Go for the ice cream, stay for the pie

Whether rebuilt or original facades, one only has to let her mind drift to a simpler, dustier day.

Horses may have been tied to that post or drank from that barrel.

The swish in the gravel may  have been caused by a hoop skirt, a gal’s delicate parasol victimized by the wind.

The plumes may have risen from the wafting of cigar smoke as that fellow twirled his freshly waxed mustache.

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History lessons in Millarville

There really isn’t much to see in Millarville.

People in Millarville even told us this.

It’s a tiny town nestled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, just a 30-minute drive southwest of Calgary’s urban centre. You can drive through the downtown core in a couple of minutes, even at playground zone speed.

But if you’re driving down Highway 22, also known as the Cowboy Trail, don’t pass by Millarville.

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Silence is golden

All I can hear is the gurgling of water, falling over rocks and tree roots, the chirp of woodland birds and the flutter of their feathers.

Fallen trees lie dead in the water, their rough bark long since washed away, their skin bleached by the blazing sun.

The birds dive closer, testing their invaders’ will, but we go nowhere.

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Humbled by greatness

The true north strong and free.

Sure, there are mountains elsewhere in the world.

I drove through the Cascades in Washington State over Christmas. The Laurentians in Quebec and the Adirondacks in New York State? Done and done.

But none of them felt like mine.

The Kananaskis and the Rockies? Mine.

All mine.

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Finding my Zen

I ran for the hills today.

I know people who have travelled the world over. And at times, I envy them that . . . to see the Greek ruins, the great pyramids, Stonehenge . . . aye me, that’s a long time on a plane.

Me? I’ve been to the easternmost point of Canada and the westernmost point of Canada, I’ve lived in five different provinces, and I’ve seen the beauty our great country holds from coast to coast.

OK, so I haven’t been to Manitoba yet, but really, what am I missing? (Sly jab at my Winnipeg friends.)

Never have I explored more, though, than in my current backyard. Southern Alberta continues to amaze me, with its remarkably calm lake waters, its massive blue sky, and its majestic Rocky Mountains.

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Happy Father’s Day

It was a day to get away.

We went in search of blue skies and dry ground.

We didn’t find it.

I did, however, find the connection and a little of the clarity I was seeking on this day.

It was, in fact, Father’s Day.

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