Manitoba Hunter Safety Instructor

I have vague memories of watching Mom and Dad using rifles to shoot tin cans in the forests of Leaf Rapids. This would have been before Sean was born, and might have only happened once, possibly twice. Mom and Dad had those two rifles for decades (along with Granddad's shotgun), and that's the only time I can recall them ever being used. Mom and Dad finally got rid of the rifles sometime in the 2000s. I think they probably only had them in case of bears or wolves; I certainly don't remember them being hunting enthusiasts, despite Dad being a safety instructor through the 1970s. 

Another bit of family history I wish I'd asked about or written down before it was too late. 

Man in the Mirror

 

Serpentine Core

Sometimes customers from the Ruttan Mine would bring Mom and Dad interesting little keepsakes, like this serpentine core. It's smooth and soapy, and it feels like a little piece of home. 
 

84

Mom would have been 84 today. Here she is with Dad, on the road to Leaf Rapids in 1974. 
 

Sad Times for Leaf Rapids

Mom, Dad, and Sean, summer of 1976 or possibly 1977
at the Suwanee River campground near Leaf Rapids

I only lived in Leaf Rapids for seven years or so, but they were foundational years. In the 1970s, Leaf Rapids was a thriving community of great natural beauty, built on the Canadian Shield's bedrock and wound through several acres of thick evergreen forest. It was a place not just for humans, but birds, bears, wolves, and--alas--thick clouds of mosquitoes and sandflies. Fortunately, dragonflies the size of sparrows hunted the pests down to manageable levels. 

Once the Ruttan Mine closed down, though Leaf Rapids has been in steady decline. Population, services, amenities, even local government--all the essentials are in short supply, and as CBC reports, things are getting worse. 

Part of me realizes that with no base for an economy, it's probably pragmatic to move the remaining residents to Lynn Lake or Thompson. But neither of those places ever captured my imagination, nor, in my view, have the natural beauty and ineffable mystery of Leaf Rapids. It was a great place to be a kid. 

 I hope that Manitobans can find a way to save Leaf Rapids. 

Uncle Gordon and Me

Among other Woods/Etsell losses in 2026, our Uncle Gordon Newton passed away earlier this year, and I just realized I haven't written anything about it until now. 

Here's Uncle Gordon with me in Leaf Rapids in the mid-1970s; this visit might have been the first time I met him and possibly Aunt Margaret, though I'm not sure if she came on this trip; she's not in any of the photos I have from this set. We doubtless spent some time fishing and camping, since that was the number one leisure activity in Leaf Rapids. 

Here he is with Mom and Dad, likely on the same day--all of them younger then than I am now. Time laughs at us, doesn't it? 

I was very fond of Uncle Gordon. He was superintendent of schools in Winnipeg for quite some time; he was very smart, erudite, and informed, and he had a voice I thought was quite captivating. Unfortunately, I probably only interacted with him in person perhaps a dozen or so times in my life, since for most of our time on Earth he lived in Manitoba and we lived in Alberta. Nonetheless, I'm glad that I was able to spend time with Uncle Gordon and Aunt Margaret; they were both very cool people. 

Rest in peace, Uncle Gordon. I hope my cousins Kathy, Barbara, and David are coping with their father's loss. 

Chair Buddies

 

First-Grade Outfit

 

This is my official grade one class photo, taken at the Leaf Rapids Education Centre. Mom made the vest and the pants that went with it. Nice job, Mom! 

Kindergarten Earl

Young Earl was a much less casual dresser than Old Earl. Does that outfit scream 1970s? I think it does. 
 

An Organic Interlude

Sometime in the mid-1970s, we travelled from Leaf Rapids to Thompson to buy an electronic organ. Mom or Dad shot a Polaroid of us playing with it in the spring of 1977. 

As a built-in teaching aid, the keys on this organ would light up to display the notes. Once you'd learned them, you could turn off the feature and play like a real organist. Mom and Dad got pretty good at it, as I recall, and the organ came with us to Alberta. I think Mom and Dad finally tired of it in the late 80s, or maybe it stopped working. 

