Okay folks, if there are still any of you out there, here goes the long last tale of Alberta that will carry me home:
That Sunday morning I went to the fitness center at the Travelodge, lifted some weights and did the treadmill until company arrived and I beat a hasty retreat because people intimidate me in gym situations. I got dressed and put on my only clean shirt, the red Jack Twist? Jack Nasty! T-shirt that RouxB had gone thru hell to keep in one of the games we played, only to trade it to me for the t shirt I got coming in 2nd place in Brokeback Jeopardy. She told me it looked good on me, but I knew it could look better, intend to give it a better substrata to fit over.
That morning I met Gail from Oklahoma, who had arrived late on account of a funeral. I found myself classifying her and Judy in my mind as " a couple of doll's" because they sure seemed to fit the bill. Gail has this classic Clara Bow look to her and I told Lynne upon meeting her: hey, she talks like us! She and Judy had made it in about 1 am from an insane trip from the Calgary airport and were ready to go.
Not having been one to ever pay any attention to the printed scedual or ask what was next the whole week I failed to get with the program to go to the Twist Ranch and other sites that day. It was my fault and I don't feel so bad about it for myself by I had pursuaded Lynne to ride with me and Judy and Gail were following me. Had I not gone and got gas I might have had a clue, but I was operating under the impression we were headed to Dead Mans Flatts back up near Canmore and just doing the horses that evening. I felt bad about them missing out on the Twist Ranch, but what is done is done now.
We travelled on Highway One, thru Calgary, it seemed strange as it was a week to the day I had been on the same trek, past the space needle thingy and the olympic ski jump. Past the Car and Dog Wash. Talking of life and stuff, especially stuff. On and on toward Rt 40, which would take us to where we were rideing horses that afternoon, and then we get a call and learn we are lost. So, we turn back to Hwy 1 and go on to Dead Mans Flatts, a little community on the side of the road, where we have rooms in an old Mom and Pop establishment. We arrived too early to check in, but not too early to have lunch next door at then Husky Truck Stop, the only place in town to eat, with a delicious Denver Omelet Sandwich.
I decided that I would try and take the ladies to the sight of the second campsight above Canmore. We had just enough time I figured if we stepped on it, and man it got to be right tight, but I drove that Yaris back into Canmore one last time like a bat out of hell and put a few new ruts on that worshboard of a road. Lynne in the front seat holding on and I didn't look in the back seat to see how Judy and Gail was, but they kept talking so I figured they were okay. Went right up to the locked gate, dragging the ground and we hustled out to the lasso hill. From there we could see the camp sight, Goat Creek, but there was just not enought time to go down and check it out, so I ended up feeling even worser than I did for f'ing up the Twist Ranch. "We gotta go, we gotta go now." I told them.
We had to be at the horse place by 4:30 pm, and as we screamed thru Dead Mans Flatts I could see their cars in the parking lot, we were going to beat them there. I thought about stopping, but no, keep going or everyone will have to go to the bathroom.
Down Rt. 40 to the south we went on into Kananaskis Country. More wooded that the rugged other side of the mountain, the Goat Creek side, there was a sign alerting Moose to some crossing hazzard ahead which I thought was plum silly as Moose can't read as far as I know. We reached the place aout 10 mintutes before 5 pm and it was all good. A nice conference center and recreation facility, with a teepee just off the parking lot. The building itself was circular mostly, with a gift shop where I almost bought a blue enamel coffee cup to rememory the ocassion, but didn't. I signed my waiver and when the rest of them got there we mounted up. They got there about the time the wrangler got back with the previous riders, including a woman wearing a cheap tiara. Perfect timing, which is not the same thing as devine providence, but might be a first cousin.
