Journey Outside and Back

The past 10 days feel more like 30. From knowing we would have to make a dash to Ontario, to doing it and being there, and back again: it's gone by so fast, and yet seemed like forever.

Each time we make the journey Outside (of the Yukon, that is), I am struck by just how remote we are here. As we speed along the winding highway carved out of a vast boreal forest, sometimes seeing nothing else moving but grouse for hours, I can't help but reflect on what this journey would have meant a mere 60 years ago. In winter, it would have meant more than a week on a dogsled, food packed for dogs and people alike, first aid kits, an ax, and your luggage; nights in little log-cabin roadhouses or canvas tents pitched under the flickering aurora. In short, this is not a trip one would have made lightly.

I am grateful that we can answer the call of family, that we are able to make it out of here with relative ease when we are needed. We take these things for granted: pick-up trucks with block heaters, paved highways and government crews to maintain them.

Thankfully, all is well back east.

Our drive home yesterday was mostly uneventful: while P and Aedan both slept, I slowed the truck as we passed a pair of elk at the forest's edge. A little further down the road, we bumped over a glacier that had appeared across the highway in the week since we'd made the trip down. It was a colour of blue that is curiously common only to thick, glacial ice and the Caribbean sea.

We arrived to find the house in a state, though...the housesitter had caught a whiff of propane (the pilot light had gone out on the propane fridge, but she didn't realize this) so she'd cracked open a door and then forgot about said cracked door...it was -10 C in here. The 3 jugs of water she'd left us were frozen solid, as was all of the food in the cupboards. The food in the freezer, however, was all thawed, because the pilot light went out. It was not a nice homecoming. It took about 4 hours to raise the temperature 20 degrees.

In the face of things like this, I count our blessings. A safe drive home. A fire that was still going (it could have been much colder inside if not for that). Groceries brought from Whitehorse. An incredibly adaptable baby who thought it was fun to toddle around the house in his parka.

The house is toasty now, we've opened our stockings and had blueberry pancakes for breakfast, using the last of the blueberries I harvested at summer's end.

It's good to be home, to slip back into the rhythm of my days.

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.

Simple Pleasures

The house is quiet; the babe has finally settled down for a nap. I hurry outside, gathering an armload of wood as the sun slips behind the hills, signalling an end to our brief days.

I stoke up the fire, and fill the chipped enamel basin with hot water from the kettle on the stove. I light candles on the washstand and strip off the layers of sweaters and knit shirts that are like a second skin I seem never to be free of these days. I bend my head over the basin, dip my cup into the clear water and pour it out over my hair. I dip and pour like this, soaking my hair and enjoying the sensations. I scrub my itchy scalp, water dripping down my forehead, over my shoulders and down my back.

I wrap my wet hair in a towel and carry the basin over to the couch before the fire. It is cold outside but I am warm, wearing a fresh pair of long underwear, pulled up at the ankles. I ease my feet into the water, clouded now with spent soap suds. I relax back into the cushions, watching the flames that fill the stove, consuming the wood I've just brought in. My feet are blissfully bare, tingling. I wiggle my toes, happy toes free of socks and slippers.

My hair curls as it dries in the heat of the fire and the last of the twilight fades from the room.

Wild Imagination

The sun doesn't crest the hills 'til around 10 am, but once it does, it's a brilliant day. The trees stand shrouded in snow against a clear blue sky. It's cold today; the air warms to -35 C with whatever heat it can pull from the weak sun.

I haven't had the dogs out in a couple of days, so after lunch I pack the babe onto my back and we set out into the woods.

The trees are lit in a golden light, it hits them at close to a 90 degree angle; the sun is not high in the sky. It is quiet but for the crunch of my snowshoes on the trail. The dogs are far ahead, and Aedan has fallen asleep nestled down in our parka.