The organ's brief presence in our lives is something of an anomaly, as neither Sean nor I play an instrument, nor did Mom and Dad seem to have much interest in doing so aside from this organic interlude. (Pun intended.) Maybe they hoped Sean or I would pursue music. Sean plays the harmonica, but me, well . . . I still have the recorder from the one music class I had in grade four or five, but I was and am pretty terrible. 

This is the our first Mother's Day without Mom, and it feels weird to say it, but I think they might have gotten a kick out of some of the stuff Sean and I have been doing with generative AI tools--taking old photos of fishing trips and turning them into movie clips and so on. Or this: 
 

Sean and Earl as painted by da Vinci. I think Mom would have gotten a chuckle out of this. Dad probably would have shaken his head, but I think he'd like the motorboat animations from our fishing trips. 

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. 

Coffee Table Crash Landing

I tried to get Gemini to create a photo of the time infant Sean jumped off our couch in Leaf Rapids into a glass-topped coffee table, shattering it. Sean suffered no harm, and happily played with the shards of glass for the span of nanoseconds it took for Mom to rush over and grab him to inspect him for wounds. 

Gemini refused my initial prompt, which was something like "a one-year old baby jumps off a green couch and through a green glass-topped coffee table without being hurt." Gemini's safeguards prevented the tool from embracing my vision (phooey), so I changed the prompt to something like "a bald, very small male person..." before the stuff about the accident. The action and 1970s decor are captured fairly well, but the "baby" is a bit uncanny. Cute duck, though. 
 

Somewhere Only We Know, Everybody's Changing

 

I stumbled across Keane last year--late to the party as always when it comes to music--and I fell in love with two tracks: "Somewhere Only We Know" and "Everybody's Changing." 

"Everybody's Changing" really resonated with me last year, and that resonance consists. I get the sense that Keane intended the song to be a reflection about how young groups of friends tend to drift apart with age, but in 2025 and 2026, I interpret them in a different way: as a person dying slowly without understanding what's happening. My interpretation appears after each verse. 

You say, you wander your own land
But when I think about it, I don't see how you can 

(The singer doesn't understand what a loved one is trying to tell him) 

You're aching, you're breaking
And I can see the pain in your eyes
Says Everybody's Changing, and I don't know why

(The singer knows their visitor is upset and she doesn't understand why) 

So little time
Try to understand that I'm
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game
I try to stay awake and remember my name
But Everybody's Changing, and I don't feel the same

(The singer rallies and gets some limited understanding back, fighting for her life and mind) 

You're gone from here
Soon you will disappear, fading into beautiful light
'Cause Everybody's Changing, and I don't feel right

(The singer thinks he's singing about someone leaving and not caring about him, but it's really what's about to happen to him. My favourite verse.) 

So little time
Try to understand that I'm
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game
I try to stay awake and remember my name
But Everybody's Changing, and I don't feel the same

(She rallies again) 

So little time
Try to understand that I'm
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game
I try to stay awake and remember my name
But Everybody's Changing, and I don't feel the same
Oh, Everybody's Changing, and I don't feel the same

(A final rally, and he's gone) 

It's a sad, lovely, mournful song, either way you look at it. 

Here's "Somewhere Only We Know," which makes me think of Leaf Rapids. 

Beyond Mortal Kenner, Part One: Star Wars

Ever since Sylvia and I moved to our current residence, I've been decluttering and sorting all my stuff into compact storage. During that decluttering, I threw away the many old toys that had been damaged over the years. 

This is what remains of the Kenner Star Wars figures I had in Leaf Rapids. I'm missing Princess Leia, R2-D2 (a real bummer, since that was the very first figure Mom and Dad bought for me at the Town Centre; plus, R2 remains my favourite character), the Death Squad Commander, Death Star Droid, all the droids from the Droid Factory (and the Droid Factory itself), my X-Wing Fighter, and my TIE Fighter. But I don't mourn their loss; all those toys were well-loved and played with often through my childhood, times shared with good friends weaving nonsense adventures in back yards and sand pits. 

