“Look out! Omygod, IT'S going to cross the road. Slow downnnnnnn!
A deer. A deer. Omygod, we almost hit a deer.”

“It wasn’t a deer. It was a moose. And it ‘s escaped back into the woods.”



Do I argue, discuss, relent?
“Are those trees dead from a forest fire or a blight? “
“Does a grisly attack us for our meat or because we have crossed into their territory? “
“Was that a bald eagle or a huge raven? “
“Do beavers make a damn to slow fish down?"   "Fish? I thought they liked bark?”

Mountain novices. Eastern Neophytes.

Maybe it was a tiny moose?

But I love the jabber, the ponderings, the musings, the discoveries. After all, at age 65, it is such fun to be a child again. To love to learn (and re-learn what has slipped away)

The humbling majesty of the mountains. The snow capped, magic wonders. A vista beyond the imagination.

I love the feelings of awe, the helplessness, and the challenge.


I am a pioneer.
I am traversing these mountains.
I wear deerskin. Or,maybe, moosehide.
I wear mukluks and carry a bowie knife. I know how to make shelters and fires from rubbing sticks together. I was a Brownie and then a Girl Guide for a year, so I am not totally inept. At least, I keep reminding myself.
 Davy Crockett was my favourite of the Walt Disney’s, and he ‘killed a bear when he was only three.”

I have John with me and he is naturally competent. He is 1/8th Metis and once got lost in the woods of Lac-de-l'Achigan, QC. He climbed a tree and found the shore. Maybe survival is in the genes. We can be successful together.


Our mountain climb was a gondola ride up Sulphur Mountain in Banff. We soared where eagles fly. 

We yearned for a sighting of a proud mountain goat, a curious brown bear or big horned sheep,  daring to share a moment of their private wilderness. I think I saw several, but none confirmed.

Back to ground, the highway unfolds. A downward glance leading to green velvet valleys, babbling brooks and running rivers, perfect idyllic farms, with old-fashioned mansard roofed barns, and cows lazily grazing on rolling hillsides.

Realism surfaces when a factory, salt mines, logging camps and gargantum machines, (what do they do?),  reminding us of human intervention. I close my eyes to this.

I see the miles and miles of escape and enjoy the time to dream, to feel alive, to fear and yet feel safe.

God’s Country, British Columbia and Alberta Mountains, our Pacific balance to Canada.



"Martha. Back there on the road?  I t WAS a moose!"

"How can you be so SURE?"

"Because I saw it." 


We are out west for 4 shows. We love you.
Please share, advice...we love to learn.