My mother, Helen Swainson Mogensen, who as part of her morning meditation both in Calgary and when she moved with my father and two youngest siblings to the Saanich Peninsula, always dreamed of making a pilgrimage. She admired the concept of surrendering her worldly goods to set off on foot to discover the gifts of nature. I too have been bitten by a longing to embark on a prairie walk as a result of my father’s 1970s interview with his in–laws (my grandparents), recorded on a cassette tape and now digitally preserved for us. Family members are grateful, for there are poignant stories preserved there that we would never have known had my father not turned on the tape recorder and offered the microphone to Swain and Struna Swainson.

A most compelling message came in an account from my amma, or “nannie” as we called her, when she described how, after a two-hour journey by car from Calgary to Red Deer, someone asked, “Are you tired?” An edge of disdain in her voice, she retorted: “Tired? After a two-hour trip in a heated car with the radio for entertainment? I wonder how modern folks would feel if they travelled, as my parents did with their four-month-old daughter in June of 1889, for four days and nights over muddy cart trails, across waterways (without bridges) in full flood. Not swimmers, they floated with their oxcart against strong currents. They slept under the stars and walked through the day, for the ride on the cart was rough and mostly uncomfortable.” This journey was undertaken by Struna’s parents (my great-grandparents Ofeigur Sigurdsson and Astridur Tomasdottir) on the final leg of their search for a sustainable life in the Markerville region of central Alberta. Struna herself was not born until 1896.

We have all heard it said that the journey matters most, not the destination; we miss much when we travel quickly over the landscape. Who is more fortunate, those on foot who can smell sweet scents of flora and hear the call of the wild, or those who speed along in the comforts of a modern vehicle? Could we find that we have something in common with early travellers who walked on that “Wolf Track” in their search for a new home?

I am honoured to have been selected to take up an artist residency for two weeks this year at the Buttermaker’s House in the restored hamlet of Markerville, located southwest of Red Deer, Alberta, the region where my Icelandic ancestors finally settled after a series of travels across North America. As a result of remembering my grandmother’s story, I feel reluctant to travel northward once again in the luxury of a private automobile. Although I am not 33 or 27 years old, as they were, I believe I could still make that journey. I may attempt to walk small portions of it instead – we shall see.

While I dwell at the Buttermaker’s House from June 21-28 and again in late September of 2026, I will listen, sketch, dance, dream, and offer my gifts of story to willing participants, thereby opening up more connections between us. You are invited to meet me in Markerville or along the path. Together, we can better understand and pay tribute to human journeys made in the search for a place to call home!