Kim Hanson

Writing & Quilting

Waiting a Very Long Time – Part 2

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I had a fictional story published in Cricket magazine called The Trapped and Tangled Loon. It was based on a true story and the backdrop was Police Outpost Lake in Waterton Lakes National Park. I have to say that I was pretty excited. . . maybe thrilled is a better word.

In between, I had two photos published in the Sunlight Press.

Chinook Sky near Cochrane, Alberta

 

 

This was a very pleasant surprise for me. Although the pay is miniscule, the reward is huge. It’s made me feel compelled to learn more about how my camera works, a red, old-ish Nikon D3400.

After my first story was published in Chicken Soup for the Soul, Lucy Haines, the editor at Alberta Prime Times – a publication I must admit, I’d never heard of, called me on the phone. She asked me to write a piece for the online news publication about senior dog adoption in Alberta. Lucy is a very lovely lady. . . a complete pleasure to deal with. From the first article, came three more.

Querying a U.S. home-schooling publication called, The Old Schoolhouse, resulted in getting a contract to write for them about Bankhead, Alberta, a ghost town in the Rocky Mountains. The article was called Gateway to the Past. I’m hoping to get some more work from them in the very near future. Fingers crossed!

The old train cars that were used to haul coal from the mine in Bankhead, Alberta

Countless rejections have come my way; in the form of magazine and journal queries, for my children’s picture books sent to traditional publishers and for a detailed, lengthy quilt book proposal  I’d spent hours and hours on. Obviously, this is the toughest part. You work so hard for so long on a project that you whole-heartedly believe in, only to have the idea shot down out-of-hand. Worst of all, though, is when a proposal is submitted and you hear absolutely nothing! Rejections will continue. I only hope that in that flurry of negativity, there are some wonderful, positive opportunities that come my way.

The Sunlight Press published some more photos of mine this year. Both of these pictures are of Chief Mountain in Waterton Lakes National Park. The most intriguing detail about this beautiful mountain, is that many Indigenous Peoples of both Alberta and Montana, feel it has mystical powers.

 

 

Orion Magazine has recently accepted a photo of mine for publication sometime next year. Woods Reader Magazine has accepted an essay I wrote for publication in their next issue. I called it, A Wildfire’s Silver Living. This piece is about the Verdant Creek wildfire.

Basically, I query, I write, I submit. Then, I wait, wait and wait some more.

My deepest writing desire is definitely to write for children. I’d love to write about nature, forests, animals and being outside. The idea of writing a children’s book about the natural vibrations of a forest and why we feel so wonderful being in nature, is especially intriguing to me. Best case scenario would be to combine my writing with photographs in successful publishing ventures. Wish me luck!

I believe my writing is fueled by Taylor Sheridan’s words, “God is the land” (via Beth Dutton, that is).

Thank you so much for reading everyone.

I always really appreciate it.

Kim

 

Waiting a Very Long Time – Part One

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I’ve waited a very long time to be a writer. In grade eight, at Queen Elizabeth Junior High School, I had a story published in the school anthology. A week later, the vice-principal, Mr. Kelly, summoned me to his office. Given who I was at the time, I was terrified. He sat me down and asked me questions about what books I’d been reading.

 

“To Kill a Mockingbird,” I said. “In English Lit class”.

He folded his hands in front of him on the splintered, carved-up, wooden desk.

“Several teachers have remarked on your story. It’s very good, but it feels familiar. Did you copy it from somewhere? Because if you did, that’s called plagiarism. That is not allowed”.

I’d never even heard that word before. Tears stung my eyes. I didn’t want HIM seeing me cry.

“No, Mr. Kelly, I didn’t copy the story. It was from my mind.”

 

I don’t know if he believed me or not, but he let me go back to class. After that, I put my writing away for many, many years.

Once our children were grown, and our first grandchild was more independent, I began to revisit the idea of writing again. But, since I was a quilter and that came to me more naturally, I began designing quilts, submitting them to American quilting magazines and having them accepted. It was thrilling! I loved the process of designing, submitting and having my work published. It was very satisfying.

Stil,l wishing to move on to a true form of creative writing, I began taking writing classes online. After a little research, writers.com was my first stop. It’s mainly a text-based learning platform, which suits me just fine. Taking classes on everything from writing creative non-fiction to memoir to nature writing served me well. Loving the idea of learning and having “homework” to complete on a deadline was inspiring.

Experiencing some success, I had a nature-inspired story published in Woods Reader magazine, called The Birth Place Forest. It’s about adventures with Jacob, our first grandchild.

 

Jacob under his tree at the Silver Springs Birth Place Forest

 

Several of my stories have been published in Chicken Soup for the Soul books, one is about our sweet, departed maltese, Snowy, called Who Rescued Who; the other is about feeling overwhelmed and uncertain, called Somewhere in Between.

And then, the best thing ever. . .

 

 

Stay tuned for part two. . . . 

Take care

Kim

 

 

Rowley, Alberta – a Ghostly Place to Visit

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The flat prairie lands of southeast Alberta begin to change around Drumheller, as Hoodoos spring up without notice. Bordering each side of the secondary highway, the landscape rises skyward, in a unique, bumpy, hilly kind-of way.

