Returning to life at home after the annual road trip south

In the late spring, I received an email I had been hoping to see every day for about 7 months… “Good news, your [Ford] Transit van has been selected for build week of June 01.”
I was so relieved and so excited …A second mortgage.

And then, well into a summer of almost endless puttering in the backyard, which ranged from building a fence, digging up 36 year old garbage and tree stumps, planting 3 poplars, 2 birch, and 2 quaking aspen, along with a dozen other birch seedlings, to trying to keep up with strawberry harvests and out of control tomato and mint plants, in pots of course, I got news I had been waiting almost a year for. My Transit would arrive in Vancouver in a few days.

Finally, finally, after 9 of the longest months, my new baby was scheduled to be arriving a dealership I basically grew up in. So on something of a whim, it was off to Brown Bros. Ford in Vancouver for the annual 2,400km roadtrip south.

After pulling away from Brown Bros. with my brand new baby, I immediately made a wrong turn in the forever rush hour of Vancouver, and after a scenic detour through my old stomping grounds in Richmond, I picked up just over $300 of tea from my favourite little mom and pop shop in Steveston, Nikaido. Every time I’m back, I stock back up with their beautiful teas as I’ve been doing for over 16 years. And after Nikaido, it was on to my second home, IKEA, for a case of lingonberry jam, and maybe more than a few other things. I did, after all, have the space…

The almost month down south, as it ended up being, with my mamma bear passed far too quickly, but I was relieved beyond imagination to have my new girl at last. It was then time to head back up north, taking the luxury of two days to make the trip, as opposed to driving straight through. And with just enough time to get some raspberry and lingonberry bushes that made the trip back north with me into the ground, it was once again back to work in the early nights of August after a summer that passed far, far too quickly.

So below, I give you a little look at a few nights in August and the first half of September through weather as chaotic, unsettled, and messy as my life has been through the fall.

Getting my feet wet

It was finally the May night I had waited years for.

It was still, quite literally, freezing, but warm enough the Yellowknife River had finally started to break up. I bundled up as if I was going out on tour — leggings, mittens, a toque, but Birkenstocks.

My recently purchased kayak, which since weeks earlier, had made a home of my stairs, could finally be loaded through the three rows of my Sienna all the way to the dash and taken out to the Ingraham Trail for a midnight paddle amongst thousands of migratory birds.

With my pants and leggings pushed up, I walked my kayak into the river, hopped in, dried off my feet, pulled on thick woolen socks and shimmied the towel down between my feet and the bottom of the kayak for a little insulation, and set off upstream to meet the edge of the ice, and then back downstream to meet birds as far as the eye could see.

It was bliss, everything I had been missing and longing for about the late spring, but yes, storage may remain a small issue…

The beginning of summer hibernation

Passing the middle of April there was still no sign of the ice roads reaching their end, and despite my grumpiness about the half metre of snow still in my north facing backyard, deep inside I was happy for the continuing cold keeping these ice roads around for this little while longer.

But with my last tour behind me, I was wasting little time savouring cosy nights at home in bed, writing these posts and catching up on so much of the rest of life, including hours and hours on my yoga mat without a care in the world.

This slower pace left space for aurora chases if I felt like it, just because, and on this night the conditions were all just perfect to make one last run into the night to my favourite lake for such a beautiful few hours.

One last cherished tour of the year, and my thank you

I’ve had a lot to love and a lot to appreciate this year, and the last few tours of the season always have felt for me like a time where I can step back a little to reflect, where I can find an even deeper love and enjoyment in this. I’ve said for a long time that the aurora feels like a meditation for me, or an open eye meditation, and never has it felt more true than this last week of the season. I have loved every moment.

It is surreal to think about making it through another year with my business and this life. I have met the most beautiful people from all across the globe, bonding over everything from Race Across the World to yoga, to breathtaking moments with the aurora herself. So many of you returned from just months prior to a full decade ago and that’s something I just wasn’t prepared for. You continue to give me a full heart and lifelong friendships I’ll cherish forever. But I think more than anything, you give me hope, and a love shared that we can always come back to when the world is just too much, which does feel like a lot of the time right now.

Thank you for another year of your overwhelming love and support. None of this would be here without you, and for that, I am humbled and thankful beyond words.

The comforts of April

I was very much in love with my April nights routine by now. Walking out of the house to the car in a crisp but reasonable, after this winter, air temperature while the sky was a beautiful bright twilight felt so reassuring and comfortable. Each night now was 6 minutes shorter than the last, but we weren’t making a habit of leaving town any later. I was loving every moment of these nights and I knew I would miss them so much, which made savouring every last moment so much more essential.

The end of my season was just a few tours away now and that provided some relief after such a long, exhausting season and first year of just life back in Yellowknife. In a stark contrast to feeling like this last year was an onslaught of chaos and messiness in my life, these final nights carried such a calm. I couldn’t wait for them to begin, and I didn’t want them to end. There wasn’t a worry about tomorrow, except about what I was going to bake, or when my next night off will be. I just wanted to live in the endless beauty of these nights forever.

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