Driving the Windfall

I work here







It's a long drive



Amazing results




Intended recepient

Monkman Pass Memorial Trail

In late June, six hikers from across Canada pulled on their hiking boots, grabbed granola bars and donned weighted packs for an overnight trip on the Monkman Pass Memorial Trail that followed the footsteps of pioneers that dared to follow their dreams creating an unforgettable corner of the Peace Country.

The park and the cascading waterfalls it contains were named after the men and women who unflinchingly dedicated their lives to the area, and it was a pleasure to share the trail with their memory and spirits.



Group photo at the beginning



Lunch spot at ~9 km



Crossing the mighty Murray



Another crossing. This is way scarier than it looks.





By our campsite



No bears here



My Creator's canvas.



Smooth out.

Unite clothes peggers

Frantically hunting unpegged, errant undies that enjoyed brief freedom with neighbouring briefs in New Zealand was my first experience with letting it all hang out. I now dismiss the clothes dryer for the energy guzzling hog that it is in favour of joining the 80 per cent of Canadians who have at least once opted to air their clean laundry.

Since my current summer town in northern B.C. is situated in a wind tunnel that passes itself off as a valley, using the clothes line that spans the backyard – over an outdoor fire pit, no less – is a no-brainer. If the sun’s rays from longer days fail to dry my clothes, then the prevailing Chetwynd winds are sure to carry away any residual moisture.

To get the most out of airing your no-so-dirty laundry, follow these tips from Eniromom

• Save real estate on your clothes line by hanging wet laundry on hangers.
• Clip only one bottom edge of your clothing (like a t-shirt) to the line and let the other part hang open in the breeze.
• Use the extra spin/max extract cycle to wring out as much water as possible to decrease drying time.
• Turn dark clothing inside out to keep from fading.
• To save on clothespins, use one clothespin to clip two pieces of clothing together.
• If your line isn't in full sun, then your clothes might not dry as fast as in the dryer. If you want to dry all of your loads on the clothesline, don't wash back-to-back loads. Maybe one in the morning, one in the afternoon. (Yes, the dreaded advance planning.)
• Towels will get crunchy in the sun, so if this bothers you, use the dryer.

Just don't forget pegs.

Worth it

A small cross sampling of my summer so far. This week, I am at my half way point and I find myself spending most of my time wondering where my time was spent.


The Plant!



Does your office have this?



Worst day of the summer. I was wet, miserable, cold and enduring the annual May Long snowstorm.



Smilacina racemosa



"Tracks in the wild are somehow more unnerving than the real thing - hinting as they do of menaces unseen." Will Ferguson

Delight in boreal rhythms

As the twilight lingers longer in northern B.C., my posts have been getting farther and farther apart.

I am settled into a daily routine both at work and in the house I share with three others. This house has been communal living at its best. We're all filthy-minded bush bunnies and rats that share an affinity for cold adult beverages, conversation, campfires and Creation - although they don't acknowledge it directly as Creation.

My current work partner has recently taken up photography with a keen interested in wildlife. I may not share his passion for capturing stunning photos of boreal beasts that I could feasibly fit inside should the will strike them, but I am pleased to stall and soak up the joy that he experiences from an area and industry I am deeply invested in.

Others return from the bush with tales of winching through a swollen creek, secret grow-ops far in the forest and gorgeous forked tamarack groves complete with an inner bark sample as well as bouquets of wildflowers.

The bouquets vary week to week, month to month.

Through the changing bouquets I follow and sink into the rhythms and cycles of the forest. Looking forward to perennial favourites and berry season further assures me that I am a little part of the things that I love.

Fort St. John weekend

Driving over the 90 km/h speed limit between Fort St. John and Chetwynd through Hudson's Hope would be cheating yourself. The mighty Peace River accompanied me nearly all the way back to Chetwynd through the gorgeous valley framed by mountains and studded with lakes after a weekend of phenomenal food, excess adult beverages and friends old and new.

A uni roommate housed me, her parents once again opened their house and set their kitchen table for me and former co-workers with some delightful additions organized all-you-can-eat sushi and fondue meals.

While living in Fort St. John again for any length of time appeals to be like a hole in the head, I was glad to be back there among part of my extended forestry family partly for a good time but mostly for the people I happily and quickly call friends.

Home?

It's a long and rugged road
and we don't know where it's headed
But we know it's going to get us where we're going
And when we find what we're looking for
we'll drop these bags and search no more
'cause it's going to feel like heaven when we're home
It's going to feel like heaven when we're home.

Chorus from the Wailing Jenny’s “Heaven When We’re Home”

As I nurture my wanderlust, I’m continually confronted with what and where home is. Bouncing between travel, work and play, I look forward to going home – even though home is very loosely defined in my mind.

Going home from my current summer home of Chetwynd is going back to my hometown, Red Deer, Alberta, where my possessions are stored in an attic where my mother lives with a family. I don’t have the luxury of going back to the house I grew up in or a house that is even truly my mother’s. While I am more than welcome at that house, it doesn’t truly feel like home and there’s always a residual feeling that I’m a guest there.

More than geographic location, home is about feeling for me. Feeling welcome, secure and like I belong and am accepted there. I have been fortunate to have experienced that numerous times in a handful of countries. At the Sharklab on South Bimini, I felt valued and my presence welcomed and even occasionally sought after. In Mackenzie, B.C. my Canfor coworkers quickly enveloped me into their lives even though they all knew my time there was temporary. At the Ranch, where despite its now-condemned-for-health-reasons status, we relished passing the time together over beers, crib, campfires and conversation. When I was working my first field season in forestry in northern Alberta and it pissed rain all day, I anticipated being home from the moment my boots hit the gravel road where we parked the pickups – even if home meant crawling into a soggy tent. In all, I was deeply embedded in the comfortable ease of daily life with the people and environment around me.

Home then, is not one solitary location for me even as I am increasingly being surrounded by friends committing to life partners, offspring, mortgages and therefore their version of home. Just as Alice Sebold suggests varying views of heaven in “The Lovely Bones,” home is many things to many people.

For me, the pursuit of home is destined to be moving target as settling and being content in having made a home would mark the end of my passport stamps.