Subject: Danis first trip to Uganda
Dear Olivia
in 1965 when Dani was only 1 year old I took a teaching job in Kampala Uganda. It was very scary as there were no books about that country except by a man and woman who were nearly eaten by lions while sleeping in their tent. The news here was about white people being massacred in the Congo. But we decided to go.
Baby Dani and Grandma Geraldine waited in Montreal while I went to school to learn about living in the tropics. Then we flew with ten other teachers and families to Paris. We taxied around Paris for a day then got on a plane. In the Rome airport Dani had had enough of this travelling and screamed. One teacher, Bill Carter (later to become Rods god father) gave Dani a drink of wine. Dani was plastered and fun for everyone except his mother. When we got on the plane for Entebbe, Dani was asleep.
Next morning we landed on the blue shore of Lake Victoria with red soil surrounded by lush green forest. Black men wearing white overalls pushed a stairway out to our plane and we were on African soil.
We lived in the Kampala Hotel 2 weeks before getting a house I think I showed you some movies of Dani and your Mom playing in the backyard. We loved to take weekend trips like the one you will take this weekend with Dani and Rod to Murchison Falls Park. Dani used to laugh when I drove off the road to chase bush pigs. (bad!) I think this is why a few years ago he and my dog chased the sheep through a fence. Have fun at Murchison this weekend. Hope they sill have elephants and other animals feeding under th lights at night. Hold onto Danis hand so he doesnt chase the pigs. Love Grampa larry
White people being massacred... no one tells the Christmas Classics like Grampa Larry...Rod
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
Karma threatened by Dogma
Dear NDs
I believe we must find a sensible position on the nuclear power issue. While I try to use less energy (I walk my dog rather than drive a car for sheep roundup) and am subscribed to produce more wind power, the reality seems more energy demands coming from all sources including nuclear. As a layman I have tried to get information on this issue from 2 experts whom I know personally as honourable people, a nuclear medicine specialist and a geologist from this ND caucus. Both sources scoff when I pose a question on information from the other's assertions re nuclear plants. Last week the Doc dismissed the Geologist's letter as poor writing and then sent me a map showing no the active fault lines in Alberta, except along the Rockies. I sent the reference for the map to geologist. His reaction, "stick to ranching, something I know something about." (In fact my dog knows more about that than me). Like my honourable friends I am a grandfather concerned about the world I leave to my off spring. If I am left confused with dogmatic response to either believe me or get lost, what about the population our party hopes to convince?
We in the NDP need to debate this issue of nuclear power before making credible policy . So far I am putting my trust in the Pembina Institute for information. I request our next convention debate the issue, not, as in past, inviting only people who agree with the party. As the old Buddhist says our carma (sic) may be run over by our dogma
best in 08
larry
I believe we must find a sensible position on the nuclear power issue. While I try to use less energy (I walk my dog rather than drive a car for sheep roundup) and am subscribed to produce more wind power, the reality seems more energy demands coming from all sources including nuclear. As a layman I have tried to get information on this issue from 2 experts whom I know personally as honourable people, a nuclear medicine specialist and a geologist from this ND caucus. Both sources scoff when I pose a question on information from the other's assertions re nuclear plants. Last week the Doc dismissed the Geologist's letter as poor writing and then sent me a map showing no the active fault lines in Alberta, except along the Rockies. I sent the reference for the map to geologist. His reaction, "stick to ranching, something I know something about." (In fact my dog knows more about that than me). Like my honourable friends I am a grandfather concerned about the world I leave to my off spring. If I am left confused with dogmatic response to either believe me or get lost, what about the population our party hopes to convince?
We in the NDP need to debate this issue of nuclear power before making credible policy . So far I am putting my trust in the Pembina Institute for information. I request our next convention debate the issue, not, as in past, inviting only people who agree with the party. As the old Buddhist says our carma (sic) may be run over by our dogma
best in 08
larry
Monday, December 3, 2007
70 years ago
70 YEARS AGO MY PARENTS MARRIED IN NANTON
Mom said she first saw Dad hanging around the Sun Prairie Social Circle. He had come to Alberta from Cape Breton on a 1926 harvest excursion train ($50 plus half a cent per mile, he would say in his later years). It was a wet fall and his cousins and buddies rode the rods back to CB that winter. Because Dad had worked with horses he drove teams and that winter was hired to look after horses belonging to, Lougheed, a wealthy man. ("No loss when he died ," Dad would say) During a Dirty Thirties duststorm Dad found his way into Nanton by hanging onto a barbed wire fence. Meanwhile Mom, unable to become a teacher as she wished, met Dad at the Sun Prairie Social Circle . "I saw him alone and hanging around." she would tell us. Their first date was to see "Trail of the Lonesome Pine" at the Broxy Theatre in Nanton. They were married Dec 1 1937 in St Cecelia's Catholic Church annex since Dad would not convert. Mom was hurt since her father, who committed suicide when she was 11, had named both her and the church for his favourite saint. Adding salt in later years, Dad would say, "Worst thing I did was marry a Catholic." They honeymooned in B.C. and when Mom moved into the old Sun Prairie school house, a pile of dirty dishes awaited her. After Mom and Dad were gone, Uncle Barney showed me the Tapp house, a little shack near Grandma Kinney's farm where my parents and I spent my first winter in ‘38 as the school house was too hard to heat. Today going out to cut some wood for our stove I think of Dad making an overnight trip by horse and wagon to Timber Ridge. (He stayed the night with some fellow who played the fiddle). In his last year, I took Dad to the Carmengay Nursing Home 30 miles to the east of here. "I came here for coal," he remarked. "You must've gone to my grandfather's pit," the matron replied. ("Broken Victories," my story in Grain Magazine chronicles the difficult ending to Dad's life and the effort my siblings and I made to keep him at home after Mom decided, despite a risk to her heart, to allow him back home since the local nursing home was keeping him unconscious on strong drugs. After he broke his tailbone, we moved him to Carmengay and it was here Marilyn saw Mom kiss the top of his head and proclaim " I always did love you , you know," Soon she was dead and he would follow her in just 3 weeks. Seemed to me he had no reason to live without their long struggle to keep him going. They were the last of a breed, surviving and sacrificing so much for the 10 kids they produced. As I gather wood, I hear a wailing sound and look up at a V of geese heading south. I think of Grandma Kinney coming one spring from Illinois and upon seeing geese arriving deciding this must be a nice place. What did she think after the man she married killed himself and left her with 4 children to raise?
Mom said she first saw Dad hanging around the Sun Prairie Social Circle. He had come to Alberta from Cape Breton on a 1926 harvest excursion train ($50 plus half a cent per mile, he would say in his later years). It was a wet fall and his cousins and buddies rode the rods back to CB that winter. Because Dad had worked with horses he drove teams and that winter was hired to look after horses belonging to, Lougheed, a wealthy man. ("No loss when he died ," Dad would say) During a Dirty Thirties duststorm Dad found his way into Nanton by hanging onto a barbed wire fence. Meanwhile Mom, unable to become a teacher as she wished, met Dad at the Sun Prairie Social Circle . "I saw him alone and hanging around." she would tell us. Their first date was to see "Trail of the Lonesome Pine" at the Broxy Theatre in Nanton. They were married Dec 1 1937 in St Cecelia's Catholic Church annex since Dad would not convert. Mom was hurt since her father, who committed suicide when she was 11, had named both her and the church for his favourite saint. Adding salt in later years, Dad would say, "Worst thing I did was marry a Catholic." They honeymooned in B.C. and when Mom moved into the old Sun Prairie school house, a pile of dirty dishes awaited her. After Mom and Dad were gone, Uncle Barney showed me the Tapp house, a little shack near Grandma Kinney's farm where my parents and I spent my first winter in ‘38 as the school house was too hard to heat. Today going out to cut some wood for our stove I think of Dad making an overnight trip by horse and wagon to Timber Ridge. (He stayed the night with some fellow who played the fiddle). In his last year, I took Dad to the Carmengay Nursing Home 30 miles to the east of here. "I came here for coal," he remarked. "You must've gone to my grandfather's pit," the matron replied. ("Broken Victories," my story in Grain Magazine chronicles the difficult ending to Dad's life and the effort my siblings and I made to keep him at home after Mom decided, despite a risk to her heart, to allow him back home since the local nursing home was keeping him unconscious on strong drugs. After he broke his tailbone, we moved him to Carmengay and it was here Marilyn saw Mom kiss the top of his head and proclaim " I always did love you , you know," Soon she was dead and he would follow her in just 3 weeks. Seemed to me he had no reason to live without their long struggle to keep him going. They were the last of a breed, surviving and sacrificing so much for the 10 kids they produced. As I gather wood, I hear a wailing sound and look up at a V of geese heading south. I think of Grandma Kinney coming one spring from Illinois and upon seeing geese arriving deciding this must be a nice place. What did she think after the man she married killed himself and left her with 4 children to raise?
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Lying with dogs
Dear Editor
Karlheintz Schriever, who wants to avoid extradition to a Germany, claims he gave $300 thousand from Air Bus to Brian Mulroney. Mulroney, after hoping sleeping dogs lie, wants to clear his name. Stephen Harper, after buddying up to Harper, now wants to distance himself from the former PM. As a result we Canadians must spend $100 million for an inquiry we don't want. All this could've been avoided had the 2 prime ministers remembered this: if you lie down with dogs you get fleas.
Sincerely
larry macKillop
Nov 15 2007
Karlheintz Schriever, who wants to avoid extradition to a Germany, claims he gave $300 thousand from Air Bus to Brian Mulroney. Mulroney, after hoping sleeping dogs lie, wants to clear his name. Stephen Harper, after buddying up to Harper, now wants to distance himself from the former PM. As a result we Canadians must spend $100 million for an inquiry we don't want. All this could've been avoided had the 2 prime ministers remembered this: if you lie down with dogs you get fleas.
Sincerely
larry macKillop
Nov 15 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
Hebrides in my Genes
HADRIAN'S WALL Oct 9 07: We bade farewell to friends, who had brought us from Plymouth via their native Wales and the friends who put us up another 3 days in England's Lakes area (favourite of Linda's dad.) We saw not Wordsworth's daffodils but thousands of sheep on the beautiful Welsh mountainsides, stayed in a castle, toured the Roman city of Chester and visited a magnificent limestone formation in The Lakes area.
GLASGOW: We arrived at Central Station and schlepped our wheely bags to Adelaides BnB where a portly chap in rich Glaswegian said a Nancy MacKillop who worked here wanted to meet us "airly" before we left in the morning. We had tea with Dorian Stone, a fine young man from my hometown, High River. He claims to be content here, managing a Christian radio station the past 4 years. After a fine fish dinner, we returned to our BnB to hear male singing in the hall next door. As we entered a friendly little man insisted on seating us in front as audience for a rehearsal of the Glasgow Male Philharmonic Chorus. We invited them to come to Canada where we had seen the Wales Male Chorus. We bought their CD and left them singing "Joy to the World." That night we slept well despite the screaming of youths partying in the street. At 8 AM we met Nancy, who has no idea of her peoples origin. The taxi driver to Queen Street Station claimed locals here go hungry in Florida where no one understands them.
