We are at my grandma and grandpa’s property at Chain Lake near Princeton. They bought it so the whole family can come here on weekends to camp with them. I’m wearing my flowered flannel pjs and I have my Holly Hobby sleeping bag pulled up right up to my chin. My dad likes to turn
This story takes place in a quiet town. It has a downtown that is the centre of almost all the commercial activities, but a considerable rural area has remained over time. In a yard, an old but decent dwelling prolongs its existence. Inside this dwelling, two sofas decorate an empty living room with a table
If you consider how many bears and humans are scattered across the north of Canada, it is incredible how few encounters there are between them. Despite this, I have had a few memorable encounters. The Scotland that I grew up in had no large wild animals such as tigers, lions, elephants or bears, so my
So often do I want for home, for family. Where others seem so happily sheltered by their place and blood, I have long felt transient in both. Houses and kin have been left behind, their memory a mine once rich caved in with time, or burned quite literally to ash. I make wishes through my
“If we didn’t do anything, my heart probably would have shattered in 2 billion pieces.” Henry Chillihitzia Videos of flooding and mudslides caused by the first of the atmospheric rivers to hit BC last November were horrifying and the damage left behind devastating. Numerous sections of major highways gouged away by raging flood waters; bridges
I used to live as the wild things did, the trees and the spirits that roamed the woods day and night. Let us not forget the time when the life force was felt between every wall, inside every colour. I did not wait for daybreak to go exploring, any time and everywhere was my place,
Afterword by Ingrid Love The 30’s – Edinburgh, Scotland My adventures started even before I knew where I lived. According to Mum, as a child, I would tend to wander away from the avenue in which we lived and end up on one of the avenues that ran parallel to ours. In those days, mail
Despair and bitter humor in the mountains that civilization forgot; punitive nit-picking by ninnies, and the lesson of being late to the party The forum was a small-town affair yet symbolic of our national humor. It was organized by two women: one with extensive experience, and one who dabbled. One had earnest, concrete ideas, while the
The first night was the easiest. At our request, our new family was discharged from the hospital early; we were supposed to have a home birth after all. Of course, we were exhausted from the 30-hour marathon we just endured, but we were still riding that natural “high” of endorphins. With some early success at latching, it
A collection of interesting and beautiful images from the clear ice of Lake Baikal captured in a photo-essay by Alan Taylor (and many other photographers) for The Atlantic entitled “Bailkal Zen” inspired this heartfelt tribute to my Father. “Lake Baikal, in the Russian region of Siberia, is a massive body of water—the world’s deepest and
I love old European sleeper trains, the clickety-clack of metal against metal, the whirr and screech of brakes in darkness, the deceleration and acceleration as old wooden stations approach and depart, the blur of lights and buildings, and the invisible rustle of people on a voyage. Night trains seem to simultaneously condense and expand time
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