Sod Houses and Prairie Strippers

From Saskatchewan Archives:  "The turning of the prairie sod was the first step in making the grasslands into the 'bread basket of the world'. Between 1870 and 1930 virtually all of the native grasslands would see the soil opened up and planted to wheat and other crops. This act of breaking the land symbolized the rapid change that occurred in Saskatchewan."
From Saskatchewan Archives: “The turning of the prairie sod was the first step in making the grasslands into the ‘bread basket of the world’. Between 1870 and 1930 virtually all of the native grasslands would see the soil opened up and planted to wheat and other crops. This act of breaking the land symbolized the rapid change that occurred in Saskatchewan.”

Early homestead dwellings on the Saskatchewan prairies were often utilitarian before they were comfortable or beautiful.  Using a waste product of cultivation, homesteaders broke native prairie by stripping sod from the surface soil and then built their homes of this matted tangle of dirt, grass, and roots.

Sod houses were innovative in that they used a free material that was close at hand (unlike lumber or bricks) and needed no special skills to convert into dwellings, unlike stone building which required masonry skills.  The houses were often simple and small, but their thick walls made a warm shelter in winter and kept the interior cool in hot summers.  The sod houses also blended with the environment, taken right from the earth itself.Eventually most settlers abandoned their sod homes and rebuilt with wood, brick or stone.  Being made of dirt, I had assumed that sod houses simply did not withstand the elements, and offered no more than temporary shelter for the first few years on a homestead.

Certainly, many sod houses were crude buildings with dirt floors and rough walls.  Depending upon the level of finish and the ingenuity of the builder, a sod house could offer long-term shelter and conventional comfort that looked like colonial adaptations of European building.

source:  Saskatchewan Archives Board.  Stripping the sod near Weyburn, Saskatchewan.
source: Saskatchewan Archives Board. Stripping the sod near Weyburn, Saskatchewan.

The James Addison sod house at Kindersley, Saskatchewan is an example of sophisticated sod building.  Built in 1909, Addison’s house was home to members of his family until 2006.  It exists today as a national and provincial historic site, being the oldest continuously occupied sod building in Saskatchewan.

As seen in the photographs, ‘breaking’ the land for planting crop nearly erased all native vegetation from the province.  In the first decades of land management on the North American prairies, human cultivation nearly destroyed the grasslands and the farms that evolved from it.

The ‘dirty thirties’  resulted, over-cultivation coinciding with drought.  With no grass on the prairie, and no moisture for crops to take hold, central North America was left in a series of dust storms that threatened the prairie topsoil.   In response to the crisis, prairie dwellers learned that the only way to survive on this land was to manage it with intelligence, respect, and care.

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There’s no place like home:  little did they know, but these sod-strippers and homesteaders were paving the way to a gritty future.  The black and white film footage in The Wizard Oz replicates Kansas and its fierce dust storms, blowing Dorothy into Technicolor Oz.

All photos estimated to be circa early 1900s to 1905, 1906.  Source:  Saskatchewan Archives Board.

Old Haunts, Under Renovation

Before Weyburn was surveyed as a township by the Canadian Pacific Railway, this space was marked by only three things:  prairie, river, and a hill.  Of the three, only the prairie is immense, the other two landmarks are nearly swallowed by ground and sky.  I’ve come to notice that whenever I’m restless, or in the need of solitude with room to walk, I gravitate to these places.   This week I discovered that the river, the hill, and the prairie were not as I left them last fall.

Souris Valley by the River

Saskatchewan Drive, entering the Souris Valley grounds
Saskatchewan Drive, entering the Souris Valley grounds

The former grounds of the Saskatchewan Hospital, now called Souris Valley,  offer tree-filled lanes and walking paths along the Souris River. Here, I’ve watched turtles and fish in the water, and have been caught up in the wonderful smells of spring: flowering lilacs, honeysuckle, and apple trees. Last summer I encountered a hobbyist gold-miner who was using the city’s storm drain channel to sluice gold from his buckets of dirt. He showed me his earnings for the day, an ounce of gold dust and water inside a small glass vial. He passed the vial to me, so I could experience for myself its weight. For the amount of colour in the water, it was heavier than I expected.