SCOTRAIL: Our 5 hour trip to Mallaig was stupendous with trees changing colours in sunlight, scenery to rival our B.C. Seated across from us were a farmer/ ironmonger couple on a day outing from Aberdeen. They were curious about our Alberta snowfall and farming. The man favoured separation due to the UK government blocking Scottish lamb sales since a hoof and mouth outbreak in England. They showed us where their daughter recently completed an Outward Bound course like her father when he was 16. He pointed to the locks built by Telford to allow ships through that huge cut through Scotland. He also showed us the Glenfinna Monument where the Jacobian (Gaelic for James) uprising began. When I said I was seeking the place my people left, he asked sadly " Because of the clearances?" A piper and some peat smoked haddock stew awaited us in Mallaig. We pulled our bags to a BnB and gazed over a lovely harbour where our ferry awaited.
OVER THE SEA TO SKYE: We disembarked next morning at Allmande in light rain. While we put on our yellow (smell like cheese) rain coats, we missed the bus. Pulling bags up the road we stopped to ask directions to Clan Donald Centre. A poker faced guy, a reminder of my brother Bill, said I should go one mile further, stop, turn and around and come back one mile to this spot. We had the Centre to ourselves for a history lesson on the Jacobian uprising. Seems Bonny Prince Charles (a playboy to some) returned from France and persuaded clan leaders to rise up against the English in order to restore King James, a Catholic but seen as the legitimate heir. They lost at Culloden, Charlie fled to Skye and the clans never recovered. The library suggested I take my questions on family origins to Bill Lawson in Harris. I had received his material from my nephew Scot MacKillop. We caught a bus to Portree, the main town on Skye. Our driver told us his son had been "blowing up Alberta" in training for Afghanistan. Since our Nanton friend had just lost her son there we changed topic to ask what he does if he hits one of the sheep grazing by the highway. "Be sure you kill it," he replied. We had another fine meal of Scottish grown mussels and went to the library to check on the health of Linda's mom. (OK) We chose a bus to Uig going clockwise around the island rather than one going anticlockwise. A young fiddler and girl friend from Virginia going to a concert were amazed Linda had lived in D.C. We found our BnB and again slept overlooking the harbor from which we would sail in the morning.
OUTER HEBRIDES, ANOTHER WORLD: Our wheelies bounced over gravel to the ferry terminal and into a van driven by John MacKenzie, an elderly character (and bagpiper) we were destined to meet again. Linda offered to shut the side door but he said it was automatic, hit the brakes to slam the door shut, giving all a good laugh. We sailed on Cal Mac's "Hebrides:" from Uig to Lochmaddy, North Uist. Excitement was provided when a local lad hit the jackpot on the machine near us. Lochmaddy has the only bank machine in the area and we knew cash was preferred here. We caught a local van/bus whose lone passenger was a man I've seen in many old Irish films. We crossed the causeway from Uist to Bernary. Everyone knew where Splash MacKillop lived and we were dropped at the road to his BnB As we trekked through treeless land it felt like some Indian reserves back home. No one home at the croft but the porch was open and well stocked with great photo books.
BURNSIDE CROFT BnB: Gloria MacKillop arrived and put us in a room where H.R.H. Prince Charles slept (his "Charles" was entered in the guest book) while here to open the causeway between Uist and Bernary. Don Alic (Splash) MacKillop and I looked into each others blue (Viking?) eyes and we made small talk as Gloria served tea and oat cakes, which Splash claims to be aphrodisiacs. Crofting is a unique system that gives you a small piece of land and share of a community pasture. People must do something else to survive like run a BnB. This place reminded me of my grandparents small farm in Cape Breton where Dad as a boy sold vegetables and milk in Sydney.. Since there are no restaurants here, Gloria arranged for a woman to cook us dinner in her home. She and husband served a fine meal of poached (farm) salmon and he lamented most fish from up here being shipped by truck and ferry to Spain. I wondered why he would not make an arrangement with local fisherman but, being English, and living here only 15 years.... After dinner we talked about our respective trips to India where he once worked. She said they moved from South England because the foreigners committed crime there. (I wasted time arguing this and the reality of global warming)
GENE TALK: Back at the BnB, over a wee dram, Splash (as a kid he splashed through puddles) told stories. He does the address to the haggis each Rabbie Burns night. He and Gloria sang us a song about porridge we learned (and forgot) during a one hour Gaelic course in Cape Breton. Splash and Gloria have been to Delia, Alberta and Cape Breton where he was disappointed no one spoke his (and my grandparents') first language. I shared the genealogy information Scot had handed me en route to the Calgary airport . It seems about 1750 Donald Og (the younger in Gaelic) MacKillop of Bernary had 3 sons, one from whom I descend) and Norman, the name of Splash's father. During the clearances, a Roderick sailed for Cape Breton Norman's (Splash's) line stayed here. Scot, my nephew, is working on this theory. "Slange va" according to Splash is good night in Gaelic ("Irish speak Gaylick while the Scots speak "Gallic," he added). Gloria is an Australian who came here as the nurse 40 years ago. Recently, at 73, she went backpacking with a young group in Pategonia. Now with her detached cornea she seems unlikely to venture further than Inverness where Splash was treated for colon cancer. Her dream is to finish building a self catering cottage next door to her house and stop BnB (except for family she said).
BERNARY: MACKILLOP LAND: Next day Gloria arranged for Andrew, a nice young man from Oxfordshire, to take us on a tour. He and his wife operate a BnB and work from here by Internet. It was his first tour and we urged him to make it a side business. He drove an old Mercedes like the one my brother John has. We visited the 7 foot 9 inch monument (his height) to Angus MacCaskill, a giant famous in 1800's Cape Breton. At the cemetery nearby I met a nephew of Splash whose mother was a MacKillop. Andrew took us to the library and historical centre where I checked email (Linda's mom still okay) and we bought a dvd they had made (doesn't work on my machine). Next we went to the other side of the island where an old black (peat burning) house had been made into a youth hostel. There were remains of houses on the rocky beach where the poor bastards had been relocated from the other side of the island (where Splash lives.) They made a living collecting kelp for fertilizer and farming shallow beds of soil on a nearby mountain side. Vertical lines of these so called "lazy beds" are still visible. We stopped in sight of the old cemetery where my great greats must be buried beneath the unmarked stones. Linda and Andrew waited as I hopped the fence and jogged across the soft pasture. The rock wall was covered in orange lichen and the open gate revealed sheep were the main visitors. I entered, wandered through the stones and looked out to the sea pondering what life was like for those who lived here and those who left for a new life in Canada.
END OF THE LINE: We planned to cross over to Harris and travel up through Lewis, see the Callanish Stones predating Stonehenge and then fly to Edinburgh. But the "Free" Church of Scotland closes all hotels and even buses on Sundays up there. Splash says those people are not well liked here (someone said they even cover the roosters so not to crow on Sunday). Rather than lose a day in Edinburgh we reversed directions. I would like to have seen Harris where my MacKillops lived 2 years before sailing. I wanted to buy a genuine Harris tweed cap here from a crofter. Findlay MacDonald describes in "Crowdie and Cream" how they kept pee tubs to fix the wool with lichen dye and make this cloth. Once the women used pee to douse a landlord who was preventing them from growing food. I hope my Harris Tweed cap from Uist doesn't bring home the smell!
HOMEWARD: Sunday morning after helping Splash chase some cows out of the community centre parking lot, we had breakfast (porridge of course). Inside the centre he showed me a photo in the centre of his father, Norman Patterson MacKillop and other crofters. Splash pulled on his rubber boots to go check his sheep along with Effie. (same name as my Grandma MacKillop). This Effie is a wildly natural crofter from next door whom I met earlier digging tatties (spuds) with Splash. Gloria drove us to the ferry and rushed to hold it while we purchased tickets. "God bless," she said as I kissed her farewell. Splash and I had both found angels to look after us.
FLYING OVER SKYE: We arrived back in Uig hoping to catch the train to Inverness on the other side of Skye. John MacKenzie, who took us to the terminal office, said no regular buses ran on Sunday. What about a taxi? He looked nervously at his watch and said it would be tight. He agreed on a price of 60 pounds and, after trying to phone for a faster car, took off his flat cap and sped us away. He flew right across the Isle of Skye in 90 minutes, cursing slow moving ferry traffic until we crossed the causeway and boarded the train from Kyle of Lochash.
HIGHLANDS: Another trip through heaven as the afternoon scenery unfolded in our train window. There was still some purple in the heather with brownish bracken around. We will never forget the mountains and rivers and sheep grazing amongst clumps of heather.
INVERNESS: Lonely Planet lists a good restaurant in a hotel so I phoned there. Despite the drunken kids in kilts singing and lurching through the station I heard a price of 70 pounds (same as a BnB) and got directions. We drug our bags to a McDonalds and asked for help from a Polish server who got her manager to explain but I understood the Pole better. We landed in a vintage hotel on the Ness River, as close to Loch Ness as we wanted to be. The room had an old intercom from earlier days and no elevator. We had a fine supper of scallops and retired to look at the moonlit river. Next morning for breakfast our Polish waitress brought me the Highlander (haggis) instead of the Islander (kippers). One for the kipper? I found haggis to be as terrible as the blood pudding I had in Wales.
LAST LEG: We drug our bags (good exercise?) to Inverness station noting a monument to soldiers in Khartoum (is there anywhere Brits have not fought?) On a morning train to Edinburgh we saw more pastoral scenery until Perth when it became farmland. At Waverley Station , Edinburgh, we went to a last minute hotel booth where a young woman from Montreal (I know a song about her) found us a hotel deal. The Parliament House Hotel, where MPs stay during session, normally charges 210 pounds per night but we were in for 70. The J in front of our room number meant it was in the older Jacobean section (no elevator for us to escape). The Scottish manageress was a reminder of Linda's first grade teacher, Miss Wooly worm, but she warmed after Linda made her laugh.
EDINBURGH is the favourite city of Linda's mom and we now know why. We hit the National Gallery first day for some Impressionist paintings. One Monet impressed Linda while I stared at a van Gogh some elegant lady proclaimed "so van Goish!." When I asked why, she replied, " It jumps out at you." A bored attendant showed me the hidden rooster in the painting which both agreed might "jump out at you." He told me about his time in Halifax as a naval engineer when almost staying to marry a sweet young local. Walking home we passed the monument to Sir Walter Scott, pointing like a Hindu temple into the grey sky.
