06/17/2026
HAFFORD — The mystery of Saskatchewan’s famous Crooked Bush has baffled scientists, tourists, alien enthusiasts and at least one fellow who insists he’s from Moose Jaw but speaks with a Romanian accent.
Naturally, the Darn Tootin’ Tribune dispatched its own private investigator, Al Swanski, to crack the case once and for all.
Four years, three thermoses of coffee and one unfortunate incident involving a mosquito fogger later, the investigation has yielded absolutely nothing useful.
“Frankly, I’m more confused now than when I started,” admitted Swanski while examining a tree with a magnifying glass he bought from Princess Auto.
His first stop was the University of Saskatchewan, where renowned plant geneticist Dr. Reginald Barkenstock explained that the trees likely share a rare mutation.
“These trees are clones,” said Dr. Barkenstock. “The same mutation causes them to grow in unusual patterns.”
However, Dr. Barkenstock’s explanation was immediately disputed by fellow U of S researcher Professor Douglas Rootman.
“Rubbish,” declared Rootman. “These are obviously the descendants of normal aspens that became addicted to jazz music sometime during the 1930s.”
The professor pointed to what he claimed was “clear swing-era movement” in the branches.
Meanwhile, Saskatoon arborist Clint Woodchipper believes the answer lies underground.
“I’ve worked with trees for thirty years and I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Woodchipper. “My professional opinion is that there is an old Ford Pinto buried beneath the grove and the magnetic fields are still acting up.”
Plant physiologist Dr. Karen Leafworthy disagreed.
“No question in my mind,” she explained. “This is caused by generations of gophers stretching the roots while trying to steal them.”
Not to be outdone, local occult expert and owner of Crystal Pam’s Mystical Hut, Pamela Featherstone Moonbeam, offered another theory.
“These trees are acting as antennas for messages from the Fifth Prairie Dimension,” she said while waving a dreamcatcher over a loaf of banana bread.
“The trees themselves are trying to communicate. Most people simply aren’t spiritually synchronized enough to hear them.”
According to Moonbeam, the trees have repeatedly attempted to warn humanity about overcooked perogies.
At this point, Swanski sought the opinion of retired farmer Orville Dinkchenko of Alticane.
“Simple,” said Dinkchenko. “Back in 1958 a tornado spun around in circles over that patch for three days. My uncle Earl tied himself to a Massey Ferguson and watched the whole thing.”
Another resident, Sven Hüjkdink, insists the trees became twisted after a travelling polka band practiced beside them every Tuesday night for seventeen years.
“Too much accordion vibration,” he explained.
But perhaps the most disturbing testimony came from amateur paranormal investigator Jean-Pierre Finkleston.
Using two dowsing rods, a compass and what appeared to be an old television antenna, Finkleston determined that the trees are arranged in the shape of legendary Saskatchewan folk hero Jimbodiddly’s moustache.
Coincidence?
“Not likely,” he whispered ominously.
After exhausting every lead, Swanski sat quietly on the boardwalk and stared into the crooked branches.
“I’ve investigated Nigerian princes, suspicious potholes and the great toilet paper shortage of 2020,” he said solemnly. “But these trees have beaten me.”
When asked whether the case would remain open, Swanski nodded.
“Yer darn tootin’.”
At press time, Tribune investigators received an anonymous tip from a man in Biggar claiming the trees are actually normal and that the rest of Saskatchewan is bent slightly to the left.
The Darn Tootin’ Tribune will continue monitoring this developing situation.
