Defining the "Prairie Girl": Eli Barsi

Eli Barsi with her husband and
bass player, John Cunningham

This story appeared in the May, 2013 issue of the Plain & Valley.

“Her life’s become a portrait, Of a cowgirl true and strong,/She always takes the high road, And her heart’s in tune with God,/She’s a picture perfect lady, An angel in my eyes,/She’s a portrait of a cowgirl, Forever painted in my life.”

- Eli Barsi, “Portrait of a Cowgirl”

By Chris Istace

Eli Barsi’s path as a singer, songwriter and recording artist has run as straight as a well-strung barbed wire fence.

It’s true that the Kennedy-raised artist has wandered the map of the Country-Western music scene. Like so many other songwriters, she moved to Nashville, Tenn. in 1987 to hone her writing, performing and guitar playing skills. She has since lived in Edmonton and Stony Plain, Alta., and had an eight-year stay in Branson, Mo. performing with Sons of the Pioneers beginning in 2002.

Artistically, however, Barsi has rarely ventured far from the kind of music that has granted her a multitude of award nominations and allowed her to perform throughout North America. In that regard, she has stayed true to her roots on the farm. Her repertoire of music over the past 25-plus years may be categorized into several genres – Western Roots, Bluegrass, Gospel, Contemporary Country, Traditional Country or Folk – but it’s all rural, it’s real and it’s from the heart.

In other words, Eli Barsi’s music is a pure artistic representation of herself, says her husband and band-mate, John Cunningham.

“The honesty and heart that she wears on her sleeve shines through her music,” he said on April 29 by email after attending the Saskatchewan Country Music Awards and Conference in Saskatoon.

“Her delivery is always without compromise and genuine. Something special happens when Eli sings. I love being a part of that.”

Barsi and Cunningham, a bass guitar player and lead guitarist, now live in Moosomin where they have established a home base from touring over the past two and half years. It’s also where they laid the foundation for Eli’s latest CD, “Portrait of a Cowgirl.” The recording, her 13^th since 1995, is scheduled to be released throughout Canada and the U.S. on June 1.

“(Moosomin) is close to family, close to my past and the good memories on the farm,” Barsi said. Her childhood home was located about seven kilometers southwest of Kennedy. “We enjoy small communities, and Moosomin is a great town with great people.”

Barsi admits that it is more difficult to network with others in the music industry from here, but finds the Internet a great tool for doing so.

“I have become very used to travelling a great distance to get to work. It’s easy to get to the airports and the U.S. border from here. When I get to go home after a long road trip, it’s nice to have a quiet, small town to return to.”

This rural lifestyle – particularly her experiences with the culture’s sensibilities, morals and ethics – inspired her to write much of what is contained on “Portrait of a Cowgirl.” The CD’s twelve songs reflect this theme as it pertains to a woman’s experience on the Prairies.

“I think that my audience wants to hear real stories about real people; stories that they can relate to,” she said. “I wanted (the CD) to be honest and positive, with a little bit of an edge and some fun elements as well.”

Barsi wrote the songs for the CD in spurts over about two years. She collaborated with three other songwriters on four of the numbers, but is the sole author of eight of the tracks. The project was completed in Saskatoon, but the work on the demos and preproduction was conducted in Barsi’s home studio.

“Farm Girl” sets the path the CD will follow. It profiles a girl leaving the farm for the city, but she is constantly mindful of home where ever she may be.

The CD’s title track, “Portrait of a Cowgirl,” is a gently tempoed song that tells the story of the 20^th Century farmwife, explaining the moral character and work ethic she develops through that experience.

“This song is a true story that was inspired by my mom’s life,” Barsi said. “She has made such an impact on my life and made a difference in the community and beyond. I have dedicated the album to her, my sister and my daughter, along with many other strong women that I have been blessed to know thus far.”

Barsi came up with the title of the CD long before she wrote the song of the same name. After beginning to write other songs that would follow the “Portrait of a Cowgirl” theme, she realized how well the title would fit a song about her mother.

“She was a hard working farm girl on the Prairies in the 1930s and 40s; a one-room school teacher, 4-H leader and farmer’s wife for 60 years,” Barsi said.

“When I finally got to sit down with the idea, it didn’t take very long for the lyrics to flow,” she said. “The music took a little longer to develop. I was happy with how it turned out and glad I didn’t rush the process.”

