corner where the old white horse used to spend his day.  He's long gone, but still you can get directions from old timers to turn at the old white horse.  I figured I was almost a local the first time I got those directions and knew where I needed to turn.  We now have modern signs for the range roads and township roads, but most directions are still given by well known landmarks.  When talking about the horse, I also learned that the reason for the careful pile of rocks at the corner was from when the land was originally cleared - after cutting down the trees by hand and dragging them into piles to dry and then be burned, farm families would then need to remove all the rocks before a crop could be planted.  Now, of course, you have big machines, but in the early days it was by hand and you didn't move the rocks any farther than you needed to.  I remember reading once that the advantage of homesteading in the north was that you had an abundance of trees to build your home from, but that the disadvantage was that you had an abundance of trees (and rocks) that needed to be removed before you could plant your crop.

Here's another landmark for directions.  When we first moved here, there was no sign, and the bridge over the river is easy to miss.  I have no idea who Mr. Leith is, but everybody knows where the Little Burnt River is.  I stopped for the first time ever to take these pictures - when you look over the bridge it is a lovely little stream, even at the end of a very dry summer.

If you want to read about the settlement of the Waterhole area, check it out here.  It's hard to believe what it must have been like to walk 25 kilometers up from the Peace River and decide to settle here. Almost twenty years before the railway came past and even longer before the highway.

My memory of this pasture is from the 1980s when a family of pigs lived here.  Every spring and summer I would watch tiny piglets grow into teenagers (running around and getting into mischief) and then into adults who would disappear to become meat for someone's table.

In and Around Fairview

My road includes a bit of a diversion into Fairview College to work out as well as walking from the parking lot into the building.  Amazing what you find when you make a point of looking.

Magic fairies (the Palliative Care Committee)

 create this garden outside the front door of the hospital

 every year. This year has an older couple

 sitting on a park bench.

Even nasty thistle can be beautiful if you catch it right.

The turfgrass program developed a three hole golf
course at the College just over the rise from the gym.  Another reason
to take a few minutes and walk away from the parking lot.

Crow on the light standard at work,

Coming through the back alley.  Memories of Tonka trucks
with Kier and Timmy.

I know this is with serious intent, but what else would you
call the place where you park your shopping cart?

End of Summer

When does summer end and fall begin?  When school starts, or the farmers start their harvest?  Or maybe when you realize that it is time to trade the sandals for socks and shoes?  

One of the signs for me is when the outdoor pool closes in late August and the pool is drained.  I stopped to take photos of the process and found myself smiling at the water being pumped out of the pool and into the drain on the deck.  There’s a big tap that pours cold water into the pool, and despite swimming in and hanging around the pool (meaning I should have known better), I thought there was some sort of plug in the bottom that you pulled to let the water drain...

Next up, fall.

Revisiting a Year of Travel: Travel Art

As I have been finding a place for all the bits of art I collected along the way, I’ve also been documenting my memories of how and where they came from.  Most items are not particularly expensive but they were all hand made by artists/artisans.  Many were surprised when I stopped to talk and ask about the process and the materials.  It took some convincing to get the items signed – in the same way that I honour the fabric art that I create, these items have more meaning to me because of the experiences. Interestingly, most items come from those least developed countries, where hand work is still honoured and where mass produced items are not available.

11 April 2014.  Istanbul (Silk carpet hand knotted near Istanbul and a wool carpet hand knotted in the Kurdish area of Turkey).  It was a great afternoon experience – from being escorted through the Blue Mosque and over to the uncle’s shop to the final purchase and hope that it was actually going to get back to Canada (it did, indeed all our parcels eventually made it home).  Not signed by the artist, but a quilt square has a greeting in both Turkish (from the owner) and in Kurdish (from his assistant).

21 April 2014. Pamukale, Turkey

A commercial scarf with hand tatted edging was sold to me by the lady who made it.  She was delighted to be part of a group photo.

6 May 2014.  Tblisi, Georgia.  Hand woven and hand embroidered table topper.  Across the street, postcards from the artist’s wife.

20 May 2014.  Baku, Azerbaijan.  A hand woven lamb’s wool scarf with paisley flames.

Uzbekistan.  A treasure of fabric art.  The Aral Sea has basically been drained to grow cotton for the Russian markets and silkworms grown in family homes give a different meaning to farming.

