A Sower of Wheat (Classic Reprint)

Excerpt from A Sower of Wheat

No, there is nothing which merits much comment here, though Fairmead is one of the finest homesteads between the Saskatchewan and the Souris, and then as I gaze with half-closed eyes through the open window the memories awaken and crowd, as it were, upon each other. Far out on the rim of the prairie lies a silvery haze, through which the vault of azure melts into the dusty whiteness of the grasses. Then, level on level, with each slowly swelling rise growing Sharper under that crystalline atmosphere the prairie rolls in, broken here by a willow copse and there by a straggling birch bluff, While a belt of cool neutral shadow marks the course of a deep-sunk ravine. At first sight it is all one glaring sweep of white and grey, but on looking closer with understanding eyes one sees the yellow and sage greens of tall reeds in a 3100, the glowing lights of sun bleached buffalo bones, and a mingling of many colours where there is wild peppermint or flowers among the grass. Then, broad across the foreground, growing tall and green in a few moister places almost breast-high, and in others changing to Ochre and coppery red, there ripples, acre beyond aere, a great sea of grain whose extent is beyond the comprehension of the insular Briton.

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