Kirsten got her driver's licence. Miguel took her out to practice a couple times, but mostly it was me. We cruised around, she practiced parking, tried not to drive us off cliffs. My main goals before her driver's test, since we had the basics covered, were to get her to understand backing up (look where you're going, don't stamp on the gas) going around corners (Jeeps do roll at high speeds, I believe, but it's not something I want tested) and stopping at stop signs (without whiplash for passengers).
At first it was very nerve-wracking. One thing about this town is the prevalence of small children and even some adults who dart in front of cars. So while we were driving around, I was constantly saying to her, "Do you see that person walking? Give him some room," or "Kids on bikes. They might come this way."
It's funny, too, because I remember my dad taking me out to drive around on the gravel roads in Southern Alberta, and freaking out when I backed the big old Suburban into a ditch. Backing up is hard. Driving by proxy, it seems, is even harder. "Are you looking in your mirror? Take your foot off the gas now, you have to take this corner. Step on the brake. No, now. NOW!"
She took it all really well. And she managed to do her test and pass. The best bit, for me, was when I got home that night and the phone was ringing. It was Rachel, and she said, "Can you come and fetch me from Siobhan's?" As I repeated that back to her to stall for time, because I really didn't want to, Kirsten came up behind me and calmly said, "I'll go get her." And she did...
Friday, May 30, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
The top off the barbecue????
The cabin was pretty much as we left it. For some reason, on the way out, I was anticipating that we might find that someone had broken in. And when we arrived, we found that someone had been moving furniture around in the porch, but hadn't broken into the main cabin. They had also taken the top off the barbecue, the metal lid, and thrown it on the tundra. Really I don't mind if people use the porch. It's warm in there when the sun is shining through the big windows, and if you were cold I would want you to stop in and warm up.
We sat on the deck for quite a while. Hundreds of geese flapped overhead, towards Lady Pelly, barking to each other.
There's something about the silence of the tundra that is seductive, that makes me want to sit and listen. Listen to nothing, endlessly. And all the things in my head, all the worries that go in tight circles in the back of my mind, they lose urgency and dissipate, and I don't miss them. Every spring that I have been living here, and this is the third, I have had a moment on our first real trip out across the tundra on a warm day where I've felt that I'm part of all creation in a way that is only possible up here. And I begin to understand in a physical way, why this place is different from any other - because on some level, time is behaving differently here. I want to say ...Vaster than empires, and more slow... but then I'm playing with words, intellectualizing it.
I read Ed's post about Jon Krakauer and co. And I really enjoyed it. A lot of what he's talking about, I used to muse on while I was working at the coffee shop. About how nobody can last long without help from others. (I'm paraphrasing, it is a long and eloquent post). I know that I'm not living the same lifestyle as the Inuit who live(d) here for aeons. I have a snowmobile, a parka made of nylon, a thermos full of coffee, a kamotik made of wood (not bone), and when we get to the cabin there's an oil-drip furnace and some Coleman lanterns. When I was first here I went through a period where I wished I had been here a hundred years ago, so I could see what it was really like, but quite frankly the best part of a spring trip on the land is the nap on the couch in my warm living room when I get home. Although Miguel and Ian have been out and shot caribou and muskox for our consumption, I cook them in my electric oven.
So. In the spirit of everyone being dependent on each other, Ed, or anyone else, if you're ever out near Ovayok and you need a place to warm up and drink your hot chocolate, feel free to use my sunporch. Just don't take the top off the barbecue. And close the screen door behind you. We have enough flies as it is.
The view from the back
Yesterday was a beautiful day, with a sweet little breeze, high painted clouds, temperature just around zero. We packed up a lunch and two of our children and one of Patti's and headed out to the cabin. I was passenger with Ian, and Miguel pulled Rachel and Siobhan on a kamotik. A small one, as our larger one got borrowed in the night by the guy who sold it to us.
Usually I like to drive, but then I fumble with my IPod and annoy whoever is passengering. Ideally I like to drive alone. Ian's a pretty good driver, although he sometimes comes a bit fast over rises with no visibility. I only grabbed him once, and that was when Siobhan fell off the komatik in front of us and I wasn't sure if he'd seen her.