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Vice Blog

SASKATCHEWANNA GO HOME


Contrary to popular belief, there are more cities in Canada than Vancouver, Toronto, and Montreal. In fact, there are even more provinces than Ontario, Quebec, and B.C. put together! Shocked? So is everyone else. Lucky for me (questionable - ed.), I grew up in the vast, empty abyss of Saskatchewan. I'm sure everyone reading this is all, "Isn't that some sort of fucked up mythical snow beast that prowls the Arctic tundra?" That's a common misconception. It's actually a desert covered in snow.

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Growing up dressed in a one-piece snowsuit shoveling cow shit out of farm gutters and having ferocious wolf/dog hybrid pets has made me something of a badass. While other kids in big, fancy Canadian cities were going to the newest Olson twins movie and applying their mom's nail polish for entertainment, my cool as fuck Aunt Ellen took me and my seven cousins to watch turkey vultures eat our deceased livestock.

When they're not swimming in lakes made of mud and chasing gophers with BB guns, people in Saskatchewan PARTY. Essentially, the whole province's pride hinges on a shitty CFL team and drinking. And trust me, the way prairie people drink would make your brain explode. It's not your typical "my job as a stylist and part-time photographer is totes bumming me out, I really need a martini" drinking. It's more along the lines of, "it's -11 in May and my life has been the exact same picture for 23 years; where's my 40oz pilsner and bottle of Canadian Club so we can hopefully make something happen at this lean-to bar on the highway that holds 6 people" type of drinking. If you don't believe me, here are some photos that prove how stuck in time Saskatchewan is. And why wouldn't it be? Drinking, football, and guns all rule, so why change? Saskatchewan has certainly found it's isolated little niche.


This looks like a bar but also looks like a public school portable.
This is the local fire hall. Luckily it is too cold for fires to happen because the doors are iced shut from August to June.
Number one destination for snowmobile tailgate parties.
Prime real estate.
A sign for the mall my family owned where no one would hang out with me.
This is me, walking back to Toronto. Like that Herzog penguin I know I'll never make it, but something in me has to go.