Nostalgic Prairie Photography | Ettington, Saskatchewan

On the second night of my recent visit to Saskatchewan, I woke to the sound of footsteps.

First, the trailer dipped as if someone had stepped inside. Then came the sound of little feet running through the kitchen. But when I asked in the morning, no one else had been awake.

When I mentioned it to my older sister, she said: “well, there is a cemetery nearby"

That cemetery is the Ettington Grand Lutheran Cemetery.

Established in 1913, Ettington was once a thriving prairie town; with three grain elevators, two general stores, a bank, a café, a pool room, implement dealers, a lumberyard, and even livery stables. A fire in 1920 began its decline, and by 1948 the town had been restructured as a hamlet. Its post office kept running until 1964, but now the cemetery (and a cabin) is one of the only pieces of Ettington that remains.

Without realizing where we were, I had already planned to ask my teenage nieces to play Ring Around the Rosie for one of my prompts. Later, as I looked at the blurred photograph, hands linked in a circle, laughter & connection coloring the prairie air, it struck me how perfectly it mirrored the land’s history. A game tied to folklore about life and endings, played in the shadow of a town long gone.

Photography has a way of doing that: weaving together the seen and felt, the fleeting and the evergreen.

The morning was soft and hazy, with overcast skies and soft light, gentle, even, almost cinematic. We went out to a tree the family loves, in the pasture that hosts the cemetery, ordinary in its way, but carrying a certain air about it.

Just up the hill sat the grain bin and the old cabin I’d photographed in another session, reminders that the land holds many stories.

There were five of my nieces with me that day, we were missing one who couldn’t come, and they moved together more like siblings than cousins. Laughing, playful, close.

When I asked them toplay 'Ring around the Rosie', they slipped into the prompt so naturally it didn’t feel like a prompt at all. It was simple, but it carried the kind of juxtaposition you feel in a movie like The Lovely Bones, innocence and atmosphere colliding in a way that lingers.

I had them sit together on the lowest branch of the tree, and the way they leaned in, laughing, was something I couldn’t have staged if I’d tried. The whole time was special, not for one particular moment, but for the way it all unfolded, jeans and sweaters, soft light, their laughter echoing through the pasture.

For me, one niece’s presence carried a deeper layer of meaning. Not everything is mine to share, but simply having her there felt like a full-circle moment. Her being part of the circle, laughing, linking hands, playing in the pasture; was a reminder that family stories aren’t always simple, but they are powerful. They shape the way we love, remember, and connect.

I've always viewed photography as a storytelling medium, a way to convey emotions that words can't describe, a way to bottle the sound of laughter, a way to feel connection with someone who may not alwaya physically be there.

The land here reminds me that stories aren’t always simple. Towns rise, decline, and disappear, but legacy and history remain. Families, too, drift apart and back together again. It's not about perfection, but rather connection. And that’s what I hope my work always emulates: not just the seen, but the felt. The fleeting, made evergreen.

Maybe you have a story like this one too, or maybe it's vastly different; either way, it's a story worth preserving.

All My Best,

Kendra

KW Visual Stories