Prairie boy, cow chaser, esq.

The time has come. My family and I are finally selling our cattle herd. Momentous day, how I have long awaited your arrival. I'll begin by saying that growing up on a prairie farm replete with bovines is an upbringing unlike any other. Many were the times I would look up at that cold blue Canadian sky and ask God: WHY ME? Let me explain.

First and foremost, cows are silly creatures. I'm not sure whether it was when they were first domesticated by humans some 7 000 years ago or in the period of selective breeding since but it hardly matters. Cows are dumb. Perhaps we're the dumb ones for thinking that its worthwhile to keep them around, and believe me, I have thought approx 1.7 billion times that my dad was the dumb one for thinking raising cattle is a desireable career choice. They do taste really good. And they are cute when they are little. But then they grow up and become a mass of blood, muscle and shit that has no functional cortex. If I offend any animal-lovers out there I apologize. But clearly you have not spent as much time around cattle as I have.

Life on a cattle farm follows a yearly routine. In the winter they are kept in a wintering area somewhat sheltered from the wind and snow and are fed hay each and every day, as well as copious amounts of grain. At our farm we would haul like 12 20-litre pails of grain each feeding, twice daily. Straw bales are spread for their bedding. Snowballs and ice-hardened manure clumps are thrown by kids and adults alike to vent frustration.
In the spring most cattle herds calve and it is a more stressful than usual time for the farmer, keeping an eye on his/her herd to watch for any cows having trouble because pushing out a gangly fifty or sixty pound calf is pretty hard for even the biggest and loosest vagina. Cows often forget which calf is theirs or that they have a calf at all, and so it is the farmer's job (or very often, his son's) to take care of any lost or wayward babies. Bottle-feed them. Comfort them. Protect them from coyotes. Teach them how to moo-ve on up. See what I did there?
Once the grass gets a bit of a start they are let out to pasture, likely every cattle farmer's favourite time of year because they don't require daily maintenance. But if your fences are as poorly maintained as my father's usually are, you basically have to go out and repair them all the time and we constantly had neighbours calling us all the time that our cattle are out in so-and-so's field, please come get them or we will shoot them, yada yada.
The fall is usually characterized by sorting and selling. Now chasing and sorting cattle is an art form, at least in my mind. If you have never found yourself in the same small pen as a group of cows and are saddled with the job of sorting them into seperate groups, who you are and what you do in the real world doesn't matter. You're in Cowtown now baby. And the residents are a lot bigger and dumber than you. So you have to be smart. Agile. Move with the flow when necessary, but redirect it when you have to. Like the cantina in Mos Eisley, this place can get a little rough. Its all about anticipation. It's a bit difficult to explain without proper demonstration, but effectively where a cow is looking, is where she's gonna go. Whether she bolts, canters, walks or doesn't move all has to do with your immediate proximity to the animal, the volume of your voice, and what kind of body language you are using. Plain dumb luck is also a factor. My dad told me that cattle can recognize who is coming towards them by the way you walk, and how your voice sounds. He has used a particular call to get them to come to him my entire life. If I was to try and put it into writing it would be something akin to 'ho-vass'. When I call them I don't get much of a response, but when he does they all come.

As I write this I wonder if anyone else has ever blogged about the intricacies of raising cattle. Writing is not something that most ranchers do. If there are other bovine-bloggers out there, hit me up! We can talk about chasing techniques, your best tale involving an enraged bull, and the finer points of manure composition. But I digress. Growing up the way I did has made me who I am, and I would not trade it for anything. If my dad sounds like a lunatic, it is because its true. I think he wanted me to grow up much the same way he did, and looking back, why wouldn't he. Farmers are the salt of the earth. I would challenge anyone to find a more hard-working, patient, generous and good-natured man than my father. And so the time comes that our cattle are finally leaving. And although I'm pretty glad overall that I won't have to struggle out in -40 degree weather to unfreeze the waterer anymore, or choke through clouds of black flies in the blistering summer heat, a part of me is really gonna miss our cows and all they put me through.

