I can report a great Canadian tradition of winter continues on, as one of the things I covered this past week was a class of students from Queen Elizabeth School learning about curling at the Weyburn Curling Rink.

Since this game has such a great heritage, particularly on the Prairies, as a winter sport other than hockey that people of virtually all ages can enjoy, I'm glad to see it's being taught to the up and coming generation.

Left to themselves, curling is not a game that most people would gravitate to, except if maybe their mom or dad plays it - but even then, their main association with the game would be sitting in a rink on Saturday and Sunday afternoons watching games that seem to go on and on.

For many kids (mine, certainly), watching curling is akin to watching baseball or watching paint dry. To my kids, these activities are synonymous; to me, since I know and understand the game(s), I can watch it (and baseball is not boring to me; I don't really know why anybody would think it's boring to watch) and enjoy it.

Walking carefully onto the ice with my camera, a boy in a toque says to me, "This is fun." And later, a girl in a grey hoodie and dark hair said the same thing before it was her turn to accompany a curling rock up the ice with another girl to sweep for the shot.

If they're having fun while they're learning about the game, then they'll think about playing on a team later on at the junior and then adult levels, or at least might take part at the recreational level. As Weyburn sends a native son (Brennen Jones) to the national junior curling championship, we are reminded again of the possibilities in this sport, and of the fact anybody can do well if they really put their minds to it.

My parents long curled (and still do in their retirement) but I had no real interest in the game until I was a teen and was able to learn how to play it, and then played in a junior league while living at the air base at Moose Jaw; known as CFB Bushell Park then (it's called 15 Wing today), the base curling rink was where I learned about why it's essential to clean the bottom of the rock, why you make an in-turn or out-turn, or why one sweeps in front of a crucial draw shot, and even what role the ice-maker can play.

See, my dad was the volunteer ice-maker for the curling rink, and he even enlisted me on a part-time basis to clean the sheets and then to pebble it, allowing me to earn some part-time cash (and in the summers, I earned cash by picking up range balls from the hitting range since my dad also volunteered as the greenskeeper for the tiny golf course on the base there, and had a paper route with the Moose Jaw Times-Herald).

I haven't carried on with the sport of curling into my adulthood as I could have (as some of my colleagues here at the Review do), but at least if I watch a crucial game at a local bonspiel or on TV from the Brier, I know what's going on, and can appreciate difficult shot-making or strategic placements of rocks in or in front of the house.