The history in my own backyard

I tend to travel far and wide in order to see something interesting. I have been known to clap my hands as an expression of my appreciation for some of the things this world has to offer. I clapped when I first saw the Taj Mahal, and the Pyramids in Egypt. I let out an exclamation of surprised joy to accompany the clap when I first saw the Daibutsu (Big Buddha) in Kamakura, Japan. I even do it from time to time in more familiar territory, like upon re-encountering our Rockies in all their glory as I drive from Calgary to Banff.

All of these things are magnificent, and deserve applause. But recently I found myself clapping in appreciation of two other, perhaps lesser known but no less interesting for me, local destinations.

The first was for an impressive collection of old bones and the story they told about our way distant past. Those of you from this part of the world will recognize right away that I'm talking about the Royal Tyrell Museum in Drumheller. http://www.tyrrellmuseum.com

My mom was born in Drumheller, not her particular claim to fame but, being only an hour east of Calgary, we decided to take a family road trip to the badlands and visit the museum on her birthday. It had been easily 15 years since I'd last been there, and I was impressed to see how many new finds the museum has been involved in, and how they've developed their displays to reflect them.

The museum deals in dinosaur bones. Besides being a great place to fuel the imaginations of kids and storytellers, it helped me, an Albertan, gain a better understanding and appreciation for the old stories from this otherwise very “new” world.

At one point this year I was asked what it was like growing up in a “prairie city”, and I had to twist my head around the idea that Calgary was classified this way. I'd spent most of my time looking westwards towards the mountains, focused on the hills in between them and the edge of the city, and considering it a “foothills city”. But, looking east is where the prairies start – or end, depending on which way you look at it – so I had to concede that this was true, but that I didn't really know what it was like as a “prairie city”. It just didn't feel like one to me.

But driving east out of Calgary, undeniably were we on the prairies. Undulating wheat fields and slowly cranking oil rigs for as far as the eye can see. Until we got to the edge of the badlands where the landscape changes dramatically. It dips down from the flat prairie into a world of clay and desert, small shrubs and sage bushes, hills and hoodoos. It was, in ancient times, a tropical inland sea, and here is where the dinos roamed. Their bones have been well preserved in the special clay and mud concoction, and I wish I had been there with a geologist to help me interpret the layers of exposed ground going back those thousands of years.

A week or so after our visit, like a cherry on top, this news article hit the press, detailing what is being called the “largest dinosaur graveyard ever documented”: http://www.cbc.ca/canada/calgary/story/2010/06/17/dinosaur-graveyard.html

Dinosaurs are alive today in the forms of reptiles and birds. We don't get a lot of the former up here in western Canada – not like the alligators down south. A few little rattlesnakes dot the badlands and prairies, but most ground animals around here tend to be of the fuzzier nature. We do get a lot of birds though. Which brings me to my second little local outing: the Inglewood Bird Sanctuary along the Bow River in Calgary.

Not enormous like the Rockies nor world-renowned in its field like the Tyrell Museum of Dinosaurs, this sanctuary is simply a little walk through a park in the middle of the city. It offers, though, a glimpse into the history of the city, as the community of Inglewood was one of the original parts of the city distinguished by Colonel Walker, one of the city's founders.

Maybe I'm getting old, but I'm starting to take more of an interest in being able to identify things like birds and trees; I'm good with robins and magpies, birch and pine trees. I looked through the binoculars at two Cedar Waxwings, cute little yellowish birds with a funky black spiky stripe on its head. And that soft fluffy white stuff floating through the air, clogging up our eyes and noses and lining the walkways strangely like snow, comes from the Poplar tree.

A few science lessons scattered in here.

These little stories - dinosaur bones, layers of mud, old communities telling how Calgary grew up - put the thought into my head that no matter whether I travel far or very close to home, its all about learning about what came before. Its like I take myself on both big and little field trips in the history (and science) lessons that the world has to offer.

Thanks to Sabine for the photos from Inglewood. I'll take credit for the Drumheller shots.

Drumheller & Inglewood

How It All Ended

My dad has been teasing me to get back to my blog: “You know, there are 500 people out there anxiously wondering where you are.” I toyed with the idea of leaving the journey open-ended, to let you fill in the blanks as to whether or not I actually made it back to Canada, and how the journey in the Jamboree concluded. However, it only seems fair that, since it did end, and since you have been reading all along up until now (and even though I'd love knowing I was writing to an audience of 500, I'm aware that that's a bit of an exaggeration) and if for no other reason than it feels good to wrap things up, I'll finally let those of you who are still out there in on how.

I left Seattle and crossed the border back into British Columbia. I continued to visit friends and family in the west coast area. In White Rock, spitting distance from the US; on the ferry back to Victoria to spend another week on the island, back to that city where the Jamboree and I started out last June. Full circle. Ta-da!

As satisfying as this was, I was ready to get back to Calgary where I planned to idle out the remainder of my year off, living on the goodwill of my parents and Tara, in whose house I'm residing in exchange for cleaning and cooking and cat-caring, and to spend time with the people I like around there.

So, I turned the Jamboree's nose westwards once more to return to Vancouver for another few days with Carolynn. While spring was in full bloom on the west coast, I was forced to stay a few extra days longer in Vancouver than planned because of snow falling in the mountains, making the roads somewhat treacherous. It was early April, still plenty of time for winter to linger, and when I finally was able to leave the Pacific behind and make my way across the mountains, a two-day journey, over two mountain passes, I revelled in the newly fallen white stuff.

Yes, revelled. I celebrated. I cheered when I saw the accumulation of fresh snow blanketed thickly along the highway, and that I wasn't driving in it while it was coming down. I, after all, hadn't spent the entirety of the winter in it. I spent my last night in an empty campground in Revelstoke, BC, and that evening as I sat at the kitchen table in the Jamboree eating dinner, I watched more snow as it started to fall, at first slowly, then voluminously, in big, soft, fat flakes outside. It stuck, and the next morning I had my own private winter wonderland to carouse in, high up in the mountains, the sun shining through frosty branches and sparkling off the ground.

But I do understand how most Canadians would have disagreed with me in the use of words such as “revelled” and “celebrated” and “caroused”. By April, we northern folk are generally sick of winter, tired of cold, longing for the simplicity of slipping into sandals and a light jacket before leaving the house, but still forced into the time-consuming routine of lacing up boots, gearing up in heavy jackets and mitts and hats, letting the car run for a minute to warm up before driving anywhere.

I get that, but that next, last, day was the drive all the way into Calgary, with the sun reflecting off the snow in the part of the mountains I know so well, and I thought it was a lovely ending.

West Coast April 2010