Front gardens, late 1920s, Saskatchewan Hospital.  Photo source:  Soo Line Historical Museum
Front gardens, late 1920s, Saskatchewan Hospital. Photo source: Soo Line Historical Museum

For the past few weeks the old hospital grounds have been filled with tradesmen, their trucks, and heavy equipment. A Regina developer is building a housing subdivision on the land, and it isn’t easy to access. Also, a lot of the vegetation has been removed, diminishing the quiet solitude and privacy that the trees gave to the space. To provide shelter and windbreaks across the extensive grounds, patients of the mental hospital planted the equivalent of a small forest on the acres that surrounded the hospital. Over a couple of years in the early 1920s, several rail cars delivered shrub and tree whips to the grounds in spring. Now, the elm-lined Saskatchewan Drive almost makes a tunnel of the Souris Valley lane-way, even in bare-branched winter.

I never saw the hospital, except in pictures; it was demolished before we moved here. I don’t regret renovating the space. It needed renewal, but I feel a little lost, displaced from my adopted stomping grounds. I took a few pictures of the lane before the truck traffic resumed again after lunch.

Signal Hill

Snow pile on Signal Hill.
Snow pile on Signal Hill.

So far, I’ve written (numerous times) that Weyburn is built on flat prairie. I’ve mentioned it has a little river called the Souris. But have I brought up the incongruity of a hill? On the south edge of town, Signal Hill is the largest of a brief series of rounded hills formed of glacial till left-overs. In the twilight of my first encounter with Weyburn I had seen the lights of the Signal Hill houses lifting up into the sky, and I understood why I felt this place had promise. I’ve always been drawn to prairie hills.

The best place to stand and look down the hill has been temporarily designated to hold snow that has been cleared from Weyburn streets. I wondered a few things about this. Had there been a mound of snow here last year? How much garbage is in this pile? And when it melts, will the run-off finally bring an end to the road under it? This road has been washing away, more every year, exposing the rock and gravel in the hillside.

I considered climbing up the snow piles to get a better look, but they seemed unstable and I didn’t want to risk the camera. So, my view toward the sewage lagoon, garbage dump, and animal stock yard is blocked, but the view north was unimpeded through the grassy, open slope down to the river. I noticed that the hillside here is filled by a grid of surveyors’ lathe. The property was bought by a company from Calgary, Alberta a few years ago, with the intention of building walk-out houses that over-look the industrial businesses below.

Yesterday I had errands, a meeting, and no time to explore; however, these tasks took me past a new series of condo developments north of town. I saw a new sign on the nearby road announcing yet another new housing development for Weyburn. This one is a project of two local builders.

Open Prairie

Waiting dog between the fences.
Waiting dog between the fences.

Today I finished my pilgrimage to my sacred spaces of the city. The air was cold enough to require boots and heavy coat, but warm enough for a pigeon to bathe in the trickle of melt water dribbling out the drainage spout from the roof. Our old dog managed the long walk into the field behind the house and home again before her feet hurt with cold.

The black dog flushed a white hare from the planted tree rows near the creek bed before we entered the field. From the house I occasionally see the hare in the grasses, or sometimes he travels the paved walking path near the houses. He’ll soon be sharing his abode with some new businesses; we hear that the field has been zoned for industrial use and some of the lots are already sold.

Rabbit's view of the city.
Rabbit’s view of the city.

South, and across the highway, another developer has signs announcing its plans to build a new subdivision for Weyburn:  more houses, stores, and restaurants. Weyburn grows like a tree grows. Each ring of expansion is filled with a mix of commercial, industrial, and residential buildings. As the rings appear around the city, the various zones don’t always line up with what came before. So, a scrap metal yard sits against a row of residences, a new crescent is built behind a crematorium, and a highway bar opens beside a daycare and private homes. This pattern is the unique archeology of Weyburn’s growth.

Like Diamonds

February brings us diamonds.  This is the month of alternating fog and frost.  A heavy and dense series of days break into Saskatchewan sunshine, and all surfaces sparkle like glitter, as they did yesterday.

This morning at 7 a.m. the backyard was shaped by dark shadows outlined against a faintly lit horizon.  We are in the transformative month, drawing out of winter’s short days and January’s monotones.

When I read blog posts of Saskatchewan writers, I can hear their collective sigh with the recognition of winter’s denouement.  “Blue Duets” author, Kathleen Wall posted on Wednesday: “Yes, the sky is white (again), but the cold didn’t fall down around me like a heavy cloak.  There was little wind.  Promising.”

Click on any photo in the gallery to see it full-sized.

Some of these were taken last February in Weyburn, Saskatchewan.

