We’ve all seen our share of profound art. But being in a cave in semi-darkness among drawings created 24,000 years ago, astonished our perception of time and human achievement.
Don’t you love rhubarb?
Growing up on the prairies, rhubarb signaled that winter was over: dessert bowls of mom’s dull-coloured canned rhubarb with its bracing, teeth-cleaning acidity came to an end, replaced by her fresh rhubarb pies and mini cakes: sugared rhubarb and walnuts topped with a sweet-cream biscuit dough and baked in muffin tins. Yum! It doesn’t surprise me that rhubarb first came to Europe, it was considered a spring tonic.
“Change your money on the black market,” friends who’d been to Argentina advised, “You’ll get 25 percent more than at the banks.”
I was all for it, but Magellan was skeptical. “I don’t want to get robbed in some back alley,” he protested.
Letters, from a woman to her hiking boots.
The memory of May: what gladness I felt walking the country road to our one-room school, especially coming to the woodland marshes with their wild marigolds yellowing up beneath a sky of prairie blue. The same feeling we had last May, in Texas of all places, in Big Bend National Park at a place with a name that would be right at home in Saskatchewan—Cattail Falls.