There was Lynne, Judy, Gail, Paul, Meryl, RouxB and Eric and meself lead by a strappin' young feller name of Wayne if I remember right. He asked me had I ever rode before and I was proud to tell him: earlier this week. Then he wanted to know the name of the outfit and all that and hell I couldn't remember, down around Bragg Creek someplace I told him. Ellemeno didn't go, and I respect that. Riding horses can be fun, but it is always work. I liked how everyone looked on their horses, everyone of you all looked sexy. Looked like you should be smokin'.
What's this horses name? Waylon. He was a laid back horse. In fact the ride was somewhat comatose compared to Moose Mountain. It was an easy trail. Up thru the gentle hills, past the pictuesque ponds and bogs, the birds singing, the breeze blowing. I took a few pictures, but mostly I was just alone with my thoughts.
Now there is alone in the traditional sense, and there is alone in a group, like that. That alone I don't mind so much because there is the framework of the group there to support me and let me be. Being alone on your own is being vunerable, you don't get to relax, you have to stay on guard for a wolf or something. I felt like and old hand at this horse riding and luckily nothing came along to challenge that ass-umption.
Back at the ranch we dismounted, made our way to the bar inside to obtain beers, which we consumed outside on the picnic tables. This followed by a plate of nachos and the arrival of friends. The FBB gang had that day been to the first Ennis and Alma house, the sight of "If I had three hands I could.". They had been given a tour by the elderly female owner, who told them the history of the place, recent and not so. Goaboydc had obtained a small piece of wall paper from the ramshacked place to offer in the fire later. We settled in and the newcommers got to play a round of Brokeback Jeopardy, and I think it was Goaboydc and RouxB who were leading when the supper bell was announced.
Some good eating that night. When I eat red meat I like it well done, but I had no problem consuming it, the corn on the cob, the baked tater, the beans. Outside a fire was lit for us on a patio in a specially designed fire container. As we finished our meal we milled about outside, discussing the finer points betwixt dilly-dallying and lolly-gaging.
As the gloaming began, Meryl, the High Priestess, The MC, Meryl the Coordinator Extrodinair, got our attention and opened the program. Going by my pictorial record the first gift given out was to Rodney, from Pete and Eric, the antique ceremic creel case they had found in California, and carried all the way there, to Ranchman's parking lot and then on to this night. Meryl then thanked the Finding Brokeback Gang, giving them cards and presents in honor of their hard work and sharing with us, sting ties, so they would be ready come thanksgiving, for any type of altercation with any ole' son of a bitch. She then called Phil, and John, and Ellemeno up, for their hard work, founding and maintaining and dedicating so much time and effort to Bettermost, the canvass on which we have painted our stories. Belt Buckles, to clink and impress people with, people who don't rodeo much theirselves.
The it was my turn. The High Priestess had earlier that week appointed me the Shaman of the Cult, and I was very flattered to be called that. It is one thing to aspire to something, but to have it handed to you by authority is quite an honor. I took it seriously, had told her earlier what I hoped to do to honor a couple of people I had read about but never knew. Meryl also provided us with paper so we could write our message/prayer/whatever and add it to the fire.
Phil and John got it all on tape, so you'll see it for yourself oneday and I won's have to sit here and self agrandize too much. I did try an set the tone for a healing. That was what I wanted to get across was there is a lot of pain in the world, a lot of pain in our experences no matter who we are and there are opportunities everday to heal some of that, to make things better. I offered to the fire, to incenerate it and carry to where ever, an envelope entrusted to me by Front Ranger Lee, containing a swatch of cloth from the catche on Brokenback mountain in Wyoming. A swatch from a shirt from the same store where THE shirts had come from, placed there, only recently by SamChez, who I wish could have been there that week with us. it was gone in an instant.
In my own offering there was Brokenback as well, Sage, from there and from Lightning Flat, gathered on my second favorite trip of all time. Offered for healing for Weldon Culliton and Geoffrey Chapman, who were fine men. I never met them, but I know their sister and daughter and they are fine folks, who still love them.
