We’ve changed our trip plans ever so slightly, to include a
visit to the Headwaters of the Mighty Mississippi. Originally, when we left
Calgary we were to drive from there to Marietta, GA. But in finding a place to
stay the first night, I’d realized that our best bet was to veer ever so
slightly off-course to Regina (and what an unexpectedly wonderful realization
that turned out to be). Our course thus altered, Sue noticed that our revised
route took us somewhat near Minnesota’s Lake Itaska. So why not check that out?
It’s practically on the way! Sure! Why not?
We didn’t get out all that early this morning. We’d enjoyed
ourselves so much in Regina, and particularly at Laurie’s, we were in no rush.
In fact, we even talked about trying to get in touch with her, to see if it
would be OK to stay another day. But realizing that behind this impulse was reluctance
to see our fantastic adventure come to an end, we “compromised” by staying as
late as we could.
And we had Laurie’s beautiful breakfast charcuterie to linger
over. I mentioned in yesterday’s post that she’s a caterer. This board of
boiled eggs, several varieties of cured meats and cheeses, gourmet olives,
fruits (even citrus!) and nuts was so artfully arranged and finished with an
array of colorful edible flowers, it was almost too pretty to eat. Almost.
After a mutually-satisfying exchange of my eggs for Sue’s olives we dug in and
still had plenty left over for a later picnic lunch.
So we packed our cooler, tidied up the apartment, and set out
for America.
We didn’t resume our drive on the Trans-Canada Highway because
the more direct route seemed to be on a more rural road. Google maps seemed to
confirm this, and I’ll mention right here that we have not been using GPS
navigation because neither one of us had bothered to check on our cell carriers’
terms for international use. Yeah, we went old-school. Rand McNally Atlas
style, baby! (Well, except my atlas is published by National Geographic. But
you catch my meaning.)
The drive was, once again, for the most part flat and straight
and boring. Until we spied a road sign: “Forget”. And I did “remember” (HaHa see
what I did there?) that my friend Tiffany had told me about this cool music venue
that she’d discovered while surfing the net … The Happy Nun, located in Forget,
Saskatchewan.
So we turned off the rural, paved, highway, and headed down the gravel
road to Forget. About a mile or so off the highway, the Happy Nun – and precious
little else – came into view.
We parked and got out of the car. Although we saw a few fairly
young children playing around, and those cars parked in front, and a door propped open, the neon “Open” sign was not on. Oh well, closed on Sunday,
most likely. We turned to get back into the car when a voice called out from
behind, “We’re open!”
A young woman – she may actually have been barefoot – motioned us
toward her and as we got closer she explained that they were experiencing a
little power outage in Forget. Not too big a deal, she went further to say,
this happens pretty often in Forget. (I’ll refrain, but the jokes just write
themselves, folks.) We could have anything, except the waffles, that we found
on the menu, she said.
So we went inside. In the entrance foyer, we saw on one wall a
large stenciling of lyrics from a song by a visiting musician. A guest book.
Some memorabilia. In the cafe itself we found wooden floors, a stage at the
far end, and books on shelves lining the walls. Some cozy easy chairs and some
beautifully-worn dining tables and chairs.
If you're interested in reading the lyrics, just click on the photo for an enlargement.
The Happy Nun, it seems, was once a school run by sisters from a
French convent. Oh. That explains both the name of the place and its slightly
institutional look. It’s now a café and a music venue, and I’ve included photos
and history here, for anyone who’d like to learn more about this charming and
unusual place.
The food and the coffee may have taken a little bit longer to
prepare, but first of all, kudos for taking the "can do" attitude and adapting despite the power outage. (I suspect that people who live in rural Saskatchewan are a little tougher and more resilient than I am.) Plus the pleasant surroundings and lack of internet made for a very
relaxing visit. More like leisure time of decades past: if you don’t want
conversation, grab a book or play a game or put a puzzle together. Though I
didn’t do so, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if they’d let me play the
piano had I asked. And the food, when it did arrive, was very, very tasty.
I did find myself wondering how they can survive, out in the
middle of what seemed to me to be nowhere. But I’ve kind of decided that life
in these parts – in many of the “parts” we’ve visited the last couple of weeks –
is very, very different from the life that I’m familiar with. No judgment call
at all, here. This was a cool place to go, and I wish I could invent some
reason to come back again from time to time.
Back on the road, more driving and riding and general
ho-humness, crossing into Manitoba until we turned south for the border. We entered
at a lonely-looking checkpoint north of Westhope, North Dakota. This crossing
was decidedly different from our crossing INto Canada. Remember how Henry made
not a peep when we crossed the border a few days ago? He "peeped," LOUDLY, as
soon as we got the green light to pull into the border checkpoint. Maybe it’s
because there were two agents standing there, as opposed to one agent seated quietly
tucked into a booth.
