Variations of Home

(I wrote this post a few days ago, and was waiting until I got a photo of the door, or something, to post. But I've had a sick baby in my arms for the past couple of days. The words are more important, anyway.)

I remember visiting my parents, not long after moving to the Yukon, and referring to their house as "home". My mom told me that it made her happy to hear that I still thought of it that way.

From then on, I made a concious effort not to refer to it as home. I'd decided that the Yukon would be my new home; I could not have more than one.

I am home now, in my parents' house. It is always a comfortable feeling, as we drive from the airport through the familiar streets of the city in which I grew up. It is a deep exhale as I step through the side door and drop my bags. Everything is familiar: the smell, clean and sweet; the creak of the stairs; the way I immediately begin opening the refridgerator and the cupboards, like my teenaged self looking for something to eat; the way my sister and I fall into the rhythm of setting and clearing the table; the dinner-table conversation. All of the things I fought hard in my twenties, I embrace now. This will always be home.

But home is also a log cabin on the other side of the country, blanketed in snow. Home is the woodstove softly ticking, it is the generator humming through the dark night, it is the complete silence that accompanies a 3 am trip to the outhouse. Each time we drive the long highway between Whitehorse and Dawson, I am awed by the vastness of the territory, the wildness of it; where the only thing moving is the wind through the trees, the only sound the beat of a raven's wings. It is something I treasure but will never possess. It is a darkly beautiful jewel. It is terrifying and comforting at once.

And as we begin this journey of uprootedness, of travel, of not-knowing, home is here, in this bed where I write, my two little boys sleeping spread-eagled, arms flung across one another. Home is any bed that holds the four of us, anywhere, in any country. The familiar sounds of our shared sleep, the particular scent of our skin. 

Home is any place in which we all lay down to sleep; home is any place we all wake up, together.

Long Haul

I realize that there are many women who do this alone, either some or all of the time. Around here, their partners work at remote mine sites. They fight wildfires, stationed in the bush in the territory or flown out to help in other provinces, sometimes gone for weeks. 

Women's partners are long-haul truckers, or in the military, or just not there at all, ever. So many women do this all alone, all of the time.

After a day like yesterday, where P is out the door at 7:30 a.m. and doesn't pull into the driveway until 7 p.m., I find myself wondering how these women do it. How do they go for days, or weeks, or years as the primary caregiver? As the only adult in the house, all day long? How do they make time for that mythical beast called self-care? How do they fill the well? How do they not lose their minds? 

Or maybe they do. 

Lose their minds, that is. I know I feel close to it on these particular days. I find myself resenting being stuck out here alone for such long stretches of time. I pace within these log walls, or without, in the clearing around the house, swatting at mosquitoes and wishing someone would pull into the driveway, anyone, and not just to turn around and drive back to the gas station at the corner. I'm armed with tea and a wild 3 year old and a sweet baby. I'll invite you in, I swear!

In the absence of (grown) human contact, I find myself spending too much time on the internet, never really making much of a connection there, either. I sing "Mr. Lonely" in my head and feel sorry for myself and then tell myself to cut it out, shake it off. I wash the dishes, I build a block tower and watch the baby knock it over. I count the minutes until. 

Learning to accept where I'm at

While I was recently back in Ontario for a visit, I flipped through a few of my old journals. The ones from high school were just plain embarrassing. So much angst! But most interesting was the journal from 2005/06. That was the year I first came to Dawson--and then went back to Ontario with my tail between my legs.

That first summer was a confusion of emotion. I was exhilerated by making such a huge change in my life. I was also incredibly lonely. In reading through that journal, I was struck by how badly I wanted to go "home". I stuck it out because I felt like I had to. I was also under the infamous "spell of the Yukon". That fall, when I went back to London, all I wrote about was...wanting to be back in Dawson.

Since then, I've alternately felt completely at home here, and like I can't get out fast enough. And here I am again, dissatisfied with what I've got, yearning for something else. It seems to me I've spent much of the last 10 years in this mental state. What an exhausting waste of my energy!

