Just A Gal From Glidden: When a subscription sale sparks a new focus

By Kate Winquist

After the Christmas break, I struggled a bit to find something to write about, which is why I kicked off the new year with a synopsis of columns from 2025. I didn’t make many resolutions this year — or at least none that I said out loud — so I wouldn’t be faced with the dreaded, “I told you so,” from the peanut gallery (you absolutely know who you are).

I have mentioned to several people — family, friends, clients and coworkers — that I intend to be more organized this year. That’s a plan I really do need to stick to, especially in this business, where weekly deadlines are not a suggestion. My sister Valarie once said to me, “How do you do it, week in and week out? It would be like having English assignments due every single week.”

I suppose I could say the same thing about bookkeepers and accountants — how do you work with numbers all the time? I did take a break from writing over Christmas, but I still had to catch up on my books. It’s not my favourite job in the world, but I’ve learned it’s the most important one. After all, creativity is wonderful, but the mortgage prefers cash.

I had an interesting week and, at one point, a great idea for another column — but it involved my Mom. I stopped myself and thought, enough with the Mom stories for a while. Not because she isn’t deeply loved and missed, but because even she might say, “Enough already, Mary Kathryn.”

Focus… hmmmmm. Photography.

I had a lightbulb moment on Wednesday afternoon. It was getting later in the day when a gentleman came into the Kindersley office and asked if he could purchase a subscription to Your West Central Voice. Now, this isn’t something that happens every day (although I remain hopeful). He wanted to pay by credit card, so I asked him to come back to my office so I could process it on my computer.

He glanced behind me and noticed a photo of the Dankin elevators — a photo I took back in 2018, when one annex was already gone but the other still stood proudly, as if it knew its days were numbered but wasn’t ready to admit it. We chit-chatted while I fumbled around trying to print his receipt, which should not be as difficult as it sometimes is. He mentioned an elevator between Kindersley and Glidden that had been torn down not that long ago. I told him both Inglenook and Sandgren had been gone for many years. He assured me Sandgren was still around until about ten years ago.

I scoffed. Lightly, but confidently.

It turns out Mark — yes, the gentleman has a name — was right.

After he left, I did a quick Google search and discovered Sandgren was demolished in 2014. I even found a Facebook page dedicated to the Prairie Sentinels of the Past. I joined immediately, because of course I did. I’m hoping it inspires me to revisit some of the photos I’ve taken over the years.

I had three of my photos hanging in my office, which Mark seemed genuinely impressed by. Robert then came in and pulled out three more elevator photos I haven’t gotten around to hanging yet — Fusilier, Laporte and Penkill. That was the moment it really hit me: it might be time to dust off my camera again.

I haven’t had as much time to enjoy photography this past year. Sometimes, I just like to hop in my vehicle and head out, searching for old buildings, churches and elevators — things that remind us of where we came from, and quietly ask us to remember.

I’ve long dreamt of turning an old structure into a gallery. I was almost convinced to fix up the Hoosier United Church a couple of years ago. I also had visions of the Kerrobert Library building when it came up for sale, or — when we lived in Brock — the impressive Credit Union building being cleaned up and renovated. These ideas were always met with a resounding “NO!” from Robert, who is very much a realist, while I remain the dreamer (someone has to).

In the meantime, I’ll keep focusing on the important things — paying bills and meeting deadlines. But I’ll also endeavour to find time to enjoy the photos of my past, and to make new memories for the future.

And for the unexpected inspiration behind this column, thank you, Mark.