I come from a province where the worst natural disaster in it's recent history was a snow storm that prompted the mayor of Toronto to call in the army to help with the heavy lifting. I am not attempting to be snide, Ontario snow is really quite heavy and even occasionally deep and abundant. Why, I can recall tens of days when I was forced to shovel for upwards of twenty to twenty-five minutes at a go. Imagine the savagery. I even got a blister once.
Albertans, however, seem to be made of sterner stuff. Tornado? Just tighten the ball cap and keep fishing. Hail? If it ain't biggern yer mama's Shih Tzu then quit yer whinin', Nancy. Floods may change the landscape, uproot your house and destroy your livelihood but, by damn, the Stampede will go on. Temperatures that dip below -40, then soar to 40-plus inside of four months aren't even to be remarked upon. Do not even get me started on the general apathy held for drought. It is dry here. Move on.
But then there's wildfire. Ah, I thought, here is something that Nature can deliver which will finally tighten the Albertan sphincter. With the ignition of the current and devastating wildfires on the Cold Lake Air Weapons Range, not 40 km to the north west of our fair town, I expected at least to hear some comparisons to wildfires of days gone by or how things used to burn hotter in the good old days. Indeed, everyone is very serious at the moment and there is a general sense that things could actually, just maybe, possibly get very bad.
Last night I spent two hours taking pictures of everything I own, including the camera I was using to take the pictures, and packing a go-bag with clothes, pet food, important documents and my copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide. When I finally opened the front door and stepped out, I expected to see a flurry of similar activity up and down my street.
And yet...
The kids are still at school and the lawns are still mowed and there is a big fish fry planned for the weekend after the rodeo. People are still going about their business as usual, and only occasionally glancing at the western horizon where a towering white cloud has been building for days. They are still making summer plans and having coffee dates and backyard barbecues.
Albertans are not fools. They seem to know that it isn't time to worry yet. They understand the danger of wildfire and it's disastrous effects but with their usual reserve they are also living their lives, not unconcerned but not frantic either, in this dusty province caught between prairie and paradise, because that is not just what Albertans do, it is who they are.
Albertans, however, seem to be made of sterner stuff. Tornado? Just tighten the ball cap and keep fishing. Hail? If it ain't biggern yer mama's Shih Tzu then quit yer whinin', Nancy. Floods may change the landscape, uproot your house and destroy your livelihood but, by damn, the Stampede will go on. Temperatures that dip below -40, then soar to 40-plus inside of four months aren't even to be remarked upon. Do not even get me started on the general apathy held for drought. It is dry here. Move on.
But then there's wildfire. Ah, I thought, here is something that Nature can deliver which will finally tighten the Albertan sphincter. With the ignition of the current and devastating wildfires on the Cold Lake Air Weapons Range, not 40 km to the north west of our fair town, I expected at least to hear some comparisons to wildfires of days gone by or how things used to burn hotter in the good old days. Indeed, everyone is very serious at the moment and there is a general sense that things could actually, just maybe, possibly get very bad.
Last night I spent two hours taking pictures of everything I own, including the camera I was using to take the pictures, and packing a go-bag with clothes, pet food, important documents and my copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide. When I finally opened the front door and stepped out, I expected to see a flurry of similar activity up and down my street.
And yet...
The kids are still at school and the lawns are still mowed and there is a big fish fry planned for the weekend after the rodeo. People are still going about their business as usual, and only occasionally glancing at the western horizon where a towering white cloud has been building for days. They are still making summer plans and having coffee dates and backyard barbecues.
Albertans are not fools. They seem to know that it isn't time to worry yet. They understand the danger of wildfire and it's disastrous effects but with their usual reserve they are also living their lives, not unconcerned but not frantic either, in this dusty province caught between prairie and paradise, because that is not just what Albertans do, it is who they are.
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