Anniversary

On the day we took possession of this cabin and 123-acres, pulling down the For Sale sign felt like planting a flag to claim our territory. We had just been to the Kitwanga post office, a blue metal building in the upper village, to get a post office box so that we would have an official mailing address. There is no physical address for our cabin, and no home delivery. Ironically, we later learned that mail was once carried by dogsled (in winter) along the very road that transects our property – transporting mail from Cedarvale to Hazelton.

Along with our symbolic territorial claim, came the commemorative photos. I wanted a photo of Bob and me – together - in front of the cabin. I had never used the self-timer on my digital camera but between the two of us, we worked out which dials to change, and what buttons to push. Then I sat on the doorstep of the cabin while Bob used the hood of the Jeep as a platform for the camera. He focused, and then pressed the time-delay button. A little light blinked off and on as Bob ran like hell to get to the doorstep and sit down before the shutter clicked. We did it three times; the third photo being the best – thank God – I don’t know if Bob could have done it a fourth time.

Let’s admit it. We were sappy happy, as excited as any little kid finding his first bicycle under the Christmas tree, rather than the senior citizens that we were… ready to willingly give up public utilities, convenience stores, and reliable running water. What were we thinking?! We waltzed through the early days viewing everything through rose-colored glasses – until the toilet stopped flushing, the water didn’t pour forth from the faucet, the pitter patter of little mice feet interrupted our sleep, and hot water came from kettles sitting on top of the woodstove.

18 May Journal Entry…

Flush the toilet. No flush. Turn on water at kitchen faucet. No water. Bob pokes his head out from under the bed covers. “What’s the matter?” “No water,” I say. He sits up, swings his feet to the floor and says, “I’d better go check the intake.” He dresses, puts on his hiking boots and heads out the door to a chilly, grey morning. He makes his way through wet grass to the creek and to the water intake for the cabin. The previous owner’s son had told Bob that we need to check the intake every morning to clear the makeshift filter… an old metal bucket punched through with holes and covered with window screening. While Bob is gone, I get the fire going. I feel like an old pioneer woman standing in my long johns poking kindling and newspaper into the woodstove. I light a match and put a teakettle on the cooking surface for hot coffee. Then I sit down, comb and re-braid my hair. Soon the cabin water is running again and Bob is making pancakes. Sammy lies curled up behind the stove, gathering dust balls, and warmth. He’s tired from the nighttime mouse activity… so are we. Especially the ones that don’t die quickly and end up dragging the mousetrap all over the cabin! Sammy just sat on the bed meowing at us to get up and take care of the matter. Come on – you’re the cat.

23 May Journal Entry…

We continue to have problems with the water system. The creek is a rushing muddy torrent now, filled with floating leaves and red alder catkins that adhere to the filter and stops the flow of water to the cabin every hour or two. Bob went into Kitwanga this afternoon to place phone calls at the public pay phone. While he was gone I had to hike up to the creek and clean out the filter twice. The second time, I took off my boots and socks and just waded into the creek. Tonight I washed my hair with creek water heated on the stove. Oh, a hot shower would feel so good right now.

We cleaned, and cleared out. Windows sparkled, showcasing the view from every side of the cabin. Each day brought new discoveries. Rhubarb and currants growing in an old garden plot. Fruit trees beginning to bloom… blue violets and wild strawberries in the meadow, Canada white violets near the creek. Bob startles a great horned owl in the woods behind the cabin one morning. We watch three beavers swimming in the pond. They slap their tails loudly against the surface of the water, then dive, only to reappear and swim closer to look at us. Two moose high-step across the meadow in front of the cabin in the fading light of evening.

That was two years ago. By most people’s standards, we still live a rustic lifestyle, but since those early days we have installed a propane on-demand hot water heater, satellite internet connection, and a stainless steel self-cleaning water intake filter at the creek… with Stronach creek once again a muddy torrent of snowmelt, we especially appreciate that upgrade… no more daily or hourly trips. There are things we miss… like a washing machine, convenient video store, and a good Thai restaurant (or any Thai restaurant). But on a day like today when I can breathe deeply the clear, fresh air and the only sounds heard are rushing water and birdsong, I guess those are sacrifices we can live with. Yah, we’re still sappy happy.

... P. L. Morningstar