The Castle sits on its volcanic butt overlooking city, land and sea beyond. We looked over to the island where Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned before escaping to seek help from her cousin Elizabeth. I entered its underground prison for an idea of what it was like to be incarcerated while Linda (she does not like caves) waited to see if I got out. About 9000 years ago hunters came here and through the bronze age tribes may have watched Roman legions going past to fight the Highanders (before Hadrian walled them out.). Later came the Angles, Normans, Robert the Bruce, James II, etc. In 1689 Jacobites made a last siege here before the Battle of Culloden ended their cause and Prince Charlie fled to Skye. William and Mary (James' protestant daughter) were crowned and the Act of Union followed in 1707. Last year Scotland voted for the Scottish Nationalist Party, but like Quebec, seems unlikely to choose separation. (they'll continue to cheer against English teams).
The Royal Mile was touristy but we ducked into side streets to find such interesting places as where Rabbie (Burns) had his poetry published. Linda spotted a factory outlet and, by asking for seconds, was directed into a back room where the price of a blanket dropped by 10 pounds. She is more Scotch than me.
That night we strolled to the Mussel Inn for a kilo of fine Scottish mussels. The place was full of young people and later we again heard the screaming of drunken youth. (The government has asked the author of "Train Spotting" for help on this matter. I think a bigger problem is the 1 million Scots admitting they pay their mortgage with a credit card!) On the way back we saw the castle lit up like the Acropolis in Athens. Too tired for theatre or a pub we stayed in and watched Billy Conolly, a Scot comic describing his visit to Ireland and those oppressed but feisty folk (the many meetings between Irish and Hebrides people as well as Norse suggest my genes were molded around the Irish Sea.
Last day, after a breakfast of porridge and smoked haddock (pancakes for Linda) we headed for the Royal Museum of Scotland. We first entered a cathedral housing the covenant of the Church of Scotland. Jennifer MacMillan, a ticket seller who has studied the subject, told us more "witches" were burned here than anywhere in history. Most were women with sharp tongues whose female opponents could afford lawyers to make convictions. I suggested feminists might not like such an answer. "No," she replied with the sly smile of someone who enjoys going against the grain. Meeting gems like her is the reason I travel!
The Museum has exhibits from stone age to the current, including sailing ships, working steam engines and flour mills. It is a place I'd love to take my grandkids. Our final treat was to see some of Picasso's pottery and paintings. I loved "Woman at the Window" with one pair of eyes staring into a street and another pair staring at the viewer.
We had a final lunch at a favourite cafe, collected our bags and caught the bus to an airport hotel. While other guests ate steak and chips at 20 pounds a plate and watched England and Scotland lose soccer matches, we had left over bread and cheese (that why the raincoats stink!
At 4 am the alarm beeped and we began the journey home. I thought it prudent to allow 4 hours for a terminal change in Heathrow but most of that time was consumed awaiting bags (they made us check our carry ons) and security check after security check before we were off to Calgary. I scored 4 empty seats and slept while Linda looked at the ice of Greenland and Labrador below her window. We hit Calgary rush hour traffic and were not home until 6 PM (a 22 hour day of travel). We were glad to find our plants and animals okay and our flock of 10 sheep safe in the barnyard.
Mountains divide us and a waste of seas;
yet still the blood is strong;
the heart is Highland and we in dreams
behold the Hebrides.
Canadian Boat song circa 1829
Postscript: After Linda finished editing this pile of...we scattered manure over the garden. As I rototilled the soil, up popped a dozen missed "tatties" to add to our home grown supper of lamb chops and lettuce. Mother Earth and the Hebrides gene have been very good to me.
GLASGOW: We arrived at Central Station and schlepped our wheely bags to Adelaides BnB where a portly chap in rich Glaswegian said a Nancy MacKillop who worked here wanted to meet us "airly" before we left in the morning. We had tea with Dorian Stone, a fine young man from my hometown, High River. He claims to be content here, managing a Christian radio station the past 4 years. After a fine fish dinner, we returned to our BnB to hear male singing in the hall next door. As we entered a friendly little man insisted on seating us in front as audience for a rehearsal of the Glasgow Male Philharmonic Chorus. We invited them to come to Canada where we had seen the Wales Male Chorus. We bought their CD and left them singing "Joy to the World." That night we slept well despite the screaming of youths partying in the street. At 8 AM we met Nancy, who has no idea of her peoples origin. The taxi driver to Queen Street Station claimed locals here go hungry in Florida where no one understands them.
SCOTRAIL: Our 5 hour trip to Mallaig was stupendous with trees changing colours in sunlight, scenery to rival our B.C. Seated across from us were a farmer/ ironmonger couple on a day outing from Aberdeen. They were curious about our Alberta snowfall and farming. The man favoured separation due to the UK government blocking Scottish lamb sales since a hoof and mouth outbreak in England. They showed us where their daughter recently completed an Outward Bound course like her father when he was 16. He pointed to the locks built by Telford to allow ships through that huge cut through Scotland. He also showed us the Glenfinna Monument where the Jacobian (Gaelic for James) uprising began. When I said I was seeking the place my people left, he asked sadly " Because of the clearances?" A piper and some peat smoked haddock stew awaited us in Mallaig. We pulled our bags to a BnB and gazed over a lovely harbour where our ferry awaited.
OVER THE SEA TO SKYE: We disembarked next morning at Allmande in light rain. While we put on our yellow (smell like cheese) rain coats, we missed the bus. Pulling bags up the road we stopped to ask directions to Clan Donald Centre. A poker faced guy, a reminder of my brother Bill, said I should go one mile further, stop, turn and around and come back one mile to this spot. We had the Centre to ourselves for a history lesson on the Jacobian uprising. Seems Bonny Prince Charles (a playboy to some) returned from France and persuaded clan leaders to rise up against the English in order to restore King James, a Catholic but seen as the legitimate heir. They lost at Culloden, Charlie fled to Skye and the clans never recovered. The library suggested I take my questions on family origins to Bill Lawson in Harris. I had received his material from my nephew Scot MacKillop. We caught a bus to Portree, the main town on Skye. Our driver told us his son had been "blowing up Alberta" in training for Afghanistan. Since our Nanton friend had just lost her son there we changed topic to ask what he does if he hits one of the sheep grazing by the highway. "Be sure you kill it," he replied. We had another fine meal of Scottish grown mussels and went to the library to check on the health of Linda's mom. (OK) We chose a bus to Uig going clockwise around the island rather than one going anticlockwise. A young fiddler and girl friend from Virginia going to a concert were amazed Linda had lived in D.C. We found our BnB and again slept overlooking the harbor from which we would sail in the morning.
OUTER HEBRIDES, ANOTHER WORLD: Our wheelies bounced over gravel to the ferry terminal and into a van driven by John MacKenzie, an elderly character (and bagpiper) we were destined to meet again. Linda offered to shut the side door but he said it was automatic, hit the brakes to slam the door shut, giving all a good laugh. We sailed on Cal Mac's "Hebrides:" from Uig to Lochmaddy, North Uist. Excitement was provided when a local lad hit the jackpot on the machine near us. Lochmaddy has the only bank machine in the area and we knew cash was preferred here. We caught a local van/bus whose lone passenger was a man I've seen in many old Irish films. We crossed the causeway from Uist to Bernary. Everyone knew where Splash MacKillop lived and we were dropped at the road to his BnB As we trekked through treeless land it felt like some Indian reserves back home. No one home at the croft but the porch was open and well stocked with great photo books.
BURNSIDE CROFT BnB: Gloria MacKillop arrived and put us in a room where H.R.H. Prince Charles slept (his "Charles" was entered in the guest book) while here to open the causeway between Uist and Bernary. Don Alic (Splash) MacKillop and I looked into each others blue (Viking?) eyes and we made small talk as Gloria served tea and oat cakes, which Splash claims to be aphrodisiacs. Crofting is a unique system that gives you a small piece of land and share of a community pasture. People must do something else to survive like run a BnB. This place reminded me of my grandparents small farm in Cape Breton where Dad as a boy sold vegetables and milk in Sydney.. Since there are no restaurants here, Gloria arranged for a woman to cook us dinner in her home. She and husband served a fine meal of poached (farm) salmon and he lamented most fish from up here being shipped by truck and ferry to Spain. I wondered why he would not make an arrangement with local fisherman but, being English, and living here only 15 years.... After dinner we talked about our respective trips to India where he once worked. She said they moved from South England because the foreigners committed crime there. (I wasted time arguing this and the reality of global warming)
GENE TALK: Back at the BnB, over a wee dram, Splash (as a kid he splashed through puddles) told stories. He does the address to the haggis each Rabbie Burns night. He and Gloria sang us a song about porridge we learned (and forgot) during a one hour Gaelic course in Cape Breton. Splash and Gloria have been to Delia, Alberta and Cape Breton where he was disappointed no one spoke his (and my grandparents') first language. I shared the genealogy information Scot had handed me en route to the Calgary airport . It seems about 1750 Donald Og (the younger in Gaelic) MacKillop of Bernary had 3 sons, one from whom I descend) and Norman, the name of Splash's father. During the clearances, a Roderick sailed for Cape Breton Norman's (Splash's) line stayed here. Scot, my nephew, is working on this theory. "Slange va" according to Splash is good night in Gaelic ("Irish speak Gaylick while the Scots speak "Gallic," he added). Gloria is an Australian who came here as the nurse 40 years ago. Recently, at 73, she went backpacking with a young group in Pategonia. Now with her detached cornea she seems unlikely to venture further than Inverness where Splash was treated for colon cancer. Her dream is to finish building a self catering cottage next door to her house and stop BnB (except for family she said).
BERNARY: MACKILLOP LAND: Next day Gloria arranged for Andrew, a nice young man from Oxfordshire, to take us on a tour. He and his wife operate a BnB and work from here by Internet. It was his first tour and we urged him to make it a side business. He drove an old Mercedes like the one my brother John has. We visited the 7 foot 9 inch monument (his height) to Angus MacCaskill, a giant famous in 1800's Cape Breton. At the cemetery nearby I met a nephew of Splash whose mother was a MacKillop. Andrew took us to the library and historical centre where I checked email (Linda's mom still okay) and we bought a dvd they had made (doesn't work on my machine). Next we went to the other side of the island where an old black (peat burning) house had been made into a youth hostel. There were remains of houses on the rocky beach where the poor bastards had been relocated from the other side of the island (where Splash lives.) They made a living collecting kelp for fertilizer and farming shallow beds of soil on a nearby mountain side. Vertical lines of these so called "lazy beds" are still visible. We stopped in sight of the old cemetery where my great greats must be buried beneath the unmarked stones. Linda and Andrew waited as I hopped the fence and jogged across the soft pasture. The rock wall was covered in orange lichen and the open gate revealed sheep were the main visitors. I entered, wandered through the stones and looked out to the sea pondering what life was like for those who lived here and those who left for a new life in Canada.
END OF THE LINE: We planned to cross over to Harris and travel up through Lewis, see the Callanish Stones predating Stonehenge and then fly to Edinburgh. But the "Free" Church of Scotland closes all hotels and even buses on Sundays up there. Splash says those people are not well liked here (someone said they even cover the roosters so not to crow on Sunday). Rather than lose a day in Edinburgh we reversed directions. I would like to have seen Harris where my MacKillops lived 2 years before sailing. I wanted to buy a genuine Harris tweed cap here from a crofter. Findlay MacDonald describes in "Crowdie and Cream" how they kept pee tubs to fix the wool with lichen dye and make this cloth. Once the women used pee to douse a landlord who was preventing them from growing food. I hope my Harris Tweed cap from Uist doesn't bring home the smell!