 

Hoodoos in the background; Bierot’s Ferry in the foreground, carrying passengers across the Red Deer river.

 

Taking Highway 56 traveling 28 minutes north of Drumheller, there is a small, roadside sign at Township Road 324 announcing “Rowley”. Turning onto the dirt road, the ghost town is immediately visible.

It’s actually a ghost hamlet rather than a ghost town. In fact, unlike many other Albertan ghost towns, Rowley is where Casper the friendly ghost would live if he had the choice. It is not spooky, nor scary nor completely abandoned. It’s friendly, welcoming and a gem in the middle of the grasslands. Eleven residents call Rowley home.

Big, black crows circle overhead, squawking in a way only a crow can. Cats roam freely between the few homes, the vintage playground and the open prairie fields. The crows’ and cats’ presence and their sounds would add to a ghostly feel if in fact there were one. But, the few residents are out and about, mowing their lawn, picking up their mail and preparing for Saturday night pizza get-togethers. Two roosters waddle about on the dirt road, crowing as if dawn had just arrived. It was 3 p.m.

There is a church, a bank, a funeral home; all restored to near-former glory. The train station remains, and doubles as a museum.

 

Restored Funeral Home & Embalming

 

Rowley Train Station/Museum

 

There are several newer homes, recently built, constructed near residences that have been there for more than 50 years. An abandoned livery stable, home and shed have been left to weather in the elements. The old schoolhouse remains standing, living in the shadows of the majestic grain elevators. Main Street has had a face lift, with a wooden boardwalk for traversing both sides of the street. The ghost hamlet, in the spring and summer, is surrounded on all sides by green, green grass, open fields and farmer’s hay crops.

 

Main Street

 

Haunted Pharmacy

 

Grain Elevators

 

An old two-story home remains standing on Main Street, history and character and intrigue oozing from its broken windows. What once was a hospital, then a family home, then a backdrop for a movie, stands abandoned and untouched. . .the best kind of homage to the past. Its peeling paint is somehow appealing. Its’ rotting veranda, where the children of the town wait for the school bus, is vintage and charming. Its second story begs a second look. As one sweet and outgoing long-time resident explains,

“Unless they shore it up from the inside, the whole house will come down someday soon.”

 

Old Two-Storey home

 

Goose Tracks quilt, created in the 1930’s

 

Nature hugs this place. God is here in the breeze swaying the trees, the friendly wave of the neighbour on her tractor, and the way your eye seeks out the glory of the view toward the horizon. Bring your favourite canine along for the ride. They will love it!

 

Snowy our Maltese

Thanks so much everyone. Take care.

Kim

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Avoid the Chasm of Chaos

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Good day everyone. At my tender age of 66, I still feel as if life can be filled with chaos. There are always appointments to attend, groceries to buy and people to see. I feel an urge sometimes to isolate – to concentrate only on writing or quilting or home improvements. After all, I am an introvert that truly enjoys spending time alone. . . I get energy from doing that.

But, I also realize the need to be out and about in the world; to be with my grandchildren, to see family and friends, to attend yoga classes, to spend time with my aging Dad. These things stave off chaos in my world and instead, bring me order and calm. These things bring me joy. It’s ever so important to find your path to joy and revel in it.

 

A Sweet Gift of Time

When the family doctor rescinded my 80-year old Dad’s driver’s license, my siblings and I were overjoyed. I know that sounds cruel, but his GP did our family a great service. Dad’s mild dementia had become an issue and his eye sight was failing. We were ever so grateful to have him off the road.

Dad walking the 8th Avenue mall circa 1935

Since Dad is a stickler for the rules, he didn’t even try to drive his vehicle after his license was revoked. But that doesn’t mean he held back.

“I know that doctor has me mixed up with someone else,” he’d say over and over again. “Why did he take away my license? I’m fine to drive! I’m going to find another doctor who’ll give it back to me!”

Mercifully, he never followed through.

Like most people who have driven for many years, Dad’s life changed dramatically. No longer could he pick up and go wherever he wanted. No longer could he drive into the “office” even though he hadn’t really work there for years. No longer could he attend Calgary Flames games in person or go to his typical pregame meal at Boston Pizza. It was a difficult transition for him.

Dad lived with my elderly mom and middle-aged brother (their caretaker) in a home they’d owned for more than 30 years. When prostate cancer struck in 2014, for the first time in his life, Dad had to rely on someone else to ferry him about. That someone else was me.

Growing up, Dad was my advocate. . . his love and tender care had always seen me through difficult times as a child. He is a generous soul and was there for me whenever I needed him. But, our relationship lay on the surface of things; we didn’t delve into sensitive topics or discuss emotions or feelings. Even deep into my adulthood, we stuck to fluffy conversations about my children, grandchildren or sports – he and I can analyze a game for hours!