The first single release off the CD is “Hitch Your Wagon to a Star.” This track is an uplifting, mid-tempoed Contemporary Country song that urges the listener to chase their dreams regardless of where they are or what their circumstances may be.

You’ve gotta reach no matter where you are/ Hitch your wagon to that golden star/ It’s never too late to make your mark/ Don’t be afraid to raise that bar/ Hitch your wagon to a star, Barsi sings in the chorus.

Where ever she is during the process of creating a song, she leans heavily on her faith.

“I do a lot of soul searching when I’m writing. I feel very fortunate to have been blessed with the gift of music and that God has guided me to use it,” she said.

Portrait of a singer-songwriter

Barsi began singing at the age of three, following along with her father’s records at the Barsi farmhouse near Kennedy. When she was nine, she began singing at church and local events.

Three years later, she learned to play guitar and travelled to talent shows and music festivals throughout the Prairies. This was also when she penned her first song.

She hasn’t stopped since.

By the time she was a teenager, she was being asked to perform at weddings, anniversaries and some paying gigs.

Eli Barsi was now a professional musician.

“My mom did a little bit of singing and playing Hawaiian-style guitar. My dad was a multi-instrumentalist, playing fiddle, banjo, guitar and a bit of mandolin and piano,” she said. “He stopped playing many years before I was born, so I never got to hear him play.”

Nevertheless, Barsi’s parents fully supported her musical endeavors.

“Dad was always eager to find different instruments for me to try; guitar, mandolin, four-string banjo,” she said. “Mom got me started on a Sears chord organ and drove me to talent shows across the Prairies.”

Barsi is also well-known for her talents as a yodeler. Her ability to yodel developed from her mother’s inability to accomplish the singing form. Although she was 10 years into her career before she added yodeling to her repertoire, Barsi believes it adds a valuable dynamic to her show.

“My mom had done a little bit of singing at the Kennedy Rodeo years ago. She didn’t do any yodeling, but her performance story encouraged me,” said Barsi.

“She told me that she and a girlfriend would sing before the Rodeo up in the announcer’s booth and her favourite song was Patsy Montana’s ‘I Want to be a Cowboy’s Sweetheart.’ When it came to the yodeling part, she would leave it out, not knowing how to do it. People would compliment her, but add, ‘Too bad you didn’t yodel.’ She always remembered that and told me that I should learn how to yodel… My mom was right.”

Barsi’s recording career began in 1995 with “Unmarked Trail.” She followed that up with “The Way the West was Herd” three years later. She released 10 more CDs and a Christmas album through the next 13 years. In that time, she charted 11 radio singles in Canada and produced three videos for Country Music Television while touring throughout North America.

The accolades for her work were numerous and came from a variety of sources. Since 2001, she has been nominated about 30 times for a wide range of awards, from Female Vocalist and Female Yodeler to Best Album, and Song Collaboration of the Year honors.

Among the organizations noting her accomplishments are the Academy of Western Artists, the Western Music Association (WMA), the Saskatchewan Country Music Association (SCMA) and the American Academy of Western Artists (AAWA).

In 2002, Barsi won an AAWA award for Female Vocalist in Fort Worth, Tex. Four years later, she earned two awards. The AAWA gave her the Will Rogers Award for Female Vocalist in Dallas, Tex., and the WMA gave her the Crescendo Award for Best New Artist.

Barsi met her husband, John Cunningham, on stage in Edmonton in 1989. They were playing the same show in separate bands at the time.

Cunningham was born in Timmons, Ont., but raised in Ottawa, Ont. from the age of six. He grew up playing piano, and later took up the guitar and bass. He began performing professionally when he was 16, when he played lead guitar for a variety of groups in several different genres.

When he picked up the bass, the list of bands he backed grew even longer. Among them were Brad Johner, Jackie Allan (The Tommy Hunter Show), Ronnie Prophet, Tony Michael and a handful of Branson theatre shows.

“Every song that I have had to learn, I have learned something from it,” Cunningham said. “I have had the opportunity to learn and play thousands of songs and witnessed many live shows, learning from those people as well.”

Cunningham and Barsi have been married for 22 years, but have worked together on a fulltime basis for about eight. Barsi is more than confident in her husband’s capabilities as a musician.

“He’s well versed in guitar, bass guitar and harmony vocals,” she said. “He has been my main sound person for a number of years and is technically savvy with great ears, which is such an asset when we are on the road. I can always depend on having really great sound at every show. And he’s a pretty good yodeler too.”

