Born on a communal farm in southern Manitoba, and of Métis heritage; I have spent most of my life in all three prairies provinces, the majority in central Alberta, before  relocating to coastal British Columbia.

When I was about four-years of age, I was in the living-room kneeling in front of a couch.  A soft pattern of sunlight skipped along the floor; a warm breeze floated through the screen door.  From the turntable, a mournful male voice crooned a country-western song about a wild roan horse; baking sprinkled the air.  In my hands was a large, thick book that rested atop the sofa; pages filled with beautiful, bright coloured paintings of people dressed in splendid garments, gleaming jewellery, vivid beads and magnificent feathers.

I turned the leaves of paper over, over, and over; running my hands across the illustrations of festive costumes; studying the black marks on the pages.  One particular picture had the most stunning, decorative women.  I rushed to the kitchen with the heavy book in my arms.  My mom stood near the stove, her hands inside the pockets of an apron.  I asked who the ladies were; she said the women were from Indonesia.  I repeated, In-do-ne-sia, Indonesia; what kind of book is it?  She answered it was a book of peoples from around the world.  How amazing: to travel, write stories, and paint what one sees.

That book was a mysterious jewel to me: vibrantly-coloured, ornamental, exotic.  It was the first book to entrance me; the very first which led me to explore other enchanted worlds – to journey into the unknown.  Many years, and many books, later I am still enthralled, captivated by the imaginative realm and what is hidden within it.  In books, I have not only discovered how to live, but also what life experiences one may choose — If, perhaps, a person could be so blessed and fortunate.