I come over a small rise and see the dogs up ahead, sniffing madly at something on the trail. As I approach, I see scattered tufts of fur. It is pale brown, white and soft grey. Suddenly, my walk takes on a sinister note. I scan around for tracks, for sign of the struggle, but I see only old, criss-crossing snowshoe hare tracks, and the clumsy wallows of my small dogs in the deeper snow.

The dogs disappear up ahead again, and I continue on, thinking that perhaps I am not the only predator to prowl along this path.

The silence of the forest is not so peaceful now: it takes on a new depth, seeming almost deliberate. What creatures watch me from the acres of brush and shadows all around? Every so often I stop, convinced I hear something creeping along behind me, its steps concealed beneath the noise of my snowshoes. I hold my breath and hear nothing.

Smaller trees are bent low under the weight of the undisturbed snow; they look like weird gnomes and mythical beasts frozen in time, or some bizarre topiary gone wild. Walls of spruce and gnarled old willow spring up in my path: the forest conspires to lead me astray. I stop again, listening. For a moment, the conspicuous silence presses around me. Then, the dog's bark echoes back to me. The baby wakes up and begins to cry. The path opens up again before me. I double back on my trail and we hurry home.

Snapping Cold

That's how JJ Van Bibber describes this weather, in his book "I was born under a spruce tree" (which I'm reading now and loving).

Dawson is one of the coldest places on earth today!

Cold like this usually comes with clear, bright skies and sunshine; it's a nice trade off. But today it's a bit overcast: the sky is a patchwork of muted blue and white.

This morning, though, when I went to the outhouse around 7 am, was stunning. The stars were sharp, glittering points of light in the dark. I could see the Pleiades to the east, and a couple of incredibly bright stars (planets?) low on the horizon. A very faint aurora streaked across the sky. I stopped on the path to take it all in, shifting from slippered food to slippered foot, feeling the dry, cold air tingling in my sinuses.

It brings its problems, this cold, particularly living off grid like we do. Vehicles should be plugged in to start safely, but to do that we need to start up a generator first. Well, the generator wouldn't start this morning. P got his truck started anyway, though it wasn't easy. We've got a torch set beneath the generator now: hopefully it'll warm its insides enough start later today. We'll probably leave it running until things warm up above 30.

We'll be inside today, keeping our toes warm by the wood stove. I hope you're warm where ever you are today, too!

Early Morning and Yarn Along

Waking up at 5 am sure makes for a long morning! The stars were still out as I stoked up the fire and got the house warm. A cup of raspberry leaf tea, a few rows of knitting and a few stories read to the babe. We've breakfasted and Aedan is already down for his morning nap. The breakfast dishes are washed, the floors are swept and Aedan's 1st mess of the day has been tidied, ready for the next one. My second cup of tea is steeping on the kitchen counter as I type this at 9 am, and it is only just beginning to lighten out. I'll have to wait another hour for enough sunlight to get a photo for Yarn Along.

I've given up on the Midsummer Night shawl. I think it was perhaps a little too much for my first real attempt at knitting lace. Also, and I hesitate to say this because I am a relative beginner (although I've known HOW to knit for many years), I think there were more errors in the pattern. I got stuck again, it wasn't making any sense...and then I dropped some stitches while unknitting/reknitting a row...and that's when I frogged the whole thing. I'm instead working on a much simpler lace pattern cowl. It's going very well. It's a short and easy repeat and it's knitting quickly.

I'm still making my way through the Harry Potter series; I'm onto the Goblet of Fire now. I do believe I'll give Harry a rest after this one, though. I'm itching to get into a book my friend loaned me called "I was born under a Spruce tree". It is a transcription of the oral history of a local man's life. He passed last winter, but boy has he left an amazing legacy. He photographed much of his life, too, so the book is rich not just with his spoken tale, but with the photos to document his life in the bush, on the creeks and in the gold mines all over this territory. 

What are you knitting and reading? Hop on over to Ginny's blog, Small Things, and yarn along with the rest of us!