The list of artists that have influenced Barsi is long and varied. Among those that stand most prominently in her mind are The Carter Family, Roy Acuff, Wilf Carter and the Sons of the Pioneers. The songwriters that have moved her include Dolly Parton, Nancy Griffith, Gary Fjellgaard and others.

Barsi’s songwriting process is somewhat solitary. She is most productive while driving her vehicle, where she can be alone with few distractions. During these periods, she is developing the melody and lyrics, although each song comes to her in a different way.

“It all depends on the story and where I think it needs to take the listener,” she said. “Once I have the ideas started, I like to sit down at the kitchen table to fine tune everything. That being said, I don’t always have the luxury of being ‘at home,’ so my writing locations have become flexible.”

Barsi and Cunningham do most of their recording at their home studio, where nine of the 13 CDs have been set down. Barsi said working at home is easy and convenient, but requires more responsibility with additional arranging, producing and engineering.

“Sometimes you need to distance yourself from all of that and just focus on the songs and vocals,” she said. “I was happy that I went that route this time (for ‘Portraits of a Cowgirl’).”

However, Barsi finds the most fulfilling part of her career outside of the studio. She loves to travel and meet people where ever she is performing.

“Throughout the last 27 years, I have been so blessed to have had the opportunity to meet some really great people from all walks of life,” she said. “Traveling with my husband is also a highlight. We make a good team and we have a lot of fun.”

That aspect of the business is important to Barsi. She and Cunningham have a wide range of responsibilities as independent artists in an industry she describes as “a very tough road.”

But the feeling she gets while performing on stage compensates for the hard work required to get there.

“That is when I feel most like myself and at home. It takes a lot of work to get there and keep the shows rolling in,” she said. “Being on stage is about 20 per cent of what I do. The other 80 per cent is set aside for rehearsing, writing, booking the shows, emailing contacts, advertising, booking flights, renting cars, booking hotel rooms, radio interviews, marketing, etcetera.”

Outside of all of that, Barsi is also considering a venture into television. Some time ago, she auditioned for a job hosting a travel show, where she was among the final three candidates to be handed the job. This experience brought opportunities to host two other travel shows which had pilots shot in 2012.

“Both travel shows have unique themes which my disclaimer does not allow me to discuss. However, they also incorporated my music and writing, which was very exciting for me,” she said, adding that the programs are currently being shopped to several Canadian and European broadcasters.

“Time will tell when and where the shows will be aired,” she said.

Barsi will continue to tour her “Portrait of a Cowgirl” CD through to the end of September. She played the Moosomin Community Theatre on April 18, where she was well received by her home audience. May through September, she and Cunningham will perform shows in Saskatchewan, Alberta, New York and Nashville.

A full schedule of her shows and her CD discography is available at elibarsi.com.

The Bodybuilding Mom: Busy as Usual

This story appeared in the May 13, 2013 issue of the World-Spectator in Moosomin, Sask. under the headline, "First year on bodybuilding stage for Teshia Nosterud."

Since late 2011, Teshia Nosterud has been a busy mother who juggled the varied responsibilities of home, business and a job. This year, she squeezed in her rookie season as an amateur bikini bodybuilder. 

 

Teshia Nosterud with her son, Lenox.

 

By Chris Istace


Moosomin’s Teshia Nosterud opens the door to the refrigerator then turns to her eighteen-month-old son, Lenox, who is sitting in a highchair behind her.

“What do you want? Juice? Water? Milk?” she asks him.

“Jyaah,” Lenox says, reaching for whatever his mother hands him.

“I’ll take that as milk,” she says, filling his sippy-cup and closing the fridge door. “He usually calls milk ‘water.’ It’s his thing right now.”

This is Teshia’s life for now; watching over her son, working shifts at Strive Fitness Centre in Moosomin and helping run Devo’s Plumbing and Heating with her husband Devin Nosterud.

However, for the previous five months, Teshia threw one more obligation on her schedule.

The 25-year-old former resident of Whitewood has just completed her rookie year of

competitive bodybuilding in the Saskatchewan Amateur Bodybuilding Association’s (SABBA) Bikini-Short division.

She opened the 2013 season with a fourth place finish at the SABBA Saskatchewan Gymstar Apparel Novice Championships in Moose Jaw on April 13. She followed that by earning eighth at the SABBA Provincial Championships in Saskatoon a week later.

