Drumheller and the Royal Tyrrell Museum...and IKEA.

This morning, I heard a crash from the kitchen and got up to investigate. There was Kowalski the Cat, sitting on the kitchen floor, blinking innocently. But unfortunately for him he'd been caught red-handed - or rather, yellow-pawed. A pan was overturned in the sink.  Last night Collin made curry, and turmeric seems to dye everything it comes in contact with a lovely golden saffron. 

I glared at the cat. He yawned, and blinked again. I figured curry wasn't great for cats, so I rolled up my metaphorical sleeves and picked Kowalski up by the armpits.

I should have left the metaphorical sleeves down, because therein lay the pet ownership lesson I kind-of-should-have-already known: never wash a cat without proper protective gear.  I held his wriggling, yowling, shedding little body under the faucet and he did an excellent job of shredding my arms to pieces.  It was while the water run orange with blood and exotic spices that I realized I hadn't updated the blog in a while.  The mind is a funny thing.

One of the reasons for the lack of updating was Collin and I had been feeling under the weather for a while -  some terrible Canadian virus had laid us out for most of two weeks.  Once we were feeling better, we decided to resume out Saturday Cultural Outings, starting with Drumheller.

Drumheller! Albertan Badlands! Land of Dinosaurs and bad land! As I mentioned in a previous post, a geologist had been wandering through a place called Horseshoe Canyon in 1884, when he'd stumbled over a large fossil embedded in the canyon wall. The fossil was a large theropod, smaller than its cousin Tyrannosaurus Rex, and was eventually named 'Albertosaurus'.

Here is where we went:

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I imagined myself like Loren Eiseley, wandering through towering hoodoos and reflecting philosophically on my surroundings. In actuality we stepped out of the car and were immediately blasted with gusts of frigid wind. My hat went sailing off my head, and I deeply regretted leaving my sweatshirt behind. We looked around for a trailhead, and saw a ground of people in the distance. They were crowded tightly together, looking doubtfully at something on the ground.

We got closer.  I realized it was not the ground they were looking at, but a hole in it. Moments later it dawned on me that that was not a hole, but the terrifically steep and muddy trail descending into the canyon. It was like the rolling green hills of canola crops had been ripped open, so sudden was the change in elevation. From the top of the trail we had an impressive view of the jaggedly-eroded landscape.  But I wanted a closer look, and to do so we would have to slide almost straight down.

It's hard to think Beautiful Thoughts About Nature when your eyes are streaming with tears and your nose is running from an icy wind, and you're sliding around in the mud and falling on your bum a lot. By the time we reached the bottom we were a bit worse for wear, but at least the winds were calmer. It is past the time for wild flowers here, which is a pity because the bottom of the canyon was overgrown with wild roses. I'm sure it would be gorgeous to see in June or July.

The landscape itself kind of reminded me of New Mexico except for the vegetation.   I've found myself struck by the ground cover here. There's juniper everywhere, but it grows close to the ground, almost like a vine. The canyon was erroded in places to form small hoodoo formations, and the dark gray and white striations were quite striking. I found out later that the gray bands were part of the Burgess Shale formation. Also known as: Where All The Fossils Come From.

Anyway, we tromped around happily for a while.  Further into the canyon we discovered an open area where dozens of hikers before us had erected a field of inuksuit (the plural of inuksuk, a travel site has just informed me).  Flat slabs of sedimentary rock lend themselves to this type of construction well.  Traditionally, these stone cairns indicate food stores or water, or demarcate a trail.  In this case, they were just a more striking way of declaring, "I Was Here!" than scratching one's name into the cliff side. 

Our final verdict of Horseshoe Canyon was that it was interesting for a short visit,  but we should have come better prepared shoes-and-jackets-wise.  Also, while it was an interesting site, I hope I won't be accused of over-partiality when I say that I think the hoodoos at Tent Rocks or El Malpais in New Mexico are more impressive. I'm glad we went, though.

We continued the drive through the flat farm land for a few more minutes to reach Drumheller proper and have lunch.  Then it was time for the dinosaur museum!!