27 May 2015.  Kiva.  A square hand embroidered with silk carpet threads reminds me of bargaining for silk threads that have been incorporated in my travel quilt and a photo of the shop manager. I also purchased a dress hand made by the shopkeeper.  The fabric was cotton (from the Fergana Valley) but woven and hand printed batik in Kiva.  It got a lot of wear as we traveled because it was so cool and didn’t need ironing.  It was fascinating reading “A Carpet Ride to Kiva” about the development of the carpet coop.

30 May 2015 Bukhara.  Hand made scissors and knives of Damascus steel, Suzani embroidery and Ikat scarves.  Fantastic conversations with the artists.  If they had accepted mastercard, or if I had had more USD, I would have purchased a hand felted scarf that would have fetched hundreds of dollars in North America.

I had a lovely time deciding which one of the hundreds of Suzani embroidery panels to purchase.  The shopkeeper explained that she was an instructor at the local college teaching others about this traditional skill.  She sold her work as well as that of her students.  I knew how much money I had in USD to spend and explained that I would prefer a high quality small item rather than something much bigger that would be difficult to carry.  I loved this one when I first saw it; the off white colour and the warm rusts and earth colours appealed much more to me.  She was clearly delighted as I had chosen one of her embroideries AND it was her first sale of the day.  She took my USD and patted them on all the other items in the shop to give them luck – a process which I saw time and time again through our travels in Asia.

The fabric is Acras which is a blend of silk and cotton threads which were grown in the Fergana Valley of Uzbekistan.  The fabric was woven in the Bukhara area.  The design was hand stitched with silk thread.  If you look carefully at the fabric, you can see faint pencil marks to guide the placement, but the entire design was stitched without a pattern.  After the embroidery is finished, the fabric is boiled in onion and walnut water to give it the lovely warm colour.  The outside border design is peppers – to ward off the evil eye – and the inside design is also traditional.

When I got home, I added a backing to protect the backing stitches.  What better to use than a piece of silk fabric I had purchased at the Silk Production Factory we visited in the Fergana Valley.  The fabric is silk ikat created using the traditional methods from growing the silkworms to weaving the fabric. Here are some photos of the process.

Doesn't this look like an artsy something or other?
 It's actually the warp threads after their first dying and now
 tied for the next colour.

This lady was dancing on seven pedals as she wove the fabric.

If I thought I could have carried this,
 I would have tried to convince the coop to let me purchase
 this hanging on an outside door.
 Silk threads, cocoons, and a rough piece of board.

18 Jun 2014.  Kyrgyzstan.  Hand felted items.  Getting to create my own hand felted fabric.  Begaim finding patterns for traditional Kyrgyz embroidery and explaining the symbolism.  Realizing that the process and the designs are also used in western quilting and embroidery, no doubt traded along the silk road.

1 July 2014.  Magao Caves (Dunhuang), China. Apsaras and paintings on silk.  After exploring the Magao caves and not being able to take photos, it was actually a delight to arrive at the “souvenir” shop at the exit gate.  Books, high quality sculptures, fabrics and these original paintings on silk were all available for purchase. Not copies, but “in the style of”.  The artist has permission to create paintings of apsaras, but they are from his own creativity.  I chose to purchase an original on silk but could also have bought prints or postcards.

26 July 2014.  Katmandu, Nepal.  Hand embroidered pillow cases.  From over the border in Northern India in the shop owner’s village.  Borders are an iffy science.

19 Aug 2014.  Darjeeling, West Bengal India.  Ava Devi’s silk embroidery from the 1930s.  Originals for viewing but not for sale.  Watching the villagers create hand painted silk sari fabric as we drove from Mashuribad to Kolkata, then purchasing fabric from the co-op. Touring the Idol Makers market where sculptures were hand created for festivals.

Man of the East.  Hand stitched silk threads
on black fabric.

24 Aug 2014.  Chaing Mai, Thailand.  Hope, hand carved by a local artisan to support the Elephant Nature Park and hand made paper art card, also with elephants.

30 Aug 2014.  Luang Probang, Laos.  Op Pop Tok.  Hand dyed and hand woven silk items.  The master artist who helped me create my own work of lemongrass and teak.  Learning just enough to appreciate the skill and patience to create the multi coloured scarf I purchased.  Night market where I bought Hmong embroidered pillowcases (and was the first sale of the day, same routine as in Uzbekistan) and hand painting on mulberry paper from the artist’s wife.

