The Westerners

Posted on August 29, 2026 by Skid

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Gee whiz, can you believe it Canada? Premiers Scott Moe (Saskatchewan) and Danielle Smith (Alberta) want to play ball with the Mad King of the South. Alberta wants to continue drinking bourbon and keep selling its tar sands oil to the USA, and Saskatchewan wants to keep pumping potash into American agribusiness. So much for a Team Canada approach to dealing with Trump’s Terrible Tariffs.

Keep in mind that both Alberta and Saskatchewan are part of the original “western alienation” movement that sprang from the federal government’s stance on national control of natural resources when the two areas became provinces in 1905. Based on their oil and cattle economies, Texas and Alberta seem made for each other, while Saskatchewan matches the oil pumping and dry land farming culture of some of the Great Plains states.

The majority of these US States and two provincial populations also tend to be socially conservative and fiercely supportive of individual rights and local resources over the collective national good. Politically, the old joke about “What happens when you cross a Texan with a Dakotan? Why, you get a conservative voting white, Christian Albertan!” rings all too true.

However, stereotyping is not helpful to constructive conversation. And considering my wife and I were married in Kananaskis, Alberta on the banks of the Bow River under the gaze of the Three Sisters mountain peaks, the separatists do not include some of my best friends. That and the memories of Grasslands National Park in Val Marie, Saskatchewan, as the most unique landscape on our cross-country trip for Canada’s 150th makes that province’s separation not open for discussion.

Canada is a unique coast to coast to coast experiment immersed in First People’s culture, colonial exploration and exploitation, resistance to American Republicanism, an outgoing, if sometimes superficial politeness, a sense of social justice, realization that we all “come from away,” and that “here” is where we choose to be. We are lobster, maple syrup, corn, wheat, beef and salmon. We are wood, hydro, uranium, aluminium, and steel. We are either paddling our canoe to safe harbours or dragging it back into the maelstrom.

To the fringe far right wing in Alberta and Saskatchewan, and the young protesters in Quebec, it’s time to decide if you are on Team Canada, or time to get out of the canoe and sink or swim on your own. Swim south down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico!

This is no time for Lily dippers.The way I see it.

*****

Skid Crease, Caledon

On a Happier Note …

Posted on August 25, 2026 by Skid

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In tumultuous times it’s wise to reflect on the random acts of kindness that keep us human. To calm myself down this morning after hearing about The Donald’s desire to rename Lake Ontario as Lake America, I recalled a chance meeting at my bank the other day.

It was one of those long line-up days where every teller was dealing with customers wanting credit cards or mortgage check-ups. To distract myself I started to focus on the back of the sweatshirt the person in front of me was wearing. It featured two Muskoka chairs in a bright sunset circle. I tapped her on the shoulder and said, “I like your sweatshirt logo – I’d love to be sitting there right now.”

The woman turned around with a sunshine smile and said, “Me too!” One question led to another and then to a discussion about our common love of the beauty of nature. I told her about the recent overnight camp I had done with children, and how awed they were with the sunset and sunrise they experienced. The wait in line flew by, and we shook hands and exchanged names before it was our turn at the teller’s booths. I left the bank with a smile.

A few days later, I was walking my dog around our neighbourhood when I heard my name being called. “Skid! I thought that was you.” I looked up into that sunshine smile once again. It was my new friend from the bank! “Hi, Andrea,” I said. “Do you live around here?” And yes, she did. Turns out we are one street apart and she knew the family that had given us our dog. We parted with a wave and a smile. New friends in the hood. When the universe throws us a lemon, it also gives us a chance to make lemonade.

We all need more Andrea moments. The way I see it.

The Gang of Five: 1 down, 4 to go

Posted on August 24, 2026 by Skid

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For a full term in our current Caledon Council, we witnessed the negative impact of Strong Mayor Powers on democracy. We also witnessed a record of voting block blindness that boggled the imagination. The infamous “Gang Of Five” voted as a team on almost every issue that challenged the line between developer influence and citizen concerns.

Well, with our Strong Mayor suddenly announcing her retirement after her multi-thousand dollar private fundraiser gala, we are one down, with four to go. Out of those four, only one is running unchallenged in his Ward. One is challenging for Mayor, and the other two are seeking re-election in their Wards.

The rest of the current list of candidates for Council consists either of Real Estate agents from Brampton, or Developers from Brampton, including a former Councillor seeking election as Mayor. Only one Councillor seeking election as Mayor represents the rural/urban composite that is Caledon.

Only five current candidates for Councillor positions are uncontaminated by the last term’s dictatorial behaviour. Let’s wake up, do our homework, and vote accordingly. The decision will obviously be up to Caledon’s constituents. I have my list of preferred current candidates based on track record, defence of democracy in Caledon, social justice and environmental literacy support, and no fear of speaking their truth to power.

And I can assure you that no member of the Group of Five will ever receive my support in a Caledon election. You are either with the people or with the Developers. Greed is not good, the way I see it.

