Northern Saskatchewan The lands were time
stands still, a land that is hard, cruel,
unforgiving, wild, untamed and immensely beautiful. A land that
will suffer no fools, you make a mistake and you are fortunate if you
get away with out paying a price.
I know this. Why do I repeatedly challenge and test my self against it?
Because I just can’t leave it alone.
In
the spring when the snow is melting and in the fall when the leaves
turn color, the blue of the far of hill beckons and calls until I have
to go and it is the northland that calls. The tall pines reflected in
the small hidden lakes with its single pair of loons, the trails
winding up, down and around tying the hills and valleys together, the
trails that was not blazed by man, trails that only the animals know.
The air is so clear and transparent that you can count the trees on the
far hills. In the spring when there are only patches of snow left on
the hills and the ice is lifting of the lakes the pools of still water
on top of the ice reflecting a sunset, while the rest of the ice is a
deep dusky blue. Or Pinkney Lake on a still cold October morning,
with
the skim of ice that has formed during the night along the shore line
and the mist hiding the far of hills, while the gold of the close hills
are reflected.
The changing seasons out by the Burnt Forest, by the Old Forest or on
the Purple Bog, the old logging roads, turned into narrow tapping
trails hiding visual treasures.
To paint it is to pick up the all the colors that you see and put them
down with one brush stroke and never correct a line or color.
This is a land that makes you fearless, brave, strong and free, with
the days that are yours to do with as you please, so will it be the Old
Forest to day, or the Purple Bog or may be Pinkney Lake what ever
you
choose, grab your survival gear, pack a lunch and go, the time is
yours.