How much of human life is lost in waiting? I know that I have spent much of the past months in a perpetual state of wait. I lack conviction. I lack gumption. I am waiting for something extraordinary to happen to me, instead of boldly going forth to claim it as my right. Time to set aside the dreamer; I say this with the greatest of fortitude and yet I feel my resolve already weakening. The reason follows.

It has come time to admit that I am in love. Yes, me, William Bernard, in love! I can scarcely believe it myself. Denying it has been in total vanity and I’ve come no closer to releasing my tortured soul. Oh how many sleepless nights and dream-filled days! How many thoughts and fears have laid waste to my mind over the past month! You see, admiration and affection are only desirable if they are returned in kind. Alas, I am not so lucky. Only a few vague reminisces remain, months old, that are all too quickly passed.

The sound of her name sends a permanent shiver down my spine. Thus far I have been able to push her to the periphery of my mind during waking hours, only to have her return ever more powerfully when I sleep. For no matter how far I tread in a day’s time I always find myself rising the next morning with her fresh in my head. Damn this intolerable waiting. Damn my foolish heart. I remember the peculiar sensation of falling for her. All day at the café the curious sensation in my chest, a warm ooze that seemed to blanket me and I could do naught but smile. Folly, all of it.

The power to ask if she feels the same is at my fingertips, but I dare not. The truth of her feelings are hidden from me, allowing me to live on, wondering and hoping and dreaming. I dare not ask her because that would mean the end. It must come, I suppose. I can’t very well live out the rest of my life with the romanticism of an unaccomplished 24 year-old. Time to move on. But not yet, not yet.

a return

Seven months is a suitable hiatus from blogging I think. When last I wrote, I remember, I was on a train steaming north from London to Sunderland. How time flies. The genesis of this blog lay in the wish to catalogue my European travels, and now that this seems somewhat irrelevant, I hope to continue it in a new capacity. Since its been months since I last put anything up and will not be slapping this link in people's faces on Fbook, the audience for the remainder of this blog should be quite limited, and happily so. I've never been one to share how I feel in an outright manner, I'm much better one-on-one, and thus I think an obscure blog in my own corner of the internet is just right for me.

So what happened in the last third of my Europe trip? Lots. Ask me about it sometime, cause I sure as heck don't feel like writing about it now. Luckily I kept a journal of people and places and things I saw, because in my experience the human brain can be particularly apt at forgetting, even what you swore you would never forget.  

In France I was able to spend time reflecting, weighing on both how I perceive people and how they must perceive me. It dawned on me that I could be so much more than what I frequently allow of myself; that I could laugh more, smile more and love more. I had effectively spent a year in the shadow of heartbreak and loneliness, and it was time to come back from it. That is what I set out to do this summer in Clear Lake, and I am proud to say I don't think I could've had a better time. Is there anything better than good company, cold drinks and hot summer sun? If there is I do not know of it.

Yes I came back to Canada refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to tackle whatever life threw at me, yet I did not have a plan beyond the end of summer. It feels now that I have lost a lot of that momentum. A recently made decision to move to Winnipeg endeavours to change that. We shall see what the future holds.

I have not done much writing in some time, but what I did pen this summer I want to include here. Interesting to see the progression in my writing, even just over the last few years.

in the dark and the cold i slumbered for years and only felt a whisper of passing time. from the moment i woke up in the predawn chill amidst a field of rusty nails and torn cardboard i saw no birds in the sky. i sang the muses seven songs and was sung seven in return. we then took the oath of water and stood beneath the setting sun murmering gutteral prayers. i remember a heaviness in my heart. it was frayed but glowing white hot way down deep. in the bottom of a sandy canyon we found huge bones from long ago and sat in a circle telling stories of old friends. i smiled and wished for the time you lay me down in your yellow house and told me nothing would ever change. i was slayed and stayed by your word and could only watch as you got up to leave. we found large dead forests and black sand beaches with stones that were covered in drawings i did not understand. never was there the sound of life, for a dread silence had come over the world and the few that still dwelled within it. but i am still here, and so it seems like you are still here too although i know you are not.

