Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Documentary Film - Prairie Ghost Towns - Day 2

Saturday dawned overcast, cold and still windy.  At times there was a light drizzle or even a few snow pellets.  This sure made the exploring and photographing a challenge.  Rueben was pleased that the conditions made the locations seem even more desolate and bleak, and from the perspective of the documentary, it was ideal, even though we all were very uncomfortable. 
I can't stress strongly enough that we had permission to enter all of the towns and buildings that we explored during our trip.  It is critical to note that these places all remain, despite their condition, privately owned.  This report is not intended as an invitation to go out and explore places such as these.  The utmost respect must be shown to the owners of private property and they should only be explored with consent.  It takes a significant amount of time to track down the owners and make the contacts and gain this permission, but it is the only way to go.  My hat goes off to my friend Chris as he did all the work in this regard and I owe him a great deal of thanks.  I used to be one of those lazy photographers that would wander in without specific permission, but have come to respect and appreciate that there is a better way.
On this day we headed up to the town that was once Fusilier.  This town is located on private property.  We stopped at the nearby farm of an elderly gentleman named Jack.  Aside from a large amount of farmland in the area, he also owns the railway right of way and the grain elevator in the town.  Another neighbor owned the land across the right of way where a few other old buildings remain.  We visited with Jack for a while in the early afternoon and he showed us around his yard and shared some stories of his life spent in the area.  Then he took us over to the townsite.  Jack was a very interesting guy and spent the entire day with us.  He lives alone on a remote farm and at 87 years of age, his memory is becoming a little foggy.  He told us that the rail line came through the area in 1915, and once that date became stuck in his head, it seemed to have become a favorite. Almost every other memorable event also coincidentally happened during that year... despite the fact that Jack himself was not born until 1930.
This day included some exploration and photography and interviews with Jack as well as location interviews with those of us taking part in the trip.  Much of time was spent seeking shelter from the relentless winds.  At the end of the day it was with a sense of sadness that we had to say our goodbyes to Jack.  It ended with him giving each of us a hug.  We all want to make a point of stopping in some time to see him again... maybe together, or perhaps each on our own.  Obviously his days are numbered and it will be sad when he is no longer with us.  So many old stories will be lost when that day comes but hopefully we managed to document a little about him and the place.
We returned to Kindersley in the evening.  On the way back we made a stop at a nearby town called Smiley.  This place is also in decline, but is not as desolate and abandoned as the other towns we visited.  Nearby there is a rock wall made of field stones, and a sod house.  Some local farmer spent years accumulating the rocks and building this wall that must be several hundred yards long.  Perhaps a testament to what the wind and solitude does to a person's mind?
As this was Saturday, more restaurants were open and we had more choice than the night before.  We settled for a local Greek place and it was OK.  We then returned to our motel and visited until the wee hours.  We couldn't agree on whether the Scotch or Irish Whiskey was better so we continued to sample both.




















1 comment:

Chris BIGDoer Doering said...

Jack could keep us busy for days! That touching hug through me off - not unwanted but unexpected. I think we really connected with the old fella. I believe the Irish Whisky won the night. Not that your bottle of Scotch didn't have its charms, but it's hard to top perfection. Writer's Tears is what they drink in heaven.