HOMEWARD: Sunday morning after helping Splash chase some cows out of the community centre parking lot, we had breakfast (porridge of course). Inside the centre he showed me a photo in the centre of his father, Norman Patterson MacKillop and other crofters. Splash pulled on his rubber boots to go check his sheep along with Effie. (same name as my Grandma MacKillop). This Effie is a wildly natural crofter from next door whom I met earlier digging tatties (spuds) with Splash. Gloria drove us to the ferry and rushed to hold it while we purchased tickets. "God bless," she said as I kissed her farewell. Splash and I had both found angels to look after us.
FLYING OVER SKYE: We arrived back in Uig hoping to catch the train to Inverness on the other side of Skye. John MacKenzie, who took us to the terminal office, said no regular buses ran on Sunday. What about a taxi? He looked nervously at his watch and said it would be tight. He agreed on a price of 60 pounds and, after trying to phone for a faster car, took off his flat cap and sped us away. He flew right across the Isle of Skye in 90 minutes, cursing slow moving ferry traffic until we crossed the causeway and boarded the train from Kyle of Lochash.
HIGHLANDS: Another trip through heaven as the afternoon scenery unfolded in our train window. There was still some purple in the heather with brownish bracken around. We will never forget the mountains and rivers and sheep grazing amongst clumps of heather.
INVERNESS: Lonely Planet lists a good restaurant in a hotel so I phoned there. Despite the drunken kids in kilts singing and lurching through the station I heard a price of 70 pounds (same as a BnB) and got directions. We drug our bags to a McDonalds and asked for help from a Polish server who got her manager to explain but I understood the Pole better. We landed in a vintage hotel on the Ness River, as close to Loch Ness as we wanted to be. The room had an old intercom from earlier days and no elevator. We had a fine supper of scallops and retired to look at the moonlit river. Next morning for breakfast our Polish waitress brought me the Highlander (haggis) instead of the Islander (kippers). One for the kipper? I found haggis to be as terrible as the blood pudding I had in Wales.
LAST LEG: We drug our bags (good exercise?) to Inverness station noting a monument to soldiers in Khartoum (is there anywhere Brits have not fought?) On a morning train to Edinburgh we saw more pastoral scenery until Perth when it became farmland. At Waverley Station , Edinburgh, we went to a last minute hotel booth where a young woman from Montreal (I know a song about her) found us a hotel deal. The Parliament House Hotel, where MPs stay during session, normally charges 210 pounds per night but we were in for 70. The J in front of our room number meant it was in the older Jacobean section (no elevator for us to escape). The Scottish manageress was a reminder of Linda's first grade teacher, Miss Wooly worm, but she warmed after Linda made her laugh.
EDINBURGH is the favourite city of Linda's mom and we now know why. We hit the National Gallery first day for some Impressionist paintings. One Monet impressed Linda while I stared at a van Gogh some elegant lady proclaimed "so van Goish!." When I asked why, she replied, " It jumps out at you." A bored attendant showed me the hidden rooster in the painting which both agreed might "jump out at you." He told me about his time in Halifax as a naval engineer when almost staying to marry a sweet young local. Walking home we passed the monument to Sir Walter Scott, pointing like a Hindu temple into the grey sky.
The Castle sits on its volcanic butt overlooking city, land and sea beyond. We looked over to the island where Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned before escaping to seek help from her cousin Elizabeth. I entered its underground prison for an idea of what it was like to be incarcerated while Linda (she does not like caves) waited to see if I got out. About 9000 years ago hunters came here and through the bronze age tribes may have watched Roman legions going past to fight the Highanders (before Hadrian walled them out.). Later came the Angles, Normans, Robert the Bruce, James II, etc. In 1689 Jacobites made a last siege here before the Battle of Culloden ended their cause and Prince Charlie fled to Skye. William and Mary (James' protestant daughter) were crowned and the Act of Union followed in 1707. Last year Scotland voted for the Scottish Nationalist Party, but like Quebec, seems unlikely to choose separation. (they'll continue to cheer against English teams).
The Royal Mile was touristy but we ducked into side streets to find such interesting places as where Rabbie (Burns) had his poetry published. Linda spotted a factory outlet and, by asking for seconds, was directed into a back room where the price of a blanket dropped by 10 pounds. She is more Scotch than me.
That night we strolled to the Mussel Inn for a kilo of fine Scottish mussels. The place was full of young people and later we again heard the screaming of drunken youth. (The government has asked the author of "Train Spotting" for help on this matter. I think a bigger problem is the 1 million Scots admitting they pay their mortgage with a credit card!) On the way back we saw the castle lit up like the Acropolis in Athens. Too tired for theatre or a pub we stayed in and watched Billy Conolly, a Scot comic describing his visit to Ireland and those oppressed but feisty folk (the many meetings between Irish and Hebrides people as well as Norse suggest my genes were molded around the Irish Sea.
Last day, after a breakfast of porridge and smoked haddock (pancakes for Linda) we headed for the Royal Museum of Scotland. We first entered a cathedral housing the covenant of the Church of Scotland. Jennifer MacMillan, a ticket seller who has studied the subject, told us more "witches" were burned here than anywhere in history. Most were women with sharp tongues whose female opponents could afford lawyers to make convictions. I suggested feminists might not like such an answer. "No," she replied with the sly smile of someone who enjoys going against the grain. Meeting gems like her is the reason I travel!
The Museum has exhibits from stone age to the current, including sailing ships, working steam engines and flour mills. It is a place I'd love to take my grandkids. Our final treat was to see some of Picasso's pottery and paintings. I loved "Woman at the Window" with one pair of eyes staring into a street and another pair staring at the viewer.
We had a final lunch at a favourite cafe, collected our bags and caught the bus to an airport hotel. While other guests ate steak and chips at 20 pounds a plate and watched England and Scotland lose soccer matches, we had left over bread and cheese (that why the raincoats stink!
At 4 am the alarm beeped and we began the journey home. I thought it prudent to allow 4 hours for a terminal change in Heathrow but most of that time was consumed awaiting bags (they made us check our carry ons) and security check after security check before we were off to Calgary. I scored 4 empty seats and slept while Linda looked at the ice of Greenland and Labrador below her window. We hit Calgary rush hour traffic and were not home until 6 PM (a 22 hour day of travel). We were glad to find our plants and animals okay and our flock of 10 sheep safe in the barnyard.
Mountains divide us and a waste of seas;
yet still the blood is strong;
the heart is Highland and we in dreams
behold the Hebrides.
Canadian Boat song circa 1829
Postscript: After Linda finished editing this pile of...we scattered manure over the garden. As I rototilled the soil, up popped a dozen missed "tatties" to add to our home grown supper of lamb chops and lettuce. Mother Earth and the Hebrides gene have been very good to me.
Friday, October 26, 2007
LETTER TO EDITOR
Oct 26 07
Oil companies threaten to slow down production if forced to pay more royalties in Stellmach's compromise between them and the revue panel's suggestions. This increase would put add another billion dollars onto our annual surpluses in future years. Meanwhile Alberta oil sands in 2 years will be the largest carbon dioxide producer on this planet. We already know this contributes to the global warming causing ice melting, flooding and drought. Where millions now face starvation, it will be billions of people in a few years. This all puts us Albertans in a unique position of being able to save or at least prolong the life of our planet for future generations by slowing the mad rate of oil production. For this reason and not for greed, we should look into the eyes of our children and grandchildren, then demand the government hike royalties at least 20 per cent as recommended by the review panel. Sincerely larry mackillop
Oil companies threaten to slow down production if forced to pay more royalties in Stellmach's compromise between them and the revue panel's suggestions. This increase would put add another billion dollars onto our annual surpluses in future years. Meanwhile Alberta oil sands in 2 years will be the largest carbon dioxide producer on this planet. We already know this contributes to the global warming causing ice melting, flooding and drought. Where millions now face starvation, it will be billions of people in a few years. This all puts us Albertans in a unique position of being able to save or at least prolong the life of our planet for future generations by slowing the mad rate of oil production. For this reason and not for greed, we should look into the eyes of our children and grandchildren, then demand the government hike royalties at least 20 per cent as recommended by the review panel. Sincerely larry mackillop
Friday, September 28, 2007
HERDING CATS
Getting ready for winter has been accelerated by a departure for London this coming Saturday.
Lloyd picked up the remaining Frankensteer from a neighbour's corral and the fields are empty (except for turds that Emma chews on) More difficult was our round of cat depopulation. We have been catching screaming, scratching kittens that the grandkids played with this summer. We sent 2 home with a mother and little girl, 2 to Lloyd's barn, 2 under Colin's trailer, 2 to Heaven Can Wait (plus a $200 donation for spaying) and 2 to the Parkers in Bragg Creek who supply us with spruce trees from their lovely property. They wanted ONE kitten for their dog to play with and luckily Emma has been carrying kittens in her mouth. After a great lunch we left Parkers with 2 bags of manure, a half lamb and 2 kittens and 10 spruce trees in our car. One kitten was already playing with the dog and one still lodged under their bed. (Has since come out for food.) As I had been bitten through my glove by it that morning I stayed away from it. And finally we took one of 2 mother cats to be spayed. Hopefully she is not killed by coyotes as was Goldie 3 weeks after being spayed). I blame my expenses on cat loving Rod in Darfur as he made a fuss when I used to drown kittens. Yesterday we planted the new trees in our wind brake as light rain fell. We worked like crazy (chest pains!) and later took one last drive into the empty fields. As Linda picked some blue flowers that always persist this late, Emma checked out gopher holes and coyote scat. We noted shrubs and trees along the coulee turning yellow/orange and concurred with our Dr, Adam, we do live in Nirvana. Last night Linda brought in 12 more ears of corn for a feast, along with goulash made from one of Lloyd's normal steers.
Now to pack our 2 carry on bags and get to the airport by Sat 6 PM for a flight my kids often take to direct to London . Sunday we arrive by coach at the home of Uganda friends the Thomases in Plymouth to plan a week long trip with them through their native Wales to England's Lakes country. Then we go on our own into Scotland, our destination the Isle of Harris from whence sailed the MacKillops of Cape Breton.
Wish I knew more Gaelic.
On a sad note, our friend Linda's son was killed in Afghanistan this week. When I saw her last week she was dropping branches at recycling before going to a non violence communication course. We dedicated a spruce tree facing SW towards the coulee as Nathan's tree.
Getting ready for winter has been accelerated by a departure for London this coming Saturday.