Finally, she failed to place at an Ultimate Fitness Events competition in Saskatoon on April 27.
“I expected it to be hard but I didn’t expect as many athletes as there were and how good they

would look,” Teshia said while sitting at her kitchen table last week. “More than half the girls were in their second year of competing. I was very pleased with my placing considering the amount of experienced girls that were there.”

Her husband, Devin, was not concerned about Teshia’s ability to juggle her responsibilities. The most important one – caring for their son – had always been a shared obligation anyway.

“I knew we would be able to work it out,” he said. “He’s a pretty easy kid to look after.”

Teshia, a certified personal training specialist, was introduced to the idea of bodybuilding by a trainer she worked with in Saskatoon about five years ago. At that time, SABBA didn’t have a Bikini division and the more-intense Figure competition was a higher step in the sport than she was willing to go into.

“The Figure division competitors are just too cut for me, but a year later, they brought in Bikini,” she said. “I was pregnant when I found out they had it, so I had to wait. Lenox was seven or eight months old (when she returned to exercising). I needed a goal to work with, so I thought I’d compete. I was personal training again and thought I’d broaden my horizons.”

She hired a coach and nutritionist from Saskatoon – who were later replaced by another couple from Swift Current, Lyris and Ryan Cappelle  – and began dieting and training. Her regimen included weight training six days a week with Saturday off and cardio-vascular exercise every morning before breakfast. Teshia admitted working at the local gym helped.

“I was going to the gym every morning and busting my hump, but wasn’t seeing the results that I wanted to see. I thought I’d do this and get my body where I wanted it to be,” she said. “Once you start, you have to finish because of the mental stress and discipline you’ve already gone through. Once you start and see results, you have to keep going anyway. You want to finish.”

However, she found some portions of her meal plan inconvenient. She had trouble finding the foods she required and had to purchase her supplements online or drive to Regina to get the right products.

Her diet began with an eight-week, contest-prep menu, which began just more than a year after Lenox was born. She followed that with a more intense diet that carried through to her final competition.

“(The meal plan) is very disciplined. An outline has every meal laid out and measured, right down to how much ketchup or dressing I can have,” Teshia said, adding that she brought her own meals with her if she was eating at a restaurant or at someone else’s home.

“I only had one treat meal per week where I could eat whatever I wanted with the restrictions of no bread and no pasta. I had to negotiate that because my coach did not include a cheat meal in the plan.”

Teshia said she loved the experience and learned a lot; like how important her diet was to getting effective results out of her training. She will be returning to her program in the fall to prepare for the 2014 SABBA competition.

Of all her discoveries through her intense preparations, Teshia was surprised by how her moods swung during the experience. She blames it on the diet.

“I didn’t realize how emotional I would get,” she said. “I wasn’t able to eat whatever I wanted. I had to be on a schedule with all of my meals. I had to take my meals everywhere. Plus, I was doing cardio in the morning, so I was lacking sleep. Then, in the end, I was losing carbs - though I never totally carb cut. But as they got to be less and less, it was taking a toll on my body and I was getting very emotional.”

Considering she enjoyed the training aspect of the process so much, working out became her reward for sticking to her meal plan.

“I was seeing the results, so it was very easy to go to the gym,” she said.

Devin was patient about Teshia’s change in personality.

“From what I heard about other people when they compete, I think I was really lucky,” he said. “She was very pleasant through the whole thing. There were a few times when she was down and a bit grouchy, but nothing was out of the ordinary for any other person on a day-to-day basis.”

And that’s how Devin supported his wife; moment-to-moment, helping her cope with the change in her lifestyle and pushing her when she needed a nudge back in the right direction.

Devin is excited about the prospects of his wife continuing to compete. Teshia’s involvement in fitness as both a career and a sport has motivated him to take better care of himself. He says it’s easier to go to the gym everyday and eat properly when you can share the experience and motivate each other.

“I think (Teshia’s continued competition) is a great idea,” he said. “It is a really healthy lifestyle to live and the whole competition experience was very neat. It’s a great community to get involved in.”

In fact, he admits that he has been “swept up” in the whole experience and may consider a run at competitive bodybuilding himself.
“But it won’t be for a few years,” he said. “I don’t think it would work with both of us doing the strict diet and workout plan while trying to run a new business and raise a young child.”