Skid Crease, Caledon

An Elder Story

Posted on August 22, 2026 by Skid

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Son, Always Leave Your Campsite Cleaner Than You Found It

originally published by suzukiwebmaster | 10/25/2018 | Intergenerational Story Project

by Skid Crease

My father was, and still is, my hero. A prisoner-of-war survivor from Stalag Luft III of “The Great Escape” fame, he raised me with stories of ingenuity, humanity, and perseverance. Some of our favourite times together were on our fishing, camping and canoeing trips, when stories around the campfire took on mythical proportions.

Some of the best lessons I ever learned in life came from those stories, and often those lessons were encapsulated in wise one-liners. Here is my favourite life lesson, and the basis of my environmental literacy.

It was the late 1950’s, and we had spent a week out camping and fishing on Rice Lake. He was a wise teacher, framing every lesson in a story credited to some other person. When he showed me how to tie on a hook, or find bait under a log, or look for the ledges and overhangs and riffles and reed edges where fish might be waiting, or to eat what you caught, it was always something passed on from someone else.

It was an Anishnaabe guide from Temagami, or a trapper from Golden, or a canoe maker from Peterborough who had taught him. He was just passing on their wisdom. He was wise enough to know that it is very difficult sometimes for a son to listen to his father’s advice, but if it came from someone else’s wise father, well, that was acceptable. To paraphrase Mark Twain, “When I was a kid, I couldn’t believe how dumb my dad was; by the time I’d turned twenty, I couldn’t believe how much the old man had learned in ten years.”

On this particular trip, I learned to fillet a fish, cook a full meal over a campfire and make certain that fire was dead out before leaving. I learned how to select and prepare a safe and appropriate tent site, scavenge for firewood far away from the campsite, search for wisps of birch bark that had blown off the trees, chop and split wood safely, and light a fire in the pouring rain. I learned to find the North Star off the cup of the Big Dipper, read the wind and the clouds and the skin of our canoe in the morning for weather wisdom. All of this was taught to me through stories allegedly from someone who had taught my dad. He was simply passing it along.

He never took credit for any of these wisdoms. His motto was: “First, comes the Great Spirit that Loves Life; my fellow creatures come second; I am third.”

But the greatest lesson of all came when we prepared to head home. My dad walked me around the campsite, even back to the farthest areas from where we had collected firewood. Every trace of our time there was removed.

Even the campfire rocks were moved back and the ashes washed into the duff. The only thing left behind was a small pile of kindling and birch bark protected under a piece of tree bark, “For the next campers, if they know where to look,” he told me. Then he stood with his arm around my shoulders, looked out over the lake and said, “Son, always leave your campsite cleaner than you found it.”

The wisdom of our elders.

In memory of Harry S. Crease, father and friend

Stop Signs and Literacy

Posted on August 14, 2026 by Skid

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It should be quite simple. The big red octagon with the four large white letters spelling S-T-O-P. Even for a driver with severe dyslexia, the visual clue alone should do the trick. When we get our driver’s licence we are all taught to come to a full, complete stop at that Big Red 8 sided Sign. We are taught to stop completely being able to fully see the stop line, to check left, right, left again for vehicles, and to scan for pedestrians before proceeding.

We are also taught that failure to stop completely, if observed by an attentive police officer, is worthy of a $110.00 fine and 3 demerit points. A reasonable deterrent considering we are now sharing the roads with 10 year olds cruising on electric scooters at 25 klicks. We will discuss Parental Literacy in another post. Back to Stop Sign literacy. If we can’t stop at a Stop sign properly, we should turn in our car keys.

First, there is no such thing as a “rolling stop” often used as an excuse by illiterate drivers in a hurry. Still the same fine for failing to come to a full, complete STOP at the big red sign. Having pulled bodies from cars at the scenes of failure to stop fully completely, I have absolutely no patience with people who fail to stop in my child filled neighbourhood in Bolton.

Let me recount a recent incident with a resident driver who I will refer to as Simple Simon. I was just leaving my local Fortinos the other evening, when a vehicle cruised right through the stop sign at the street I was about to enter. I slammed on my brakes and hit the horn. I was fearful that their brakes had failed. The vehicle turned right, right down my street and sped away, As it did so, the male driver waved to me to follow. It was then I noticed he had a birth defect, only one finger on his hand.

Fearful for his safety I followed him home to advise him of my concern. His family must also have been concerned, because they all came out to greet me when I pulled up beside his home. I noticed that they also had the same genetic disposition to only having one finger on their right hands, which they proudly displayed. When I explained that I was concerned that the vehicle’s brakes had failed and I wanted to make sure the driver got home safely, I was told to pleasure myself. It was then that I realized the whole family was illiterate. I also noticed that they were all heavily tattooed.

Ah, perhaps new immigrants from the indigenous population of New Zealand. Although they looked a lot like the cast from Sons of Anarchy. I should have been more sensitive. Special needs and adjusting to our North American customs.

I wished them a nice day, and drove off as hey all rushed out into the street and saluted me as best they could with only one finger. I drove home slowly, realizing that we must do more to educate new immigrants to our driving rules that keep our communities safe. But also recognizing the reality that if you are illiterate, perhaps you shouldn’t be given a driver’s licence. The way I see it.