Lloyd picked up the remaining Frankensteer from a neighbour's corral and the fields are empty (except for turds that Emma chews on) More difficult was our round of cat depopulation. We have been catching screaming, scratching kittens that the grandkids played with this summer. We sent 2 home with a mother and little girl, 2 to Lloyd's barn, 2 under Colin's trailer, 2 to Heaven Can Wait (plus a $200 donation for spaying) and 2 to the Parkers in Bragg Creek who supply us with spruce trees from their lovely property. They wanted ONE kitten for their dog to play with and luckily Emma has been carrying kittens in her mouth. After a great lunch we left Parkers with 2 bags of manure, a half lamb and 2 kittens and 10 spruce trees in our car. One kitten was already playing with the dog and one still lodged under their bed. (Has since come out for food.) As I had been bitten through my glove by it that morning I stayed away from it. And finally we took one of 2 mother cats to be spayed. Hopefully she is not killed by coyotes as was Goldie 3 weeks after being spayed). I blame my expenses on cat loving Rod in Darfur as he made a fuss when I used to drown kittens. Yesterday we planted the new trees in our wind brake as light rain fell. We worked like crazy (chest pains!) and later took one last drive into the empty fields. As Linda picked some blue flowers that always persist this late, Emma checked out gopher holes and coyote scat. We noted shrubs and trees along the coulee turning yellow/orange and concurred with our Dr, Adam, we do live in Nirvana. Last night Linda brought in 12 more ears of corn for a feast, along with goulash made from one of Lloyd's normal steers.
Now to pack our 2 carry on bags and get to the airport by Sat 6 PM for a flight my kids often take to direct to London . Sunday we arrive by coach at the home of Uganda friends the Thomases in Plymouth to plan a week long trip with them through their native Wales to England's Lakes country. Then we go on our own into Scotland, our destination the Isle of Harris from whence sailed the MacKillops of Cape Breton.
Wish I knew more Gaelic.
On a sad note, our friend Linda's son was killed in Afghanistan this week. When I saw her last week she was dropping branches at recycling before going to a non violence communication course. We dedicated a spruce tree facing SW towards the coulee as Nathan's tree.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
GATHERING UP
Today the Frankensteers left on 2 cattleliners. Has been tense the past few weeks as we searched the coulee for the 2 missing. Turns out they had been put back in our field by neighbour, Mr. Hawk. It is always a big event when the cattle are gathered up and loaded onto trucks for the journey back to High River. In this case the steers go to the feedlot to be weighed and Lloyd will be paid by the pounds they gained while here. I put my remaining 8 lambs into Lloyd's stock trailer to be dropped at the High River Auction Mart for a sale tomorrow. Apparently lamb prices are quite high now so I'm on the lamb!
Now Linda and I can get back to the garden harvest. Most of our potatoes are down the well pit and we have been brining in beans, zucchini and beets to make spaghetti sauce and borscht which we eat and put into the freezer.
Many jobs to do, water trees again before freeze up, wash windows, fence deer out of trees, cut wood for the stove, etc. Hard life. I hate it!
Now Linda and I can get back to the garden harvest. Most of our potatoes are down the well pit and we have been brining in beans, zucchini and beets to make spaghetti sauce and borscht which we eat and put into the freezer.
Many jobs to do, water trees again before freeze up, wash windows, fence deer out of trees, cut wood for the stove, etc. Hard life. I hate it!
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
BRINGING IN THE SHEEP (SIC)
Labour Day 07. Lambs have been growing since they arrived last spring. Two died of cold weather and 2 were snatched by cougars. I drove to High River to get Lloyd's truck and trailer. He had gone combining peas but left the unit set to go. When I got back home Linda had all the lambs (she thought) in the barnyard but a quick count revealed 5 missing. Nice try guys, I said as I chased them out of the old pig barn. We got the 8 biggest lambs loaded and ear tagged them. The Cdn government, in its wisdom (sic), insists any sheep shipped have a pink tag. I don't mind paying the $1.30 each, it's the pointless cruelty of stabbing them when no record is taken of this process. One could pull tags out of a dead animals and reuse them. This money grab on pretext of making us safe (sic) from mad cow disease (sick) is similar to planting a tree to off set carbon cost of an air flight. Leaving the barnyard, I noted all mothers grazing except for one ewe answering her son's bleating from the trailer. I have ewes grieve after the loss of a lamb at birth but seldom at this point. Linda and I drove to High River and with her directions (bad), I back into the unloading chute at the meat processing plant in the middle of High River. I shoved the terrified lambs into a pig smelling pen next to 4 horned steers (that's 4 steers with horns). I recalled meeting a sheep farmer named Stump here and hearing him assure his lambs they were going to a better place. (He should've been a minister.) We drove to Lloyd's, arriving as he came from the field in a big grain truck. Being Labour Day, the farmer was on his own while his son and nephew were off partying elsewhere. He had to combine peas, fill his truck and then unload it. (Must've been the same for Dad when I was home to help him). Lloyd made us tea and told us of his recent fishing trip to BC with son and nephew. He promised the Frankensteers would leave this week. We arrived home to find the ewes and steers still grazing in the last light of the day.
Today I smelled crab apples on the wood stove as I came into the kitchen . I took Linda a coffee in bed and anticipated the beginning of her jelly making. I will add sheep manure and rototill the garden since spuds have been dug and stored down the well pit. Once again I note our green ash trees yellowing and hear myself mutter, "Give me another summer, please!"
Today I smelled crab apples on the wood stove as I came into the kitchen . I took Linda a coffee in bed and anticipated the beginning of her jelly making. I will add sheep manure and rototill the garden since spuds have been dug and stored down the well pit. Once again I note our green ash trees yellowing and hear myself mutter, "Give me another summer, please!"
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Agriculture vrs "Development"
Dear Editor
The Twin Valley Resort project proposed for the Little bow Reservoir has drawn a line drawn between farming and development. Seems everytime the government tells us that a new dam will benefit agriculture, we end up with another subdivision around a "lake." This "lake" came with the added cost of $80 million to relocate a Hutterite colony. Twin Valley Resort now wants to put 360 condos around this "lake. Their huge Calgary lawyer reminded me of Goliath as he roared for and hour and a half against the idea of council interfering with their public access to this area. A dozen farmers sat quietly in the back rows listening to how unfit their land was for agriculture. I wondered where Goliath thought his dinner came from. He stressed the added tax revenue that would come into the area with this development and suggested the fire risk would be held in check by high insurance rates. As for increased road traffic, the condos owners would take the longer highway route in from highway 2 rather than short cut by the old road. When Goliath finished it was time for lunch, perhaps his strategy since only 5 of us returned in the afternoon. Many, like Nanton's Mayor Blake, had other meetings and harvesting demands. Blake left written questions about the increased demands on volunteer fire department, ambulance and police services from this development larger than the town of Stavely. Before any protestors could speak, Goliath demanded 30 letters in support of the project be read into record. I recognized some names from the Silver Willow Lodge but others were from as far away as Sherwood Park. (shareholders?) Finally at 1:30 PM, neighbours to this project, Gerald Lyon, Diana Andrews and her daughter, spoke on behalf of themselves and Parkland Agriculture Society. The daughter, a 5th generation member of a farming family, wondered how she and her husband could continue farming amidst this new settlement. These "David's" plead not only to protect agriculture but also the environment they cared passionately about. I left wondering if this time Goliath would prevail or would he be smitten by a council that stuck to a long held tradition of protecting agriculture in Willow Creek Municipality.
Sincerely
Larry MacKillop
The Twin Valley Resort project proposed for the Little bow Reservoir has drawn a line drawn between farming and development. Seems everytime the government tells us that a new dam will benefit agriculture, we end up with another subdivision around a "lake." This "lake" came with the added cost of $80 million to relocate a Hutterite colony. Twin Valley Resort now wants to put 360 condos around this "lake. Their huge Calgary lawyer reminded me of Goliath as he roared for and hour and a half against the idea of council interfering with their public access to this area. A dozen farmers sat quietly in the back rows listening to how unfit their land was for agriculture. I wondered where Goliath thought his dinner came from. He stressed the added tax revenue that would come into the area with this development and suggested the fire risk would be held in check by high insurance rates. As for increased road traffic, the condos owners would take the longer highway route in from highway 2 rather than short cut by the old road. When Goliath finished it was time for lunch, perhaps his strategy since only 5 of us returned in the afternoon. Many, like Nanton's Mayor Blake, had other meetings and harvesting demands. Blake left written questions about the increased demands on volunteer fire department, ambulance and police services from this development larger than the town of Stavely. Before any protestors could speak, Goliath demanded 30 letters in support of the project be read into record. I recognized some names from the Silver Willow Lodge but others were from as far away as Sherwood Park. (shareholders?) Finally at 1:30 PM, neighbours to this project, Gerald Lyon, Diana Andrews and her daughter, spoke on behalf of themselves and Parkland Agriculture Society. The daughter, a 5th generation member of a farming family, wondered how she and her husband could continue farming amidst this new settlement. These "David's" plead not only to protect agriculture but also the environment they cared passionately about. I left wondering if this time Goliath would prevail or would he be smitten by a council that stuck to a long held tradition of protecting agriculture in Willow Creek Municipality.
Sincerely
Larry MacKillop
Monday, August 20, 2007
waiting for the revolution
Aug 19. 2007
Concerned about a trilateral meeting in Quebec that might see our Cdn water sold, Linda and I attended a rally in Calgary. I took the opportunity to grab some falafel from a Lebanese shop playing Arabic music next to the Hudson Bay building. How Cdn! Enroute to the rally we passed side signs advertising fringe theatre productions. Took me back to my 3 fringe efforts including Tender Meat News, my play about North Americans obtaining heart replacements from Guatemalan street kids in exchange for our artificial ones. The media in Saskatoon and Edmonton were incensed at mackillops conceit in blaming them slammed me into closing both places early. My inadequate talent and funds led to a technically bad show. I had more success plays about a Marxist children's writer stuck with a tone of moldy Nicaraguan coffee he had bought on speculation as well as a play about a Canadian nationalist who goes to Florida to bury his Aunti America only to find his nationalism is rooted in that rather than love of his own country. That was then while today I was a senior joining a protest about world fascism.
I arrived at the city hall plaza to find 4 friends sitting at a table. Byron Price works for a society helping the poor. We donate a lamb each year to his fund raiser. Jim Beck is a retired med professor who I met 37 yrs ago when I hosted a meeting of people wanting to start a left wing newspaper in Calgary. We support a consortium for blind people he helps in El Salvador. Jack Century, whom I met through The Council of Canadians and NDP, has orchestrated a possible production of my play, Dr Dave Lander, at the Jewish Centre. Then came Ed Wolfe, an 84 year old geologist who supported my formation of an institute to get sex education into Calgary schools despite strong opposed from the John Birch Society. The rally was small with passionate young people speaking about the shame of leaders and corporations meeting in secret to give way our water and heritage. I had a chance to connect my old friends with each other. Jim and Jack are both descendents of Polish Jewish immigrants to USA.. Jim and Ed both renounced their US citizenship over their country's actions. It was Byron who connected me with Tom Jeyachandran, who took Linda and I to see his native India. When the rally ended I got the email address of a fiery young speaker, who told me she was a student in Social Welfare (another chapter of my life, I taught there). She said she had been wanting to join the NDP and God knows we could use some fire there! Linda and I took Byron and Jim for a bowl of Po at a Viet Namese restaurant. I asked the manager, a woman I recognized, how long she had been here and she replied 21 years. We gave Byron and Jim a ride back to the NW where Byron gave me a large piece of Spring salmon sent for us from Tom. As I drove Byron back to the C Train stn where he'd left his car, we stopped to greet one of his condo neighbors, Helen, a survivor of Auswitch. Then Linda and I left Calgary, a place with so many connections and a revolution not yet begun.
