I never know what time it is in Saskatchewan.
Sure, it's in the same time zone as Alberta for half the year,
Manitoba for the other half. But the trouble is I can never remember
I admire that flatland feistiness, though. Nobody tells a
stubble-jumper what to do, how to think. Twice a year, they disembark
from their tractors, their farm trucks, their Honda Civics to stand in
the middle of the Trans Canada Highway facing whatever direction they
damned well feel like. Hand to heart, they proudly declare in one voice hell no, we won’t change.
No back and forthsies for these tillers of the soil. The wheat fields
may be buffeted by the winds of change, but not so the minds of their
stewards or the clocks they choose to ignore.
Their football fans are assholes, though.