I've said it once before here: I'm not happy on the Dempster. I know there are people who thrive on this kind of lifestyle, who would give anything to live exactly where I do. But it turns out I am not one of those people. I long to go for a walk and pass people on the street. To take the kids to the park when we're all losing it, without having to pack the car for a "town day". I miss friends dropping by for tea. It makes fir a great story to see a wolf in the yard, but I miss having human neighbours. I want to live in town again.

That being said, I don't live in town. Moving to town is not  going to happen any time soon. So, for myself and also for my kids, I must choose to accept what we've got here, and to thrive where I've been planted. It's okay to feel how I do, it's okay to want something different, but it's not okay to react with sadness and anger.. It's not okay to feel "stuck" here. This is where we are right now, but I need to remember that all things are in constant flux. Nothing is fixed; not one single thing about life is permanent and unchanging. Even the mountains around me are very slowly changing, worn by wind and rain and freezing and thawing, by the slow and subtle shifts we can't see. 

For now I must try to relish this unique life I'm living, these moments that will never exist again. To focus my energy on embracing each day, accepting it as it comes, no matter how it comes, and seeing the beauty in that. 

Checking In

We're recently back from a little over two months spent with family in Ontario. I'm not gonna lie, it was pretty wonderful having all those hands to take the baby. And I really miss it some days. But we're settling back in to life on the Dempster, trying to find a routine while nursing sick babies. 

The sun is back in full force and I'm so glad we missed those dark months. I don't think I can do them anymore. Getting out for at least December and January is necessary for our survival. I'm not sure if we would have all come out alive had we stayed here.

Two months spent in the city has made me realize a few things about myself. I've realized that I don't dig this lifestyle anymore. Pooping outside in the dark at 30 below isn't cool anymore. I miss taking a shower on a fairly regular basis. While I love looking out any window in our home and seeing only forest, I miss people popping in for a visit. I miss being able to walk to a park and see people going about their day. I feel like I gave off-grid, country living a fair chance, and it's just not for me. 

We're here for now, though. While we make our future plans, right now we're not going anywhere. So I will continue to poop outside in the dark at 30 below and shower sporadically and have only whiskey jacks for neighbours. 

I turn my thoughts to the garden. I watch the boys grow and I wonder about who I really am and the sun rises and sets and it's fine.

Realizing.

They say that when a baby is born, so too is a mother. I thought that was a one-time occurrence; that with Aedan's birth, I was born a mama, and that was that. But I've learned that I've been born all over again as a mama of two. 

It is taking me some time to figure this out, but figure it out I am. I'm realizing that I've been entirely too hard on myself. All of the expectations I had when I was a  mama of one have gone out the window, though it's been hard to let go of them.

Aedan watches shows on Netflix now, and he plays with our iPads. Over the past 7 weeks I've been wracked with guilt over his screen time, and it's resulted in some tearful battles. But today I realize that the day is incredibly long, when it begins at 5:45 am and it's too cold to go outside. There are a lot of hours to fill, and if I fill one or two of them Bob the Builder or a movie we watch together, then so be it. I grew up with television, and I guess I turned out pretty all right.

Then there's our diet.  Just before Colm was born, I was having a lot of anxiety over food. I'd started down a path of wanting to eat real, whole foods, avoiding processed foods and refined sugar. But that led me into researching grains, and then nuts and seeds and phytic acid and anti-nutrients. I was left wondering what the hell I was supposed to feed my family. But that anxiety is gone, now. We all seem to digest grains and nuts well, and we're all quite healthy. The processed foods and refined sugar have crept back in, and I would like to change that, but I don't find it consuming my thoughts these days. We are fed, and that's what's important right now.

I'm trying so hard to relax, and to enjoy each moment, but it's not easy some days. Aedan has suddenly, ferociously, become a two-year old, full of energy and curiosity for this world he's in. It's intense, and it's taken P and I by surprise, but we're catching up and trying to allow him the freedom to explore. Sometimes I feel like I'm running a race, trying to get to his next whim before he does, frantically trying to think of things to entertain him or distract him. I have to remind myself that he's quite capable of that on his own.