At some point, I'll donate the least worn of these figures and discard what remains. But not quite yet. 
 

Where I've Lived, and When: Part One

In 2014, we went back to Flin Flon and shot a photo of our old house. 

A few years ago, not long after Dad died, I asked Mom if she remembered when we moved from Flin Flon, to Thompson, to Leaf Rapids, and finally to Edmonton. Yesterday, I found the post-it note upon which I jotted down the dates she gave me, allowing me to determine where I've lived, and when: 

Flin Flon, Manitoba: February 1969 to July 1971
Thompson, Manitoba: July 1971 to September 1973
Leaf Rapids, Manitoba: September 1973 to March 10, 1979
Edmonton, Alberta (Millwoods): March 1979 to June 1979
Leduc, Alberta: July 1979 to September 1987
Edmonton, Alberta (Lister Hall, University of Alberta): September 1987 to April 1991

Memory Wall

I picked up this wall-hanger thing for sixteen bucks and used it to display about 75% of my collection of buttons and pins dating from the 1970s to the 2020s. This saves a little bit of closet space and, more importantly, puts the nostalgia out where I can see it.
 

Google Street View Goes Up Manitoba 391

At long last, you can drive virtually to all the way to Lynn Lake on Manitoba 391 using Google Street View. This route takes you through Leaf Rapids, where I spent a memorable childhood; it's also where Sean was born. 

You can even explore certain parts of Leaf Rapids itself, though why Google didn't map the whole town while they were up there is beyond me--they didn't even capture the Town Centre, the community's primary infrastructure. 

But I did notice this: 

We moved to Leaf Rapids so that Dad (with Mom's help) could set up and manage the new Acklands store, seen here on the right. To the left of the old Acklands building is the former Midi Mart, the town convenience store, home of the Wigwag candy bar and Pink Elephant popcorn, among many other treats. All abandoned now. 

Sean's Birthday 2024

It's Sean's birthday! Here we are in Leaf Rapids. He's older now, and no longer wears jumpers. Happy Birthday, younger brother!  
 

The Mystery of the Arctic Cat

For a few years in the 1970s, during our time in Leaf Rapids, we had an Arctic Cat snowmobile. I don't have any photos of our Arctic Cat, but I do remember it having some purple highlights, so perhaps it was a model much like the one above. 

Leaf Rapids was a great place for snowmobiling. There was plenty of snow for nine or ten months per year, and exploring the dense forest on the back of a snowmobile gave me a great sense of adventure, even if I was just a passenger. 


 

Forgotten Sunrise

Golden light forces its way through the forest's defences

To paint a brave, solitary ray across the foaming surf

Of an undiscovered river with no source and no delta
What the hell kind of river has no source and no delta? 
Metaphorical rivers bubbling briskly through bad poems
 

How Would You Replay Your Life?

Replay, Ken Grimwood's 1986 novel, keeps crossing my mind even a couple of decades after I first read it in the early 2000s. The premise is simple but utterly fascinating in its possibilities and limitations: Journalist Jeff Winston dies of a heart attack at age 42 in 1988, but awakens with all his memories back in his 18-year-old body while starting university in 1963. He lives his life with the tremendous advantage of his experiences and knowledge of the next 25 years to come, but no matter what, he dies at age 42 and starts the cycle all over again, with each "replay" growing slightly shorter. 

Winston occupies his replays in various ways. He finds a different love, he gets rich, he goes public with his knowledge of the future and winds up in the custody of the US government, all the while trying to understand why he's in this predicament and what it all means. 

A Replay with a Difference
I think anyone who reads this book has wondered what they would do in Jeff's situation. I've played out the scenario several different ways, but lately my hypothetical goal has changed, as have my parameters for my replay cycle. 