Backpacking around Europe

Wow almost a month since my last post. Time has flown, and I've been having a great time here in Europe. Let me quickly recap what has happened since I left Hyères early on the morning of Monday February 27th... I took trains from Toulon all the way to Milan, boarding my first train at 7 am and arriving at my hostel at 8 pm. The hostel there, Ostello Bello, was great with a fun staff and a really rad music selection. Milan was pretty nice, a city of fashion and finance and I felt a little out of place, with my fraying coat and country bumpkin-esque demeanour but what are you gonna do. The Duomo or Cathedral was gigantic, can seat up to 40 000 people plus it had a few sarcophagi of past Archbishops that I found cool but kind of creepy. From Milan I moved on to Verona for an afternoon, where Romeo and Juliet is set by Shakespeare, and by nightfall I was in Venice. Turns out Venice is not a city you should try and find your way in at night if you don't know where you're going. Not because of crime or anything, but because the city is a maze without street signs. I was able to find my hostel through sheer dumb luck, kind of a long story but I was grateful to stumble upon it. I spent a few days there, my roommate was an Argentinian named Juliàn who could speak Italian and several other languages, and also knew Venice from being there for 4 days, so I really lucked out in meeting him. I enjoyed Venice and its lack of automobiles, the churches and a late-night run in with some drunk old Scots at San Marco's. After Venice I took the train down to Florence. We went south through miles and miles of tunnels through some mountain range, and when we came out we were not in Veneto anymore but Romagna, then Tuscany. Ah. Now Florence is a great city. Extremely friendly and walkable, Florence was on my list to see and it did not disappoint. The first night there, I met a bunch of people from different countries and we went out to several bars and clubs, closing out the night with a couple bottles of wine on the steps of the Duomo there. This was Friday night for those keeping track, March 2nd. On the Saturday I went and saw the statue David by Michelangelo, walked around the city and sat in a square in the sun. Saturday night I took it a little easier and prepared for my journey to Rome the next day. I took the slow train down to Rome from Florence and enjoyed the Italian countryside. Arriving in Rome around 5, I waited for James to arrive around 9. Our hostel didn't seem that lively that night but on Monday night we met some good friends, closed out the bar and drank wine in the cellar until late. We spent our time walking and seeing the sights, including the Colosseum, Palatino, the Roman Forum, Vittoria monument, Spanish steps and the Pantheon. Rome was a cool place, I'm glad it was sunny for most of our days there because I hear it rains a lot. I had some really good pizza and pasta when I was in Italy, which comes as no surprise considering but I wanted to verify the claims of authentic Italian cuisine for myself. On Tuesday James and I as well as our new friend Elias from Brooklyn went and saw the Vatican museum,the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter's Basilica. Very cool place, and interesting to be in the world's smallest state. That night we did a pub crawl with a bunch of us from the hostel and had a lot of fun. On Wednesday I recovered from the pub crawl and did some more exploring, while on Thursday my friend Daisy and I rented bikes and commenced to bike around Rome... Now that was an experience. I'm not experienced at biking in cities at all, so Rome was a bit of a baptism by fire. Stressful at first, but gave me a rush by the end of the afternoon. You kinda just gotta dive right into traffic with your bike and rely on those Italians and their brakes to hold up! Soon enough it was time for James and I to board our bus to Ciampino airport, bound for Sweden. A friendly piece of advice to anyone visiting Rome: don't fly back via Ciampino. Fly from Fiumicino (Leonardo da Vinci).  A worse-organized airport I cannot imagine. Flying with Ryanair is an experience I hope I don't have to go through again. But we got to Skavsda airport in Sweden and for those of you that also read my brother's blog, you know what happened next. Arrival in Stockholm, 1 am. Arrival at a 7/11 in Stockholm, 130 am. Bus to Märsta, arrival 3 am. Taxi to Uppsala, arrival 5 am. But we made it. I spent the next 5 days with James in Uppsala and experienced a week in the life of a ERASMUS student (minus the schoolwork). Seemed pretty sweet to me. Sweden was cold compared to sunny Italy, though. Besides that, I found it to be a very nice place, clean, well-maintained streets and a lot of young people. The nations are a brilliant idea too, I'm thinking the same general concept exists in North America with fraternities and sororities but going to Värmlands nation to drink and dance with a bunch of internationals  is so much less cliché. On Wednesday, March 14th I left Sweden via a southward train bound for Copenhagen, Denmark. My train was late arriving do I missed my direct train to Hamburg, Germany and had to take three local trains to get there, arriving at 10:30 pm. That was a long day. When I arrived in Hamburg I was ready to collapse but then I met a couple Spaniards in my hostel room, Alberto and Rafa, and we ended up going out on the town. That was a fun time. I spent the following day walking around Hamburg, which I quite enjoyed. The next day I took a train to Amsterdam, Netherlands via Insabrück and met up with my friends I had met in Rome, Elias and Daisy. Amsterdam was such a cool city. I was a huge fan of the dedicated bike paths and the light reflecting off the canals at night, the friendly demeanor of the Dutch (who are all enormously tall) and the quality of the food. I mean the meals we had there were top notch and didn't break your wallet. Definitely my favorite city so far. We celebrated St. Patty's day and Elias' birthday on the 17th, we wanted to go to the zoo but decided €20 was too much. I left Amsterdam on Monday the 19th and went to Brussels, Belgium. Brussels was nice too, and I met a great couple in my hostel from Seattle, Kelly and Tia. We went to a bar that was away from the street down this long dark tunnel, and inside was like a funeral parlor-themed place with black lights. Definitely takes the award for Coolest Bar Yet Visited. I left Brussels on Wednesday, March 21st and took the Eurostar train through the Chunnel to London, England. This is getting to be a really long post so I think I will cap it off here. I plan to be in England for the next week and a half meeting several friends and a long-lost relative, plan to do the tourist bit in Paris, then finally return to Hyères for a week more tutoring, then home to Canada. I will update all of yous on how that goes. Hope everyone is doing well, Europe is certainly treating me just dandy. A bientôt mes amis, William.