Concerned about a trilateral meeting in Quebec that might see our Cdn water sold, Linda and I attended a rally in Calgary. I took the opportunity to grab some falafel from a Lebanese shop playing Arabic music next to the Hudson Bay building. How Cdn! Enroute to the rally we passed side signs advertising fringe theatre productions. Took me back to my 3 fringe efforts including Tender Meat News, my play about North Americans obtaining heart replacements from Guatemalan street kids in exchange for our artificial ones. The media in Saskatoon and Edmonton were incensed at mackillops conceit in blaming them slammed me into closing both places early. My inadequate talent and funds led to a technically bad show. I had more success plays about a Marxist children's writer stuck with a tone of moldy Nicaraguan coffee he had bought on speculation as well as a play about a Canadian nationalist who goes to Florida to bury his Aunti America only to find his nationalism is rooted in that rather than love of his own country. That was then while today I was a senior joining a protest about world fascism.
I arrived at the city hall plaza to find 4 friends sitting at a table. Byron Price works for a society helping the poor. We donate a lamb each year to his fund raiser. Jim Beck is a retired med professor who I met 37 yrs ago when I hosted a meeting of people wanting to start a left wing newspaper in Calgary. We support a consortium for blind people he helps in El Salvador. Jack Century, whom I met through The Council of Canadians and NDP, has orchestrated a possible production of my play, Dr Dave Lander, at the Jewish Centre. Then came Ed Wolfe, an 84 year old geologist who supported my formation of an institute to get sex education into Calgary schools despite strong opposed from the John Birch Society. The rally was small with passionate young people speaking about the shame of leaders and corporations meeting in secret to give way our water and heritage. I had a chance to connect my old friends with each other. Jim and Jack are both descendents of Polish Jewish immigrants to USA.. Jim and Ed both renounced their US citizenship over their country's actions. It was Byron who connected me with Tom Jeyachandran, who took Linda and I to see his native India. When the rally ended I got the email address of a fiery young speaker, who told me she was a student in Social Welfare (another chapter of my life, I taught there). She said she had been wanting to join the NDP and God knows we could use some fire there! Linda and I took Byron and Jim for a bowl of Po at a Viet Namese restaurant. I asked the manager, a woman I recognized, how long she had been here and she replied 21 years. We gave Byron and Jim a ride back to the NW where Byron gave me a large piece of Spring salmon sent for us from Tom. As I drove Byron back to the C Train stn where he'd left his car, we stopped to greet one of his condo neighbors, Helen, a survivor of Auswitch. Then Linda and I left Calgary, a place with so many connections and a revolution not yet begun.
Monday, August 13, 2007
water, saskatoons and Dad
Water for my trees brings me such a good feeling. Each day after I check Lloyd's Frankensteers, I stop at the water trough and fill my 90 gallon tank via the solar pump.. I always pour a libation of water over the solar panels and watch the watt metre climb as high as 300 when sunlight is directly on the panels.. I haul the water back to my little trees and give each an ice-cream bucket measure of water. I note the aphids gone, partly due to the watering and also the Tanglefoot I put on each trunk to deter ants from climbing to attend the aphids (their cows). As the tank empties I open the top and smell the water as I tip back to get the last 5 gallons on one last tree. I try to be egalitarian but, like the swallows feeding babies in nests on our house, the open mouth gets more than its share. A few trees are recovering from having their bark scraped by buck deer last winter. (I stop hunters from shooting deer and they do this to my trees!)
A nice diversion yesterday was to pick some saskatoons. (All Westerners know this is like a blueberry but better in flavour) I found some hanging like grapes along the fence at the bottom of a small coulee with a stream of water flowing by. The steers could not trample and rub the bushes due to the fence. I filled my bucket quickly ( I like to strip berries rather than pick them carefully and sort them later) As I returned to my truck I noted the water source was a spring my Dad used to love digging out. Seems it went dry when he died but is now back again. I felt close to him as I saw the water seep out of the sandstone rock and begin its journey. It was obvious the steers had been drinking this water as well as the medicated water at the trough. Back at the house I sat watching the BBC world news and sorted my berries. For supper that night Linda rewarded me with a saskatoon pie.
A nice diversion yesterday was to pick some saskatoons. (All Westerners know this is like a blueberry but better in flavour) I found some hanging like grapes along the fence at the bottom of a small coulee with a stream of water flowing by. The steers could not trample and rub the bushes due to the fence. I filled my bucket quickly ( I like to strip berries rather than pick them carefully and sort them later) As I returned to my truck I noted the water source was a spring my Dad used to love digging out. Seems it went dry when he died but is now back again. I felt close to him as I saw the water seep out of the sandstone rock and begin its journey. It was obvious the steers had been drinking this water as well as the medicated water at the trough. Back at the house I sat watching the BBC world news and sorted my berries. For supper that night Linda rewarded me with a saskatoon pie.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Frankensteer
My brother sold his cows this spring meaning I would have nothing to check on during my summer walks (sans Rex. As the grass grew lush, Lloyd contracted Western Feedlots to pasture 140 steers here. (he gets 50 cents a pound gained and he insists I get rent for my pasture) Three cattle liners arrived and empted the terrified animals into our coral. These animals had been given every shot and hormone and were branded and ear tagged before leaving the feedlot. Prodded by electric shocks from yelling drivers, they burst out and broke fences in an effort to escape . The raced around our fields for a half day, some breaking out and going into the coulee. And one group becoming mad that they began throwing themselves at the barnyard fence to get back inside. We settled them for the night in a pen by the water hole. Seems they were more secure in a confined area. Over the summer we have seen them grown and cam down but with the behavior of bulls. They bellow night and day like a chorus of frogs and tear up the ground while making bull holes. I have learned that these animals are full of steroids. (140 Barry Bonds) They are harmless to me but very rough on each other. Today Lloyd came and took home one of the steers that was being ridden day and night by a group of would be bulls. Seems this smaller steer had become a sex object to them. By the time Lloyd arrived, it was lying down surrounded by a pack of rapists. I guess that is what happens to humans in the pen.
I watched a CBC documentary called Frankensteer, that was shot here in S Alberta's feedlot alley. No wonder mad cow and other diseases occur, and e coli (hamburger disease) killing kids. I know I would not eat any meat raised this way, no matter how high the pasture fee paid. .
Chow larry
I watched a CBC documentary called Frankensteer, that was shot here in S Alberta's feedlot alley. No wonder mad cow and other diseases occur, and e coli (hamburger disease) killing kids. I know I would not eat any meat raised this way, no matter how high the pasture fee paid. .
Chow larry
Friday, July 20, 2007
son finds kitten in Daarfur
I’ve traveled out to Umdukhun on my first trip back to Darfur . My journey here began on a MI-8 helicopter from Nyala, the capital of South Darfur State . During the pre-flight briefing, the engineer stated that we’d be flying at 1000 feet. When he finished and asked if there were any questions, I thought I’d take the opportunity to clarify the altitude (out of curiosity). From the captains seat in the cockpit a thick eastern European accent asked “What altitude do you want to fly at? Today is customer chooses day so its up to you”. I responded but apparently MI-8’s don’t have enough oxygen to make 30,000 feet.
My colleague, a Tajik man in his fifties with several grandchildren returned from one of the schools he was overseeing with a small kitten the children there had given him. Truth be told, the little black-haired furball is probably too young to be separated from her mother but that was long since done. He thought it would be a good idea to have the cat around to look after the insect problem and deal with any snakes in the compound. I asked if a name had been chosen before proposing that we name her “Mugur”; after a Romanian colleague who recently left after he spent nearly 2 ½ years around Darfur . We both get a kick out of hearing the other one calling “Here Mugur, come for your milk. Good girl”. Despite my insistence that foreigners should not domesticate animals, creating dependency then leave; I must admit that Mugurs demands for replacement powdered milk (because the last batch was funner to knock over than actually consume) generally get two grown-men up away from their work to tend to immediately. Oh, she’s not completely black-haired since a curious spout with a freshly painted white door altered her appearance. We’re all getting a little greyer out here though. Our Sudanese colleagues either think its terribly fun or we’re both off our rockers. Jury still out on that one.
It had rained the day prior which results in a bug/insect free-for-all. They were absolutely everywhere. We’d gone to play volleyball and returned just after dusk. When I went to shower I discovered dozens of them attacking the light and right then vowed never again to shower after sundown when I needed to use the light. In my bedroom, I was horrified to discover that, with the mosquito net only partly down, several colonies of ants, flying things I’d never seen before and of course the inevitable mosquitos had made their way around the lack security of the net to be underneath it with little chance of being able to escape even if they choose to. Thankfully we still had power so I turned the fan on high, lifted the net and shook the bedsheets. I was glad I brought a ‘sleepsack’ into which I could completely retreat, though I did take notice of a few visitors walking up my leg.
Early the following morning, as the roosters began their morning routine, I decided that the rooster-call setting I have on my phone alarm needs to change. I can get back to sleep each morning only after convincing myself its not the electronic thing but the real thing (those birds really do a grand impression of a Nokia).
Sunday I went out to a new camp, Jeddid with probably over 9,000 people who have only arrived since the start of June. Most are from Darfur with a handful of refuges from Central African Republic . To get there, we walked through the market to the wadi (a normally dry channel which becomes a river during seasonal rainy periods). There we took a raft constructed with probably one cubic-meter of sticks and fastened with rope to get across to the other side. After we crossed the wadi, we took a ride on a horse-drawn cart through thick mud then walked for about 20-30 minutes to the main part of the camp.
Today we visited a slaughter-area; set up by another agency to provide a common area for people to butcher goats. We’re digging a pit (royal we here… ) for the remains (for hygienic purposes. I guess I’ve never watched an animal get slaughtered so it was an interesting experience. As the goats took up to a minute to ‘expire’, I found it interesting how the other goats so camly waited about. Okay, the few that were tied up were pretty much committed but several weren’t and I began to think these few, free-to-run-for-it goats were pretty much the least-briefed on the outcome animals in existence. “Hey, where’s Bill? He was here a second ago. Oh- he’s over there with a knife on his throat…”
My colleague, a Tajik man in his fifties with several grandchildren returned from one of the schools he was overseeing with a small kitten the children there had given him. Truth be told, the little black-haired furball is probably too young to be separated from her mother but that was long since done. He thought it would be a good idea to have the cat around to look after the insect problem and deal with any snakes in the compound. I asked if a name had been chosen before proposing that we name her “Mugur”; after a Romanian colleague who recently left after he spent nearly 2 ½ years around Darfur . We both get a kick out of hearing the other one calling “Here Mugur, come for your milk. Good girl”. Despite my insistence that foreigners should not domesticate animals, creating dependency then leave; I must admit that Mugurs demands for replacement powdered milk (because the last batch was funner to knock over than actually consume) generally get two grown-men up away from their work to tend to immediately. Oh, she’s not completely black-haired since a curious spout with a freshly painted white door altered her appearance. We’re all getting a little greyer out here though. Our Sudanese colleagues either think its terribly fun or we’re both off our rockers. Jury still out on that one.