Intersection of Place, Time, and Person

I watched the Opening Ceremonies of the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Games sitting on a hotel room bed in Yorkton, Saskatchewan. As I listened to Canadian actor Donald Sutherland read a passage from W.O. Mitchell’s novel, Who Has Seen the Wind, I was struck by the odd and unexpected connections people share in this world. I was nestled in hotel-bed pillows, snuggled by my husband and two daughters, both of whom were entranced by the hype of the Olympics.

We were travelling to Weyburn from where we were living at the time, on a farm in west-central Saskatchewan, near a town called Unity. The girls and I were anticipating our first glimpse of our future home. My husband had been insisting that the place was nothing special, just the regular old stock of buildings:  hotels and restaurants, a jumble of houses.

north of Weyburn
north of Weyburn

Despite his insistence that the landscape was flat boring nothingness interrupted by ordinary boring usual-ness, the Olympic vision of Weyburn prairie was a siren-call: Donald Sutherland crooned of the prairie that Mitchell had made famous in his writing, while the two-coloured image of cobalt-blue and deep yellow like turmeric portrayed sky and earth.

The February night that we spent in the Yorkton hotel the temperature dropped to be the coldest night of the 2009-2010 winter. Late the next afternoon we arrived in Weyburn, passing into the threshold of the city at the time of day when the sun, previously a burning glare, diminished into dusk.  The cold flatness of the light swallowed the horizon.

The approach to little city seemed endless, as though Weyburn drew away from us, receding into a hollowness of grey snow and sky.  It appeared the unlikeliest of shelters.

north of Weyburn, about a quarter mile away
north of Weyburn, about a quarter mile away

I felt as if reality were shrinking away from me as well. If there is an intersection of Karma, or a knot of serendipity, then Weyburn is that place.  I was receiving my first warning:  W.O. Mitchell, Canadian writer, had come from Weyburn; T.C. Douglas, founder of Canada’s modern health care system, had been here.  And now, we were here.

Tommy Douglas’s former son-in-law is Donald Sutherland, who had read the passage of Mitchell’s writing at the opening ceremonies of the Olympics the day before.  All these little prickles of coincidence of time, place, and people, seemed to whisper something.

It was one of those moments, like when the dog catches a strange scent in the air and her hair rises, unbidden, straight off her back. I felt the same. A strange scent, an odd crossing of signs that really meant nothing in terms of real-world consequence, but still, it prickled the hair on the back of my neck.

If the embedded video doesn’t work, you can watch the video at YouTube.

5 Places that are Colder than Saskatchewan

The cold was on every Saskatchewan resident’s mind this week… so much so, it made the national news website, CBC.ca.  Apparently, there are places colder than our northern prairie province, but CBC wasn’t necessarily confined to our planet when making its comparisons.

Check it out:  5 places that are Colder than Saskatchewan

 

 

 

Photographing January

From the news stories this month, many places in North America have received some fairly nasty (and unusual) winter weather.  In southern Saskatchewan we’re accustomed to blizzards and very cold temperatures, but even we’ve had more snow than usual.  (We are anticipating a very wet spring.)

This morning, with wind chill, the outside temperature felt like -48C (-54F).  The schools remain open in cold weather, but the school division shut down all bus services in the area.  If anyone has a choice, they are probably staying inside this morning.

My camera hasn’t left the house for most of this month, so I haven’t had a lot of photography to offer.  Here’s what I got for January (as always, click on an image in the galleries below to see it full-sized):

January 11th, a blizzard brought in about 6 inches of new snow, the wind created some fairly spectacular images.  This is what we saw when we woke up that morning, and how the day progressed.

Most of this month the light felt flat and harsh, the landscape had little variety, texture was difficult to create in the images.

These are from this morning, January 31st, 2013, in the low light of dawn.  All it took was a glimpse out (or at) the window and we knew we didn’t want to go outside.

Accidents

leaf bowl

These bowls were made with pieces of clay cut from a slab and placed in a mold.  We uused coils on the inside of the bowl which were smoothed to create a solid 'lining' inside the exterior patterns.
These bowls were made with pieces of clay cut from a slab and placed in a mold. We used coils on the inside of the bowl which were smoothed to create a solid ‘lining’ for the interior of the bowl.

My experiment with pottery came to an end soon after we moved out of the camper and into the house. The last time I drove home from class at the studio I slid through ice and snow, feeling a little terrified all the way down south hill, where at the bottom 3rd Street intersects with busy Highway 39 then crosses the Souris River. I made it through and got to the house, no longer empty but filled with packed boxes.

