VICTORIA BEACH, MB – A lone bald eagle was circling overhead as Christy and Max got married. It was a Saturday afternoon in early September, and summer had not yet relinquished its hold on Manitoba. Despite concerns that the shores of Victoria Beach might be too cold for the outdoor ceremony, sunlight radiated down from the afternoon sky, warming the white sand beach where we all had gathered to watch the couple say “I do.” Off shore, the waters of Lake Winnipeg sat cool and shimmering, as if the Lake herself was celebrating.
Leah, Kevin, Shomas and I had flown into Winnipeg the day before, stopping at Montana’s for All-You-Can-Eat Ribs, and scouring some city’s strip malls for supplies. There were two snafus: Shomas emerged from Save On Foods with several small bags of free deli meat, a “gift” from the butcher that made the whole car smell like an old hot dog stand, and I briefly lost our car keys in a Starbucks parking lot. But as the city grew smaller behind us, it didn’t seem to matter. We stuffed The Meats in a container of pre-packaged charcuterie, and Kevin had quickly found the keys in the trunk. And so we drove, onwards, through the flat, open heart of the continent, past the hay bales and the casinos and fields of sunflowers. Alex’s Dirty 30 playlist hummed out of the Ford’s speakers. “They should call it Cunty Manitoba,” I said, pointing to a passing license plate from the driver’s seat. Kevin and Leah laughed. In the rearview I could see Shomas asleep, mid power nap.
Two and a half hours later, we pulled off the highway and into Victoria Beach. Cabins of all shapes and sizes stood silently along the side of the road, many of them empty for the end of the season., and we could hear the Lake’s waves crashing onto the nearby shore. Christy and Max had grown up spending most of their summers in Victoria Beach, and their families owned cabins just five minutes away from each other. Christy’s mom had gone door to door, asking the neighbours if they’d be willing to let us and other guests stay the weekend. A few of them said yes, and so the wedding party was spread out over a few properties. Our plot consisted of two structures: a large main cabin, where Christy and Max were staying, and a Boat House, complete with bunk beds, for the four of us. We dropped our bags and started walking down the road, toward the weekend’s Welcome Barbecue, when Kevin stopped. “I need to poop,” he said, “Just go on without me.” We told him that was silly, we would wait.
As he answered nature’s call, we familiarized ourselves with our lakeside surroundings. Along with the bathroom, the cabin’s main floor included a kitchen, living room, two bedrooms, and a galley that housed the site’s washer and dryer. Two french doors off the living room lead to a screened veranda and off that lay an exposed patio. A long white staircase lead to the second floor master bedroom, which featured an en suite and private deck. “This is like something out of Nancy Meyer,” said Leah “Imagine it at Christmas.”
She continued.
“I want to put a big Christmas tree in that corner.”
Shomas agreed.
“It’s giving Connecticut,” he said.
We exited out into the backyard, which ended in a small cliff that overlooked the water.. It was well past 7 p.m. but the sun was still shining coldly, and a strong wind came off the lake. We approached the edge in stunned amazement.
“Where are we?” asked Shomas.
Standing there, on the green lawn, I wasn’t entirely sure.
I was still stunned a short while later when Kevin emerged from his solitude. “Shall we?” he asked.
The next morning, we rose early to do yoga in a nearby orchard. The Boat House was empty as I climbed the ladder down from the top bunk and pulled a cold pain au chocolate from the plastic container we had purchased the day before. The previous night’s barbecue had been comparatively tame, with the couple’s friends and family gathered in the yard of Christy’s family cabin, eating burgers and Chicago-style popcorn off paper plates. Kevin had spent the better part of an hour coaching our friend Jared on how to get into the German nightclub Berghain. “Just don’t look at your phone,” he said “They hate that.” I stripped out of my pyjamas and threw on my black baggies and stepped into the cold morning air to meet the group and walk to the orchard.
