Reconciling personal narratives with the truth
On vacation recently, my extended family and I attended an annual celebration at Pioneer Acres, located close to Irricana, AB. We've been to this event several times in the past. There are many things about it that I enjoy and that I'm even comforted by. For example, this GMC grain truck is an exact replica of my grandpa's--it looks and smells the same and inspires a wide grin of reverie when I see it. This is the truck that I learned to drive in, and that I zipped around in on the dirt roads to find whatever section of land my dad was harvesting on and required a pick-up from. I was maybe thirteen or fourteen at the time, and this truck represents a cornerstone of my burgeoning young adulthood. This year, however, I carried my own warm emotional responses alongside a steadily deepening problematic brewing in my brain. I have realized that my personal narrative of youth on the farm is nested in a surreptitious, ubiquitous, and toxic...