Monk: The spirit of the West
By Sheri Monk
sherimonk@gmail.com
Canada has always taken pride in its reputation for peacekeeping and helping its neighbours – traits that are exemplified by some of the rural communities this publication serves. I’ve lived in all three prairie provinces. I grew up in Winnipeg, where the licence plates read “Friendly Manitoba” – and they aren’t kidding about that. Even now when I go home to visit, I’m sometimes surprised by how open and chatty everyone is, even in the city.
When I left big city media in 2007 to move to southwest Saskatchewan, I wasn’t sure what I was in for. I may have come for the rattlesnakes, but I stayed for the people. (It’s a weird passion, but anyone who knows me, knows I spend my summers chasing snakes just to see them.)
Of course, I landed in a cattle town at the height of the BSE crisis and there I learned pretty near everything I could about the beef business. Its connection to the land, its reliance on the U.S. economy, its friendly competition with crop farmers, and of course, its infamous politics. By proxy, I learned some about grain farming, about organics, and a little about the many crops we are so fortunate to grow across our nation. And while it was all interesting, it’s really the people behind it all that are so compelling.
I remember showing up in the evening to a farmhouse near Saskatoon to interview a family who had experienced hardship after a contaminated feed incident. I had worked late the night before, slept a couple of hours, and worked before hitting the road. I was exhausted and it clearly showed. I wish I could remember their names – maybe it was Russ and Shirley. Anyway, Russ was out combining late and Shirley insisted on feeding me supper. I don’t recall what it was, only that it was needed and delicious. And then she put me to bed on her couch. I don’t even think I argued. I remember being tucked in with a blanket for the first time since I was a little kid and I slept like a rock until Russ came in for the night. I was – and still am – so grateful for their kindness.
Another time, I was somewhere near Val Marie and I had pulled over to photograph something. Frogs I think, or maybe a snake and it was nighttime. I hadn’t seen another vehicle for a couple of hours, so when this one approached I could hear it before I could see it. I was pretty new to the region, and I stood up and waited for the truck to pass. It didn’t pass. It stopped. Now, as a young woman from a city, if a man stops a vehicle anywhere near you and you’re alone, you immediately think the worst. Not this time though.
“Do you need any help, miss?” he called from his rolled-down window.
“No, thank you. I’ve just stopped to photograph this snake,” I answered. (I’ve decided it was a rattlesnake after all.)
I figured that would be the end of it, but he hopped out of the truck. Again, my alarm bells went off. I always carry a pocketknife and some common sense, but that’s not always enough. For the second time in 30 seconds, I was surprised. He wanted to see the rattlesnake too. I think he spent about five minutes with me and by the end of the visit, I had a bunch more wisdom than I had started out with, and permission to hike his land for my favourite critters. That – at least to me – more than anything else, is the spirit of the West. It isn’t the cowboys or the waves of golden grain. It isn’t found in a trucker blockade or at the bottom of a bottle of Pilsner. It isn’t western alienation or separatism. It isn’t a way of voting, or a style of dressing. It’s not divided by town or country. It doesn’t start in a church, or a rodeo and it doesn’t end at them either. It’s not oil, or potash, or sagebrush or sunsets or even snakes. It’s how we treat people. It’s how we go in thinking the best of one another instead of assuming the worst. It’s turning a house that sleeps six into one that could sleep 60, if it had to. It’s learning from mistakes and listening even when it’s easier to talk. It’s feeding people when they’re hungry and finding them when they’re lost. It’s pulling together when everything else is falling apart.
This could be a tough year for us in the rural West. We’re looking at some tough times thanks to shortages and the price of feed, fertilizer and fuel. Some of you may already have had to bring cows to town that should have stayed home. Others are coming into spring with little or no snow after a terrible drought. Some are holding their equipment and machinery together with just bailer twine and a prayer, knowing they couldn’t find anything new to replace it with, even if they could afford it. Others are going to have to pay thousands and thousands more this year just to get a crop in the ground without knowing whether they’ll get it out.
And yet, we all know we must – and this year more than ever. Canada’s peacekeepers and heroes don’t always wear fatigues. Sometimes they wear Carhartts and ballcaps. Sometimes combat boots are cowboy boots, and sometimes our arsenal is made up of combines and tractor balers.
As you read this, the people of Ukraine have put everything on the line for their country. Men and women of all ages have left their jobs, families, homes and even their farms to fight for their country. There will be no crop in Ukraine this year, and right now, their people are paying in blood for just the chance to have again what we all have right now – peace and freedom.
They will keep fighting, and so will we. Canada is responsible for between 15 and 20 per cent of global grain and barley exports. We help to feed the world and the world is going to need more help than ever. Canada is one of the biggest contributors to ending hunger, and the second-largest donor to the World Food Program. Sometimes peacekeeping looks like feeding people, as unimaginable as it seems to us. There are 195 countries in the world and only about a dozen nations can truly feed themselves. We are one of them
So we will show up this year. We will do our best, and we will work harder than ever. Whether you’re a producer, or a retailer, a school-bus driver, trucker or a nurse, our rural communities need you more than ever. Keep investing in one another, in your communities, and in yourselves. Try and shop locally, when and if you can. Try and help each other, more than you ever have. We will grin and grimace and bear it together. We will sweat while Ukraine bleeds. We will make it count – and not because we have to, but because we can. That is who we are and we are the spirit of the West.
Sheri Monk is a journalist and rattlesnake aficionado based in Redcliff, Alberta. sherimonk@gmail.com