Culture Shock

Some of you faithful blog readers assured me that I would suffer from little culture shock and I really didn't for the first week I was back on the farm in Saskatchewan. That is, until I attended the Frenchman River Valley Gospel Music Jamboree.

Every year, people congregate from all over southwestern Saskatchewan and beyond in the often brown valley where a muddy stream runs. Some singing groups are brought in from as far away as the southern States and others are local acts consisting of parents and their children. I usually go in the evenings and hardly listen to the music - except when my friends and acquaintances are on stage. I go to see the people and have my annual conversations with them.

Now, I have lived in Asia for close to two years. I am used to being in crowds of people. But in Asia, the people are dark haired non-English short Asians. I am used to being in such circumstances.

This weekend I found myself in a crowd of people. English speaking people who are tall and some quite fat. The overwhelming thing was knowing most of them. I am not used to being in a crowd of people whom I actually know. I wanted to run and hide. It was so weird. I didn't know who to talk to. My senses were overloaded. From the moment I stepped out of my parents' styling mini-van and ran into a familiar face, I experienced culture shock like I never had before. It wasn't Canadian life. It was small town Saskatchewan life where everyone knows your name and who your dad is and where you've been for the last few years and which car is yours. Most of you could never understand what it's like to grow up like this so you couldn't understand how crazy it is to walk back into it after being away so long.

And then I tried to help on the farm the next day. My farming aptitude has been totally depleted. I felt like the stupid cousin from the city.

But it is good to be home. Everyday, I look at the big blue sky and fail to grasp its enormity. It's then that I know that I'm home.