Overall, outside of wishing she was better prepared for the competition, Teshia said she wouldn’t change anything about her rookie bodybuilding season. She met a lot of new people and garnered great advice for use in the future.

Teshia will maintain a healthy, off-season diet with a couple more cheat meals per week, but plans to maintain some of her training schedule. She feels she needs to build muscle mass, meaning she will work the weights five days a week. Her cardio exercise will take place six days per week.

“I had an awesome time,” she said. “There were a few struggles. It was mentally straining, but I wouldn’t change it. Now that I’m not doing it all, I feel that I should be doing something. It’s completely changed my outlook on exercise nutrition and how I should take care of my body.”

And with her rookie season behind her, she has a better understanding about what it takes to compete.

“You have to be completely committed. I know that now for next year,” Teshia said.

Nosterud's top placing was fourth at the
2013 SABBA Novice Championships on April 13.

New doctor will be valuable friend.

Coral and I met with Dr. Akram Zwai yesterday, the neurosurgeon who will be performing my operation in about four weeks. He was thorough and honest about the prognosis - which seems good, by the way - but what impressed me most was his sense of humour and his absolutely positive, affirming, uplifting attitude. He's a young professional who knows holistic health care.

His first prescription was to smile more and laugh often. Awesome.

He even played into one of the jokes I wrote on Twitter on Friday. I told him about leaving a scalpel in my head to add a little edge to my wit.

"I don't know about that," he said, grabbing something from the desk behind him. "But will a letter opener do?"

Apparently, I will be meeting Dr. Zwai on an annual basis for the rest of my life (or until he decides to move on elsewhere).

I'd rather not be in the situation I am in, but thus far, the man I met yesterday is someone who will be a valuable acquaintance moving forward. Not just to fulfill my medical needs, but to strengthen me emotionally and spiritually.

As you can tell, I'm stunned by our encounter.

Medically, the tumour is not where I first thought. I saw the MRI results, which showed the mass being above my right eye starting where you would see my eyebrow and running towards the temple.

Dr. Zwai's concern is that the tumour has infiltrated the bone in my forehead, which will require a more thorough surgery and a follow up of radiation to kill any remaining sick cells. He has ordered a CT scan in the coming days to determine the exact location/penetration of the tumour.

If the mass has entered a sinus cavity in the area, it may have to cleaned and filled. My main concern with that was if it would affect my speaking (singing) ability - if it would make me nasally. He said it wouldn't.

And what may have caused the tumour - both this one and the one in 2002? Dr. Zwai suspects it was smoking. He wasn't afraid of shaming me due to that fact, but in a way that was positive and motivating.

I should note that I'm feeling well, especially compared to the experience I had in 2002. This time, I have slight headaches once in a while, sporadic feelings of absolute exhaustion, slight sinus problems and mood swings. That's nothing compared to the torture I endured in 2002.

And other than being told not to perform strenuous labor for long periods of time, I'm totally functional. I will continue to freelance write and perform gigs with The Old 21 leading up to the surgery.

Which is good. I need some semblance of normalcy after having another tire iron bashed into my life.

Onward and upward, though.

He thought I had drowned

As a teen growing up in Whitewood, Sask., I hunted a lot. Every day, in fact.

Before earning my driver's license, my friends and I would grab a bag of ammunition and our shotguns and walk the required 500 yards out of town limits to begin shooting Ruffed Grouse, Sharp-tail Grouse and Hungarian Partridge. It was a blast (pun intended).

After gaining my license, however, my friend Dale Sawatzki and I would exchange driving responsibilities; he in his beat up two-door car, I in my mother's mini-van.

On one occasion, we traveled to the St. Hubert, Sask. area to track some geese. After crawling about half a kilometre across a field and through a dry slough, I bagged three geese - two snows and a Canada - that were feeding just southeast of the St. Hubert Mission. It was closing in on noon, the time when hunting geese legally ended, so we decided to make a quick trip to Lake McKay to try see what we could locate there.

Lake McKay is a small reservoir on Pipestone Creek located a few kilometres east of St. Hubert. It's depth then never reached more than 15 feet. As children, my father would take us there with our Uncle Rene Paquin to catch Northern Pike. Rene generally had a pail full of fish before we had even had a nibble.

Dale and I drove slowly and carefully down the south hill of a grid road that went through the Pipestone Valley and cut the reservoir in half. We saw nothing close enough to shoot, so we parked the car along the side of the road and walked further down to hide in the ditch to knock down any geese or ducks returning from the surrounding fields.

