It's My Happy Place

Another thing I've grown to love about Saskatchewan is Corner Gas. One of our family traditions is the Corner Gas party, where we pop a big bowl of corn and hunker down together to laugh our faces off over three or four episodes for an evening.

Now, I realize (from the "thanks-but-no-thanks" expressions that sometimes greet my recommendations of the show) that Corner Gas is a bit of an acquired taste. But, what with it being filmed only 30 minutes down the road from us, and what with the very good chance that you might actually catch a glimpse of someone you know appearing as an extra, it was kind of hard not to be a fan. And the writing, really, was brilliant: lots of subtle word-plays and wry wit, mixed in with bizarre hyperbole and corny situational comedy. Corner Gas has added a whole repertoire of one-liners and disarming rejoinders to our family dialogue (though we've talked pretty carefully with our kids about the J-word).

But I don't think these were the things that finally cinched me as a fan: it was the way the show so effortlessly evoked a sense of place. There were times I was almost sure I could have turned off the TV and just walked out on my front porch to watch the rest of the episode. Scenes in Phil's bar, I could have sworn that if I took a deep enough inhale, I could smell the stale smoke and sour beer on the air. And I'm sure I've been in the cafe that inspired the Ruby, and a half-dozen others like it between Edmonton and Regina.

And, of course, the light. Sometimes the show so overflowed with Saskatchewan light that you were tempted to wonder if you left the curtains open.

Every place has, I think, a certain ethos, a texture you learn when you linger long enough. You don't know what it is, but you know when you're touching it-- when it's brushed against your face unexpectedly, or across your heart. In so many ways, Corner Gas evokes the texture of Saskatchewan that my time lingering here has taught me to appreciate.