The Royal Tyrrell Museum is named for Joseph Burr Tyrrell, the geologist who found that first fossil - the Alberosaurus skull - along the Red Deer River. It is a well-organized museum, and very popular, as well; although it was about a fifteen minute drive outside of town the exhibits were overflowing with people (as was the parking lot.  I had a brief conflict with a rabid mother who'd been driving in circles around the lot with a van full of children, and who actually jumped out of her vehicle to throw herself in front of my car to keep me from parking in an open spot.  I was annoyed until I later saw her kids in the museum.  Yikes.  Fair enough, lady.).

  The museum, their brochure tells me, is one of the most significant paleontological research facilities in North America. It was kind of cool to see plaques in empty display cases reading, "This specimen has been removed for further study". Several scientists and interns were cleaning fossils in a glass-fronted laboratory, and interactive screens gave more information and videos about the who, what, when and where of each.

It was really interesting to learn how active paleontology is in this part of the world, and how important historical research has become as well. Evidently, southern Alberta was one of the areas combed by Cope and Marsh during the the 'Great Dinosaur Rush', and many fossils deemed too difficult to excavate at that time or too incomplete were left in the ground. Scientists have studied old journal entries from those explorers to locate some of these dismissed sites. One was a massive bone bed, the size of a football field!

So I enjoyed myself.

It was late in the day, but the day was not quite over.  On Thursday, our coffee table/dining table/side table/footstool finally bit the dust, and I requested a table that would permit us to sit in real chairs, since Collin already has the real chairs. But we needed it to be cheap. Solution?

IKEA!! We found a table.  His name is Norden. The experience was exactly as the song says.



The table is currently being used to hold my sewing machine.  I'm going Little House on the Prairie and making some curtains, which, if they turn out to be not-completely-embarrassing, I will post a picture of.

Shakespeare In The Park, Cabin Fever(s)

Last Wednesday, Collin and I headed over to Prince's Island to see a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, put on by the drama masters students from University of Alberta and... d'oh.  Another place that has masters students.   It was really fantastic - I've never seen it performed before, and the setting was perfect for it.  I was really impressed by the cast's athleticism (the park's design is such that the scenes that conclude or are interspersed with Helena chasing Demetrius were incredibly effective and hilarious: the two actors were flat out sprinting after each other along the jogging paths).

We had a fun time, and the weather was lovely.  So, that was that.

On Saturday, we headed up north, east of Innisfail, to the banks of the the Red Deer River.  Some friends of ours have a family cabin they invited us up to, and we were both ready for some time outside of the city.  "Cabin" seems like a bit of an understatement: as one of our friends said, you can get a pretty good deal on land out there.  Most people who go to buy a cabin want a cabin in Banff, not on the edge of Badlands.

Most people are crazy, says I.   Their house was lovely, and fit three couples and two toddlers quite easily.  Some enterprising family member had also built a hot tub on the deck out of a plastic water trough and some copper plumbing, with a pump and a wood-burning stove to circulate hot water through it.  It was big enough to hold six adults (although we did end up recreating Archimede's 'Eureka' moment - and good luck trying to keep three off-duty physicists from idly calculating our collective volume when the opportunity presented itself).  It was a wonderfully relaxing spot to watch the Perseid meteor shower streak across the dark country sky.

The land owned by the family was atop a bluff.  Their neighbors on one side raised cattle and (I think?) potatoes, on another side was Crown land.

"Crown land?" Collin asked.  I was too busy being impressed by the proximity of royalty to comment.  I am, after all, an American.

Of course, it does not mean that it's literally owned by royalty (although in my defense, Edward, the Duke of Windsor, did own a ranch in the Bow Valley so there was some precedent for my assumption).  It merely means it's state land.  So nobody was likely to notice or care if we did end up tromping across it.

After I was told that there were fossils around, I went off to tromp with a vengeance.  Their property is bordered, as I mentioned, by the Red Deer River.  On the other side, above the narrow, verdant banks, rose a bluff of gorgeously banded sediments characteristic of the Albertan badlands.   It was along this river in 1884 that a geologist first discovered what was to become the province's official fossil: Albertosaurus sarcophagus.   So to say that I tromped is perhaps untrue - I may have actually been skipping as I left.