Anyway, today is one of those days where I haven't broken down and cried yet. I haven't even felt close to tears, and I wanted to write it all down so that maybe I'll feel lifted on a difficult day.

Today

Today began in darkness, as every day does. We sat in our usual places in the living room, and we poured out our misery like the morning coffee. "I'm not having any fun."  "I feel so overwhelmed."  "I wish we were somewhere else." 

And then, as the sun rose, the bad moods lifted. It's amazing how the simple act of giving voice to our unhappiness can dispel it. 

"Lily!!"

I got a pot of roasted butternut squash soup simmering on the stove. I managed to get myself and the little ones outside for a half hour, and then back in for hot chocolate and lunch. Then it was nap time and a good phone call to my mom. P got home from doing some work in the office, and we all went outside again, this time to burn some brush.

We had the soup for dinner, and then the boys each had a bath, with only minimal crying from Aedan. He went to sleep easily, as he has been lately, and Colm is asleep now in my lap as I type this. The candles have all burned down, there is jazz and Tim Tam on the CBC. I'll tuck this day away in my back pocket, and remember it on a day that doesn't feel so smooth and rhythmic....

But I hope they become more like this!

Two

 

As I type this (one-handed) Paul and Aedan are upstairs napping; Colm is asleep in my lap, and I am left with some quiet time to reflect, to gather my thoughts. It feels a bit like that scene in the movie "Twister", where Helen Hunt and Bill Pulman belt themselves to a water pipe rising out of the ground, to anchor themselves as the tornado roars around them.

I am holding on for dear life.

Two is intense. I don't think anyone could have prepared me for it. In fact, I don't recall trying to prepare myself for it. I suppose, deep down, I knew that was an impossible task. 

Aedan is generally being wonderful. I try my very best to give him as much attention as I can spare, while taking fleeting glimpses of the new babe, taking deep breathes of his new-baby scent before diving back in to an ever-changing sea of toddler needs. 

Aedan loves to share his toys with his brother.

I am so grateful that Colm is, so far, an easy baby. He nurses a whole lot, and sleeps a whole lot more.  My love for him has been slow to grow, but my heart is pretty much bursting with it now. I try to savour every little bit of him, every little newborn moment, because he'll likely be my last. I fear for him like I never did for Aedan, not until the diabetes diagnosis, that is. I think it's because of that that I harbour so many secret worries. But Colm seems healthy and content. I tested his blood sugar while the midwife was here, and it was within a normal range. I smell his breath often for keytones, and wonder if he pees too much. I tell myself, as often as possible, "He's fine."

It's not just two to entertain, two to lull to sleep, two bums to wipe, two to love. It's two to nurse, too. I had planned all along to continue nursing Aedan alongside Colm, and I think it's part of the reason that Aedan is adjusting so well, but wow. It is hard. My feelings about my nursing relationship with Aedan change from session to session, oscillating from gratitude to exasperation. He's not ready to wean, though, and I want to keep going. I just need to find some mom-support, another tandem nurser to talk to. 

And what about the two of us, the two adults in all of this? We cling to one another when we can. We try to help one another. I feel like I'm taking so much right now, but that's because I'm giving so much, elsewhere. 

Two is beautiful and frightening and overwhelming in every way. 

I dream of leaving

Yesterday, I was outside raking the yard in the sunshine. I was moving my tender seedlings onto the porch to begin hardening them off. I was thinking about where I want to plant the new flowers I picked up at the Gold Show on Friday.

Today, there is about 8 cm of snow on the ground, and more falling from the colourless sky.

Maybe it's this never-ending winter, or maybe it's something more, but I spend more than the usual amount of time dreaming of a life lived elsewhere. P and I have talked about leaving the Yukon 5-10 years from now, but I find myself wishing it could happen sooner than that. I long for milder winters and more than 90 frost-free days a year. I want to be out in my garden now, I want to see green things growing and to feel the warm sun on my shoulders.