It had rained the day prior which results in a bug/insect free-for-all. They were absolutely everywhere. We’d gone to play volleyball and returned just after dusk. When I went to shower I discovered dozens of them attacking the light and right then vowed never again to shower after sundown when I needed to use the light. In my bedroom, I was horrified to discover that, with the mosquito net only partly down, several colonies of ants, flying things I’d never seen before and of course the inevitable mosquitos had made their way around the lack security of the net to be underneath it with little chance of being able to escape even if they choose to. Thankfully we still had power so I turned the fan on high, lifted the net and shook the bedsheets. I was glad I brought a ‘sleepsack’ into which I could completely retreat, though I did take notice of a few visitors walking up my leg.
Early the following morning, as the roosters began their morning routine, I decided that the rooster-call setting I have on my phone alarm needs to change. I can get back to sleep each morning only after convincing myself its not the electronic thing but the real thing (those birds really do a grand impression of a Nokia).
Sunday I went out to a new camp, Jeddid with probably over 9,000 people who have only arrived since the start of June. Most are from Darfur with a handful of refuges from Central African Republic . To get there, we walked through the market to the wadi (a normally dry channel which becomes a river during seasonal rainy periods). There we took a raft constructed with probably one cubic-meter of sticks and fastened with rope to get across to the other side. After we crossed the wadi, we took a ride on a horse-drawn cart through thick mud then walked for about 20-30 minutes to the main part of the camp.
Today we visited a slaughter-area; set up by another agency to provide a common area for people to butcher goats. We’re digging a pit (royal we here… ) for the remains (for hygienic purposes. I guess I’ve never watched an animal get slaughtered so it was an interesting experience. As the goats took up to a minute to ‘expire’, I found it interesting how the other goats so camly waited about. Okay, the few that were tied up were pretty much committed but several weren’t and I began to think these few, free-to-run-for-it goats were pretty much the least-briefed on the outcome animals in existence. “Hey, where’s Bill? He was here a second ago. Oh- he’s over there with a knife on his throat…”
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
HOW I GOT INT0 CIA FILES
Suffield Base, 1971. Inspired by Ian Tyson's TV ads against British tank training here, I had agreed to represent the NDP at a protest rally. I took a bus from Calgary and hitched a ride from the highway to the base with a CFCN news crew. Bruce, the reporter, offered me a ride back to Calgary after the rally. We drove past a security fence with a row of armed soldiers standing inside. There were half as many protestors at the gate where a smiling officer waved us to a separate area and invited us for tea with the base commanding officer after the "ruffians" left. Bruce told him that he was invited to go with the military to Cyprus in the fall. The officer quickly rescinded my invite upon learning I was representing not the media but the NDP and had me escorted back to the protestor area. I found myself in a strange mix of protestors from burly IRA men shouting "F the British" to Anti Vietnam Coalition members wearing gas masks to a silent group of ranchers, upset about tanks starting grass fires. Having been raised on a farm and I identified with the ranchers. Smilie said only one spokesperson per group would be allowed to enter the base to address the CO. I became spokesperson for the ranchers as well as the NDP and was marched through the gate along with 4 other protestors. The armed soldiers on top of each building reminded me of Kent State but, I told myself, this was Canada. The CO sat at a table as we took turns petitioning him. We were constantly interrupted by 2 guys in white coveralls filming us and asking who we were representing. As the IRA guy ranted about British tanks and the Anti Vietnam coalition woman claimed nerve gas was made here, I thought I recognized one of the film crew. When it was over we were marched out past a tea trolley loaded with sandwiches for the media. Outside the base my fellow protestors disbursed while I waited for my ride back to Calgary. I began jotting notes about my experience as 3 bus loads of Mounties emerged through the gate and drove off towards the highway. Suddenly the gate house corporal came out accusing me of writing down licence numbers and he grabbed my notebook. On the way to Calgary I related all this to Bruce, who was stunned how it contrasted to what the CO had told the media. He stopped at a pay phone to call a new story to CFCN and the Calgary Herald. That evening both carried a story of massive enforcement for a small protest at Suffield. A week later Bruce called to say his invite to Cyprus had been recinded. Since then there have been break-ins at the office of the MP for Suffield suggesting there probably was nerve gas production. The Brits, including Prince Harry, are now training for a new war and the CIA admit they spied on left wingers in Canada. I found out the cameraman I recognized was one of my High River schoolmates. If I am in the CIA files, I hope Ian Tyson is there with me.
Friday, June 22, 2007
REX LEAVES THE FARM
REX VOBISCUM
I guess I should've noticed that this athletic dog, who could run 40 KPH alongside my truck and jump 6 feet from standing to snatch a stick out of my hand, was beginning to drag behind and scrap going over fences. A few years ago I found him hanging by one leg from a top barbed wire around my coyote proof sheep pen. I cut him down, got him stitched up and he never stopped leaping any wire. After he ran under the back wheel of my truck for a gopher and had $500 surgery, he remained unafraid of moving vehicles. Often over his 10 years here (we got him as a year old dog from a vet, who was asked to put him down but realized Rex was a smart dog who should be on a farm). Rex quickly learned to chase coyotes and deer but not sheep or cattle, magpies stealing his food but not grouse. When he'd return pursued by a pack of 3 coyotes, I'd yell, they'd' flee and, Rex, encouraged, always returned to the chase until I learned to turn back towards the house. He always kept me in sight, even in the midst of digging a gopher hole. It embarrassed me whenever I came down to the bathroom in the middle of the night to see him standing on his doghouse, watching me through the kitchen window. (We got him for a watch dog) Sometimes as I was at the kitchen sink washing dishes I'd glance out and see Rex lying under the ash tree, waiting for a glimpse of me. Rex was the subject of many stories I wrote for my granddaugher, Olivia, who kept asking for more. After a great summer last year, fixing fences and planting trees (Rex always at my side) I murmured "Give me another summer like this!" Today on the first day of summer we buried Rex in the raspberry patch beside Linda's 2 cats, Jezebel and Meuslix. After the long winter sleeping in his cold dog house (except windy nights when Linda let him sleep in the porch), he deserved some good days and nights. But two weeks ago he injured himself jumping a fence. Some ointment he licked, off until prevented by a ridiculous plastic bonnet, cured the cut but he began to have peeing problems. After 2 days at the clinic ( The song "Old Shep" was in my head at this time) the vet found Rex had broken a bone in his penis and blockage to the urethra had cause the bladder to burst. (First time vet had seen this). Attempts to insert a catheter failed and euthanasia recommended. We could have seen Rex after he came to but we chose leave him be and brought him home in a plastic bag and buried him hoping to remember him as he was alive. This morning I choked back tears (over a dog!) On my first walk without Rex (he shamed me to go so many times when I wanted to stay in the warm house). Linda sat in the yard without Rex coming for a pat. We're both hurting but Linda is digging out photos of Rex and I left a note on the vet's bulletin board for a young farm dog, one that will have a tough act to follow.
I guess I should've noticed that this athletic dog, who could run 40 KPH alongside my truck and jump 6 feet from standing to snatch a stick out of my hand, was beginning to drag behind and scrap going over fences. A few years ago I found him hanging by one leg from a top barbed wire around my coyote proof sheep pen. I cut him down, got him stitched up and he never stopped leaping any wire. After he ran under the back wheel of my truck for a gopher and had $500 surgery, he remained unafraid of moving vehicles. Often over his 10 years here (we got him as a year old dog from a vet, who was asked to put him down but realized Rex was a smart dog who should be on a farm). Rex quickly learned to chase coyotes and deer but not sheep or cattle, magpies stealing his food but not grouse. When he'd return pursued by a pack of 3 coyotes, I'd yell, they'd' flee and, Rex, encouraged, always returned to the chase until I learned to turn back towards the house. He always kept me in sight, even in the midst of digging a gopher hole. It embarrassed me whenever I came down to the bathroom in the middle of the night to see him standing on his doghouse, watching me through the kitchen window. (We got him for a watch dog) Sometimes as I was at the kitchen sink washing dishes I'd glance out and see Rex lying under the ash tree, waiting for a glimpse of me. Rex was the subject of many stories I wrote for my granddaugher, Olivia, who kept asking for more. After a great summer last year, fixing fences and planting trees (Rex always at my side) I murmured "Give me another summer like this!" Today on the first day of summer we buried Rex in the raspberry patch beside Linda's 2 cats, Jezebel and Meuslix. After the long winter sleeping in his cold dog house (except windy nights when Linda let him sleep in the porch), he deserved some good days and nights. But two weeks ago he injured himself jumping a fence. Some ointment he licked, off until prevented by a ridiculous plastic bonnet, cured the cut but he began to have peeing problems. After 2 days at the clinic ( The song "Old Shep" was in my head at this time) the vet found Rex had broken a bone in his penis and blockage to the urethra had cause the bladder to burst. (First time vet had seen this). Attempts to insert a catheter failed and euthanasia recommended. We could have seen Rex after he came to but we chose leave him be and brought him home in a plastic bag and buried him hoping to remember him as he was alive. This morning I choked back tears (over a dog!) On my first walk without Rex (he shamed me to go so many times when I wanted to stay in the warm house). Linda sat in the yard without Rex coming for a pat. We're both hurting but Linda is digging out photos of Rex and I left a note on the vet's bulletin board for a young farm dog, one that will have a tough act to follow.
Monday, June 11, 2007
COYOTES GET GOLDIE
Linda has been calling her pet cat Goldie each morning for 3 days. She usually lets Goldie and Cairo (both neutered) in for food in the morning. Today she was calling me away from my politics show on tv. Despite all the lush green growth, llamas reaching over fence made a hole for ewe and lamb to crawl through. We got the ewe and lamb back into the pen and I set to fixing the fence. Grr! Something smelled very bad so I sent Rex into the grass and we found a grizzly murder scene. Damage to throat area indicated coyotes, who kill sheep by grabbing them and choking. They probably killed her as competition for food. I dug a hole and buried the remains with Linda witnessing over the fence. Her past 2 pets, Jezabel from Washington DC and Muslix, born here, are buried in the raspberry patch. We will plant a tree over Goldie. Wish coyotes did not take cats after a $100 neutering! Life is hard on pets but already Linda has found 4 new kittens, one of them golden orange in colour.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Getting Rid of the Cows
I was ready to tell him the grass not ready yet when I learned my brother, lloyd had just sold the herd! After wondering what Rex and I would do all summer in empty fields, Lloyd showed up with nephew Wes to put in electric fence and troughs for steers. Lloyd Green, a friend who pastures steers, was a big help on how to install water injectors with anti bloat medicine (Dad used to puncture bloated cows and sometimes save them). My brother brewded about letting his cows go but offer was too good). He looked for anything to call it off. That old bull goes with the bunch or all stay. Okay okay. Night before the cows were collected by liners, there was a ruckus among the cows. In the morning big old #80 was on the front lawn eating Nancy's flowers. Lloyd yelled and she (#80) farted and took off. Could there be any doubt our late father was behind this final salute?