We barely reached the valley floor when a group of three Canada's flying east low in the sky came right over top of us. I unloaded both barrels of Dale's father's double-barrelled shotgun - a weapon I preferred to use over my semi-automatic, which Dale willingly accepted in its place. One of the geese got hit, crippling it mortally. It continued to flutter its wings, coming down in a spiral about 200 yards out onto Lake McKay.

Someone was going to have to get wet. Coincidentally, Dale and I had discussed bringing an inflatable dingy with us as we packed the car that morning. We decided against it. We were now kicking ourselves.

Dale and I looked at each other, both of us wondering who was would volunteer first to swim out and get that goose.

"Aaaah, f%$& it. I'll go," Dale volunteered. It was a cold October day with a skiff of snow on the ground in some areas. Nevertheless, he stripped to his underwear and tip-toed towards the edge of the lake. He stuck a toe into the water - arms crossed on his chest to warm his body - and immediately changed his mind.

"Don't worry about it. I shot it. I'll get it," I said, half-heartedly confident that I could accomplish the feat.

"I'll get the car warmed up for you," Dale said with a smile as he got dressed again.

I removed my boots and four layers of clothing and clambered down the ditch to the water. I refused to dip a toe, worried that it would make the little confidence I had disappear. I was up to my calfs when I realized how cold the water was. I could feel my lips turning blue as I moved in up to my chest, then - unable to handle the gooey lake floor between my toes - began to breast crawl towards the goose.

The water had to be near freezing. How it didn't have a skim of ice on it was - according to my skin - a miracle. I had forgotten to remove my glasses and did everything I could to keep them from falling off of my face. There was no way of retrieving them in that murky soup should I have lost them.

Five minutes later, I had the goose in my hands and was moving towards the north shore at a 90 degree angle from where I had come. In the background, I could hear Dale gunning the engine of his vehicle, getting it warmed up for my arrival.

Along the north shore were six and seven foot tall cat-tails. As I clamoured my way out of the water and onto land, I slung the goose over my shoulder and meandered through the plants to the grassy valley wall just beyond. It still had air in its lungs, which escaped the dead bird's body when it hit my back. The corresponding honk shook my soul like an atomic blast. The thing was obviously dead, but I was too cold and leery about my trek back to the car to truly comprehend why the goose could still honk.

My heart was racing from the swim. The sound of the dead goose made it leap out of my chest.

Meanwhile, Dale had lost track of me and began to race up and down the grid road, concerned that I was dead at the bottom of the lake. In fact, the cat-tails had me totally hidden from his view as I walked just outside of them back to the road. I could hear the panic in the whine of the car's engine. It was obvious that he had no idea where I was.

When I finally appeared in the ditch, he was across the valley from me. He raced towards me with the look of terror in his eyes.

"Sh*t man. I thought you had drowned. I was freakin' out," he said, pulling my clothes out of the passenger seat of the car.

I laughed while shivering intensely due to the obvious drop in my body's core temperature. I put on my clothes and we headed back to town to clean the birds.

I have since quit hunting due to over-regulation of the sport and the equipment required for it. It's experiences like these that made the adventures so fun, however. I miss them intensely, though I probably wouldn't attempt another swim in less-than 0 degree Celsius weather today.

I'm now too old, too fat and too lazy to even consider it.

The Crane Hunt: A boy on the verge of becoming a man

I just heard a few sandhill cranes flying high above my home, reminding me of my sole experience hunting the bird.

I was in my mid-teens when I packed my shotgun, jumped on a bus and traveled to the Leroy, Sask. area to take a shot at some Sandhill Cranes. The trip was being hosted by Rocky Luchsinger, a cousin's husband who lives and breaths hunting of all kinds.

I'll tell you now that this hunt was a failure for ume. If I remember right, we bagged about three birds in total, none of them killed by my hand.

Regardless, it is an experience I will never forget.

After staying up late into the night upon our arrival, we caught a few winks of sleep, then woke before dawn to load the trucks and head out to the region's marshland. We set up along a berm on the edge of a mudflat hoping that the game would fly directly over us. A few did, but their numbers were scant, making the morning a long, quiet wait for action. Nevertheless, my heart pounded with anticipation knowing that at any moment, hundreds of crane would be within range of our 12-gauge shotguns.

