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. 

Cameraception

I used my phone to shoot through the viewfinder of Mom and Dad's TECO box camera. 

The Internet tells me these cameras were made between 1945 and 1948. If I could find film for it, I'm sure this TECO could still capture images. 

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. 

4414 Farewell

Yesterday Sylvia and I drove to Mom and Dad's place one last time so that she could have a final look. The place felt empty, and so did I. Another reminder I didn't need--that all things pass. 

I'm sure we'll drive by someday, if only to see how the new owners change the yard. But it won't be the same--of course it won't be the same. Nothing ever is. 

I remain grateful for the memories, for our upbringing, for Mom and Dad's love and care. 
 

Black Ink on a Yellowing Certificate

This certificate hung around Mom and Dad's house for decades, not much spoken about. It reveals that Dad's dad, William James Woods, was a member of the Imperial Grand Black Chapter of the British Commonwealth (or just the "Royal Black Institution"). I've always found the iconography and typeface upon the certificate somewhat unsettling, but I took a photo before disposing of it. (Apologies, Dad.) 

According to the Internet, the Royal Black Institution is just a fraternal order for Orangemen; Protestant Irish folks. It seems pretty Christian-y, so not really my sort of thing, but a cursory Internet search reveals nothing particularly nefarious. It's not that I normally go about investigating fraternal orders; again, it's just that this particular physical object always gave me bad vibes. Maybe it's just the frame or the faded paper, I don't know. 

On the other hand, Google's LLM claims that certificates like this are sometimes sought after by collectors interested in secret societies, with certificates like this one going for up to $100. (No sale.) Who do I trust--Google's prone-to-hallucinations LLM or the suspiciously superficial royalblack.org? 
 

The Last Pickup

Today, Sean and I finished emptying out Mom and Dad's house. In a few days the new owners will take possession. 

It's a bittersweet day. For a long time, this was home, even after we moved out. I'm sure we'll drive by again someday, but it won't be the same. 

Thanks for everything, Mom and Dad, and thank you house, too. 
 

Reddit Glimpses Cranberry Portage

 

I came upon this post on r/1980s on Reddit just now, and I thought "Wow, this looks just like Grandma's place did in the 1980s. Hey...that looks like Mom and Dad's green Ford station wagon. And that looks like an Alberta plate. HEY...wait a minute..." 

I searched my own blog for the keywords "Cranberry Portage," and here's the source of the Reddit photo.

Pilfered from my own blog! But I'm not angry. How many images have I used from the web? Plenty. I think this is kind of neat. 

8-Track Mind

Mom and Dad had a modest collection of 8-track cartridges. A common way to listen to music in vehicles from the late 60s to the early 80s, 8-tracks weren't the greatest in terms of durability or sound quality, but they were portable and affordable. The family crew cab had a player mounted underneath the dashboard, and the tapes seen above, along with many others, enjoyed heavy rotation on long Woods road trips across the northern and southern prairie provinces. 

Sean and I took these last remnants of the family 8-track collection to the Leduc eco station yesterday. Neither of us has an 8-track player anymore, and these cartridges are so old they probably wouldn't survive more than a few plays, anyway. 

Sean and I spent a lot of time trying to hunt down a more convenient way than the 8-track seen on the lower right, above, for Mom to listen to Russ Gurr, a fellow Manitoban and farmer who enjoyed some local fame as a performer. As far as we can tell, though, Gurr never made the leap to any form of digital media. 

Well, look at that. Before writing this, I'd never thought to look for Russ Gurr on YouTube, and there he is. I'm sorry, Mom. This one's for you. 

I kept the case seen above. Sean realized it would make a great storage space for my external hard drives. I'm going to drill a few holes in the back for cable management. 

Today's Reflections

Sean and I drove out to Leduc today to check in on Mom and Dad's house again and to continue wrapping up Mom and Dad's affairs. On the drive to Leduc, Sean noticed this cool reflection of my phone's camera lenses. In person, it looked like a floating, three-dimensional hologram. 

Strange beauty can be found everywhere. 
 

The Wheel Rolls On

This wagon wheel came from the Etsell farm. It's over half a century old, maybe even three-quarters of a century old. Mom and Dad have had it in the back yard for years and years. 

Last weekend, Stephen Fitzpatrick and his older daughter Fenya joined Sean and I in Leduc as part of our effort to wrap up the estate. Mom and Dad were generous to a fault, so I feel good that Steve and Fenya were able to make use of some of their stuff, including this wheel; Stephen's wife, Audrey, was happy to add it to one of their gardens. It looks great, and I know Mom and Dad would be happy that the wheel rolls on; like Sean and me, they were very fond of the Fitzpatricks. 


 

Aunt Jean's Chaplin

Our Aunt Jean--second-youngest of the four Etsell sisters--is a painter, and she's generously shared her paintings with family. This portrait of Chaplin has lived in Mom and Dad's house for several years, and now it'll live in our theatre room for a while. I hung the painting a few days ago, and just now I added a couple of shelves to host my collection of Chaplin films (along with a few others from the golden age of comedy). 

Thanks so much, Aunt Jean. 

