la vie de Praerie is another way of saying Life on the Prairie or Prairie Living. I know this is not correct French, I’ve used artistic license, and I also purposefully chose the archaic spelling because try and count how many Prairie entries there are on Google — I stopped counting at 216. I didn’t fancy getting lost in a crowd.
It took three years of living on this land – building the house, creating the home and garden and orchard and hen house and vegetable patch from scratch, before I came to see it for what it really is: a world away from the world.
Another kind of life is happening here. Sometimes there is drama in the weather, it wields huge influence. It does not come softly, softly. The wind screams, the sun scorches, the water has too much salt and the soil reluctantly yields growth. Summer temperatures are extreme. In winter, when it rains, things drown. Often there is silence. Sometimes the light is so surreal you stand amazed while it washes the sky, the mountains, the landscape. And then suddenly, there is the perfect evening. Indescribably perfect.
Distances are far. There is much solitude. Neighbours are all around but I cannot see a single house. Engulfed in clouds of dust we wave to each other on the dirt road .
There is comfort in unusual things: a hen’s excitement at the discovery of a cricket, a praying mantis looking back at you when you open the curtains, a cool evening breeze after a stinking hot day… Voices carried on the wind from a nearby farm where workers are picking fruit…..
Being here, is being alive. So I pick up my pen, my brush, my needle… and make things, draw things, paint things.
Sometimes I play the piano.