Sat, July 14
... Prairie girl
I think there's something about it that gets in the blood. When I lived here, I always vehemently denied being a farm girl, but now that I'm away, it's something that defines part of who I am. I grew up on a farm. I am familiar with small-town life. I know how to drive a tractor, a small car, and a big butch farm truck equally well. I can drive on gravel roads at speeds over 50 km/h (a feat my mother has not yet mastered). Yet, I spent half my growing up time in the city. I can manage rush hour traffic like anyone, and I know my way around the whole city better than most of my friends who only know their quadrant. I suppose I have the best of both worlds, so I'm partly native Calgarian, part farm girl. I'm not really fully either, but I don't think I'd want to be. Looking back on my growing up years, I realize that I was blessed to live on a farm. I also realize that I'm blessed to know how to live in a city--I'm not one of those naive farm girls that comes in not knowing a thing about being around more that 50 people at a time.
I'm glad I don't live out here anymore, and I love my life the way it is now, but coming out to the farm always feels like coming home. It is coming home. And part of me will always be a farm girl, playing in the mud, suntanned brown, hair all over the place, rubber boots on, dressed in grubby overalls. That's part of who I am, no matter how fancy I dress up. It's in my blood, I guess, and there's something there that won't leave.
********
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know the sun,
You can't know the sun.
Diamonds that bounce off crisp winter snow,
Warm waters in dugouts and lakes that we know.
The sun is our friend from when we are young,
A child of the prairie is part of the sun.
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know the sun.
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know the wind,
You can't know the wind.
Our cold winds of winter cut right to the core,
Hot summer wind devils can blow down the door.
As children we know when we play any game,
The wind will be there, yet we play just the same.
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know the wind.
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know the sky,
You can't know the sky.
The bold prairie sky is clear, bright and blue,
Though sometimes cloud messages give us a clue.
Monstrous grey mushrooms can hint of a storm,
Or painted pink feathers say goodbye to the warm.
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know the sky.
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know what's flat,
You've never seen flat.
When travellers pass through across our great plain,
They all view our home, they all say the same:
"It's simple and flat!" They've not learned to see,
The particular beauty that's now part of me.
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know what's flat.
If you're not from the prairie,
You've not heard the grass,
You've never heard grass.
In strong summer winds, the grains and grass bend,
And sway to a dance that seems never to end.
It whispers its secrets--they tell of this land,
And the rhythm of life played by nature's own hand.
If you're not from the prairie,
You've never heardgrass.
So you're not from the prairie,
And yet you know snow.
You think you know snow?
Blizzards bring danger, as legends have told,
In deep drifts we roughhouse, ignoring the cold.
At times we look out at great seas of white,
So bright is the sun that we squeeze our eyes tight.
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know snow.
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know our trees,
You can't know our trees.
The trees that we know have taken so long,
To live through our seasons, to grow tall and strong.
They're loved and they're treasured, we watched as they grew,
We knew they were special--the prairie has few.
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know our trees.
Still, you're not from the prairie,
And yet you know cold...
You say you've been cold?
Do you know what to do to relieve so much pain,
Of burning from deep down that drives you insane?.
Your ears and your hands, right into your toes
A child Who's been cold on the prairie will know!
Of all of those memories we share when we're old,
None are more clear than that hard bitter cold.
You'll not find among us a soul who can say:
"I've conquered the wind on a cold winter's day."
If you're not from the prairie,
You don'tknow the cold.
You've never been cold!
If you're not from the prairie,
You don't know me.
You just can't know ME.
You see,
My hair's mostly wind,
My eyes filled with grit,
My skin's red or brown,
My lips chapped and split.
I've lain on the prairie and heard grasses sigh.
I've stared at the vast open bowl of the sky.
I've seen all those castles and faces in clouds,
My home is the prairie, and I cry out loud.
If you're not from the prairie, you can't know my soul,
You don't know our blizzards, you've not fought our cold.
You can't know my mind, nor ever my heart,
Unless deep within you, there's somehow a part...
A part of these things that I've said that I know,
The wind, sky, and earth, the storms and the snow.
Best say you have--and then we'll be one,
For we will have shared that same blazing sun.
(David Bouchard)
*****
There's something about born and bred, hard-core prairie people. Farm people. Maybe I'm not quite fully one of them, but I've lived around them for long enough to know that they're from tough, stubborn stock, and they're going to do whatever it takes to hold onto the land that's become part of them. No, I'm not fully a farm girl, but I have prairie blood running through my veins, and I hope I never lose the piece of me that's connected to the farm the way it is.
infinite || abyss
posted at 2:06 p.m.
