I never thought I’d miss the sky. I grew up in rural Saskatchewan, and I was never short of blue sky. Even in the winters, we’d have more hours of clear, cold blue sky than most people get in a really nice summer. When I moved to British Columbia, the Vancouver area, I gave up a lot of that blue sky. But when it wasn’t raining, the sky was blue. Azure. At times, almost sapphire.
Then I moved to Jakarta. There are moments when the sky is blue. Sometimes, when I’m outside swimming I can look up and see a little spot of blue, between the gray-brown-white-ish clouds. The geography of Jakarta lends itself to a sort of mixing bowl effect. When you add together the ingredients of twenty-some million people, millions of cars and motorcycles, a lack of good sanitation, and a low-lying city surrounded by hills, you get a nearly complete lack of blue sky.
When I visited Palu, there were kilometers in every direction of blue sky. Spectacular. Totally amazing. I miss blue sky.
I grew up in Saskatchewan. Well, until I was fourteen, that is. I lived on a farm outside of a village called Osler, about 35 kilometers north of Saskatoon. The landscape is as flat as you can imagine and the snowdrifts are colossal.
The drive home, yesterday, was not horrible, but certainly reminded me of my youthful days. The mountains disappeared behind a wall of snow and the prairie came alive in front of me. I even managed to get a photo of a pickup truck – the official vehicle of the Saskatchewan farm.