Soups, strange language, fields of grass and fields of grass and fields of grass

     Yesterday, we got off the beaten path at lunch time and found our way to the M & M Cafe in the tiny town of Mundare.  We both enjoyed a bowl of wonderful homemade beef barley soup.  We were the only patrons in the place...it was about 2 o'clock and the nice lady who had concocted that delicious soup was sitting at a table chatting with two of her friends.  We carried on about how great her soup tasted and our waitress asked if we had ever tasted borscht.  She brought each of  us a sample in a cup...delicious again.  Next came the sample of sauerkraut soup.  I wasn't as crazy abut that, but Marcella thought it was the best tasting thing that had ever passed through her lips.  She and the soup chef discussed the ingredients at length.  When we got back in the car I noticed Marcella scribbling in her little black book...I have the feeling we will be eating sauerkraut soup at home before long.
     We stopped for gas and Marcella went inside to use the bathroom (pardon me, "washroom" in this part of the world).
     When she came out, I asked her, "Where are we, anyway?"
     "I don't know, but they don't speak English here."
     "How do you know?"
     "I asked a fellow in the store where we were, and he answered, 'Saskatoon Saskatchawan'."
     "Hmmmm."

     Today's scenery was thousands and thousands of acres of prairie with an occasional hill and a scattering of unsightly oil tanks with accompanying pumps, most of which are idle.  Marcella and I agreed that it was boring.  Of course, what wouldn't be boring after traveling through the Rockies and seeing all those bears and rabbits.  As we approached the town of Metcalf, there was a sign announcing, "The grass capitol of the world."  Hmmmm.  We made a quick decision to head directly south into North Dakota, the 47th state we have ever traveled in.  We saw nothing but more grass and oil wells for a hundred miles and crossed the border into the US at an obscure crossing that is only open from 9 to 5.  We passed the little Canadian wooden structure that was the Canadian Customs stop and on to the most elaborate multi-million dollar complex of fancy stone buildings with stop lights and signs everywhere.  It was manned by one inspector who asked the standard questions...no we weren't carrying more than $10,000.  He took our California navel orange...no citrus from Canada allowed in the US, and sent us on our way.  We told him to enjoy the orange.  "Nope, has to go in the garbage...government regulations," he said and shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes back into his head.
     We are in Minot, North Dakota.