Crossing Canada
We left Toronto on the train Tuesday night, and we just left Edmonton, getting to Jasper this afternoon. What does Kail see when he looks out the window? Whatever it is, he’s fascinated by it. Does he understand our shift from southern Ontario development to northern Ontario trees, snow, still frozen lakes, rivers caught mid-flow? Does the light interspersing through skeletal branches in the north look different than the light moving through the short grass of the prairies? Last time I came through the prairies by train the fields were soaked, the water that couldn’t fit in the ground resting on top, a reminder of crops not grown. Now winter forces that into memory, we’re moving on, there’s snow on the ground, a hope that a new cycle is beginning with less water next year.
Kail sat completely still as we listened to Willy Blizzard, the folk duo playing music on the train. It could have been the sound of the guitar that kept him motionless, or perhaps the plush voice of the man with the gray hair and moustache and railway cap with his gentle face and gently strumming fingers. It’s clichéd to say this train trip is quintessentially Canadian (seems especially odd for the daughter of immigrants to say that) – but yet, as I watch the sun filtering across the rolls of the Qu’Appelle Valley while the train’s shadow moves through the light and my baby sleeps to the waves of our movement, it does feel like we’re part of something historical.
Willy Blizzard introduced us to Ian Tyson’s song, “Navajo Rug”, and now I can’t stop singing it. Ai yai yai, Katy…shades of red and blue…ai yai yai…Katy…whatever became of that Navajo rug and you…
Here he is with 2/3 of Willy Blizzard – they’re singing “Freight Train” to him in the dome car.