It's more than just this winter business, of course. I wish it were easier to get local food more of the year. I'm not comfortable with how far our produce travels to reach us. The farmer's market will be open next weekend, but the first vegetables won't be available for almost another month. Living here just doesn't seem to jive with so many of my values.

I try to focus on the positives: the tight-knit community, and the fact that people are trying to farm here....but I know these things exist outside of the Yukon, too.

For now, though, I must accept where I am and make the best of it. I will support the local food movement as much as I possibly can. We will improve our little homestead, make ourselves comfortable for as long as we remain...but I will continue to dream of greener pasture.

January Blues

January has caught up to me, burying me in an avalanche of monochrome sky. It fills my eyesearsnosemouthlungs with cold and dark; I choke on it, gasping for warm breath.

It smothers each tree, each branch and twig. Every twisted strand of lichen, each spruce needle, each dried out stalk of grass that has managed to keep its head up: weighted heavy with snow.

Each day is flat, grey, sunless. The trees offer a suggestion of green that is more black than anything, their trunks a pale brown. That is the only relief in this drear month.

I long for colour and light. Gaudy-plumed tropical birds calling raucously from trees in every shade of green, trees sporting blooms of red, purple, yellow, orange. I long for skies that scream blue, and puffy white clouds  and an ocean that glitters in the ever-deepening gradient of the Caribbean. 

I hunger for fresh fruit, juicy and ripe bursting between my teeth, flooding my mouth with stored up sunlight instead of this tiresome weight of snow and ice and dark 

dark 

dark.

I forgot what January was like. I seem to forget each year until it hits me like this.

3 weeks until Nicaragua: an orgy of light and colour and fresh fruit and oh my. Swimming and bare shoulders and bare feet. At least I've got this to move toward!

Reflecting

Something I didn't realize about blogging: it's as much for me as it is for all of you. It's strange that I didn't realize that until a few days ago, when I read back over my year's posts. It was an eye-opener to read the things I felt compelled to blog about, and to notice the things I left out. 

I feel like in the last year I've begun to come to terms with the path my life has taken: with motherhood and with bush life primarily. Being a new mama is isolating in and of itself...being a new mama who lives 40 km from the nearest town, with no close neighbours, takes that loneliness to a whole new level. Missing from this blog are those feelings, the blues I felt many days, the total craziness of spending days without talking to anyone other than my baby or my man. I didn't want to live here, so far out of town. But here I am today, and I'm loving it.

I've come to love the peace and quiet life in the bush brings. I've come to love the solitude, the feeling of freedom and independence. More than anything I've come to love the space we've got. We have 5 acres to call our own, but those 5 acres are surrounded by thousands of acres of forest, river and mountain. I think I'd feel claustrophobic if we moved to town now. Whereas before I felt trapped here, now I feel free and full of possibility. It's a wonderful change and I'm grateful for it.

I regret that I didn't record those feelings of loneliness, though. Not here, and not in my paper journal, either. I think it's just as important to include the darkness with the light, to give balance and a truer perspective. I hope to use this space more freely in the coming year, recording my days openly and honestly, as much for myself as for those of you reading. 

My hopes for 2013 include making good use of this land we're on, growing some of our own food and keeping chickens. I hope to continue on my path to eliminating toxins from our daily life, from how we wash to the food we eat and the pans in which we prepare it. 

I want to make creativity a big part of my life again, writing and taking photographs and creating with my hands.

I want to fill my life with light and love and positiveity. I want to nurture my soul, and in so doing, nurture those closest to me. 

Wishing you all the best for your own endeavours in this coming year! 

A Little Blue

Each day grows shorter; we spend more time in darkness than in the light. I find myself drawing inwards, my mind filled with projects and ideas for the coming months. I'm finding it difficult to extend myself outward, and I suppose that's been reflected in my infrequent trips to town, and my silence in this space.

I'm looking forward to the solstice, but I am a little sad this year, too. We'll be travelling, making an unexpected short trip to Ontario. I try to focus on the reason for this trip: being with family in a time of need. We didn't have any big plans for celebration here, for the solstice or for Christmas, but I am eager to begin our own traditions. I feel like that will be put off for another year. Oh well...

