excerpt
However, these supplement the hidden need to come back—to
break open a head of wheat or pick a bucket of saskatoons or drive
through the Qu’appelle valley or smell the smoky air during the
harvest season.
These acts bring me back to my roots and I ama young boy once
again digging Seneca roots in the Parkerview summer grazing
reserve or snaring rabbits in the winter or trudging to my first institutionalized
place of learning called Hard Rock School. Here I
was taught by the best teacher God placed in Saskatchewan, by
the name of Stanley Zawitkowski, a son of Polish immigrants,
who was so effective that everyone liked and respected him, in
spite of the historic old-world animosities. Most of the settlers in
this farming community were recent Ukrainian immigrants.
There were others nationalities as well, including a few Germans
and the odd English family. But the vast majority were of Ukrainian
descent, like my father and mother, who farmed in the area
approximately seven and a half miles north of Hubbard.
Libros Libertad 