AMBASSADOR OF SOUTH EASTERN SASKATCHEWAN - Part I
IN AUGUST 2020 TOURISM SASKATCHEWAN LAUNCHED THEIR #SASKNICE INITIATIVE IN COLLABORATION WITH TOURISM CANADA TO PROMOTE COVID SAFE TRAVEL AND TOURISM THROUGHOUT THE PROVINCE. THE FOLLOWING IS PART 1 OF AN EXTENDED 3 PART ACCOMPANIMENT TO OUR VIDEO SUBMISSION AS RECOGNIZED AMBASSADORS OF SOUTH EASTERN SASKATCHEWAN.
ENJOY.
BLAKE
AMBASSADOR OF SOUTH EASTERN SASKATCHEWAN
I.
The warning came like the guttural growl of a cat and within seconds a storm had welcomed itself into our home. Immediately crisp and cool, sideways rain interrupted days of a muggy stillness and I rushed to batten the hatches. I knew it was coming as my neck had stiffened hours ago but now with every window in the house open I’m rushing to squeeze tabs and pull glass downwards. My wife, Melanie, stares out our backdoor as the petunias are being hammered from every direction. I clue into her look and do a quick bolt into the rain, unhinge the planters from our fire escape and jet back inside with a stuttering slip on the hardwood floor.
“Have you touched base with Little Jack?” she asks while grabbing for a towel to wipe the floor.
I pulled out my phone as we are expecting his arrival and sent him a short ‘be safe’ over Facebook Messenger. “He was leaving Fir Mountain just after supper,” I let her know.
Our travels with Little Jack have defined the past three years of our lives, embedding ourselves in each others’ careers. Soft spoken and self entertained, Little Jack mixes nicely splitting driving duties and capturing our adventures on camera. His last ten days were spent secluded in southwestern Saskatchewan with The Waverley Pickers, a new offshoot band of the folkie cousin duo, Kacy & Clayton. He is best in the shadows, filming for hours without a word spoken, creating how he wants to create and delivering what he wants to deliver. My first introduction to his work had me tracking down his number and committing to a nine music video concept in under the span of ten minutes. We are anxious for his arrival as veins of lightning scatter outside our kitchen window.
Interrupted by the storm’s sudden onset, I sit back down to continue my reading. I’ve been working through three books: The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, a lengthy tale of a young boy in Barcelona and his encounters with a Satanic like figure’s quest to destroy a rare book, What to Listen for in Music by Aaron Copland, a layman’s explanation of musical structure by the accomplished American composer, and finally, The Kingdom Of God Is Within You by Leo Tolstoy, described as one of the great anti-authoritarian texts of our time. All three, carried together and bounced between. I get another hour to read before the rainfall slows and Little Jack pulls up outside.
His ten day filming project warrants the gear hauled upstairs into our suite.
“I brought it all,” he says while passing me a 10 inch TV/VCR combo and miscellaneous camera stands.
Not having seen him for some time, his commitment to hair growth remains strong. A trendy “quarantine” look has his brown curls running past his shoulders with a beard to match. A bright yellow thrift store trucker hat with foam front attempting to contain his new look - YOU GIVE ME BRIGHT IDEAS it reads. He pulls his bare feet from his Bluntstones, sockless for nine years.
The entry to our apartment is filled with the contents of tomorrow’s convoy and now, Little Jack’s arsenal of Polaroid, VHS, Super 8 and Hi-Def cameras sit among our camping supplies and guitar cases. He unzips a teal and pink zipper on a black vinyl duffle bag, a neon Canadian Wheat Pool logo matching the ribboning, it’s 90’s vintage in mint condition. He pulls out a book and gives it to Melanie, Margaret Atwood Selected Poems, each sharing a fondness for the Canadian author.
“How was your drive?” she asks while accepting the gift.
“I watched it all,” he answered with the movement of his hand washing across the room, “it was wonderful.”
I am beat. My last couple days have been filled with the scheduling of our weekend while being forced to deal with the unnecessary incident of having my windshield bashed in by the likes of a hammer, baseball bat, or 15 pound rock. Regina’s unacknowledged meth crisis surrounds our home, from lawns filled with needles to rampant vandalization and gang tags, it’s a goddamn shame. I stress the importance of Little Jack bringing everything inside and excuse myself to prepare for bed.
* * *
The global pandemic imposed extreme self-reflection. With its uprooting of reality we were all jarred into a new state of existence that forced a showcase of our most basic and primal instincts. All sides of the human condition exposed and used to drum up panic and discomfort by the media. A sense of a full on apocalypse with the manic behaviour associated with toilet paper alone. I slipped from confusion to protectionism the quickest, vindicating my investment in dystopian literature. We’ve all loosely ran our gameplans in the case of a societal collapse, now, questioning if any aspects should be put into action. Never having been raised around firearms I began to consider the credence in better to have one and not need it than need one and not have it. However, I fulfill my sense of safety with golf irons tactically placed around our doorways.
Our home has become more than just a point of reference but finally where we live, considering the extent to which we toured over the last few years. As musicians, my wife and I felt like we had found our stride in American and European markets and remained hopeful that my plans to return to Texas and her plans to tour Sweden would be unaffected but before long our calendars were cleared.
In a line of work where relevancy is a primary driver, we felt a shock to our system, not to mention, the financial instability. Yet somehow I avoided the early movement towards livestreaming and virtual tip jars - to problem solve poor lighting and worse audio quality deserved a substantial investment. Merchandise still casually moved through e-commerce and a weekly trip to the post office was a saving grace.
My punchiest self took to Twitter as I began to see inconsistencies from what are supposed to be our most trusted institutes. The actions of our leaders were measured up against each other and I came out disappointed in virtually all of them. The left acted pious and the right acted ignorant. The public was seemingly unable to have anything but binary conversations and our provincial and federal governments taking full advantage of this weakness.
I withdrew from offering my opinion and left my online social channels cold turkey providing the clarity to focus on long term strategy. Manual labour and art. As my wife would comment, “It’s much more interesting to disappear.”
BLAKE BERGLUND - AMBASSADOR OF SOUTH EASTERN SASKATCHEWAN