My Drive Across Canada: Part 3—The Prairies

I emerged from the Lake of the Woods boreal forest into Manitoba’s true flatlands as I neared Winnipeg. Though, the eastern part of Manitoba was similar to the boreal hills of Ontario, it soon leveled out into flat stretches of prairie grasslands, and expansive fields of various crops including bright yellow fields of blooming canola.

Canola field in Saskatchewan (photo by Nina Munteanu)

It was early July and I’d caught it at its peak in flowering. Bright waves of yellow continued from Manitoba into Saskatchewan, where canola seemed to take over the land. At times all I saw was lemon yellow all the way to the horizon in all directions. Canola accounts for the largest area of land dedicated to any single crop in Saskatchewan. I’m told that there are over 22 million acres of canola growing in that province.

Train lumbers across a horizon of canola, west of Winnipeg, Manitoba (photo by Nina Munteanu)

Canola is a member of the crucifer family; it is a cool season crop that grows particularly well on the prairies, where cool nights and hot days allow it to develop its unique fatty acid profile. The name Canola was registered as a trademark in Canada in 1978. The name is essentially an acronym for CANadian Oil Low Acid. Prior to canola oil, most of the oil Canadians used for food purposes was imported. The canola plant was developed by two Canadian prairie plant scientists, Dr. Baldur Stefansson and Dr. Keith Downey, who bred rapeseed populations to develop a crop that would meet consumer demand for a healthy, edible oil product. Harvested seeds are crushed to produce canola oil, with the remainder used to create a high-protein meal for livestock and human consumption. Canola is kind of cool, given its versatile use from cooking oil pant-based protein, biofuel, animal feed to possibly even clothing!

Bridge across the Assiniboine River for the Trans Canada Highway

Before reaching Winnipeg, I crossed the Red River at Selkirk. This large river floods almost every  spring, covering large areas of flat land with muddy water. I touched on the Red River in an article I wrote about the impact of current agricultural practices on river dynamics and eventual flooding in the Niverville Citizen.

Nina Munteanu talks about watersheds in the Niverville Citizen

After passing through Winnipeg, near Portage La Prairie, Manitoba, I crossed the iconic Assiniboine River, as it flows from Saskatchewan and parallels the Trans Canada Highway as it flows east to Winnipeg to join the Red River.

Train crossing the Trans Canada Highway in Saskatchewan (photo by Nina Munteanu)

Driving through the prairies on the Trans Canada Highway, I often had to stop for a train crossing or slow down as a slow farm vehicle cut across my path on the highway. Here, the Trans Canada was just another country road and I was competing with tractors, farm vehicles and, in some cases, horse and wagon.

I made good time, driving the straight roads along flat and gently rolling landscapes sculpted by wind and water. This was big sky country, and I recalled that this was all a giant shallow and warm inland sea in prehistoric times.

Depiction of the prehistoric inland sea in Canada

Called the Western Interior Seaway, this Cretaceous inland sea stretched from the Arctic Ocean down to the Gulf of Mexico, connecting the two oceans and separating the continent into eastern (Appalachia) and western (Laramidia) landmasses and covering what is now most of Manitoba, Saskatchewan and part of Alberta. Existing from about 100 to 66 million years ago, this shallow marine sea supported a rich and diverse marine life, including the shell-crushing durophagous Ptychodus mortoni, apparently 10 metres long. I thought all this as I raced across a giant dry ocean of grass waving in the wind. I imagined myself a crab scuttling along the ocean floor beneath 760 m of water as giant sharks, 13-metre long mosasaurs and other exotic creatures swam leisurely above me. Is that why I found myself speeding along the highway and crossing into Saskatchewan before I knew it?

Sodium sulphate deposits of salt mine near Chaplin Lake, Saskatchewan (photo by NIna Munteanu)

Near the village of Chaplin, Saskatchewan, I stumbled on a moonscape of white chalk-like hills. This was the sodium sulphate mine on the northern shore of Chaplin Lake, a salt lake that is a major stop over for migratory birds that feed on its brine shrimp. I discovered that the lake formed in the late Pleistocene when glaciers shaped the landscape and deposited salts and other minerals into the soil and bedrock. As the glaciers receded in the late Pleistocene, meltwater channels dried and left isolated depressions filled with meltwater and groundwater rich in dissolved salts from underlying glacial deposits. Hot, dry summers and persistent winds common in the Saskatchewan prairies increased evaporation and concentrated salts, leading to crystalline sodium sulphate deposits, which created the salt lake. The salt mine started in 1947 and today is one of the largest producers of anhydrous sodium sulphate in North America with production capability of 285,000 tons per year.

Map showing Chaplin Lake
Salt deposits on the side of the road, near Chaplin, Sask (photo by NIna Munteanu)
Flat sage-grasslands plain under a darkening sky, near Piapot, Saskatchewan (photo by NIna Munteanu)

I continued through the Great Plains, west toward Alberta, across a rolling grassland mingled with sage. Along the stretch from Chaplin Lake past Swift Current through Piapot, the terrain grew distinctly dry and chaparral-like. I spotted various types of sage everywhere.  