Hmong traditional pattern. Reverse applique.

This image of the monks in their yellow robes (traditionally dyed with marigolds) was everywhere.  In Laos, most boys are sent to a monastery for a few years to get an education before they are considered adults, and the monks are very much a presence in the communities with their morning alms sessions (people provide food for the monks and in return receive a blessing for the day).

Luang Probang is a very tourist oriented city and this image was everywhere – on posters, notecards, postcards and even tshirts.  However, at the night market, I found this one stall where all the paintings were handmade and a little unique.  The shopkeeper explained that her husband did all the paintings.  The paper was handmade sa (mulberry) which traditionally had been used for all important documents.  The background is handwritten calligraphy (by the artist) and is the daily prayers that the monks chant as they walk.

6 September 2014.  Hue, Vietnam.  Our hotel in Hue had dozens of these silk thread paintings on the walls.  They were all for sale.  The story is that this is a traditional embroidery skill in the local villages and that a company (actually one fellow) had bought them from villagers on consignment for sale in the city.  He then sold them all to the hotel before immigrating to America.

Tranh, who was the daughter of the owners and helped out on her days off, had actually spent a year as an exchange student in Port Alberni.  She helped us decide which one we wanted and knew how to get a shipping tube (from a friend’s shop down the alley) and figure out how much it would cost to mail.  Again, the cost was a pittance of what I would have paid in North America.

18 September 2014. Preah Khan (Siem Reip), Cambodia.  Temple rubbing on rice paper from the artist, Sao (Saturday).

This young man was selling temple rubbings just outside the Preah Khan temple in Ankhor Wat.  He explained that the paper was traditional handmade rice paper and that he had learned the skill of rubbing from his father and grandfather.  First the paper is placed on the frescoes and the shape rubbed into the paper.  Back at the shop, it is coloured, either with the traditional charcoal mixture (as this one is) or with modern acrylic paints to give colour.

I had actually seen this fresco in Ankhor Wat.  It shows daily life around the temple.  The artist’s name was Sao, which translates into Saturday.  No, he wasn’t born on Saturday, but his dad’s name was Friday.  He autographed the back of this rubbing after a lot of persuasion.  I had a great time bargaining for this, and then Cal quietly gave Sao his original asking price which was probably about $ 15.00.  A great experience.

15 Feb 2015.  Bali and Lombok, Indonesia.  Creating a hand painted batik panel and then finding hand stamped sarong fabric with traditional Bali symbols.  Buying hand painted batik postcards from a street gypsy whose brother had painted them.  Hand carved wooden figures made by the shopkeeper’s family in Mas.  Again, we blessed the shop by being the first sale of the day.  Visiting the many handcraft villages on Lombok; some providing very high quality items, others less so.

"President's stove"  Pot on the top with a fire in the center.
A political commentary on the increase in the cost of fuel.

These scarves were very simple and loose woven of thick cotton thread
that was imported from Jakarta.

While this lady showed us how to weave the bamboo containers,
her husband quickly created simple rings for the ladies in our group.

One of the cards I purchased from a
street gypsy.  Hand painted by his brother.

My much simpler hand painted batik.
With a lot of help from the master.

13 Mar 2015.  Malaysia.  Trying to find hand crafted items was impossible in the markets as everything was mass produced in Kuala Lumpur.  Finally finding the local shop that bought items from villagers on consignment.  Hand painted silk scarf and a hand painted batik picture as well as a hand strung bead bracelet from a local tribe.

Hope has made himself at home with the rest of my elephants.

Taking the four items I wanted to be framed to Claire was a joy as well.  We talked about where they had come from and the memories attached.  How I had paid (what was for me) a pittance and for the artist was an honourable way to bring money to the family.  The experience of asking for autographs to honour the art.  Remembering the many other items from near and far that she had framed through the years.  Honouring Claire’s art of framing by trusting that the beauty of the pieces I gave her would be enhanced by her work.  No questions asked.  No invoice signed.  No deposit necessary.

Travel art in the true sense of the word.  To the artists I met, thank you for enriching my experience of your country.