At least, at first.  While Collin remained back at the cabin with Bill and the kids, drinking beer and evidently being towed around by a four-year-old looking for mice, I was collecting several nice rocks, but hadn't found any fossils.  And my window of opportunity was closing, because I had done something very foolish before departing - I had forgotten to put on insect repellent.

As the sun sunk lower in the sky and the air became cooler, swarms began to gather.  At first it was just one or two irritating midges, but as I walked closer to the river, I was viciously attacked from all sides by mosquitos so massive I was surprised basic aerodynamic principles still permitted them to remain airborne after relieving me of several pints of blood.  Eventually I paused to gather a handful of long grasses to use as a kind of fly whisk, and wondered if the smoke created by lighting my hair on fire would be sufficient to deter the little beasts.

Eventually, physically and emotionally wounded, and suffering from extreme blood loss, I headed back to the cabin.  When I got there I found Collin, Bill, and Rebecca chilling out on the deck.

"How was your walk?" Rebecca asked.

"Fine.  Itchy.  I wasn't able to find any fossils," I replied.

Oh, she told me - they were just down a little ways.  We could walk there quickly after dinner!

And we did.  It did, seriously, only take about half an hour to reach the spot.  In a layer of pale, crumbling sandstone, pockmarked with iron globules, was the fossilized remains of a forest fire.  It was a little bizarre to remove a chunk of fossilized log and see the clear char marks on the end.

It may seem strange to end an entry about a weekend stay at a cabin with praise about their rocks.  So instead, I will conclude with another telling fact about the group of friends we stayed with: after playing 'Arkham Horror' (a board game so complex and time-intensive that it takes half an hour just to set it up), no one tried to throw it in the fire, and everyone was still willing to speak to me.  Good people.

On Friday, I decided to avail myself of one of the free Historic Calgary events going on around town.  Historic Calgary Week is a Very Big Deal, or maybe it just seems that way because we live in a rather historical part of the city.  A week and a half ago, we noticed some interesting banners and informational signs going up in many of the yards around the neighborhood, and later found out that these homes were taking part in the historic walking tour. 

I’ve been reading about local history, and I’ve read a lot about the “Founding Four”, the “Famous Five”, the “Group of Seven” (I sense a theme).  These were the wealthy landowners, the oil barons, the wives of businessmen, politicians, and newspapermen.  Understandably, the voices of regular Calgarians are not well-represented.  The walking tour gives people a chance to see their homes, and read a little bit about them (our street had several Italian families living on it in the early 1900s, one of whom owned a butcher’s shop nearby).  A house in the street over was owned by a dentist, others owned by railway employees.  Some stayed their whole lives, and some moved on during the tough economic times of the 19-teens.  

To make a long story short (and here I notice that the auto-correct in my word processing program has observed I’ve used a cliche*, to which I would like to respond, “Phttt!”), I love history I can touch and Historic Calgary Week hits me where I live.  Also, the Chinook Historical Society may be perhaps the most terrifyingly efficient volunteer organization I have ever come across, as they successfully orchestrated more than sixty events over seven days, up and down the entire Bow River valley.  There was one volunteer (I think her name was Dolores?) who must have been using teleportation technology because I saw her everywhere.  

The second City Hall, front, used
while the sandstone hall was
being built (pre-1906).

The tour I went on was of the old City Hall.  Originally, when Calgary was still just Fort Calgary, and the population was quite small, the town council met in a pool hall, whenever there was the need.  As the town grew, the pool hall was replaced with a shed-like structure, and the council met in a room a floor above where the RCMP kept their prison cells.  The town kept growing, and finally in 1906 they began construction of a “proper” city hall.  A city hall, I discovered, that was of the same template used in prairie towns across Canada during the period.  

According to our guide, you
can clearly see the style of the
building by the shape of the
windows and angle of the roof.

“The hall was designed in the Richardsonian Romanesque style, and is constructed from local Paskapoo sandstone,” said the guide. The sentence tickled me, so I copied it onto the back of the historical society’s brochure.  I’ve accidentally memorized it now so I sincerely hope the topic comes up again.  I have other facts rattling around, too: William Dodd was the architect and was fired for being over budget, the hall remained unfinished for four years, the Calgary seal carved over the front door has the wrong date (1882 instead of 1884) for the establishment of the city, and that the building is weathering in that peculiar way sandstone does - in large flakes of stone, rather like the sloughing-off of skin.