The movers had brought our things two days earlier, and I had left pottery class early that day to help my husband set up temporary walls to close off the garage that still had no doors. It was mid-October in 2010 and I felt incredibly lucky that the cold waited that year. The night had brought the first hard and lasting frost of winter, which turned into freezing rain and snow in the afternoon. We still had no front steps into the house—just the rickety structure used by the builder—and I was grateful that the moving company had called to tell us that they could improvise with ramps. We had things in storage that couldn’t freeze.

My family and I took over the house on Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, a week before the movers came and my class ended. On Friday the water was turned off at the campground, and on the same day our toilets were installed at the house. I remember that one of the water lines connecting to a toilet leaked and there was water on the basement floor when I arrived. The tradesman who installed the furnace was finishing his work in the house, and told me what happened. He said he called the plumber to come back and fix it, so it was good, but also complained that the plumber never checked his connections. I cleaned up the water on the floor as he talked.

Little fingers make little pinch pots:  my daughters' hand built finger bowls.
Little fingers make little pinch pots: my daughters’ hand built finger bowls.

finger bowl collectionAt this point in my story, I have lived in Weyburn for almost two months, and my family and I have met many people who are struggling with the same problems we have with housing. There are others living in campers, trying to get a house to buy or an apartment to rent. Others are crammed in with relatives or commuting to Weyburn from Regina or Moose Jaw each day for work. It is a seller’s market:  nice houses rarely come up for sale and if they appear on the Multiple Listing Service they are very expensive; poorly maintained homes are easier to come by and cheaper, but are well beyond over-priced.

I feel satisfied that my family has a new house to live in, without scary electrical DIY lurking in the walls or mould behind the drywall.  But more than that, we now have running water and a spacious water heater. This means that to get a hot shower in a warm building we don’t need to go to the community pool, at $12 a visit. We have flush toilets connected to the city’s sewer lines, unlimited heat on cold nights, and electricity. And when the movers came, we got furniture and could stop sleeping on the floor. The first two weeks of living in our brand new house was the most  luxurious experience of material comfort I ever had.  Even when the cat walked on my head in the middle of the night, amused by his easy no-bed access, I thought this was wonderful.

The gravy pitcher was wobbly:  I learned that I should have pinched the spout rather than pull it to a point.
The gravy pitcher was wobbly: I learned that I should have pinched the spout rather than pull it to a point.

A week after my clay class ended–and a day after the sewer backed up in the basement–I took the kids to Signal Hill to get our pottery. The snow had melted, the sun was warm again, and the studio was bright and quiet. We carefully packed our pieces and took them home, spread them over the kitchen table and studied each. The colour of the glazes, the shape of the designs, and textures of the finished work is a marvel, with so many surprises. Some of the colours didn’t turn out the way I expected. The red glaze called ‘Ketchup’ is brown. Some of the sharpness of the greenware has been muted by the glaze. All is quite wonderful, really, and the accident of forgetting to re-stir the black glaze has produced a green plate, perfect for the leaf patterns my daughters and I had pressed into it.

The black plate that turned out green.
The black plate that turned out green.
Small plates made with molds.  My daughters enjoyed decorating these and many of the other items.
Small plates made with molds. My daughters enjoyed decorating these and many of the other items.
plate made with shallow mold
Plate made with mold. Lace was used to texture the clay.
This guy was my oldest's child's darling while we lived on the farm.  He inspired her clay relief.
This guy was my oldest’s child’s darling while we lived on the farm. He inspired her clay relief.

clay horse 002

Uncertainty of House and Home

I began writing this blog to explore connections between space and identity, and to develop a better understanding of the concept of ‘home.’ As I was musing over the blog’s development, I wondered if I should include stories of the difficulties my family and I had in creating our space in a new community. Should I write about conflicts among the people who surround us, and how this impacts our lives? Should I write about the struggle to build this house right and what we had to do to rectify deficiencies when building hasn’t met standard building codes? Friends encouraged me to tell these stories, on the premise that problems of all sorts happen to all people, and what we learn in our own dealing with them can be helpful to others.

Leaving or returning? Vapour trail in mid-morning winter sky.