Imagine if whatever force of nature or diving being was behind the replays wasn't getting what it desired out of the cycles. Perhaps it was missing something fundamental. So he/she/it decides, or evolves, a different replay methodology. 

After my first death, I get a choice. Instinctively, I know that I'm going to be reborn in my own body at a younger age, but I have a fraction of time to choose the exact date. 


I choose April 5, 1976, the day after my brother Sean is born. I choose this death for two reasons: First, because my knowledge of the future and my inability to remember precisely what I was doing when I was seven years old mean that I might do or say something before my brother's birth that might affect his conception, delaying it or advancing it by the few crucial hours or days that would mean I'd likely wind up with an entirely different younger sibling. Second, because in a sudden explosion of near-death hubris, I decide I want to use my replay to save the world from climate change - and having the knowledge and experience of a, say, 60- to 80-year old man housed in the body of a seven year old would be startling enough to attract the attention of adults with enough influence to potentially do something about my warnings of future catastrophe. 

In this scenario, the later I die the first time, the better, because I can describe the worst effects of climate change to the people of the 1970s. But even if I died now (um, please no), I think I still have enough knowledge to convince the powers-that-be that the time to act is their "now." 

Strategy: Minimize Harm to My Circles, Maximize Chances to Halt Climate Change
My first concern would be to avoid traumatizing my parents, my new little brother, my friends and teachers at school, and my extended family, at least to the extent possible. I'm not a good enough actor to play myself at seven years old, but I might be able hide the sudden disappearance of the child that I was by growing even more introverted and thoughtful than I was. 

I'd do my best to act like the kid I remembered being in Leaf Rapids: I'd toboggan in the winter, play with action figures, read voraciously, play cops and robbers, watch Star Trek on CBC, one of two English television channels we had up there. But I'd also be spending (even more) time at the library. And I'd be writing letters. 

The First Outreach
First, I'd try Dr. Carl Sagan. Going strictly my memory, I believe that in 1976 he'd probably be working on either the Viking (or was it Mariner?) Mars lander and the Voyager 1 and 2 probes. My first letter might go something like this: 

"Dear Dr. Sagan, 

"My name is Earl J. Woods. I'm a great admirer of your work and your writing. As a scientist, you know that extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. I have an extraordinary story to tell you, and I'm hoping we can talk about it. But first, I have to provide you with some extraordinary evidence, evidence that might take some months or years to come to light. 

"Sometime in 1980, you will write and star in a television series called Cosmos, based on your book of the same name. The show will air on PBS, and in it you'll tie human history and civilization to astronomy, astrophysics, and the great forces of nature that shape our evolution and possibly our destiny. The show will feature music by Vangelis; the first episode will be named "Heaven and Hell," which is also the name of one of the pieces of music by Vangelis composed for the show. The show will be hailed as a major work of education, and you'll become famous for your intonation of "billions and billions." (I don't remember if you actually said/will say this in the show, but it becomes an enduring meme.) 

"Voyager 1 and 2 will not only meet but greatly exceed their mission parameters. Or was it the Pioneer probes you worked/will work on? I don't remember the specifics, but rest assured Pioneer was also a great success.

"In the election of 1980, Ronald Reagan will defeat Jimmy Carter. The Iran Hostage Crisis will end shortly before or after Reagan's inauguration. There will be an assassination attempt on Reagan in 1980 or 1981; the would-be assassin will be John Hinkley, who had an unhealthy obsession with Jodie Foster, the young actress from Martin Scorsese's film Taxi Driver.

"Star Wars by George Lucas will be the highest-grossing film of all time in the summer of 1977, though Gone with the Wind will remain the true champion when adjusted for inflation.

"Director Alfred Hitchcock will die in 1980.

"A few years after writing Cosmos, you'll write Comet with your partner Ann Druyan.