The rest of the tour was mildly interesting, but in the 1990’s they gutted and renovated the inside.  They have administration offices and meeting rooms in it, so it’s understandable, but that doesn’t make for a riveting tour.  We did get to watch a video about the clock tower (which you can watch here, if you’re interested), featuring a very endearing fellow explaining how they fixed it and how it works.

On the SW side of Olympic Plaza.
Two of the 'Famous Five': Nellie
McClung (left), and Irene Parlby
with the headline, "Women Are
Persons!", a decision that made
women eligible to serve in elected
offices.

Across the street from City Hall is Olympic Plaza and the historic Stephen Avenue.  Stephen Avenue is fun because during the day it is a pedestrian-only street, which means I can walk and ogle old buildings without being hit by cars.  

Exterior Burns Building. The
wrought iron verandah used to
contain panes of glass.

The Burns Building is kitty-corner from where I was, so I went over to check it out.  Books I’d read about Calgary history had huge entries on Pat Burns, one of the “Founding Four”.  He’d started out as a rancher, and built one of the largest beef business in Alberta - ‘Pat Burns’ Shamrock Brand’.  The Burns building became his downtown store - massive marble counters lined either side of a wide aisle, set between tall Greek columns.  The walls featured huge glass windows to let daylight in, and elegant chandeliers for light during the winter months.  Fancy stuff for a butchers shop!  

Well, they still have the fancy-
pants marble stairs.  And
tiny floor tiles.

Time marches on, however, and the inside of the ground floor - what used to be the meat market - has been cordoned off into sad, cramped little sections.  The corner was a tiny coffee shop, with more baristas than customers, all of whom were having a spirited discussion about sci-fi tropes.  Next door was a fast-food falafel joint.  I think there's a high-class restaurant on the south side of the building, too.  

Watching the Olympics on Stephen Ave, at lunch.

The Olympics are a big deal, but in a different way than I’ve seen in the States or in Australia.  I haven’t picked up any feeling of pervasive self-confidence that Canada Is Going To Win All The Medals, for one thing.  As one Canadian comedian commented, the Summer Olympics aren’t really their thing.  That hasn’t slowed the interest, though.  In pubs, the TVs are all turned to Olympic coverage and all the patrons remained riveted to the screens.  Walking through Eau Clair Market (a kind of mini-mall) this weekend, the lounge area was filled to standing-room only as Calgarians trickled in to watch the Canada/US Women’s Soccer match.  On Stephen Avenue, they’ve set up a massive screen.  It was lunch time when I walked up the avenue, and it was remarkable to see people emerging from offices, shops, and restaurants to eat their meals standing in the street so they could watch.  I glanced up to the +15 (the level of above-ground walkways that connect many of the buildings downtown - particularly handy during -40 temps, I’ll bet), and saw more businesspeople looking down from there, sandwiches in hand.

Continuing south, I walked past the Canada Pacific Railway and under the tracks.  I'd heard that there was a Carnegie Library in town, still operational, and I wanted to check it out.  Eventually, I found it in Memorial Park. One interesting fact about the library: a ladies' literary society originally pushed the idea of Calgary having a public library, and petitioned for a Carnegie grant to build it.  They ran into opposition from many Calgarians, however.  They disliked taking money from a man who'd made it from "slave labor" (a quick Wiki search suggests they may have been referring to the Homestead Strike in 1892, and the practice of hiring non-union immigrants?  Maybe?).  Eventually the library was built and dedicated in 1911.  I loved the architectural details, particularly along the roof.  

Was this a neo-classical style building,
built from Paskapoo sandstone?
Where was the tour guide when
you needed him?

Yarn Bombing FTW!

One more thing for the day: as I was leaving the park, I glanced down at the flowers bordering the exterior gate.  There was a small guard rail - so people wouldn't step on the flowers?  Someone had very thoughtfully knitted a colorful cozy for it.  

