O Canada

 O Canada! 

Our home and native land!

True patriot love in all of us command.

With glowing hearts we see thee rise,

The True North strong and free!

From far and wide,

O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

REFRAIN:

God keep our land glorious and free!

O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

O Canada! Where pines and maples grow,

Great prairies spread and lordly rivers flow,

How dear to us thy broad domains, 

From East to Western sea!

Thou land of hope for all who toil!

Thou True North, strong and free!

(Refrain)

O Canada! Beneath thy shining skies

May stalwart sons and gentle maidens rise,

To keep thee steadfast through the years

From East to Western sea,

Our own beloved native land,

Our True North, strong and free!

(Refrain)

Ruler Supreme, Who hearest humble prayer,

Hold our dominion within Thy loving care.

(Justin Tang / The Canadian Press) 

Help us to find, O God, in Thee
A lasting, rich reward,

As waiting for the Better Day,

We ever stand on guard

God keep our land glorious and free!

O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

Corona

This week. News reports eager to update us incessantly on new cases, rising death tolls, lost jobs, empty grocery shelves, restrictions on travel, restrictions on livelihoods, restrictions on freedoms. 

There are varying schools of thought presented, of course, as to the efficacy of treatment plans, the necessity of preventive measures, the degree of separation required, from quarantine to self isolation to social distancing.

So I am trying to do my part, from remaining largely at home to washing hands till they are raw to helping out where I can. 

This week. Very similar to last week, except that this week started with Palm Sunday and ended yesterday, Resurrection Sunday.

This is how I had envisioned Passion Week, as it is known, unfolding:

On Palm Sunday the Church at Endiang was due to have a service and the songs, story and teaching would reflect the triumphal yet humble entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, mounted on a young donkey.

(Credit: Brian Jekel)

Resurrection Sunday was all planned too: Allan and Angie were going to lead a special Easter song service, Susanne would have told a story, Pastor Allan would have reminded us that this is what the entire Christian faith hangs on - the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ, providing the way for us all to be forgiven of our sins and to have a personal relationship with God our heavenly father.

We had even distributed posters to be hung, and a few of the invitation cards had gone out:

And then, Corona. 

About ten days ago, the most beautiful calf was born. His mother, a large, placid Belted Galloway cow, released her baby to the world almost reluctantly. 

He is white, except for two sort of jet black circles of hair, one around his neck and the other around his hips.

I named him Corona. 

I remember the first time I had ever heard the word Corona. Mum called me outside: "Come quickly! We are in an eclipse! Look at the sun's corona! "

The sun looked like it was blotted out; the only way I could tell its form was that it was outlined with a shimmering halo, making it magical, fearful to a child.

"Why is it so dark? Is the sun dead? Will it be like that forever?" I asked my mother anxiously.

"Oh no - keep watching; the moon is blocking the light of the sun!" she replied cheerily; and of course, she was right. The axis of my world righted itself before too long and the dark unsettledness lifted. "As long as you can see the corona, you know the sun is still there," she reassured me as we walked back into the house.

The moon - who has no light source of its own apart from the sun - was blocking the sun? And the sun let it?!

I loved the word Corona from then on. It signified beauty, mystery, humility, royalty, something to be treasured and stored in the box of memories I keep tucked away in my heart. It was a promise that the sun was still there, that its light and warmth would return.    

I have spent long moments observing baby Corona. He is so, so white, for one thing! His mum and he love each other dearly. 

He practises social distancing, at least part of the time. 

And wherever he moves in the pen, it seems like the light follows him.

I showed my friend Ivy pictures of Corona and she exclaimed at his markings. She told me this: In days gone by, when a mother cow lost her calf and you had a calf that needed a mother, you would skin the poor dead little calf and place its hide over the orphan calf. The mother would smell her baby and because of that would accept the new little calf as her own. That's what your Corona looks like ...

Maybe it's because it's Easter in the time of Corona, but of course I thought of Jesus and His ultimate sacrifice: He freely gave up His life in order to bring us to God. Like the little dead calves of that earlier era, He is the go-between between God and us, the link between death and life. Because of His death we can approach God. And God, recognising His son's broken body, forgives us our sins and accepts us as His child if we will just ask Him to.

A brutal corona was crammed viciously on Jesus' head shortly before He was taken out to be crucified. A crown of thorns:

"The Crucified One" by C. Michael Dudash

The Bible tells us that as He hung on the cross darkness fell upon the land, the forces of evil trying one last time to extinguish the Son.

But Resurrection Sunday showed that at the other side of the darkness, the light of the world was not extinguished!

