Another cold day here, but at least our basement is dry. Praise to the sump pump! It runs every five minutes.
Scott’s been going over to SouthForks early every morning before I’m awake, before he has his coffee, to make sure the heifers are doing okay with their calving. He’s had to pull one calf so far, and one was stillborn.
I got the large perennial bed cleared off yesterday, and found only one wood tick crawling on my neck so far. Considering the great care I took to cover up, to lotion up, and to check my clothing when I came back in the door, I was surprised there was even one. But it seems there is no escape from the damnable creatures. I want to run away screaming, but where would I run to?
I’ve just finished reading Glenn Skeldon’s book Not Just ANY Green Englishman. If biographical stories are what you like best, as I do, and if you too have ancestors and relatives who homesteaded in Saskatchewan, then Skeldon’s account of the hardworking lives of his great-grandfather, grandparents, and family will be as satisfying to you as it was to me. It’s also a reminder of what an easy life I’ve led, in comparison.
The book includes a number of photographs taken in Saskatoon’s early days, and plenty of historical detail about politics and prevailing attitudes of the time.
As you ought to know by now, I don’t tell you about books I’ve read unless I’m recommending them.
I went to the living room last night after closing the windows in the camper and found Scott 15 minutes into the movie Sully, about the American pilot who landed a passenger jet on a river and all 155 people onboard survived.
Now, I’m cautious in water and alittle nervous when flying, so I was tense during the movie action but shocked to find myself weeping — literally — during the landing on the water, the escape from the plane, and the ensuing rescue of the passengers and crew. Did anyone else have that reaction to the show? Is director Clint Eastwood simply that good at eliciting emotion from viewers, and was that his intention for those scenes? I found actual tears on my part to be an extreme response, usually forthcoming from me only when heartbreak, loss and death are depicted in a film.
Maybe if he’d thrown in a plague of woodticks I really would’ve run screaming from the room.