After sitting savasana, a few of us set out to explore the surrounding area, tracing the municipality’s dirt paths through open fields, past the wooden club house where the wedding reception would be held, and out onto a nearby pier. As we approached, we could see a large crowd gathered. Men in toques and hoodies sat rigidly in camping chairs near the water. They were fishing. “They’ve been here since this morning,” said Devin, who himself had visited the pier before most of us awoke. It was a little after 9 AM and the sky was bright and clear. We lingered a while, staring at the waves and black rocks. When it got too cold, we decided to walk back.
Max and Christy had just finished breakfast as we arrived at the main cabin.
Max spoke.
“Anybody want to go for a swim?”
We changed into our bathing suits and followed the stairs behind the cabins down towards the cold, crashing waters. I dove under two or three times before I began to really shiver. Afterwards we all sat on the back lawn, sunning ourselves and snacking on alcoholic freezies from Costco. Around 1 o’clock, people started breaking off to get ready. The couple had requested that everyone wear white, or another neutral colour. Leah went with a white hippie dress, silver jewelry and black cowboy boots, while I attended in a pair of thrifted cream trousers, a cream sweater, and taupe Birkenstock clogs. Later, I would use one of them as a phone while dancing to Harry Styles.
I was in eighth grade the first time I met Christy. It was at a dance for a school I didn’t attend, and her and all of her friends were screaming the words to Bohemian Rhapsody at each other. We didn’t actually say two words to each other. But I remembered her from that night on. We’ve had periods of being close, and being not so close, only to get even closer. And all I can say is it was a special honour to see her standing there, bare foot, marrying her best friend – who I also adore. They started the ceremony with a poem about two rocks falling in love and I started crying.
That evening we took some scooby snacks and sat on the beach with Kevin and Shomas. A white harvest moon hung high overhead, casting shadows in the dark. I pulled out my phone and wrote a message to Max and Christy.
Friendly Mexitoba (Human Pursuits 23/9/22)
Friendly Mexitoba (Human Pursuits 23/9/22)
Friendly Mexitoba (Human Pursuits 23/9/22)
VICTORIA BEACH, MB – A lone bald eagle was circling overhead as Christy and Max got married. It was a Saturday afternoon in early September, and summer had not yet relinquished its hold on Manitoba. Despite concerns that the shores of Victoria Beach might be too cold for the outdoor ceremony, sunlight radiated down from the afternoon sky, warming the white sand beach where we all had gathered to watch the couple say “I do.” Off shore, the waters of Lake Winnipeg sat cool and shimmering, as if the Lake herself was celebrating.
Leah, Kevin, Shomas and I had flown into Winnipeg the day before, stopping at Montana’s for All-You-Can-Eat Ribs, and scouring some city’s strip malls for supplies. There were two snafus: Shomas emerged from Save On Foods with several small bags of free deli meat, a “gift” from the butcher that made the whole car smell like an old hot dog stand, and I briefly lost our car keys in a Starbucks parking lot. But as the city grew smaller behind us, it didn’t seem to matter. We stuffed The Meats in a container of pre-packaged charcuterie, and Kevin had quickly found the keys in the trunk. And so we drove, onwards, through the flat, open heart of the continent, past the hay bales and the casinos and fields of sunflowers. Alex’s Dirty 30 playlist hummed out of the Ford’s speakers. “They should call it Cunty Manitoba,” I said, pointing to a passing license plate from the driver’s seat. Kevin and Leah laughed. In the rearview I could see Shomas asleep, mid power nap.
Two and a half hours later, we pulled off the highway and into Victoria Beach. Cabins of all shapes and sizes stood silently along the side of the road, many of them empty for the end of the season., and we could hear the Lake’s waves crashing onto the nearby shore. Christy and Max had grown up spending most of their summers in Victoria Beach, and their families owned cabins just five minutes away from each other. Christy’s mom had gone door to door, asking the neighbours if they’d be willing to let us and other guests stay the weekend. A few of them said yes, and so the wedding party was spread out over a few properties. Our plot consisted of two structures: a large main cabin, where Christy and Max were staying, and a Boat House, complete with bunk beds, for the four of us. We dropped our bags and started walking down the road, toward the weekend’s Welcome Barbecue, when Kevin stopped. “I need to poop,” he said, “Just go on without me.” We told him that was silly, we would wait.