Writing here can sometimes produce a degree of discomfort as I consider how to proceed. Enough time has passed between the initial emotions of encountering these difficulties, so I don’t feel the strong anger or worry that I had at the time of it happening. As I begin to write, I find a thread of meaning in the process. I had not realized that somewhere in the mess I began to dwell in this community with a feeling of being home. This feeling has helped me to make another choice, about deciding to stay in Weyburn or leave, and to consider where in this community I would want to live. This has led my husband and me to discussions of building another house.

Yet, after a sleepless night last night, even in the early planning stages of a new build, I wonder if I want to risk revisiting those high levels of anxiety which we felt during the construction of our current house. It was a very strong, sharp push into old emotions which two years ago left me with a clear, albeit muted, fear and disappointment of being unable to make a home for my children. And still, our situation was far removed from real homelessness.  The anxiety suggests that there’s something here that I need to explore, more that I have to learn.

100% local
100% local

Muddled in with these thoughts of home and house is a returning consciousness about the current politics of my home province of Saskatchewan, and concerns about how this place is changing. I spent my childhood listening to Saskatchewan farmers talk about their wealthy relatives who had gone to the oil patch in Alberta to become rich. There was some resentment about this, expressed by the folk who stayed behind and managed with less. Perhaps it was their due to remark on the growing disparity of wealth between one province that drilled for oil and the shrinking economy of the other province that grew food. The lack of financial rewards in farming seemed to suggest that the need for food is an underestimated concern to our society, in contrast to the increased value we place on energy as we consume more with luxury opportunities like travel, entertainment, and one-use disposable products.

In many ways Saskatchewan spent much of the last four decades surviving its own microclimate of economic depression, even when other places were faring better. Despite the hard times, those who lived here continued as they had by providing universal health care to all, maintaining two universities, and managing a tremendous infrastructure of roads, schools, and publically owned utilities over vast spaces with sparse populations, doing their best to provide equal access for everyone. Now, as the world economy drops, the oil industry has invaded Saskatchewan and spiked its economic growth. There is money to do more than patch some holes in the disintegrating roads, like replace old school buildings and upgrade utilities. Some of this is happening. At the same time, there is a high level of concern that decreases to university funding will risk continuation of important programs, and that some of our social and environmental protection programs are in danger of diminishing or ceasing to be.

Library at the University of Regina.
Library at the University of Regina.

There is a sense of distress among those who stayed and committed themselves to supporting the infrastructure and ideals that have defined the province. Our old liberal-minded socialist perspective is overwhelmed by an influx of new voices who support a variety of perspectives, including conservative politics.  They speak of generating new business and wealth.  Even as communities and governments plan otherwise, many people continue to question if economic growth will come at the expense of cultural, environmental, and humanitarian programs. Politicians drift to the votes, and what politicians are doing in response to the demands of a new population has begun to change the character of this space.  I suspect that even as we worry that Saskatchewan will become something different–something like former Alberta premier Ralph Klein at his least popular –there will remain the old ideals that guide its growth.  Usually I feel quite positive about the opportunities and the people who are bringing their skills and perspectives to this flat prairie landscape.  Still, I have moments of doubt and uncertainity, especially when looking toward the unknown.

Last night I didn’t sleep much, but when I did I dreamed that I had returned to the university where I received my Bachelor’s degree a dozen years ago. I had arrived to begin study for a Master’s degree. The well-lit buildings of my past were now dim, windows unwashed, and hallways darkened and unlit. The main hall connecting the buildings on the north end of the campus was empty except for a grey hare, skinny and gaunt, shut away from the plants and sunlight outside. I followed him as he loped past the main library, now empty of books but full of dust. I was rounding the corner to the Classroom Building when I woke with a knot in my stomach and the fear that I had finally returned, but was too late to make this home again.

Thankfully, the morning brought some colour and some light.

Saskatchewan sky.

Photos in this post can be viewed in gallery; click on a photo to see it full-size.

Prairie Sky

Prairie sky is extreme.  Some days, cloud or fog blurs the landscape, sky and horizon blend.  Without modern asphalt highways and the interjection of a town, it would be easy to lose one’s way through the open and endless grasslands.  Turn around and around, and be lost in the same few acres of earth, untraceable in the open sky.

On other days, as empty and cloudless as it is, the sky feels heavy, as though the sun is sinking into us, pressing.  Everything burns:  the dirt, the trees, the air.  The imprint of brightness flares after, behind closed eyelids.

The days that delight are the ones in between.  The ones with variation and colour, unexpected possibilities of texture.  Surprises.

Click on an image below to view gallery in full-size images.