The Last Photo of Dad

Dad died four years ago today. This is the last photo in which he appears, at least that I'm aware of; one of my cousins or aunts or uncles on Mom's side must have taken it, sent it to Mom, who then must have sent it to me. Or maybe my cousin David (seen here between Mom and Dad) sent it. 

The saddest thing about photos of loved ones is that one such photo will be the last, and you likely won't even know it for a while. This photo was shot near Salt Lake, Manitoba, on August 11, 2018. While this was happening, Sylvia and I were with her parents at a dinner theatre show in West Edmonton Mall. A little over a month later, Sylvia and I left the car in Leduc with Mom and Dad just before we flew to New York. Dad's colour was off that day, but at the time we didn't understand the significance of it. 

Just before we returned, Dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He was gone a few weeks later. At the time, I honestly thought he was going to be okay; I think maybe my brain wasn't allowing any other possibility.  Even when the doctors had to call off the operation that had a chance to save him, I thought they would just try again another day. They didn't; they couldn't. 

So Dad moved on, and all of us miss him. He was a good man. I wish he was still here; for our sake, sure, but more because Dad was still enjoying life and I feel like he had more he wanted to do. 

That's all. 
 

Salt Lake Sunset

On August 11, Mom and Dad journeyed to Salt Lake (near Virden) for a community gathering and captured this sunset. It was 39 degrees C - a great day for a swim, and many locals took advantage.

 Here are Mom and Dad with my cousin David on the day. 

Patience

The machine stops
Just short of the beckoning reeds
Inside a man watches the gentle waters
Polish the helpless stone to nothingness
It takes a mere 10,000 years
And then, curiosity satisfied,
He drives away, tires kicking up
The sun-blasted desert sands

Fake Woods on a Hill

Following Jeff's advice from my last post, I have attempted to create a more aesthetically pleasing Woods triptych. My photo manipulation skills will fool no one, but this was good practice. Pretend the leaves on Sean's arm are a badass tattoo, and try not to notice the back of the pickup truck. 

Woods on a Hill

Here are Dad, Mom and Sean arranged in a triangle on a hill near Salt Lake, Manitoba. They didn't pose for this, I just happened to shoot at an opportune moment. It would be better if Sean were standing and if the unidentified folks in the background weren't present, but I still find the composition interesting. This shot also makes me feel like I should buy some more black and white film for the old T70. 

Interlude in Virden

Sylvia and I have just returned from a whirlwind weekend trip to Kenora, Ontario, where we celebrated Canada Day on the Lake of the Woods with our friend Neil Mackie. On the way to Kenora, we stopped just north of Virden so that I could show Sylvia the old River Valley School (above), and the Etsell farm, which belonged to my maternal grandparents.

River Valley School isn't used as a schoolhouse anymore, but it provides ample opportunities for outdoor recreation. Unfortunately the school was locked when we arrived, but you can view some photos here.

A few minutes after leaving the school, we arrived at the farm. I was shocked to discover that nearly all of the buildings had been razed. I knew that the house had been burned down by arsonists back in 2010, but I wasn't expecting the remaining sheds to be gone as well.

I suppose the current owners bulldozed everything but the one metal granary to prevent further arson. Still, it felt strange to have nothing to show Sylvia but an empty plot of land.

A small pile of rubble is all that remains. It won't take long for nature to erase even these battered remnants.

The old water pump is still there, but it's being engulfed by grass. I'm more grateful than ever that Sean and I visited the farm back in 2009, when all the buildings I remembered from my childhood were still intact.

Happily, another Etsell legacy remains; members of the community continue to steadily improve Salt Lake. It's a beautiful little spot.

Tomorrow: Cabin on the Lake of the Woods.

Tony on Salt Lake City

It's unfair, but whenever I find myself in Salt Lake City, I remember my first passage through it via Interstate 15. 15 young people crammed into a 15-person van en route to Los Angeles in 1992 surveyed the wastelands bracketing the highway, including such charming urban design as a prison built across the street from a watermark, doubtless to taunt the prisoners. Tony Longworth summed it up best:

"Look at all the horses, dying in the mire!"

Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Part IV

Read Part I

Read Part II

Read Part III

Mom and her sisters - Margaret, Marjorie and Jean, plus their husbands - travelled from Winnipeg, the BC interior and Edmonton, respectively, to take part in this ceremony, which featured a bagpiper, cake, speeches (including Mom's) and coverage by the local media.

It was quite an affair, and Mom was delighted to see her sisters, brothers-in-law and old friends from Manitoba.

It was doubly nice to see kids frolicking in the lake, as Grandma and Granddad intended. 

Of course they did so at their own risk...

Sean and I worked on the phrasing for the cairn.

There remains, however, some controversy over which Woods brother can claim final credit for the draft as engraved.

(Unfortunately, the memory card filled up instants before the cairn was unveiled.)

Uncle John and Dad share a laugh.

Earl and his cousin David Newton. Some people say there's a family resemblance.

But I don't see it.

Return to the Edge of Nowhere, Part III

Part I
Part II

As Mom explains above, we travelled to Virden for the dedication ceremony thanking Mom's parents for donating Salt Lake to the local community. Salt Lake isn't huge, but it is quite nice, tucked away in the gentle rolling valleys of southwestern Manitoba. Saskatoon bushes surround the lake, offering delicious berries for fresh eating, preserves or pies. We'll get a better look at Salt Lake in another chapter, but in the meantime, here's a shot of Sean and I playing in the lake back in the 80s:

While Mom and Dad attended the annual service at Breadalbane Church, Sean and I visited the old Etsell homestead. Despite my initial words above, I do have a few strong memories of the place: my initial fear of the sunflowers in the yard, the day my cousin Darwin caught his finger in the drive chain of the exercise bike while I was riding it (quite a dramatic spectacle), and most of all, the "secret tunnel" that connected two upstairs bedrooms. It was actually just a storage space with two entrances, but at the time it was just big enough for me to walk through as if it were a pitch-black corridor. I do regret that Sean and I were too chicken to enter the house so I could see it one last time; alas, arsonists burned the house down a year later, so I've lost that chance forever. Take your opportunities when you can, because you never know when they'll vanish for all time.

View through the decaying roof of the chicken coop

Fortunately Sean did not fall down the well.