There is nothing like the adrenaline rush of a silent wait for something to happen.

By noon, however, that rush had worn off. One of our ragtag group members - a friend or cousin of Rocky's - decided to up the ante on what was supposed to be a hunting adventure. He jumped in his four-by-four and attempted to cross the moist mudflat on a whim.

He didn't make it, of course. Five hundred yards out, he was buried to his axle in the thick, saline muck, unable to travel any further. We found some ropes and tow cables in one of the vehicles and tied on to the back of the truck to try and free it by hand. Six guys grabbed a line running from behind the truck and heaved as the driver gunned his engine. The tires spun, unable to catch a hold, flinging the greasy mud high into the air.

But we didn't relent. We adjusted our pulling angles and tried again, this time with success. I, being about 20 feet directly behind the truck, found myself directly in its path as it screamed backwards the same way it entered the mudflat. I sprinted in a straight line towards the shoreline for a few seconds, the truck bouncing and careening along its track. The driver slowed a bit, realizing that I was in the way.

"Don't stop," Rocky yelled. "Keep going you idiot! Run him over if you have to!"

Nice host.

At that moment, I came to the realization that all I had to do was run at a 90 degree angle from the trail to get out of harms way. The truck screamed past me about 10 yards away, relentlessly fighting its way out of the mudflat.

The weekend went on with no further incidences of idiotic bravado. On Sunday - at that time hunting was not permitted on that day - we hauled out the black powder rifle and honed in its sight. The target was a water-filled milk jug hanging from a sawhorse about 100 yards down a trail behind Rocky's grandfather's house. Rocky, his friend Wildman and myself each took turns firing the gun at the target.

I'm not bragging when I say my eye was keen that day. Rocky and Wildman would take their shots, only to find the milk jug unharmed at the end of the trail. When it came to my turn, I zeroed in, controlled my breathing and braced for the shudder of the powerful weapon. My first shot made the jug explode, sending the water inside in all directions.

Rocky laughed at my success as we went to check the damage and hang another water-filled milk jug.

Round 2 saw the same results, sending Rocky and Wildman into mock anger. They pounced on me, pinching me aggressively. Both like to play rough, something I wasn't used to as a weak, awkward teenager. Nevertheless, I tried to laugh them off of me until they stopped. I rubbed my shoulders and chest sure that they would be bruised.

We hung another target for Round 3. Rocky missed; Wildman missed; and I grazed the milk jug, making a hole large enough to see the water piddle out of its side.

They pounced again, this time even more aggressively. They obviously didn't like this measly 14 year old showing them up.

But it had to be done. I'm an Istace. We'd sooner order a root canal than lose at anything.

Despite their razzing over my success, they were obviously impressed.

That experience was integral to my growth as a man, blooming the confidence in myself in all aspects of my life immensely. They have never heard how much that occasion meant to me. Before going crane hunting, I was an meek, little boy.

I returned home with a strengthened ego and the knowledge that I was on the cusp of adulthood.

Thanks Rocky.

Never underestimate the time you spend with your teenage cousins, nieces and nephews. You may never know what kind of long-term impact you'll have on them.

MRI results reveal the return of an old adversary

Six weeks after suffering a grand mal seizure while plumbing in the basement of a house in Moosomin, it has been determined by MRI that a benign meningeal tumor is the root cause. The diagnosis comes 11 years (within two weeks of the day) that a previous brain tumor in the same spot was removed.

To be honest, I had my suspicions. I mentioned to my wife just recently that I just didn't want to speak those suspicions into existence. Some of the symptoms I have had since about January (even before the seizure) had me concerned. These symptoms included slight headaches in the front right lobe of my head, the location of the previous tumor; frequent stuffed up sinuses; a high sensitivity to bright lights; sporadic blurred vision; restless arms; and mental and physical exhaustion.

Of course, the seizure was an obvious sign something was amiss.

It turns out it didn't matter whether I spoke about those suspicions or not. They were true and it appears I will be heading back under the knife in the next four to six weeks.

And so be it. I'm ready for another battle. I have to be. I really have no choice.

This time around, I actually feel okay for the moment. I do suffer from some of the symptoms noted above now and again, but I'm mentally acute. Since quiting my job in March to focus on music and restart my journalism career on a freelance basis, I have actually felt sharper, more alert and physically energetic. Outside of my regular day-by-day mood swings - a remnant, I believe, of my consumption of prednisone during my struggle with Crohn's 16 years ago - I have been generally happier. That may be due to an influx of serotonin from a change in lifestyle that grants me more liberty than I've ever had in my life.