"In 1983, the Soviets will shoot down Korean Airlines Flight 007 over, I believe, the Kamchatka peninsula. This action will precipitate a massive diplomatic crisis and is seen as one of the most dangerous events of the Cold War." 

"Conservative Joe Clark will become Prime Minister of Canada for a few months in 1979-1980, leading a minority government. His government will lose a vote of confidence and Pierre Trudeau will return from 'a walk in the snow' and lead the Liberals back to power in 1980.

"Dr. Sagan, by now you will think that I'm some kind of madman, or perhaps a stalker who's somehow discovered things you thought private, like your future plans. I'm hoping that my writing this letter will not cause the events I remember to unfold differently. My only hope of your belief is that at least a few of the events I've predicted come true.

"I'm writing to you because I want to share some very important future events with you. I believe you're one of a small percentage of people in the world who understand the existential threats our civilization faces. Currently I believe you're most concerned about nuclear weapons. Take some solace in knowing that in my experience, they have never been used as weapons of war since 1945. 

"The threat humanity faces is global warming caused by burning of fossil fuels. By 2022, scientists expect that the world could warm up by another 2.5 degrees Celsius or even higher by the year 2050. In my future, the impacts of climate change are already being felt in the form of more intense and more frequent natural disasters such as wildfires, hurricanes, flooding, drought, and so on. The world's glaciers are rapidly melting, and government and industry have failed to take the actions necessary to prevent the worst from happening.

"I am not a scientist. I'm just a reasonably well-read layman. If I can prove my knowledge of future events to you and other influential people, there's a chance that my warnings about climate change could cause human beings to act more decisively and far earlier than they have in my time, which by now you'll have surmised is the early 21st century. 

"If and when you meet me, you'll probably be shocked by my appearance. But that's a problem for another time. For now, I can only hope that you'll be curious enough to reach out and perhaps conduct some scientific tests to determine if I'm telling the truth or if I'm just another crafty faker.

"I'll continue to try and remember events of the late 1970s before they happen in an effort to convince you faster. I'll write more letters as I gather my thoughts; this experience is still very new to me, and very difficult to navigate. 

"I've enclosed my phone number and mailing address just in case you threw away the envelope. How I wish I had e-mail or a cell phone to text you, but those things won't be invented for decades. Would you believe there's more computing power in my phone than there is in your most sophisticated equipment of today - probably by a factor of thousands? I'll tell you about it sometime. 

"I hope to hear from you. Thank you for showing how science is a candle in the dark. You were and are an inspiration. 

"Regards, 

Earl J. Woods" 

Backup Plans
If Sagan failed to respond, I'd probably start writing similar letters to science fiction writers and the campaigns of national US and Canadian politicians. George Lucas and Gene Roddenberry might be good bets; I know enough about the production history of their creative efforts to boggle them. They don't have the benefit of 50 years of behind-the-scenes books and documentaries. 

Securing My Own Future
Somehow, I'd convince our family doctor to check my parents regularly for specific health issues I know they'll develop later in life. I'll be nicer to my brother and more forgiving and less clueless with people my age. I'd be tempted to direct my parents to invest a little money in sure stock hits, but boy, would I be wary lest I create enough of a butterfly effect to change the course of the future and make my predictions less and less accurate and therefore less convincing to the people in charge. 

I'd certainly avoid getting addicted to Coke, and I'd work harder in university. I'd pursue writing jobs more aggressively and start that career earlier, given my decades of subjective experience. I'd stay in shape; keeping weight off is a heck of a lot easier if you don't get fat in the first place. 

Success or Failure?
Even if my warnings were heeded, would industry and governments take action that was bold enough and early enough to save civilization? I have no idea now, and I'd have no idea as I aged from seven up. I might get an inkling by the 2020s; if things aren't as bad in that decade the second or third or fourth time around, I'd know my strategy was paying off. Maybe, as in the book, I'd survive my destined death once civilization was safe, and maybe I'd get enough extra years of life to enjoy the fruits of my efforts. 

It's a nice fantasy. How terrible that I need it.