Beyond that, I cannot guess what set him off, but he WOULD NOT
SHUT UP. Fortunately – I guess – Sue was behind the wheel, leaving me (his owner) to try to
restrain him. I couldn’t clearly hear all the questions that Sue was responding
to. I heard something about guns or fireworks – no and no, of course. I heard
something about fruit and I heard Sue say no to that one too, except I
remembered the leftover grapes from this morning’s charcuterie and reminded her
of it. Right. The agent didn’t care about the grapes, but she did ask about
citrus, which we did have, although Sue had initially nervously answered “No” –
the citrus would have to be surrendered.
Bark Bark Bark
At some point, the agents decided they would have to search the
car, and the man specifically said that “Someone will have to hold the dog.”
So, obediently (I thought), I got out of the car thinking to leash Henry and
get him out of the car. Wrong! “Get back in the car, ma’am!” was the response
to this action, although I didn’t exactly hear them say this because Bark Bark Bark. Only the barking got even LOUDER because the agents had raised their
voices and ... “You’re yelling at my mom! Stop it! Now!” BARK BARK BARK! Then Sue started yelling at me also, “Just get back in the car,
Marcille!” At least I could somewhat hear her over Henry's din, since she was a little closer to me.
Now,
this whole incident didn’t last but a few seconds, but Henry’s life kind of passed
in front of my eyes, because he was giving his best impression as a vicious
animal to two agents that I do understand to have been only doing their job.
But both agents were armed, and I was extremely fearful of Henry lunging at one
of them. I held on to his collar, trying as best I could to twist my body in my
seat so that I could keep him restrained and facing forward until they were
done with their search.
But they took their time with the search. They pulled out Sue’s
tent that we’d packed just-in-case. “Why do you have camping gear?” (No,
the right answer to that would definitely not have been, “Why not?” It may have
been the accurate and correct answer, as it was the truth, but it certainly
would not have been the right answer under the circumstances.)
They rifled through more of our belongings, finally uncovering
Sue’s pistol case – which she had been using, not for her gun which was safely left
at home, but to safeguard her spotting scope. The next, obvious question was a terse challenge: “I thought you said you had no firearms.” Sue could not
get the words quickly enough out of her mouth to explain what that case was
really housing, but she invited them to look, and of course look they did.
Apparently satisfied that we were exactly who and what we
presented ourselves to be, and not – well, I can’t even imagine what they could
possibly have thought we were – they closed the back hatch and came back in for
one last question: “Why did you choose this border crossing?” Again, the right
answer to that question would definitely not have been “Why not?” but my pithy
answer was that it was along the quickest route to get us from Regina, where we’d
been visiting, to home (where I desperately wished I were right about then).
They may have been sorry that we chose that particular border crossing, but
believe me, I was even sorrier.
I do want to say that I understand that their job in general can be scary and stressful,
and probably in such a middle-of-nowhere crossing as wherever we were, even
more stressful. Their parents and spouses must have nightmares about bands of
armed terrorists choosing this quiet and unexpected point at which to enter the
US, blowing away the lone agents, and then speeding merrily away to create
mayhem.
But I will say, they – unwittingly aided by my sweet and protective pet – did a jam-up job of making the encounter scary
and stressful for me as well.
Once the female agent decided that Sue and I were every bit as
harmless as we generally appear to be, she relaxed somewhat. I believe she was even
making an attempt to soothe ruffled feathers, as she asked what kinds of
activities we’d been enjoying on our trip. She tried, but by this time I was in
no mood for small talk. Sue, however, warmed to the conversation, especially
when she and the agent discovered a mutual interest in birding … and by the
time Sue spied a bird she’d never seen before, actually jumping out of the car exclaiming,
“What was that? What was that?” (it was a grouse) the agent was so relaxed that
she didn’t even really notice that Sue had gotten out of the car.
Oddly enough, they never asked about Henry. Never asked to see
vaccination papers. Nothing.
That brief “ordeal” ended, we started making our way toward
Grand Forks. There’s not a lot to report from the drive. It looked a lot like
the drive from the earlier part of today, and yesterday. What? You thought
maybe the American plains would be less plain than the Canadian plains?
Finally have made it to Grand Forks, which is a pretty college
town, home of the University of North Dakota. We’ve found one of the best Days
Inns, ever, and the desk clerk even had treats, and pats for Mr. Henry! A big
5-Paw rating for Days Inn!
Tomorrow: Can you spell M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I?
More photos from the Forces of Nature Tour at Flickr.
