Land of the Midday Sun

Revenu de Kluane, une partie de l'éspace protégé la plus grande en Amérique du Nord, et la plus grande glacier non-polaire du monde. Quand le soleil s'est levé, après une nuit un peu froid, car le feu s'est étient quelques fois pendant la nuit, on a vu un monde magique. De la neige placée soigneusement aux branches, des ombres tissés par terre, et des montagnes rugeuses et sauvages toutes autour de nous. Des montagnes de Kluane sont des massifs énormes, divisés par des rivières légendaires comme l'Alsek et la Tatshenshini, et . Ici on trouve le Mont Logan, à 5959 mètres, la plus grande montagne au Canada et la deuxième plus grande du continent. On n'en a pas grimpé, mais on a fait une randonée aux raquettes au lac Kathleen, ou on a trouvé des grottes de glace formées par la glace poussante contre la rive, et au sentier vers la rivière Alsek. On pourrait continuer pour 28 km par ce sentier, et si on voudrait et on aura le temps, on pourrait descendre l'Alsek, par raft, au Tatshenshini à la Baie Glacier en Alaska. Pas ce voyage, mais il y a des aventures qui m'attendent ici.









Puis hier du ski aux sentiers du club de ski de Whitehorse, parmi des meilleurs sentiers que j'ai jamais vus. J'avais beaucoup de souvenirs de la Gatineau et ses pentes folles. Aujourd'hui un chai latté au café Baked avec Alison, et un autre exploration de ski de fond au Canyon Miles, où pendant la ruée vers l'or en 1898 des douzaines de prospecteurs ont perdu leurs vies aux bateaux, avant que la GRC ont introduit des guides professionels. Après leurs descentes des rapides jusqu'à Whitehorse, ci-nommé pour des vagues aux rapides qui se resemblaient aux têtes des chevaux, ils ont pris des paddle-wheelers à Dawson et les champs d'or! On pourrait toujours descendre la fleuve Yukon de Whitehorse à Dawson par canot, un voyage dont Alison m'a raconté et que j'aimerais faire avec mes filles. Trop d'aventures à faire, mais pour l'instant des rêves et des photos doivent me soutenir.

Things you should know about the Yukon:

Sam McGee, of the Robert Service poem, ain't from Tennessee; he has actually from Peterborough, Ontario, knew Service from the bank in Dawson where he worked, and Service liked the sound of his name so he got permission to use it in a poem.

If its so cold that your car's block heater cord plug freezes off, you can replace the plug at Canadian Tire, for only $6.95.

Many many good coffee shops, including Baked (try the cinnamon pull-apart) and the Chocolate Claim.

In 1897 gold was found on Rabbit Creek, up by Dawson. The next year 100 000 people came through, mostly hiking up and over the Chilkoot Pass, down by boat to Whitehorse (watch out for those rapids) and then by steamer to Dawson.

By around 1900 there were 100 000 here. In 1920 only 5000, and now the Yukon population is up to 34 000.

The record low temperature for Whitehorse was -52.2 C, -62 C in Mayo, but the average winter temperature is more like - 20 C.

After a winter here you're a Sourdough. Before that you're a Chekako.

Go to the artist's co-op on Industrial Rd., and if its still there, but the Raven painting by Nicole Bauberger for me.

Two local coffee roasters: Bean North and midnight Sun

Get a Growler of porter from Yukon Brewing Co.

The light. Intense. Enhancing all.

Bring a scarf and some Sorels. Its mighty cold.

There is so much going on! Hockey Day in Canada last week. An opera yesterday. Live theatre. Workshops on everything from making sourdough to hunting moose. The Frostbite Music Festival this week, and so much more. Folks are so friendly too. Its so easy to strike up conversations with complete strangers, and likely you have at least a few friends or experiences in common.

Once you get up here, the Yukon gets under your skin. I think I need to come back for longer.

Its the light that gets me, and the snowy brightness. Even the icy air that I breathe in and am filled with echoes of wintry days cross country skiing across the Ottawa River or the Gatineau, or walking down by the river in Edmonton. Bloody cold, but glorious. The sky seems bluer than possible, and it goes on and on; the mountains than hem in town can't even contain it. Flying up from Vancouver was magical, mystical. Jagged peaks poked up here and there through a layer of pale cloud, and then it opened up to reveal row after row of smooth snowfield-covered mountains, so far from anything, so remote that one would think that nobody has ever trodden there, no one has ever passed through, just the icy contrail of passing airplanes, and the endless endless endless. . . sky.

Arriving in Whitehorse to Rebecca's glowing smile, a warm hug, down jacket against down jacket. Walking out from the airport and the cold hits me, and the memories of wintry days, so far from Victoria. We drive around the scenic way, over the Yukon River, still flowing darkly and swiftly in places by the bridge, step out of the car and look over the town, not quite real, wisps of smoke rising from the occasional chimney, and then a walk through town. Rebecca questions why we don't have hair growing from our noses to keep us warm, and I wrap my scarf around my face more tightly. We watch a tourist video in the Visitor Centre (where she sets up a program for next week, watching boundless landscapes and wild rivers fly by, and the voices of locals, and the myths of Crow who created the world, at least around here).