I began keeping track of and driving him to all his medical appointments, and in the initial stages of his diagnosis, there were many. He required hormone injections to keep the cancer at bay, regular trips to the lab for blood work to check on his PSA, and monthly CT and bone scans to check on the progress of his cancer. As a reminder, I called or texted him the day before a medical appointment. When I arrived on his doorstep, he was always ready to go, dressed in his “Sunday best”.

One morning, he had an appointment for a CT Scan in a neighbouring town. It was a long drive so we got an early start. Travelling in a south-easterly direction, along a major highway, a noisy freight train rumbled by on tracks running parallel to the road. Its presence tweaked something in my Dad’s mind, and he began to regale me with stories from his youth; stories I had never heard before. He told me how he and his brothers used to hang out at the CN rail yard. . . how they would take turns hiding from security in empty rail cars. He told me how they would play football in the off-limits, fenced yard adjacent to the train station and how they’d pick up wrapped candy that lay on the tracks, left behind by a shipment burst open in transit. He and his brothers were chased from the rail yard by the CN Police on an almost daily basis. As the sun rose over the horizon, I saw my Dad in a different light. His humanity came shining through.

He and I added a weekly lunch date to the routine of doctor appointments. On Mondays, we headed for the neighbourhood mall; always the same place, the familiarity of which made him feel safe. The benefits were twofold: Dad got some much needed exercise walking the corridors of the mall and I got to hear more of his stories. We’d order from A&W or Subway or have Chinese food. As we ate, he naturally carried on telling me more and more about his mom and his dad and his brothers and sisters. He told me he had to quit school in grade 11 to help support his huge family – after all, there were twelve of them! Being with him, wherever or whenever was a gift. . . it was a sweet gift of time.

Mom passed away in 2019. My parents had been married 65 years, so it was a huge adjustment for Dad to live without her. His prostate cancer spread to his back, but so far at his age of 90 years, it’s growth has halted. At each visit, his oncologist is amazed by Dad’s resiliency and his ability to keep going, no matter what.

I’ve been blessed. I’ve had both the time and the opportunity to glean a deeper, richer understanding of who my Dad really is. I’m connected to him now in a way I wasn’t before. For that, I’m forever grateful.

Talk again soon.

Kim

My Brand New, Beautiful Quilt Ladder

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Good day all! Nice to have you here with me, as always.

Way back in April-ish of 2022, I began to search for a quilt stand of sorts that I could display my quilts on, outdoors. I wanted it fairly large, fairly tall actually, so that visually, it would take up the appropriate amount of space in photos.

Now, there are many types and kinds of quilt racks on the market. But they are all made in the same mold, and are maybe 40″ tall. I needed one much, much taller.

Closing my eyes, I had a visual in mind. I started searching online. Nothing of interest was popping up. I took a look at the Kijiji website and did a search. I got a hit for someone advertising quilt ladders who lived in Innisfail, Alberta – about an hour and fifteen minute drive from Calgary. There were no photos on the Kijiji ad. I contacted the email address.

In writing, I tried to explain exactly what I needed. The person at the other end of the email said, “My husband can make you anything you want!”  She told me her husband would make me a wooden quilt ladder in whatever size I wished. Grabbing the tape measure, I got the exact dimensions of the back of the inside of my vehicle and gave them to her. I explained to her what I needed the quilt ladder for. . . in that it had to be able to stand on its own, not necessarily lean against a wall or fence, etc. She took a deposit from me via e-transfer, which I was so happy to send. It meant the process had started. Then, I waited.

Maybe two weeks go by. I get an email from the lovely lady in Innisfail whose name is Yvonne. I can go and pick up my quilt ladder anytime. It’s all ready to go home!  She sent me a photo of it.

I was ecstatic! It looked perfect. We drove north up Highway 2 the very next day.

When we arrived at the home on a cul-de-sac, Yvonne invited me in. My new quilt ladder was standing there in their living room. Yvonne’s husband, Merv, had made it exactly to my specifications! I thought it was beautiful and I said so, over and over again. Merv was pretty happy and proud of what he had made just for me. It’s exactly what I wanted and what I needed.

We paid them the balance owing in cash, visited for quite sometime, and then headed out. Rick was positive that my brand new quilt ladder WOULD NOT fit into the back of my vehicle. Quote: “There is no way that is going to fit in the back of your Rav.”  Merv and I exchanged a glance or two. He didn’t say anything. He and I knew it would fit – after all, I had measured.

Now, the ladder doesn’t fold in or collapse in any way, so it had to fit into my vehicle, as is. Lifting up the hatch door, we carefully slid it into place. Voila! A perfect fit! Yes, the driver’s side and the passenger side seats had to be squished toward the front, but there was still leg room for the drive home. (I’m glad we hadn’t brought the dogs along for the trip. Not too sure where they would have fit in).

I think my new, custom-made quilt ladder is beautiful. Merv even gave us some brown stain in a jar to take home, in case the ladder needed the occasional touch-up. I’ve taken it out to the ghost town of Rowley so far, with many more ghost towns still to visit.

I think it works perfectly for what I wanted. Thank you so much to Merv’s Quilt Ladders, to Merv himself and to the lovely Yvonne.

Here is their contact information:

Take care everyone.

Kim