View from my window

Two Weeks In France

Hello again everyone! Sun-drenched Cote d'Azur says hello too, though it would be "salut". The weather has improved substantially since I last wrote. We have had a few 20°C days now and I am understandably ecstatic, people here were aghast when I told them that we usually do not receive this kind of weather in Manitoba until May or June. This place constantly surprises me. The people I have met are knowledgeable and worldly, friendly and generous. One guy I met had lived in Montréal for a year and had a very high opinion of Canadians I am pleased to say, and another had lived in southeast Asia for several years. One thing I have noticed is the very low rate of obesity there is here. The largest contributing factor to this in my belief is the food people choose to eat: whereas in North America there would be several fast food outlets in a city the size of Hyères, I have only seen one: a McDonalds (I won't lie) that I have visited on several occasions. The Combes insist I am "not fat enough" and I oblige them on seconds as often as I can. Almost everyone smokes here too. I've been enjoying the favoured regional alcoholic beverage a few times (or more) a week; it's called pastis (past-eece) and I find it delicious. It is made from the anise plant and has a taste much akin to black licorice. I hear you either like it a lot or you don't at all. I'm also a fan of the comparatively cheap Heineken and Carlsburg one can get. Relatives of the Combes are out for a week or so and we have been eating a tour de force of Mediterranean dishes... Couscous and several kinds of meats, including tripe which I had never had before but was actually quite good for being cow stomach, baguettes, fresh fruits and vegetables, salads soaked in vinaigrette, onion quiche with anchovies and of course plenty of French wine. The coffee and brioche I have for breakfast every morn is heaven-sent. Life is good and I feel better than I have in many months. Corinne (my amazing tutor) tells me my French is improving rapidly but it is highly evident to me that I am still pretty bad at it. In our lessons we discuss what activities I did the day before, what I ate, how France compares to Canada, politics, our interests and experiences. She gives me sets of verbs to memorize daily and quizzes me using audio recordings, I practice reading high-level French aloud to improve my pronunciation. At meals when everyone is talking I try to keep up but they speak so gosh-darn fast! Regardless it is still enjoyable as the smiles, laughs and good-natured banter is obvious.  I'm going backpacking for the next few weeks but my plan is to come back for a couple more weeks of French before flying home. As I reread what I have written and look out my window, it would be almost impossible to not want to return here.  A bientôt mes amis,  William

View from villa Castel Sainte-Claire