And then, they came forward, most all of them, some speaking, some not, with their truths and prayers. Their confessions and wants. It was very moving. Rayn pour'd forth true to his name love that really touched me. RouxB read a poem by Pablo Neruda, perhaps I can find out the name of it, it was perfect and fitting and it was sacrificed to them beyond us as well. I'll stop here, don't wanna step on no toes.
Why do they go, and leave us with such mess to clean up? Why do we have to spend so much time undoing the meanness in the world, when we could be out enjoying it? I suppose it is a yink/yang thing, it all has to exist together, good and bad, in some sort of harmony. Like what E. Annie Proulx wrote in 1999:
"The digging is never done because the shovel scrapes at life itself. It is not possible to get it all, or even very much of it, but I gather what I can of the rough, tumbling crowd, the lone walkers and the voluble talkers, the high lonesome signers, the messages people write and leave for me to read."
And it ended with Annie Proulx, and Meryl called up Rodney. A sweet, gentle mountain of a man who has been on the road a long time it seems. I never really thought about it, but he reminds me of Loyal Blood, the character from Proulx's Postcards, just a lot happier. Rodney, the muse, the trubadore, recited, from memory, in perfect pitch and inflection, the dozy embrace. That, which came to be in Jack's mind the crux, the satisifying of some sexless hunger, ooooohhhhhh baby, bring it on. How many times I had read that passage, heard it read, seen it depicted. No telling, but that night it was put to me this way: Love, if nothing else, Love. Show some as often as you can.
Meryl took the ceremonial whiskey, the bottle from which we had all either drank or dabbed a bit to put behind our ears and she poured it in the fire and it roared with a mighty woosh. It was time for the hayride.
Well, now the famous hayride. How many people did we have on that thing? Thirty? Well, it was a wagon, outfitted with church pews that had to have come out of a Baptist Church, given their total lack of comfort. Out driver, as you have probably heard, was Troy. At last the mystery of what he was doing now had been solved. The hay part however came thru an almost Pavlovian turn of events in the gathering gloom of evening. Having rolled peacefully and unrestrained on rubber truck tires thru the woods, singing "Homo on the Range' and other campfire songs, we visited a family of penned up Buffalo and were treated to a dance by the youngest member. Just beyond that, starting up a hill, laughing and carring on with out a care in the world the two horses pulling us suddenly reached their limit. They could pull our asses no further and began faltering backward, one more so than the other. This put the vehicle at such an angle that there was concerns it may go over the embankment. Here, came our only association with hay, we had to bail (bale). And I must say I am proud of the spirit of cooperation that had served our group all week served us when we needed it. We bailed in a very orderly fashion, those who could helping others off this contraption. Many of us could have gotten majorily f'ed up, but the only physical injuries I knew of was Roland lost two pair of glasses and his camera was ruined for further use. Fabienne's daughters, I hope, are not permanently scarred by their and her experence with horses. See, its always something.
I was one of the last to get off and I remember thinking, oh, I wish I hadn't had that last beer.
We followed Troy up the hill and climbed back on, I was proud of Judy and her titanium knees getting up on that horse that afternoon and that, that thing in the evening. It was calm for the most part after that. A few scraps from tree branches when Troy took us to see the winter tee pee camp they offered trips to, lodgepole skeletons in the woods. Sasquatch looking for residents of Seattle. An unused volleyball net wating for us when we arrived back, will have to keep on waiting.
We had lost Abe along the way, and Mouk, and Kat and Flyer but this was the beginging of goodbye bigtime, to Fabieene and family, to Eric, to the FBB gang, To Rob and company, to Tamarack and others. In total darkness now, lit only by camera flashes and lights from windows. Sad and dry, not bittersweet but just dry.
Pete asked could he get a ride with me. I thought for a second what that would look like and said "Sure!" and he got his little self in that back seat of that Yaris betwixt Judy and Gail and we followed Paul and Meryl and others to our last spot on the mountain, before coming down. The moon was up, the land was lit. It was the full moon, the moon that has always been there, the moon that has seen everything that has happened since that bug crawled out of the water. The moon, that led Cigarbutt to the sheep, the Moon of the happy Ennis, who could paw the white out of it. The moon that shown that night on Mouk, somewhere on Native Land, in another ceremony, in another world. The moon that shown on each of you reading this, weather you saw it or not.
