Tales of the beautiful everyday from the North
The most beautiful everyday
Sometimes these posts write themselves and what I want to say flows effortlessly. And for other times, it feels like I’ll never put it together.
I’ve had this night of images sitting here for more than a week, and every morning after I’ve answered emails and taken care of all the photos from the night before, I come back to this post ready to begin writing and I haven’t actually been able to write anything at all.
Not every night has some dramatic movement with the weather or miraculous timing to talk about. There isn’t always some rush or natural high that keeps me awake for long after I get back home. Sometimes our nights just flow easily, everything is in good time, the company feels genuinely special, and the night really does feel like it shouldn’t ever have to end.
It is the beautiful everyday I humbly know I am so lucky to have. And as we approach the end of another season, they too are the nights I will take away with me deep in my heart at the end of all of this, whenever that comes.
March; for better and for worse
Every day a little more snow and ice has disappeared from my front patio. Real warmth is still a long ways away, but the subtle signs of winter beginning to loosen it’s grip even at -20° feels like relief.
Our nights have continued to be nothing but the -30s, and with that has come almost constant clear sky for which I am so thankful. We’ve made our switch back to daylight saving time, deepening what feels like an already endless exhaustion from late, late nights.
The early March full moon reminds me of how close we are now to another aurora season drawing to a close. It’s just one month, but the difference between the February and March full moons feel dramatic. The moon remains lower in the sky again, and it’s light so much warmer.
I’ve spent my days at home hiding on my sofa at the north side of my home for the darker room in the morning. It’s the only way to edit photos from the night before. And once those are finished, I move to the other side of my galley kitchen to my dining table, soaking up the sun and warmth at my south facing window, writing emails and sipping a second coffee.
I cherish these slow mornings at home so much.
March has felt overwhelming, daunting and far too busy. I hate the strong sunlight outside that reflects off the snow, and I hate that this spring sunlight has reminded me so much of 4 years ago when I was heartbroken packing up my life to leave because of Covid.
But all of this will pass - the non-stop work, the harsh sunlight, the painful memories and feelings. It’s still a beautiful time, these weeks, and there’s a lot of peaceful moments woven into each day that I still savour too.
Holding my nerve
I was back in the kitchen over the stove again making candied almonds. It was midday, so there would be no late evening crises this time. After about 15 minutes, I watched the sugar finally begin to solidify and I knew I had to hold my nerve and continue on until the sugar began to melt again. Don’t burn the almonds, don’t burn the almonds, don’t burn the almonds. It’s such a fine line, but they’re just not the same without these last 5 minutes in the pan.
As the evening got later, I started to get more and more nervous about the weather. We were finally breaking from our stretch of clear sky into a couple nights of high-level cloud and light snow. It wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t perfect. There were moments we needed to wait through quieter auroral conditions, chase some clear sky but still wait out other heavier cloud. It was exactly when I needed to hold my nerve, take my intuition to heart and head east, which is exactly what we did for a couple of still magical, magical nights with the aurora.
The endlessly cold and beautiful
More clear nights and more drives seeing the temperature on the car dash bottom out at -40°. It doesn’t take long at these temperatures for the tires to cool enough that the tire pressure warning light comes on.
And through these nights, our timing with the aurora has varied from arriving out with not enough time to even open hand warmers before running out of the car, all the way to my hand warmers barely feeling warm at all anymore through a long night with a lot of patience.
In all cases, the aurora was worth the rush, and worth the wait.
Painfully perfect
Too beautiful to go inside, too cold to stay outside
After a miserable first half of the month, the last 10 days have been magical. Temperatures have plummeted and the days and nights have been clear. At my dining table next to my south facing window, the warmth of the sun on my skin is undeniable, but on just the other side of these 35 year old windows, it’s -34°.
These days are full of everything I’ve always loved so much about February in the past.
The ice roads, while washboardy through some stretches, and narrowed by snow drifts through others, have led us out to the most beautiful secluded corners of frozen lakes; and on this particular night, out to one of my favourite, favourite locations ever where the aurora met us within minutes of arriving.