I walk around town, warm inside though my feet are starting to freeze. Taking photos of the sky of the mountains of the the klondikey buildings and quirky sights. Now sitting in a cosy cafe listening to local folk music and friends chatting in French at the next table over.

The sun is staring to fade, a pinky glow on the mountains. No doubt the mercury is dropping even as I write. Commence un autre aventure.

Meaningful actions

I was just reading the Saturday Globe and Mail talking about popular revolutions in Egypt and elsewhere, about the Big Society movement in the UK, about Raj Patel preaching how to make a better world, and thinking about how do we make a better world. My whole master's thesis talked about how to change youth's thinking and behaviour to more environmentally sustainable ones, the key I found being have youth talk to youth about doable actions. But what is meaningful? Last week I listened to the CBC debating the most important novels of the decade. Interesting, but not life-changing (though perhaps if I read the Canada Reads finalists, would that be life-changing?) Reading is meaningful. Writing, creating is meaningful. So is chatting and bantering with my daughter Rowan tonight before sending her off to bed, or snuggling with Tegan, my younger daughter home sick with the flu. Last week I also ripped apart and reassembled the kitchen after a plumbing failure, reconnecting with my homeplace, sustaining myself. I also read my teacher evaluations from my students, and realized that, despite my frequent doubts and insecurities, that I did connect with many of them and perhaps even influenced them to be better people, more self-aware, more capable. That is my goal, that is meaningful work.

Will it change the world? I hope so. That is why I teach. I hope that my efforts will positively influence our future leaders. I see it already in the social justice activities at my school: kids only 13 or 14 spearheading an anti-bullying week, raising funds for a school in Nicaragua, looking out for themselves and the greater community. Committment and passion for action inspires more positive action, especially when it comes from one's peers.

I keep on thinking I should do more, volunteer more, join organizations, write letters, and I should. I don't want to devalue my role as parent and teacher and the meaningfulness of those actions. I do feel everyone should give back to their community however they can, not because it is government policy or because one has been told to do so, but because it comes from the need, the desire to contribute. The overthrow of Mubarak in Egypt is inspiring because it was a popular movement, mostly leaderless, just citizens voicing their opinions, courageous in such a repressive society, idealistic, perhaps people with nothing to lose, but isn't that how we all are? We may have material things to lose, but so much to gain by acting to improve our world.

La congé commence

Enfin, la congé commence. C'est mon premier jour où je reste à la maison et les filles vont à l'école. Et qu'est-ce que je fais? J'ai lu mon livre, Narrow Dog to Carcassonne, dans lequel un couple anglais voyage par narrowboat à Carcassonne par les canaux de la France, j'ai reservé des billets à voir Il Barbiere di Siviglia au théâtre à Verone en Italie en juillet, et je viens d'explorer le Palais de Versailles et la Gallerie Uffizi à Florence en ligne, à partir de Google ArtProject. Ce n'est pas une substitution pour la vraie expérience, mais je pourrais prévoir notre visite.




J'ai aussi contacté des amis en France en en Angleterre. Début mai, on ira au Pays de Galles avec mes parents, ma tante et mon oncle, avant le mariage de mon cousin, Nick, à une petite église à Chester, pas loin de Liverpool. J'ai envoyé nos dates à Raphaëlle, une amie de notre famille, qui habite à Annency, proche à Genève. On la rendra visite mi-mai, et aussi restera chez ses parents à Paris. J'ai partagé des infos avec Julie aussi, qui a passé une année chez nous à Victoria il y a quelques années. Elle habite aux environs d'Alès, un peu nord de Nîmes. On pourrait passer du temps chez elle ou chez ses parents à Port Camargue. Elle a offert de nous guider a Avignon, à Nîmes, et ailleurs.

On continue à planifier notre stage de woofing chez Corrine et Selma, sa fille de 10 ans. On restera au village de Castelnau-de-Guers, mais la ferme est 17 km de loin. Pendant que je travaillera aux champs, mes filles pourraient aller à l'école. Peut-être ce n'est pas leur idée d'une vacance, mais comme expérience ça serait sans pareil, et elles pourraient faire des amis de leurs âges. . . pendant que je brûlerai au soleil du Sud! Rowan et moi ont exploré le site web des son école potentiel à Pézenas. Tegan irait à l'école avec Selma à Castelnau-de-Guers.

Et pendant que je rêve de voyager, boire du vin et manger des olives, je trouve une flaque d'eau au sous-sol qui vient de quelquepart caché au mur au dessus, et je dois attendre le plombier à venir me dire combien de mes murs et ma cuisine doivent être détruit à l'accéder. Tout ça et remplacer des fenêtres avant de partir au Yukon le 16 février! Ah, j'adore des vacances. . .