Meryl and Paul took us to a place they had found earlier, the perfect place it was. A park, on a lake, out on a peninsula so we could look back to the east, at the rising full moon, as it reflected in the water. And then, well, you just had to have been there. There are no words. I mean there was plenty of them, sang. The air was perfect. The temerature was perfect, when a breeze came up it was warm, not a shiver. No ghosts to haunt us. We stood there, drunk on the beauty of it all and we began to sing. Not Brokeback songs, we did try the Maker Makes, but it was a strain, too sad. We sang, in no order: Blue Moon, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, The Lion Sleeps Tonight, and I tell you people I was so happy I could paw the white out of the moon.
Standing there with one arm around Pete and touching Paul and the other arm around Juan and surrounded by my friends and the songs poured forth, and Kirk, oh my gawd, he got us in the right key, the right frame, the right mood and it was like being in A Chorus Line. The wind whipped up around us and all I could feel was love.
No, I never had me a more special moment than that. If I never have have anymore happiness, that memory will do me. Carter Bealer echos down from Whitman to me: That night I was happy. Is there anything else?
We sang out every song we thought we knew the words to, sang until there was only individual attempts at such as "Time in a Bottle" and the Fringer Lakes String Quartet version of YMCA, sung at dirge slowness. Ellemeno saw a shooting star, I hope she made a wish.
And at midnight we piled in our cars, "recon I'll head on up to Dead Mans Flatts". I dropped off the ladies and their bags still in my trunk from the afternoons sourjourns and carried Pete on to the hostel he was staying at in Canmore. Nice guy that Pete, and he made a wish that I would be able to come to San Francisco next month, and I, didn't put any stock in it. When will I ever learn?
I hurried back because time was short and the hour late, but in the upsatirs back of the motel they were waiting for me, Judy and Gail's room hosted me and Lynne and Juan, warm beer and popcorn and my cousin Vicky's Buffant. Tired and wired pilgrims we were. Before we knew it, the moon notched past two.
A wind we could neither see nor feel carried us off the next moring like rose pedals. Paul, Meryl, Roland, Phil, John, Rodney, Rayn, all flew away. Ellemeno however got to visit with her sister, both of them literally daughters of Alberta, who by devine providence (as there are no coincidences) were staying at the same motel in the same one horse town in Alberta at the same time. She brung with her video footage of the Bobcat in her back yard in California stealing an Avacado. I had no idea they ate Avacados.
There was a lazy time of breakfast and lunch for me, time for one last back rub, one last cuddle, one last hug, a chance for clean clothes to wear on the trip, one last conversation, one last sigh. Judy and Gail took off to catch up on sites and the Yaris, covered in dust born with the marks of those remaining.
And when the time came, I had not looked forward to it, but it was not hard, it was sad, but it was good. I hold those people in my heart, equally, and wish for them all they have given me. Ellemeno rode with me to the airport, did not see the tear in my eye at the car and dog wash when I had to wash my friends off my car.
That night, flying across Canada in the wee hours, my legs careful to guard the straw cowboy hat on the floor below me, I looked out and saw the waining but still full moon, shown down on the clouds below. it was beautiful, and a small comfort. Like the sun that saw me there, the moon was seeing me home again.
I returned to R L, to humidity, my cat waiting for me, my job secure and one of my situations graduated to a paycheck. And now what? I have completed my goal to share this, I can let go of it now that it is written. Let go of all that I wrote about, anyway.
There is still a space between what I know, and what I try to believe, and I can't do a damn thing about it. That is the space I will meet you in, friend, anytime, anyplace. I'll bring the beer. Twistoffs.
Topic: Shakesthegrounds Rumblings (Read 2595150 times)