Que sera, sera.

These days...

These days have been about staying warm. November ended on a chilly note, with lows of -44 C at night and "highs" of around -37 C for the few brief hours the sun is in the sky.

We had seemingly unending issues with our power supply, and both our main and backup generators made numerous trips to the mechanic. This made for some dark mornings, the house filled with flickering candle light, and a little time away from the computer. I quite enjoyed that respite. With a bit of ingenuity on P's part, I think we've got things sorted out and we're ready for the next cold spell.

Through that time I was so grateful that we weren't also dealing with frozen fuel lines (and therefore no heat) or frozen drain pipes, like so many of our friends in town. Our water never stops flowing from the blessed blue jugs, and our woodstove is always crackling warm.

The cold, clear skies began to cloud over two days ago, and today it is grey and warm, with a very light snowfall dusting over our tracks in the yard. I'm glad to have a break from the 40's...it is a cold that takes your breath away.

These twilight shrouded days, I find myself seeking light wherever I can. I find myself noticing the weak patches of sunlight that briefly shine through the windows, casting shapes and shadows onto the walls. I light candles in all the dark corners where the few electric lights don't reach, taking solace in this nightly ritual (which happens a little earlier each day). I look forward to the winter solstice, when we celebrate the return of the sun and the days gradually lengthening again.

Watch and Learn

I am continually amazed at how this babe learns. It is, by far, one of my most favourite things about sharing each day with him.

He picks up on things that I try and teach him, like sign language. But then there are the things that I haven't really taught him. I wonder: "How is he ever going to learn to do that?" And then one day he just...does it.

Like in the past week or two, he's learned how to eat with a fork or a spoon. When I first offered him cutlery, he would just play with it and then throw it on the floor. He'd either feed himself with his hands, or I would feed him. Lately, though, he's become very insistent that he hold the spoon himself. He would tap it in his bowl, push the food around, bring the empty spoon up to his mouth. Within days of doing that, he figured out how to scoop, and then how to maneuver the food up to his mouth, and now...he's mostly feeding himself!

I think, too, of his sleep habits. In the first 6 or 8 months of his life, I remember thinking: "Will he ever be able to sleep without me at his side?" I read books and listened to advice from other mamas, but I never really did anything, other than try to creep away once I'd put him down, and hurry back to his side when he awoke crying. One day, he stayed asleep for a half hour after I put him in the bed...then it was an hour, then two or three. And now I can put him down for a nap and have time all to myself--which is much appreciated!

It takes patience on everyone's part, but it's so wonderful to see that, with time, little ones will reach these milestones all on their own. I wonder what he'll learn next?

Lessons

Something I am reminded of frequently as I go through my days with a little one is the importance of being flexible. No matter how much planning I might do, no matter how smoothly I may envision something playing out, Aedan invariably has other plans.

We imagine a lovely family portrait lit by the warm rays of the setting sun, but instead, Aedan is crying when we hold him, wanting only to run around on the grass waving a stick.....

I bundle us both up against the cold to take the dogs for a walk on a beautiful, clear afternoon, snuggling him into the pouch of my amauti parka, but for some reason Aedan is terribly uncomfortable on my back, and he cries until I cut the walk short.....

After dinner, I heat kettles of water to give him a nice bedtime bath in front of the wood stove, but after a few minutes in the tub, he begins to cry and lift his arms to me, ready to get out.....

It can be so frustrating to see my plans changed so completely, and at times it's hard not to take it personally.  I think I invest so much in the idea of an activity: how nice it will be to walk in the woods, packing my baby on my back, or give him a bath by the wood stove; I forget sometimes that he is developing his own preferences, and right now crying is the only way he has to voice a difference of opinion.

In the moment, trudging through the woods with a screaming baby on my back (or whatever the situation may be), I remind myself to take deep breaths, to have compassion and empathy for what this little person is feeling, to stay in the moment and not lament what could have or should have been. Because it's not always going to be just as I imagine. Aedan is not me, and he lives very much in the moment. 

I am learning to let go of all expectations, and just let things unfold as they will. When I do this, I end up experiencing some other beauty or joy that I hadn't planned on. 