Interred

Just after 11 this morning, Sean, Sylvia and I interred Mom and Dad's mortal remains in a very nice spot in Leduc's beautiful cemetery. We said a few words, ending with our goodbyes and silent promises to return. 

Even after all the stress of heartache of the last few months, this final parting hit harder than any of us anticipated. 

They're together now. That must suffice. 

 

Elizabeth Blanche Woods, 1942 - 2025

Mom passed away very early yesterday morning. Up until the beginning of April, Mom was enjoying her retirement with full independence. But she was hospitalized with pneumonia in April and again in May; in June, she enjoyed a short return to health with in-home support before another infection hospitalized her again--for the last time. 

While we've always loved her, Sean, Sylvia and I got even closer to Mom following Dad's death in 2018. We're all grateful for that strengthened connection. 

Mom was tough. She was resilient. Strong. Principled. Generous. And compassionate. She was a fantastic partner for Dad and a great mother to Sean and me, as well as a great aunt to her many nieces and nephews. 

She loved to read. She loved to garden. She worked hard and took things in stride. She loved her family and the outdoors. She was an excellent curler. She was a teacher, though she left that career behind to raise Sean and me. 

We did our best to help Mom through the stress and worry of the last few months. Even in her hardest moments, Mom was most worried about me, Sean, Sylvia, and her sisters. 

I hope, in some way, that she's with Dad now. 

Good travels, Mom. Thank you for everything. 
 

82

Dad would have been 82 today. Here's a nice photo of Dad in his natural environment by Mom. He loved the outdoors. 
 

A John Saxon Christmas

I made it to the underground mall in Leaf Rapids at the last possible minute. It was gargantuan but nearly deserted, a seemingly bottomless pit of escalators, raised gardens, water features, hanging chandeliers, and storefronts in every dimension. I hadn't bought anything for Dad, and I was in a panic. Now I was riding one of those endless escalators up to a midlevel strip of stores, hoping to find something thoughtful and appropriate. 

"You've already gotten his gift, you know," said a voice behind me. I turned. 

"John Saxon?" I blurted, for there he was. 

"You don't need to get him a gift. He's with me, remember?"

The truth deflated me. I just nodded and leaned against the escalator rail as we rose. 

"He invited me over to watch you and Sylvia opening gifts together last night, enjoying the lights and music. And we were with your mom and Sean, too, in Leduc. And we'll be there tomorrow, when you guys get together."

"So you're getting along?" I asked, somewhat bewildered; for Dad had always irrationally hated John Saxon, though he'd never met the man. 

Saxon smiled. "Your dad never really hated anyone," he said. "We're pals now." 

Not really understanding why, I felt immense relief. 

"Just keep enjoying your life," Saxon said. "That's what he likes to see." 

"Is he still angry?" I asked, for my father was always angry when he came to me in dreams. 

"Only sometimes," Saxon said. "It's not forever." 

We escalated in companionable silence, and then I transitioned back to the real world, like a ghost slipping away from home. 

Gordon Lightfoot: A Legend Passes

Gordon Lightfoot, one of my favourite musicians and a genuine national treasure, has passed on. 

When I was a kid growing up in northern Manitoba in the 70s, I played Mom and Dad's 8-track of Lightfoot's Don Quixote over and over. I wouldn't consider myself a huge fan of folk or country music in general, but Lightfoot transcended genre with music and lyrics of great sensitivity, grace, and power. His songs told stories that rang true and evoked powerful emotion. 

Regarding Don Quixote itself, the title track is exquisite, and I love "Alberta Bound," and especially "Brave Mountaineers," but "Looking at the Rain," linked above, is just...transcendently sad and mournful, soulful and gorgeous, and I can't help but sing along and cry every time I hear it. It's the song I hope survives civilization for aliens to find so that someone out there knows that humans were capable of creating something so timeless and magical.

And of course there are all those other magnificent works from his other albums..."Sundown," "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," "Carefree Highway," "The Canadian Railroad Trilogy," "If You Could Read My Mind," and, most especially, "Early Morning Rain..."

He was a gift to the world. Thank you, Gordon Lightfoot, forever timeless. 

Muttart with Mely

Here's Mom, Sean, me, and Great Aunt Mely (short for "Amelia") at the Muttart Conservatory sometime during the early 1980s. I barely remember the occasion, but I assume Dad must have been there shooting the photo. 
 

Shower Cat

Sean's first cat, Alexander the Great, or just Alex, had some interesting habits. For one, he liked to relax on top of the television, as seen here. He also liked lurking atop the refrigerator, and if you stuck a finger up over the edge, he'd bat at it playfully. I also remember playing a kind of soccer with him; we'd whack a bottlecap back and forth across the kitchen floor. He really loved sleeping on Dad, and sometimes he'd climb into bed with me, too, despite my allergies and my protests of "Go away, stupid cat! I'm allergic!" 

The behaviour I found enjoyed most, though, and found the most perplexing, was the way he'd join me in the basement shower. He didn't like getting wet, but for some reason the shower fascinated him, so he'd sit at the edge of the spray and look up at me. I'm not sure what he wanted, but it was strangely adorable. 

Anyway, I've never been much of a pet guy, but Alex was very cute.