My wife will, once again, be the rock I cling to through this time. She is a strong woman with endless patience. I wonder sometimes if she ever considers what life would have been like if she never married her sickly husband. After all, the health issues began just two years into our marriage. I was stung first with Crohn's Disease in 1997, which required emergency surgery then and reconstructive surgery about three years later. Then the first tumor arrived in 2002, requiring a second emergency operation. She has been incredible through it all; a perfect example of the servant spouse that I can never live up to.

Of course all of my family and friends have been - and will continue to be - incredibly supportive. That emotional and physical help arrived immediately after my seizure. It has carried on through to today and I am so thankful for it. I pray to God these people are blessed beyond reason for their unfailing support. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

So there it is, laid out in plain English. I must fight again, staying positive in my thoughts, speech and deeds. It's the only way to go. I've experienced the power that a proper mental attitude has in the healing process three times now. It will heal me again.

I will continue to sing. I will continue to strum guitar. I will continue to write. I will continue to be a husband, father, son, sibling, and friend to those around me.

I may have taken another shot to the chin, but I am no where near hitting the canvas yet. 

What's been going on? This...

As mentioned in the previous post, I've struck out on my own with a freelance writing/copy writing business based out of my home. After one week of full operation, I can say with confidence that things are moving in the right direction.

As of Thursday, I have three weekly newspapers willing to purchase my work, including the World-Spectator in Moosomin, the Miner-Journal in Esterhazy and the Whitewood Herald. This week, both the World-Spectator and the Miner-Journal will have articles written by yours truly.

In fact, I would suggest that the timing of my new business could not have been better. The World-Spectator had recently lost its reporter and the Miner-Journal had an advertisement in a recent issue seeking freelance writers to help them out. They are currently without either reporters or an editor, so are very desperate for someone to provide content for them. I sent a letter with a resume and a couple of writing samples to them Wednesday evening, called Thursday morning and had three articles sold to them by Thursday evening with more to write next week.

Like I said, things are moving in a promising direction. 

If you've noticed the tags on the right, you'll see that I'm also selling short informative pieces to websites and bloggers through two distributors; Constant Content and Ghostbloggers.  I have yet to sell anything, but I also only have three articles available for purchase at the moment. All three are about fishing, a subject that just seemed to come to me first while I waited for assignments from the weekly publications in the area.

Should anyone have a news item or feature idea they would like me to look into, feel free to drop me a note at chrisistace@sasktel.net. I will not only be grateful, but diligent in my efforts to write and sell the item.

Now for a seizure/health update

As of late last month, I was placed on a six-week waiting list for an MRI to determine why I had a grand mal seizure on March 7. At that time, we had waited three weeks for a phone call with a date for the appointment. After calling in ourselves, we found out that my assessment had changed from "Urgent" to "Level 3." This meant my wait went from up to six weeks to up to six months.

Upset by this news, we investigated further a few days later and learned that a radiologist in Regina had told my neurologist to downgrade my urgency. I had neither spoken to or met this radiologist and he/she had never assessed me at any time other than reading the chart supplied by my neurologist. How he/she could determine my urgency is beyond my comprehension.

While discussing the issue with my neurologist's assistant - who was quite frustrated and mystified by the scenario herself - I was clear in telling here what my next steps would be. I told her I would be contacting my MLA, my MP, and the office of the Minister of Health to inform them of this obvious malfeasance and borderline malpractice performed by the radiologist. I would also be documenting my entire story, including all names involved, to write a first-person feature article on my current experience with Saskatchewan's "wonderful" "healthcare" system.

About two hours later, I had an appointment sent for an MRI on April 18, roughly three weeks from that date. It appeared I had either rocked the boat just enough to spur the system into action in my favour, or I had just experienced an extremely convenient stroke of luck by filling a coincidental cancellation.

Either way, I am hoping the MRI will be a leap towards finding out what happened to me on March 7 and what may still be wrong with me now.

In the meantime, I'll keep typing away in an effort to replace the income I have lost due to the seizure and its fall-out.

On that note, I'm also keeping a finger in the plumbing trade, installing and repairing sinks, taps and toilets on the side.

Just so you know who to call.