As he answered nature’s call, we familiarized ourselves with our lakeside surroundings. Along with the bathroom, the cabin’s main floor included a kitchen, living room, two bedrooms, and a galley that housed the site’s washer and dryer. Two french doors off the living room lead to a screened veranda and off that lay an exposed patio. A long white staircase lead to the second floor master bedroom, which featured an en suite and private deck. “This is like something out of Nancy Meyer,” said Leah “Imagine it at Christmas.”
She continued.
“I want to put a big Christmas tree in that corner.”
Shomas agreed.
“It’s giving Connecticut,” he said.
We exited out into the backyard, which ended in a small cliff that overlooked the water.. It was well past 7 p.m. but the sun was still shining coldly, and a strong wind came off the lake. We approached the edge in stunned amazement.
“Where are we?” asked Shomas.
Standing there, on the green lawn, I wasn’t entirely sure.
I was still stunned a short while later when Kevin emerged from his solitude. “Shall we?” he asked.
The next morning, we rose early to do yoga in a nearby orchard. The Boat House was empty as I climbed the ladder down from the top bunk and pulled a cold pain au chocolate from the plastic container we had purchased the day before. The previous night’s barbecue had been comparatively tame, with the couple’s friends and family gathered in the yard of Christy’s family cabin, eating burgers and Chicago-style popcorn off paper plates. Kevin had spent the better part of an hour coaching our friend Jared on how to get into the German nightclub Berghain. “Just don’t look at your phone,” he said “They hate that.” I stripped out of my pyjamas and threw on my black baggies and stepped into the cold morning air to meet the group and walk to the orchard.
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After sitting savasana, a few of us set out to explore the surrounding area, tracing the municipality’s dirt paths through open fields, past the wooden club house where the wedding reception would be held, and out onto a nearby pier. As we approached, we could see a large crowd gathered. Men in toques and hoodies sat rigidly in camping chairs near the water. They were fishing. “They’ve been here since this morning,” said Devin, who himself had visited the pier before most of us awoke. It was a little after 9 AM and the sky was bright and clear. We lingered a while, staring at the waves and black rocks. When it got too cold, we decided to walk back.
Max and Christy had just finished breakfast as we arrived at the main cabin.
Max spoke.
“Anybody want to go for a swim?”
We changed into our bathing suits and followed the stairs behind the cabins down towards the cold, crashing waters. I dove under two or three times before I began to really shiver. Afterwards we all sat on the back lawn, sunning ourselves and snacking on alcoholic freezies from Costco. Around 1 o’clock, people started breaking off to get ready. The couple had requested that everyone wear white, or another neutral colour. Leah went with a white hippie dress, silver jewelry and black cowboy boots, while I attended in a pair of thrifted cream trousers, a cream sweater, and taupe Birkenstock clogs. Later, I would use one of them as a phone while dancing to Harry Styles.
I was in eighth grade the first time I met Christy. It was at a dance for a school I didn’t attend, and her and all of her friends were screaming the words to Bohemian Rhapsody at each other. We didn’t actually say two words to each other. But I remembered her from that night on. We’ve had periods of being close, and being not so close, only to get even closer. And all I can say is it was a special honour to see her standing there, bare foot, marrying her best friend – who I also adore. They started the ceremony with a poem about two rocks falling in love and I started crying.
That evening we took some scooby snacks and sat on the beach with Kevin and Shomas. A white harvest moon hung high overhead, casting shadows in the dark. I pulled out my phone and wrote a message to Max and Christy.
“K mexitoba though.”
“White sand realness.”
I meant every single word.
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