Upon Leaving One's Country

I have spent the entirety of my life in Southern Manitoba. I was born here, received my early education at the hands of Winkler's public schools, and decided to continue my studies at Canadian Mennonite University in Winnipeg. I am a prairie person. There is no denying it. I am of this place as much as anything else. I hope that you know what I mean by “prairie person.” But when I try to think of a definition I realize that I do not know what I mean. Or at least I don't know a nice, simple definition. If you give me a moment of your time maybe I can talk it out a bit.

Every year at CMU one of the many annual debates would take place amongst first years, Prairies vs Mountains. Which were better? Arguments would fly from each side. One marking the clear, definable seasons, the other pointing high above their heads to majestic peaks crowned by a mountain goat shaped cloud. I of course always came to the defence of my homeland, that vast, expansive blanket of freshly tilled soil and gently swaying grasslands.

I do love this land, but it is not a love that has come easily. With deathly cold winters and deathly hot summers it takes a toll living here. Yet mountains always seemed prosaic to me in their beauty. Sure they are beautiful, but anyone can see that from Calgary on a clear day. As you drive through the prairies they can whip by you, slyly blending into one seemingly continues (and often seemingly boring) string of wheat fields, old barns and mile roads. To truly appreciate the prairies you have to get out of the car and begin to walk around in them. To find the particular in the all the seeming sameness until you realize that it is all particular. That there is no other lonely elm tree sticking up out of a wheat field, left by the grace of a farmer generations ago. Or a dugout springing out of nowhere in a young bit of scrub brush. Or to realize you have found the most perfect mound of cow shit in the world. I have been blessed with summer jobs that have taken me off the main roads. To the gentle rolling of a freshly plowed field and the noisy swatting of a hundred horse tails. I have been able to explore this place and I have found that it expects much of you, but in time you will be rewarded by it.

I do not mean to offend any mountain lovers out there. In fact I am one of them. I always get excited as I roll down the Trans-Canada and those peaks become clearer. I would love to spend time roaming those hills. But they are not my place, this is, and I will miss it. Maybe that is what a Prairie Person is. Someone who misses it when it is gone.