How it begins (again)

During my first year in northern Manitoba - back when I was living in Flin Flon - I recall being told that when it snows after Hallowe'en, it stays.  The snow stays and that's winter.   And it can come very quickly. 

Since last Thursday winter came and took hold.  At first it was picturesque, with a few flakes glinting in the sunlight.  On Friday morning Norway House was an image of Christmascard pastoral: every treebranch lined with soft snow.  Soft snow softly falling.  But by Friday afternoon the wind came--hard, fierce and sharp.  The lake began to freeze.  And that sharp wind stayed all weekend, freezing the river that flows past our home. The snow is now ankledeep in places.

This is how it begins. And this is how it will stay, staying with us until April.  And I admit I don't look forward to month after month of wondering, Will the car start? Months of frozen fingertips and cold ears.  But all the same, there is, to my mind, something calming and peaceful about winter. 

Re. Cheever's "The World of Apples"

When I was 19 years old I read The Letters of John Cheever. I don't believe that I'd read any of Cheever's fiction at that point, but I suppose I'd come to believe that the collection of his letters was an important thing to read.  We do that sort of thing when we're young, don't we? We come to believe that a book or an author is worthwhile, important, valuable, and so we doggedly, painstakingly read--reading every word thoughtfully, thoroughly, dutifully. 

However, some real good came of it.  My 19 year-old-self was right about Cheever. I must have intuited something about him when I picked up that book of his letters--for Cheever is a good writer. And every time I read one of his stories, I'm deeply impressed.  Just the other day I read Cheever's "The World of Apples," about an aging American poet living in Italy, and was moved by the story's quiet power.   It's one of those stories in which every word seems to be well-placed, perfectly placed, and every scene beautifully rendered, building towards a powerful - though understated - conclusion. 

Re. H.P. Lovecraft's "The Shadow over Innsmouth"

As Hallowe'en approaches, I enjoy reading something festively macabre.  This year I've been reading H.P. Lovecraft's novella "The Shadow over Innsmouth." And I've been enjoying it immensely.  One thing that strikes me about H.P.L.: yes, he over-writes, but he knows how to over-write, which is a real skill, a real talent.  

To read the long story, please see: 

http://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/soi.aspx

The view from here

After the events of this past week - the shooting on Parliament Hill being large in my mind - plus international events - the spread of the Ebola virus also being large in mind - I can't help but feel particularly lucky to be where I am. 

Today in Norway House it is grey and misty. The snow that I wrote about earlier this month has melted away and the temperature is relatively mild.  The trees and shrubs, now bare, clustered leaflessly together, look like woven baskets.   As I walked back and forth from the college where I teach, only a few ravens were out and about, lazily coasting over the treetops. 

It is, in a word, peaceful.  And that's nothing to take lightly.  

How it begins

It takes more than one swallow to make a summer, the saying goes.  And it takes more than one snowfall to make a winter.  On Sunday, I was willing to say that it was just one of those early snowfalls that one gets in northern Manitoba in October.  A snowfall that would come and would go, sloppily melting away as the temperature crept back up over zero.  But now I'm not so sure: it's snowed off and on throughout Monday and today it's still snowing.  Is this it? Is this winter?  Not all the leaves have fallen yet.   

*

A few words from Patrick Lane, from his poem "Winter 1," a peaceful moment taken from his short, fierce book simply titled Winter: 

The generosity of snow, the way it forgives

transgression, filling in the many betrayals

and leaving the world

exactly as it was. 

Franklin discovery

Last week's big Franklin announcement - the finding of a significant shipwreck from Sir John Franklin's fated 1845-46 expedition in Canada's Arctic waters - left me rather cold (pun intended).  As a student of Canada's north, I suppose I should have been excited, but I must admit that I wasn't.

The story of the Franklin expedition is one that Canada loves to tell (hence Prime Minister Harper was on hand to help make the announcement).  It seems to say something about us.  A kind of national narrative.  Of course, if it says something about Canada, its message is rather oblique: after all, Franklin's expedition was British, not Canadian.  And as it was a mission to find the Northwest Passage, it's worth keeping in mind that the whole purpose of the journey was to avoid Canada.

But, that aside, it offers some suggestion about Canada that we seem to enjoy.  Perhaps because the Franklin expedition provides a message about the harshness of our country, about our northlands, about how we must observe humility in the face of this harsh northern region--because all hubris will be crushed.  But what if it's the wrong story to tell? What if it's too much of a cliche to still be telling that story in 21st century?  

One thing that I like about the news re. the Franklin discovery: it proved that the Inuit had it right all along. They knew where one of the ships could be found.  And maybe that should be the story: the story that we need to know and reflect on.

* 

In the Opinion/Commentary section of The Toronto Star, Kathleen Winter had this to say: "How long do we refrain from challenging a national government that uses sad, outworn tales of lost Franklin ships like a magic lantern, superimposing a narrative of patriotic swagger over the real north — a land whose elements, people and animals are trying to tell us something about what it might really mean to be Canadian in this melting global world."

For Winter's full piece:
 http://www.thestar.com/opinion/commentary/2014/09/15/the_true_legacy_of_the_franklin_expedition.html

Bears

In Norway House, as summer winds down and autumn takes hold, both teachers and black bears can be found returning to the community and roaming around at large.  Presumably the teachers are largely well-behaved--but the bears are a another matter.  They're usually shy and easily scared off, but the potential for danger is there.  

After a couple of encounters with a scrawny-looking yearling bear that was hanging around our property, I phoned the Conservation Officers to let them know.  After I made the phone call,  a bear trap - which is a wide culvert pipe with a metal grill at one end and a trap door at the other - was placed along our laneway.  But the bear never took the bait and after a day or two the trap was placed at a different location. 

One of the Conservation Officers told me that there are about 15 bears prowling around the community, all hoping to fatten up for the winter.  The COs try to trap and relocate them, but the bears have got wise this year and are largely avoiding the traps.  (I heard today that they had to start baiting the traps with fruit instead of meat because they were mainly trapping stray dogs.)   

In a few more weeks, of course, these bear sightings will grow less and less frequent. And then eventually the bears go into hibernation.  It's just part of the cycle of the year here.  

*

The bear photo (above) was taken by my wife as we were on Highway 373 (a.k.a., the Norway House Road).  It was just hanging out by the side of the road, no doubt hoping for handouts from passing cars.  As we slowed down to have a better look at it, the bear came out to greet us. Needless to say, we didn't give it anything to eat.  About 500 metres up the road we came to a construction zone and we told one of the workers about the bear nearby.  "We know him allright," the guy with the Slow-Stop sign said. "He's the friendly one."