Stoking the Woodstove

 I just dropped John off at the Whitehorse airport and have headed back to the dry cabin in the woods for a couple days on my own until our wayward child and his partner return from the south. John is concerned about me in the cabin on my own. He need not be. Life is simple in the Yukon. You need warmth and food. I have lots of wood stocked by the cabin courtesy of the wayward child and much too much food. My plan is to sit on the corner of the couch closest to the woodstove with the cat and the dog nearby, and use my headlamp to catch up on reading and writing. I need to stay close to the woodstove, so I can feed it wood often as our temps here have plunged to -27 today. Every now and again, I will need to stir from my corner on the couch to put on my three sweaters and make a mad dash to the outhouse. But other than those necessities I’m looking forward to the quietness, and the stillness, and watching the sun come up and then set shortly thereafter.

John was surprised at how much he enjoyed his time in the Yukon during the winter. He had always looked forward to seeing Morgan and Sylvianna, but made no bones about the fact that he is not a winter guy anymore. But there is a simplicity to life up here in the north that can soothe the soul whether it be summer or winter. We are here in the off-season, and so we actually get to enjoy the pace of everyday life free of the concerns of the busy world down south. Last night at a local pub called Dirty Northern Bastard (love that name), my northern reverie was shocked by the loud voice of a rare winter tourist from the south complaining about the table that she had been seated at. The waitress didn’t care. She shrugged and said ‘take whatever table you want’. It was not said with meanness and instead with factual indifference. If you don’t like your table then go to one you do like…This table issue was not important to the waitress. It should not have been important to anyone. I was annoyed that my southern instincts kicked in and I was full of offense  at this woman for complaining about her table. The nonchalance of the waitress was a good lesson for me. None of this was important. It didn’t matter…it shouldn’t matter to anyone. Take whatever table you want. Of far greater concern is the fact that the river hasn’t frozen yet in this mild winter, and some people are running quite low on wood to heat their homes while they wait for the river to freeze so they can cross it with their snowmobile to reach their stockpiles of firewood. Now that’s a real problem. 

The northern spirit was never more apparent to me than at the Santa Claus parade last night. The parade was late starting, and people just didn’t care. Families danced in the streets under the falling snow. The streets were full of the sound of laughter and joy. And when an errant taxi driver somehow managed to get himself right in the middle of the street blocking the parade route, it did not matter. As he sat there stuck, not sure whether to go forwards or backwards, or what to do, the merry parade goers happily helped him do his three point turn in the middle of the street to get out of the way of Santa. It was all good. It was all fun.  No one was sweating the little stuff. We all just stood in the street smiling and laughing and looking up to the end of the street where the parade started…because from the end of the parade route, you could look down the street and see the beginning of the parade route. The parade ended in front of the historic railway station where a massive tree stood waiting to be lit.  In my southern ways. I assumed that there would be speeches by public officials and politicians, and John and I had already decided that we had no interest in that and would not wait for the tree lighting.  However, as Santa reached the end of the parade route, the tree sprang to light. No speeches by officials. No standing in the snow while they congratulated themselves and thank their fellow politicians for showing up. Someone simply plugged in the lights when Santa arrived and everyone clapped and laughed. I strongly suspect we were not the only ones standing in the street who had to get home to tend the fire and in true northern fashion it was time to get back to the business of keeping warm.

So as John wings his way south and back to civilization, I am happy to have a couple more days in a dry cabin in the Yukon with its quiet solitude. It is precious time to write, reflect and read in between the constant stoking of the woodstove because, and I will be honest here, in -27 temps the cabin remains a tad chilly no matter how much wood you put in that stove.