Trail names, Canadian Tire, Fur and Beef on the Hoof

The names of many of Calgary's thoroughfares, as I have blogged, are facinating. This morning I found out where many of them originate.

Deerfoot Trail: Named for the Blackfoot runner, Deerfoot, who during the 1880s was the top-ranking long-distance runner in this region -- beating all comers from both Canada and abroad.

Macleod Trail: Named for Col. James Macleod, commissioner of the NWMP in 1876, and negotiator of Treaty 7 with the First Nations of the region. He changed the name of Fort Brisebois to Fort Calgary.

Crowchild Trail: Named for David Crowchild, Tsuu T'ina chief from 1946-53, a man who built bridges between whites and natives.

Calf Robe Bridge: Named for Ben Calf Robe, a scout-interpreter for the Mounties and another bridge builder.

John Laurie Blvd.: Named for a distinguished English teacher and champion of education for aboriginal children.

Stephen Ave.: Named for the first president of the CPR, George Stephen.

So, there you have the goods behind a few of these gems.

On to Canadian Tire. Was in there today looking for a bag of soil and two pots for the jade tree shoots that I have been rooting. "Do you still sell soil and pots this time of year?" In an Ottawa Canadian Tire -- if you could find a sales person at all -- the response would have been, "No, lady, not this time of year. It's winter." And off that person would have raced to join his/her other colleagues hiding in the back rows of the store to avoid customers at any and all cost. Are you with me here? Yeah, of course you are. In an Ottawa Canadian Tire you can never, ever, ever find a clerk. And if you happen to stumble upon one, they are so pissed off and annoyed that you mostly grovel and apologize for bothering them.

But this Canadian Tire was in Cochrane. There were clerks everywhere. "Do you still sell pots and soil this time of year?" Oh yes, they're stored away now, but no problem, I'll get someone to help you right away." She barked into her walkie-talkie and immediately another girl appeared and escorted me to the back of the store, up some rickety stairs..."please be careful on these"... and into the summer stock storage area, where she helped me pick out the pots and soil and led me back to the cash. Wow! Imagine that kind of service in a Canadian Tire in Ottawa! But, as I said, this was Cochrane -- a swell little town.

Standing at the cash sporting my 30-year-old, 80s-style, totally passe fur jacket, an elderly man struck up a conversation. "That looks like a really warm coat, what is it?" Now, I have to tell you I actually have no idea what the fur is. I bought it at Burkholder's a thousand years ago and was told it was "European cat"...whatever the heck that was? A few years ago, I read that they were killing alley cats in Europe and making them into fur coats and I said, that's what my coat is! Alley cat! Grey and blue, it had always appeared to have been dyed, but low and behold, the truth was about to be revealed in the Cochrane Canadian Tire.

A young woman also in line chimed in: "European cat? Let me google that." She took out her phone, looked it up and said: "European cat is a member of the racoon family, with brownish-blue-grey fur." Amazing! the coat wasn't dyed afterall, it was natural. I left the store with a new-found love for my old coat. That's the kind of thing that happens in Cochrane.

Driving home, I passed for the umpteenth time the grazing, black cattle along the highway leading back to Calgary that will soon be somebody's dinner. In the Ottawa Valley the cows you see along the roads and farms are usually dairy, so you never really get that queasy feeling that you will soon be munching on them. But the beef cattle happily chewing their cud along highway 1-A will shortly be gracing plates all over the area. For a fleeting second, I toyed with the idea of becoming vegetarian. But the second passed quickly. I do so love steak tartare.