The 2 liners of steers got stuck inside the pasture same place as last year. One had to unload in the field and terrified steers charged out and went through the electric fence and down towards the coulee. Lloyd phoned sister, Louanne, who soon was there with 2 horses. We kept one load of steers in the corral while Lloyd and Louanne rounded up the others. At one time Lloyd phoned from his horse to ask if they were in my trees. Nope. Seemed this second load had vanished, until we noticed the gate into the corral down. The #2 load had broken in to join #1. I moved my sheep and llamas out of the way and we put the combined group back by water hole for the night and hoped they would calm down. Next morning Lloyd, Lou and Wes came to repair the fence and we eased the doggies out into the pasture. Lloyd installed a water injection system copied by Wes while at work for an oil company.
It's Sunday now and crazy calves are settling. Water system works great and at 28 degrees is good. I'd still prefer cows to walk amongst but without them should make for a nice winter and spring for Lloyd. Hope Dad doesn't send us any more messages.
The 2 liners of steers got stuck inside the pasture same place as last year. One had to unload in the field and terrified steers charged out and went through the electric fence and down towards the coulee. Lloyd phoned sister, Louanne, who soon was there with 2 horses. We kept one load of steers in the corral while Lloyd and Louanne rounded up the others. At one time Lloyd phoned from his horse to ask if they were in my trees. Nope. Seemed this second load had vanished, until we noticed the gate into the corral down. The #2 load had broken in to join #1. I moved my sheep and llamas out of the way and we put the combined group back by water hole for the night and hoped they would calm down. Next morning Lloyd, Lou and Wes came to repair the fence and we eased the doggies out into the pasture. Lloyd installed a water injection system copied by Wes while at work for an oil company.
It's Sunday now and crazy calves are settling. Water system works great and at 28 degrees is good. I'd still prefer cows to walk amongst but without them should make for a nice winter and spring for Lloyd. Hope Dad doesn't send us any more messages.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
compost
Sun May 27.
Great sunrise this morning. Walked out to robin and meadowlark serenades. Dug grass around 10 of my new spruce trees until my knee began to ache. Let the sheep out to pasture and went in to have a bath. Linda as usual left me bathwater to use and then pump out onto a tree (birch today.) Her tulips are looking ragged after the snow a few days ago, but they refuse to die in a sea of yellow and red. A few potatoes popping up from the cold cold ground Everything is 2 weeks late but determined to do its cycle. Toady's projects: cut up dead caragana wood and pile it (Linda does latter) and to clean out barn (why did I bathe?) I added 2 small truck loads onto pile by the garden house so water running off roof soaks into the pile. There will be compost next fall and eventually, I hope, my remains are added to it.
PS Talked to son in Darfur and had email from Toronto son saying he may be out this summer to see his sister when she is home from Pakistan before going to live in Uganda (her birth place)
Great sunrise this morning. Walked out to robin and meadowlark serenades. Dug grass around 10 of my new spruce trees until my knee began to ache. Let the sheep out to pasture and went in to have a bath. Linda as usual left me bathwater to use and then pump out onto a tree (birch today.) Her tulips are looking ragged after the snow a few days ago, but they refuse to die in a sea of yellow and red. A few potatoes popping up from the cold cold ground Everything is 2 weeks late but determined to do its cycle. Toady's projects: cut up dead caragana wood and pile it (Linda does latter) and to clean out barn (why did I bathe?) I added 2 small truck loads onto pile by the garden house so water running off roof soaks into the pile. There will be compost next fall and eventually, I hope, my remains are added to it.
PS Talked to son in Darfur and had email from Toronto son saying he may be out this summer to see his sister when she is home from Pakistan before going to live in Uganda (her birth place)
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Sheep fencing is good politics
Toronto Star
Dear Editor
Today I dismantled a sheep fence around my new trees. After I had rolled up the wire I realized it was actually right for the job, just needed tightening. So I unrolled it and, after some stretching, renailed the wire to the posts. The sheep watching must have wondered at my erratic activity. Michael Ignatieff, who calls Ducepe's move "political opportunism," may never discover that to error is natural, to admit so is human.
Sincerely
larry mackillop
Box 633
Nanton Ab
T0L 1R0
403 646 5643
Dear Editor
Today I dismantled a sheep fence around my new trees. After I had rolled up the wire I realized it was actually right for the job, just needed tightening. So I unrolled it and, after some stretching, renailed the wire to the posts. The sheep watching must have wondered at my erratic activity. Michael Ignatieff, who calls Ducepe's move "political opportunism," may never discover that to error is natural, to admit so is human.
Sincerely
larry mackillop
Box 633
Nanton Ab
T0L 1R0
403 646 5643
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Cougar again
Almost shut the sheep in barn last night as the shearer is coming this morning. Felt sorry for them and left them out for the night. Linda poked me at 1 am. Rowdy! she whispered. Out I went putting a shell in the 22 and pulling on pants as I went. Why do I do this? Rowdy and Tiko had formed a circle around the sheep. One little lamb jumped sideways in the excitment. I shone my light around the trees and caught an eye flash along the fence. Fired a shot. Must be coyotes coming to the fence. No worry as I can keep them out. Back to bed with gun in bedroom window ready. 5 am an ewe bawling. No lamb answering said Linda. Grumpily got up and made coffee before ventureing out. Sure enough the Rambolais ewe had lost her lamb. Quick count showed only 15 lambs Checked the fences and found no holes. It had to be the cougar again! Nothing else could jump a 6 foot fence carrying a fair sized lamb. I had assumed she found other game by now. Like last time she came calling on a Friday night. This time I will leave a message with Fish and Game who may send a houndsman out to serch Pine Coulee. Endanged spieces is now me!
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Rush Before the Rain
Awoke 6 AM and began my morning routine: listen to CBC news, making coffee and checking messages. Checked out a B n B on Sunshine Coast for July visit with my daughter and family when home from Pakistan. Took Linda a coffee in bed (her routine) and heard rain forecast. Skipped my bath and went to finish rototilling garden. Linda joined me watching that I did not remove some newely planted beds. Rain began. Went to put remainder of my last hay bale in barn so not rot. Locked the 2 ewews with triplet lambs in with the hay and left others to forage remains of the bale. Had a cool bath in water Linda left for me. (we have long used same water to then pump it onto trees for max economy.) Felt like a warrior as I marvelled at the wire scratch on my shin. Linda had fresh muffins in the oven as I relaxed in front of tv to select tonight's viewing. Choice was between another global warming doc, hockey or 8 ft spider movie. I selected the latter. Watching rain drips run down my north window I felt secure in a place where I belong.
Monday, April 30, 2007
A cougar came calling
Linda woke me from a deep sleep saying she heard the llama, Rowdie. I held my breath until it came again...much like a jack ass. Out of bed down the stairs cursing I went because I forgot where I hid the key to the guns. Don't have a cabinet yet but I chain and padlock my shot gun and 22 together. Had visions of me going out with 2 weapons conjoined, trying to shoot one when Linda yelled the key was over the table. Right where I put it ! Pulling on my pants I took the 22 outside. My gun shy dog Rex ran past me into the porch. Found entire flock of ewes and lambs encircled in wet snow between the 2 llamas. Must be coyotes had come to the fence Felt certain my fence had no hole so I fired a shot and went back to bed. Just about asleep when Rowdie began again. Shit! Back to barnyard and this time I drove truck around, wiper removing wet snow, scanning with trucks lights. Near the fence I saw tracks and signs of something being dragged. Blood on snow confirmed a kill and tracks double size of Rex's. Wool on the top wire and tracks on the other side confirmed a cougar! Nothing else could jump a 5 foot fence carrying a sheep. Tried to drive back to the house but tires spun in he wet snow on green grass. Ran back and got the shot gun plus one shell. This time Rex came with me and we headed back to pick up trail of killer. I opened the gate and we followed tracks through my poplar trees. Unlikely the beast was treed but I had my gun loaded in case. Rex and I followed tracks SW across the pasture towards Pine Coulee. After I lost trail I called for Rex who had vanished into the night. A cougar would make shot life of him in a fight. I lifted the shot gun to fire only the safety was on. I wasn't so safe in the tree! Finally managed to get a shot off and with Rex went back to the flock. Careful counting revealed 10 big ones and one missing. Forgot Big Daddy was shut in the coral to prevent him hogging hay nursing mothers needed . I found him running up the down the coral in terror and let him out with the others. He has always shadowed the llamas since a coyote attack years ago and was soon back with his protectors. I counted lambs and was one shot of 13 meaning the cougar took one. Likely a mother desperate to feed her kittens in the bad weather spell. (wish she'd kill the deer eating my new trees!)
Next day being Saturday, Fish and Game office was closed. Phoned a guy who shoots coyotes for me when they depleting my flock but he is not allowed to hunt cougars, an endangered species. he told me of a cougar hunter near Fort Macleod but he replied he was not allowed to hunt without Fish and Game permission. Phoned my brother Lloyd and nephew Wes who is a hunter. They came and we followed the trail but snow was melting quickly and we lost the tracks. We drove to edge of pine coulee and gazed at the view . None of us wanted to search the pines for a cougar den. Just then Lloyd looked down and crawling out of the ground juniper were hundreds of lady bugs. I went back and erected a higher wire on my sheep enclosure. Might not stop a cougar from jumping 6 feet but could deter her. That night Linda and I put the sheep in the barn, leaving Big Daddy and the llamas outside to sound the alarm. I had a good sleep.
Next day being Saturday, Fish and Game office was closed. Phoned a guy who shoots coyotes for me when they depleting my flock but he is not allowed to hunt cougars, an endangered species. he told me of a cougar hunter near Fort Macleod but he replied he was not allowed to hunt without Fish and Game permission. Phoned my brother Lloyd and nephew Wes who is a hunter. They came and we followed the trail but snow was melting quickly and we lost the tracks. We drove to edge of pine coulee and gazed at the view . None of us wanted to search the pines for a cougar den. Just then Lloyd looked down and crawling out of the ground juniper were hundreds of lady bugs. I went back and erected a higher wire on my sheep enclosure. Might not stop a cougar from jumping 6 feet but could deter her. That night Linda and I put the sheep in the barn, leaving Big Daddy and the llamas outside to sound the alarm. I had a good sleep.
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