Made with love, Gramma.

With the awareness of the looming transition to the working world, I preemptively took advantage of the the time I had this summer to spend at home. While enjoying the slow Saskatchewan pace and silent nights at Crooked Lake, K & I crossed something off the very top of our bucket list. For me, learn how to make Gramma's infamous apple pie (which I would live on if calories didn't count), for K, an attempt at mastering the equally delicious rhubarb with lemon meringue pie. Mouth watering stuff people.

Despite consuming what is likely approaching a fatal amount of Gramma's apple pies, I am hopeless in the kitchen and completely ignorant to the proces it takes to put together the piece of art that I so often crave. Instead I operate on the assumption that the basement deep freeze at 202 Alberta Drive is a magical place of never ending pies stocked by hard working pie fairies whose uniform includes a mini flour covered apron. And if you do raid the magical freezer's stock, upon the simple act of returning an empty pie plate, you will be rewarded with a full replacement pie!Gramma was incredibly patient with both K and I; providing the sweetest aprons, pausing for photos, and most importantly not breaking stride despite the numerous egg shells that seemed to find their way into the mix. It was a very special day for K and I, one which I definitely will never forget.
Our interpretation of the step, "whisk until you achieve 'soft peaks'"The lesson was a success on so many levels; delicious pies were made, we have an abundance of photos with cutesy aprons, K walked away with her own container of tapioca, but most importantly, we were able to spend a wonderful day with a woman we admire.

Thanks Gramma. You're the best.


"It's a beautiful day for a drive."

It's a line I grew up hearing, but never quite understood. If it's a beautiful day, wouldn't you rather be outside enjoying it, as opposed to trapped inside a gas burning machine for hours? (I still think modern science could nail down the teleporter if it really wanted to). 

But here in Saskatchewan, a beautiful day means that there are no ice slicked highways, no 50km/h winds blowing your little machine around (not to mention killing your gas mileage), and no dense fog disabling vision. No, a beautiful day in Saskatchewan equals a nice leisurely drive.

It's a beautiful day for a drive. I finally understood it today, as I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of my road-trip across these silent fields. I grew up in this gold blanketed province, but always seem to need time away to appreciate its beauty. The bluebell skies, the golden fields, the stagnant dugouts still frosted, defiantly ignoring Spring. And the flat, flat landscape, that makes driving a breeze! It's a field of dreams man. It's home.

Roadtrips remain forever unchanged. Blasting John Gormley's AM show while childishly racing trains. Watching farm machinery crawling at a snails pace, passing through deceivingly sleepy towns - venture two blocks off the highway to Main Street and you're guaranteed to find a town bustling with excitement; busy with school programs, various local initiatives, and filled with dedicated citizens wearing numerous hats all to selflessly keep their town alive.
And this my friends, it just the drive.

I wouldn't change it for the world.


Back in the New York Groove.

I tried to say goodbye, and shut down this page, rationalizing that it was not necessary anymore. I'm home, I'm boring! But then, as I was tackling the boxes of storage my parents have long been threatening to throw out , I came across a stash of photos, taken exactly seven years ago. Suddenly I'm back in Antigua at 2pm on a Wednesday afternoon in Saskatchewan.
I was 20, on my first adventure, eager to explore. I knew how many quetzales it took to feed my new coffee addiction, to purchase ripped dvds in the market from Javier, to take the chicken bus to Ciudad Vieja. I relied on Volcan Agua for direction, and surprised myself by becoming a 'napper' after exhausting marathon session spanish courses. Said classes took place on a rooftop surrounded by flowers, with a view of the three volcanoes; occasionally interrupting afternoon session with a quiet rumbling. I had no idea how lucky I was.
On my last day of courses my instructor re-gifted me his mother's donated Disney Top Girl Power Hits CD. (How on earth did he know me so well). It was fun, and it was difficult. But you adjust. I came to crave beans with every meal, slept through the roosters crows, and fumbled with the beautiful Spanish language, unapologetically abandoning any effort to master the subjunctive tense.

There are many more places I want to share and document. Adventures I want my friends and family to consider embarking on. And most importantly, I promised a certain German girl I would share stories about Saskatchewan  - because she promised to visit. So here it comes. Endless photos of the prairies (until the real world comes calling), and a wrap up of all those last Irish adventures I was too caught up with to share. Feel free to stop reading at any point, I won't be hurt. Truthfully, this page is a personal scrapbook.
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