*The auto-correct also objects to my use of “gender-specific expressions” and “wordiness”.  How rude.  I think, I’ll use more commas, and see if I can confuse, it.

No, it’s okay with that.  Weird.

Belated Photos: The Calgary Stampede

Collin and I mosied on over the the Calgary Stampede during it's opening weekend.  We had thought about getting tickets in advance, but never quite got our acts together enough to do so, thinking perhaps we could just get them on the day.

Packed stadium for the earliest rodeo events.

That was a mistake, because the line for rodeo tickets was halfway down the midway by 11am.  Plus, there had been a lot of headlines about horses dying and accusations of general animal cruelty.  I know, I know - rodeos are a fine tradition, we have a history of being a ranching culture, those animals are treated better than they are on the farm (...and the revenue from a million tourists is quite handy to have..?).  Here's the thing: when cruelty happens on a farm, I haven't paid to take part in it.

Not that I said any of this at the time, swept away as I so often am by a wave of CULTURE!  But thinking back, I don't mind that we missed it.  I later learned that even more horses (4, I think) had to be put down when the chuck wagons collided during a race and they were irreparably injured.  So.

But what did we see?  Well, there was the annual poutine, of course.  It's thick-cut potato fries with cheese curd and brown gravy on it, and is, I suspect, the best evidence that Quebecois hate all non-francophones and their arteries.  It's nearly a biological weapon.

That did not stop Collin from getting some anyway.

Thus (questionably) fortified, we headed over to the First Nations encampment at the far north part of the grounds.  There several groups of girls making bannock around some campfires.  I didn't realize that representatives from each of the Plains tribes actually camp in their teepees during the stampede.  So, although I guess they don't really mind, I still felt a little awkward looking through their camp.  I did take a picture of a teepee, though.

A teepee.  Ooh, I can add captions!

There were also several native artists demonstrating their gorgeous bead and quill work.  I asked one elderly lady if she ever got headaches from all that close work, and she said no, but sometimes it was hard sitting for so long to finish things.  I hear ya!

During the day, we explored all of the exhibitions (sadly, no giant rabbits, but So. Many. Clydesdales.), as well as the World Sheep Shearing Competition and the World Blacksmith Championships:

World Championships, but contestants were all from Canada, the UK and Switzerland.

One of my favorites again this year was the art exhibits.  Many painters and sculptors were in the hall, doing live demonstrations of their craft (particularly interesting to see how artists frame for a bronze statues).  The textile arts were very impressive, as well, including this quilt to commemorate the Stampede's 100th Anniversary:

We had a fun day out, managing to avoid sunburn or dehydration, which just proves we're getting better at this Stampeding business.

Next Up: Downtown Calgary, and photos added to Bow River Walk.

Belated Photos: The Journey North

Although we did, indeed, cross over various pioneer trails west, neither Collin nor I came down with dysentery, and we never had to caulk my car to ford any rivers.  Unfortunately, neither did we have to hunt for our meals, which rendered my carload of ammunition pretty much useless.

Just kidding.  I totally ate bison meat on this trip.

Alright, no more Oregon Trail jokes.  The theme of our trip from ABQ to the YYC was: Fire.  More accurately:  FIRE!!!!

Here is the hotel we stayed at in Cheyenne, WY.  It had a serious fire three years ago, and never really rebuilt.

After driving all day, you can probably imagine my alarm at seeing that we had made reservations to stay in an abandoned hotel.  Yes, those are security fences erected around it.  On the upside, it gave me great ideas for a zombie setting for a story.  And actually the inside of our room was pretty nice.

Next, more smoke!  Everything from Colorado Springs to Bozeman was on fire, so this was our impression of Wyoming and southern Montana:

Actually, as we passed through the country where Custer and the 7th Calvary met their gruesome end, we saw dark smoke billowing from a bluff above us.  It was the 3rd of July, and I figured it was safe to blame it on fireworks, but who knows?

July 4th, we crossed the US/Canadian border.  I was promptly nearly run over by a camper driven by a pair of Floridians on their way to Alaska, but they kindly made up for it by agreeing to take our Victory picture:

And here's one more of Collin and Bruce The Car:

Next up: Belated Photos: The 100th Anniversary of the Calgary Stampede!