I saw two types of native sage: left is Artemisia frigida; right is Artemisia ludoviciana (photos by NIna Munteanu)

Three types of native sage live in the grasslands of Saskatchewan: Pasture Sage or Prairie Sagewort (Artemisia frigida), Prairie Sage (Artemisia ludoviciana), and Silver Sagebrush (Artemisia cana). Pasture sage is an ‘increaser’ species; its population grows as rangeland condition deteriorates. It is a good indicator of overgrazing.

I also found ‘frothy’ clusters of pretty tiny white 5-petaled flowers that I finally identified as Prairie Baby’s Breath (Gypsophila paniculata), growing by the roadside and in the grasslands of Saskatchewan. The pretty tiny white 5-petaled flowers It’s a much branched perennial, the inflorescence often giving the plant a dome shape. Foliage is glaucous and plants are glabrous except for small hairs on the calyx. This plant has been designated a noxious weed in Saskatchewan.

Bunches of Gypsophila paniculata in a Saskatchewan grassland (photo by Nina Munteanu)
Close up of Gypsophila paniculata, Sask (photo by Nina Munteanu)

Then, in no time, I crossed the border and was approaching Medicine Hat in Alberta. But that’s Part 4 of this journey.

Rolling prairie hills near Medicine Hat, AB (photo by Nina Munteanu)

Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit  www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press (Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.

Returning Home…

Nina stands next to a giant redcedar, BC (photo by Anne Voute)

It’s been a few months since I moved back to British Columbia from Ontario.

I don’t have a place to live yet (currently crashing at a friend’s place, thanks to her kindness), but it feels right. And, more importantly, it feels like home.

Nina, early days in BC (photo H. Klassen)

I first came to BC over five decades ago, shortly after I graduated from Concordia University in Montreal. I started my first teaching job at the University of Victoria on Vancouver Island, first worked as an environmental consultant in Richmond, met my husband-to-be in Vancouver, wrote and published my first novel in Delta and raised my son in the village of Ladner, overlooking the Fraser River Estuary. I have deep nurturing roots here with family and friends. And wonderful memories.

Various winter scenes in Ontario (photos by Nina Munteanu)
Nina ‘snowbear’ enjoys a winter storm, ON (photo by M. Cox)
Hayes Line Road in the colours of autumn, ON (photo by NIna Munteanu)

As the seasons progress, I find that I do miss aspects of Ontario. I left behind a rich environment that closely reflected where I’d grown up as a kid, in the Eastern Townships of Quebec: the cold crisp snowy winters and colourful windy autumns of maple-beech forests. These feel like home too. I spent many days driving the country roads of the Kawarthas without a map, looking for adventure and a cup of good coffee at the end of it. In winter, I daily walked through knee-deep snow in magical forests, snow glinting under the moonlight. I frequented several favourite forests over the seasons, some old-growth like the Catchacoma old-growth hemlock forest, the Mark S. Burnham Maple-Beech-Hemlock-Cedar forest, the pine-cedar mixed forest of Jackson Creek, the Trent Nature Sanctuary cedar-pine mixed forest and the South Drumlin Maple-Beech forest. These, I will miss. They were a life-line to a sacred and holy part of my existence.

Nina studies a lilac bush, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)

I am building new memories of this new-old home, with more mature eyes and mind. When I left BC 15 years ago after my divorce, and son studying at university, to seek adventure across Canada (I spent several years on the east coast in Nova Scotia), I finally settled in Ontario, where I found fulfillment teaching at the University of Toronto. It was there, in Ontario, where I honed my ecological knowledge and rekindled my love for lichen and fungi. I immersed myself in their study and rediscovered a fascinating miniature world. I studied trees with more diligence, identifying virtually all the key species in the Carolinian forests I visited—and the fungi and lichens that grew on them and around them. I’ve become something of an expert in lichenology, able to identify many of the species I encounter, and also to understand their complex and fascinating ecology.

Various lichens, from top left: Punctellia reducta, Xanthoria elegans, Rizocarpon geographicum, Cladonia uncialis, and Cladonia pyxidata (photos by Nina Munteanu)

I now bring that new knowledge and appreciation back to coastal BC—my old and new home— with an excitement for more adventure in its magnificent rainforests, its small rural communities and coastal villages—and the cup of coffee at the end of it.

Port Renfrew, BC (photo by Nina Munteanu)

Nina checks her camera, Highland Creek, ON (photo by M. Cox)

p.s. When you know what to look for, you will see it; not before. That’s likely a tautology; but I found that it has applied to me over the years. And nowhere has it been more obvious to me than in my travels across Canada. My first trip across Canada was five decades ago, as a young sprite, heading west to do my PhD. I went by train and, though I saw much beauty, it passed me at speed. When I drove east to the coast, I recall lots and lots of trees, little else. But, my recent trip west from Ontario was landmarked with a new knowledge and appreciation for so many more layers of my environment; it became eye-opening. What I’d only remembered in the past as “so many trees”, became a fractal journey through boreal layers. I saw so much! I discovered so many ‘friends’: lichens, trees, rock formations, environments that I’d identified in my previous adventures. I became excited by it all. I was in a constant state of wonder. This was how I needed to see Canada. With a wide-open mind and the spirit of adventure.

I look forward to re-immersing myself in these coastal BC ecosystems with that same new understanding, and better informed eyes and mind.

Let it be.

Heron oversees activities in Ladner Marsh, BC (photo by NIna Munteanu)
Nina walks Highland Creek, ON (photos by M. Cox)

Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit  www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press(Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her latest novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.