I never imagined that a baby could teach me so much about life!

These days, I'm lovin'....

The way the setting sun lights the birch and aspen a flickering gold against the darkening sky

Warm sweaters and thick socks

Hoping and dreaming of the future

The scent of snow on the wind

Friends stopping by to visit

Sloppy baby kisses

Boards going up on all the seasonal businesses in town; quieter streets and bittersweet goodbyes

The closeness of community, and knowing I've found home 

Beautiful music

Cooking comfort food

Devouring book after book after book...

What are you lovin' these days?

Thoughts on Sustainability

Due to some issues we've been having as of late with our power source, I've been spending a lot of time thinking about what it would be like to live where I do without fossil fuels.

We live off-grid, so we must generate our power ourselves. In the summertime, we're able to charge our system almost exclusively with solar power. However, our summers here in the Yukon are brief.  The rest of the year, we use a gas-powered generator to charge up our batteries.  Ideally, we should be able to run the generator every couple of days to charge up the batteries, and then draw off of those. So, take the gasoline out of the picture, and we're left with no power source, for the majority of the year (and at the darkest time of the year).

So what would we do, if suddenly there were no more fossil fuels? Everything about our lives would change. We live off-grid, but we still enjoy most of the same luxuries as people living in town. No electricity for most of the year would mean no more computer. It would mean no recorded music or electric lights. We'd light the house with oil lamps and candles.

Where would we source those things? We'd have to get them in town (assuming supplies were still getting to town...they'd have to come by the river, like they did up until the 50's). To get to town without fossil fuels, we'd need a horse and cart, or a dog team in the winter.

The wood stove is our sole heat source. Without fossil fuels, we could no longer use a chainsaw to fell trees. Instead, we'd have to do it the old-fashioned way. To get the wood home, we'd be using our horse again...that means we wouldn't be able to take the large loads that a truck and trailer allows: we'd be spending a lot of time cutting and moving fire wood.

Unless we dug a well on the property, we'd be taking the horse and cart down  to the spring, about 2 km from the house, to fill our blue jugs with fresh water.

What about food? Right now, Dawson has zero food security. All of our food comes from far, far away. Without fossil fuels, P and I would be growing and gathering all of our food right here. We would hunt and fish for fresh meat...I don't think we could keep chickens for eggs, because it would take too much to keep them alive through the winter. There is an abundance of wild food here, if one knows what to look for and how to process it. We'd take that horse and cart to town every once in awhile for things like flour and sugar (assuming they were still making it up here).

Considering these things gives me such respect for the Han people, who survived in this region long before the first traders and prospectors arrived in the mid-1800's. It was a lean, hard life they must have lived, moving almost constantly according to the seasons, always in preparation for the long, cold winters.

Seeing the ice shushing down the river this past week, I think of the stampeders settling this area in the early 1900's, watching the last river boat steam away from town. Once that boat was gone, there was no more food coming in from Outside, no news, no visitors. They used to have great big storehouses, that'd be full of the town's supplies until the river broke in the spring. And back then, that sometimes meant June before the first boat.

Would I be up to the challenge, without fossil fuels? In a way, life would be much simpler. Each day would be focused on the bare essentials of living...growing, gathering and preserving food. Hauling fresh water. Gathering wood for heat. Repairing the house, thinking of innovations to make things easier, tending to the horse (and the dog team!). But I feel like down time would be that much sweeter, harder earned. We'd learn to make our own music. We'd tell each other stories. We'd celebrate when the days started to get longer, because it would mean burning the lamps and candles less. We'd savour each bite of food, knowing exactly where it came from and what went into getting it on our plates....

In all honesty, I don't think it's a life I'm ready to embrace...it's harder, meaner, most likely shorter. Without fossil fuels, I'd be terribly isolated here.  However, there are so many aspects of it that I would like to incorporate into our lives now: growing and gathering more of our own food is at the top of that list. And there is certainly nothing wrong with learning to savour each day more fully...

How would your life change without fossil fuels? Could you do it?