(Artist unknown)

So in this age of Corona, in the isolation, the not-knowing and the fear - for life and for liberty - don't lose hope. Remember, Corona is the light encompassing the darkness. This darkness will pass. Trust in the One who endured the greatest darkness of all and emerged triumphant on the other side.

Wash your hands.

Be kind one to another.

And let your light shine!

Potholes on the 855

Attention: Nate Horner. Re: The Indy 10K on the 855

Dear Mr. Horner,

I am writing as a concerned member of your constituency who lives on this terrible stretch of road just north of where Special Areas #2 ends and where Stettler County #6 begins, metres north of the cell tower on 34-0 and extending up to where 855 joins 589.

I'm sure you know it. Many of us along this decrepit ribbon of highway voted for you, looking for change. Looking for a way to drive this road without wrecking the alignment, both on our trucks and on our spines.

I have lived here for five years, and this is what I see:

Each summer, a beater-looking pick-up truck with some sort of 45-gallon drum rattling around in the back of it creeps down the road, accompanied by three crew members who look like they would rather be anywhere else than here, on this particular stretch of highway. The truck comes to a halt, sort of. It reminds me of a getaway car.

One crew member remains behind the steering wheel of the truck. The other two slowly get out, retrieve two small spades and gingerly scoop some black pavement stuff - oil and gravel - out of the barrel. They carefully walk to some preassigned pothole (really, who decides which potholes are SO BAD that they get the treatment in any particular year?!) and gingerly drop their little load into the same pothole. 

Next is where things can change up a bit. Sometimes they get two long-handled pounders - exactly like what I saw when I was doing relief work in a village in South Africa some years ago - and thump away on the pile of dark goo that they deposited some minutes earlier. Other times, they will skip the weaponry and will bravely stomp on the pile of stuff, tamping it down with their work boots (which I certainly hope the county pays for because the county pays for all equipment required to perform a job, does it not?).

Then they move to the next pothole. Not necessarily the pothole next to the one they just treated; the next pothole they have been assigned to fill. They usually don't even have to get back in the truck because it is not that far to walk to reach the next one. They also don't have any orange cones or anything to move because it doesn't take that long for a pothole to be treated.

They are very friendly, though. They wave. They feel our pain.

When the barrel is empty, the pothole repair unit leaves. They might come back one more day some time in the summer, but I don't hold my breath any more. 

What I do hold my breath for, however, is when I have to drive up that road. Potholes which weren't there the day before have grown overnight and can swallow a small car tire without even chewing. Pick-up trucks literally shudder as they bounce from one hole to the next.

And then, half-way along the stretch, there's the Washboard Challenge. A couple of years ago our county office must have found a bit of extra money because suddenly there were TWO trucks and a jovial bunch of workers who smeared a promising mixture of something across this part of the highway. I was so pleased; I had heard about my neighbour who had hit a pothole and lost a wheel off his truck … and who reported it and was told something would be done. And here, as promised, something was getting done!

A couple of weeks later the crew was gone and I started venturing out. 80 km / hour is the posted speed, and I was at it. I arrived at the newly paved area and suddenly it felt like I was losing control of the truck. The still-black tar mixture seemed spongy, sucking the truck into its trap and slurping it over to the side of the road. I slowed down as fast as I could to 45 km / hour, but still felt unsafe. I was so thankful when my truck shimmied off the other end of the stretch - and hit a pothole. Who knew I would be grateful for potholes?!

All these months later, nothing has changed. It is frightening to have to drive that road. There are great ridges of tar mixture that for whatever reason were never tamped down and that can spin a car off course. And heaven forbid that a vehicle should be coming at you from the other direction. Especially at night, where it's tough to see the dangerous spots when you have to pull over. 

Especially if it's a semi, a large number of which use this road on a regular basis.

I know that you have inherited this problem, which has stretched on for years. I know that your district suddenly grew with a leap and a bound and you have limited resources for what needs to be accomplished.

But I also know that if something is not done, soon, there will be a terrible accident on this stretch of 855.

Thank you for your patience in reading this letter. I could go on, but why? They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so attached are 13 pictures - 13,000 words I have just spared you from having to read! Pictures #6-13 are from this very afternoon. I wanted to be current.

I have written this in a light-hearted vein, but I could not be more serious. Please, Mr. Horner, I am begging you - before someone gets injured or worse - please get this stretch of highway repaired. 

Sincerely, 

[The Sidekick]

Pictures 1-3: Before the repair truck

Pictures 4-5: some of this year's repairs (it looks like a heart to me!)

How do you know which holes to repair?!

Today's rain gauge

The only measuring device on hand ...

Please go carefully:

I love my neighbours!