Spring comes to Banff in Small Increments

Although there has been signs that spring will come, it still hasn’t made its presence known. Snow continues to fall and it lays in piles all over the place, but if you look carefully, there are a few small signs of spring.

There is one stretch along Bear Avenue where a large pine nestles against the white faux Tudor façade of a hotel. A tiny ecosystem has been formed by the southern exposure of the hotel, the shelter of the pine, and the white paint that reflects the sun back onto the pine. It is a small space, and I wouldn't have noticed it if it were not for the calls of the birds that live in the pine.

Normally, the only birds you see in Banff in the winter are ravens and magpies. But in this tiny ecosystem there are lively little sparrows cavorting and celebrating spring. This one tree is a very busy hub of activity. Plans are obviously being made, mates are being chosen, and directions are being given. You can hear this tiny little community from quite a distance. Some days, in my hurry, I forget about this spot, but the noise of the sparrows whistling and squawking, always makes me stop and stare at the tree.


The other day, I was watching all of the usual activity when I noticed tiny little flies and insects flying around the tree. This is the first insect life I have seen since I arrived. I was amazed that here, in town, mostly made by man, but accidentally made by man, rests this tiny ecosystem. So fragile and, yet, so alive.

Second to Last...

I am getting into the second to last phase of my time in Banff. Tomorrow will be my second to last Saturday, and then Sunday will be… well you get the picture.

I was thinking about how impressive Banff can be in the winter—actually any time of the year, really. But if you spend enough time in one place, even Banff, you stop seeing it. You stop being present.

I imagine this is why I like the idea of travel, not that I always get to actually do it. But it is very attractive to go someplace, for a short time, to be present without struggling. You can see everything for the first time.

Going home too, enables you to feel present, but for a shorter time.

Dispatch from Banff IV

Soon I will be leaving Banff and returning to Vancouver. It is nice to know that my time here is ending. I have enjoyed being here, I have skied (both Nordic and alpine), hiked-up a mountain, ridden a gondola, and steeped in the hot springs. I have taken advantage of the pool, free yoga, and mountain fitness activities. I have even curled, and tomorrow I will add a snow shoeing adventure to my list.

What I have found, is that no matter where you are, no matter how beautiful it all is, you eventually become used to it. I remember my first few weeks here, I was always stopping and looking up. My frequent stops would have been quite a hazard if the locals weren’t used to it. They just walk around you. Like they walk around the deer and the elk that line the streets some days.

A couple of weeks ago, I stooped taking photos, started walking around tourists and elk and deer. I had taken every photo that can be taken by a tourist. I had bought all the tolerable post cards. Even the night stars began to fade for me. That is sad. That is when it stopped being fun to be here.

Today, I booked my ticket home. Knowing that I am leaving has helped make the stars pop (as they say) and the mountains are once again, amazing.

Dispatch from Banff III

Last night the temperate increased by several degrees after days and weeks of temperatures sitting closer to minus twenty. I think I nearly suffocated in my bed last night, as the thermostat was set rather high, and when the outside temperatures went up, the heater started working.

The weather in this part of the world can change quite radically, especially if the Chinook winds come. I have heard that in Pincher Creek, Alberta, the temperature can go from minus-thirty to plus-ten degrees in under an hour. I can’t imagine what that would be like.

I read that the Chinook winds come from the warm ocean air from the Pacific Northwest. I find it almost poetic to think of how the winds traverse the mountains, to bring warm reminders of home.

I miss home. In my garden, spring has begun. The snowdrops are finished and the crocuses are nearly done too. The daffodils are getting ready to bloom. The garden needs manure, and the raspberry canes need to be pruned. Last year, I ate my first asparagus from the garden on April 5th.

It is hard to imagine spring will come to Banff. There are huge piles of snow everywhere and no sign that winter will ever end.

Corn

I have been reading Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma, which has made me think about how corn has, according to Pollan, colonized us. It is an interesting premise that a plant has used us in order to perpetuate its species.

Corn is everywhere and it is in everything we eat; it is in the feed of the dairy and beef cattle, it is in the chicken feed, and it is used in almost every processed food preparation. For a period of time, I developed food sensitivities and one of the chief suspects was corn. I tried to avoid corn, which I soon realized was absolutely impossible. Corn was even in my cosmetics and my toothpaste.

Pollan explains that corn is almost incapable of surviving without us. That the same reason corn is so attractive to us, its rich, large kernels, also means that it can’t easily reseed itself. When corn is left unharvested on a field, the thick outer husk prevents the seeds from scattering. If the husk lies on the ground and manages to sprout, the volume of seeds means that each sprouting kernel would suffocate the other. A neighbour grows corn in the back fields of the farm, each harvest a few husks are left on the ground, even though they have been planting corn there for several years, I have never seen one corn volunteer. Pollan estimates that if we stopped planting corn, it would only last one or two seasons before it died out.

An interesting question is, “How did corn become corn?

Dispach from Banff II