Again, the landscape has changed. Miles before Brandon the earth started to fold into itself, green bushes and small trees filling each indentation. Small hills are rising; in the near distance entering Brandon, I see dirt roads in intervals going straight up them. There are more trees. More green. The gold fields of wheat, barley and other grains continue.

For hundreds of miles, though, I was nurtured by the rich colors of the Saskatchewan flatlands. Against changing arrangements of clouds in a gray sky, a bountiful palette of golds shone. Pale yellow-green fields glowed as if lit by the sun. Small circles marked the heart of newly cut fields. Tiny ponds ringed with tall green spears of vegetation flashed by. Next to the road, soft grasses and wildflowers flourished—yellow, pale white-gold and pinks, blue-green—bending to the wind. From time to time shocks of tall rusty brown stemmed plants erupted in this gentle blur of color.













In small ways, it was illuminating to be in a place where farmers are in the majority. Where, turning on area tv, a spokesperson for the agricultural community will be on the news, saying that higher fuel prices occuring around harvest time will really hit them, having to fuel all their big machines. Unlike other businesses, they can't pass that increase on to anyone. The town chatter sheet in the local cafe, full of jokes and ads, has one car repair place saying, bring your car in now for servicing, because when you're out in the field, you know you won't have time. I saw across the highway in passing, a flourescent red sign with hand lettering that said, Community (or traditional) Threshing, September 24. The last farm talk I heard was in the restaurant of the hotel in a small town, where we had fried chicken, their specialty. A long gray-haired and bearded man sat with a woman. Eating chicken. An older man appeared, in flannel shirt, jacket and hat. The younger man was guessing the age of the older one, about 90, I'd say. You're wrong. Well, then how old are you? 89. Well see, I was close. Didn't you just have a birthday? And they continued talking about a chemical—something hideous; don't remember the name, but it would cause shivers of fear in people who want organically grown food. The old guy said yeah, it'll take care of blah blah blah. And it'll take all of the hair off your head too.