Dear Linda,
Funny that I
should think of you here, in this unusual space. I’m in a musher’s cabin, waiting for Ana-Maria who has just gone
for a short trip with Kelly, a young female musher. What a luxury to be in the comfort of her rustic dwelling, for
the equivalent of a 10-mile run. The
dogs left behind are howling mournfully like old-fashioned police sirens, some
yelping and then all is quiet.
No doubt I’m
thinking of you here because of your lengthy search for home. Living on a boat for a decade, no matter how
romantic it may seem, must take a toll after a while. So let me tell you about this different life.
The view from
this squat rugged cabin is spectacular.
A large picture window taking up most of the wall is symmetrically positioned
to frame an iconic snow covered mountain.
In the foreground there are 20 square doghouses haphazardly strewn, with
all of their chewed away door openings facing the cabin. Several dogs are lounging on the flat tops,
soaking up the sun while others are running around their individual posts,
impatient and hopeful that they may be the next ones chosen to go out for a
run.
The cabin is
tiny with its rough plank walls, even with a large extension. The original part has a hint of a loft, a
trailer sized sink, and a double bed with a shelf above it lined with recent
DVD’s. No TV visible anywhere. As far as I can see, the only thing locked
around here is a tall narrow metal cabinet – a rifle most likely. Not even a lock on the main door, nothing to steal, I guess. Her dogs would alert and protect her.
A green spiral
notebook is open on the table and catches my attention. It has a bold hand written message in blue
marker;
To find happiness in
life you must:
1) find
something to do
2) find
something to love
3) find
something to hope for.
I can’t resist adding a quote
from Yoda: “Try not. Do or do not. There is no try.” Very quickly, I realize that I love the calm quiet young woman
who casually allowed me in her unpretentious home, with her green eyed cat for company,
while she kindly took my friend out for a spin around her neighbourhood. So open and comfortable, not out to impress
anyone but herself. There’s a sense of
personal satisfaction with this hard simple life.
Her kitchen is bare-bone
functional; she obviously hates to cook.
No cupboards but narrow shelves for tea and dried goods. Olive oil, hot sauce, honey, vinegar…a half eaten stack of whole wheat pancakes, a fork stuck into a large
triangular cut portion rests on a plastic cutting board. Plywood shelves below store a supply of
tins, a purple hand-sewn curtain with blue thread hangs loose on either
side. There is no water or electricity,
instead a few gas lamps and a clump of scented candles occupy this table in
front of me.
An old converted oil barrel
flattened out by a hammer is the main source of wood heat, with 2 stainless
steel pots on top for water. This
reminds me of the early days at Rob’s ‘batch pad’, where a doorknob was
considered frivolous. His cabin had a
giant frost heave in the floor just under where the stove was. In those early exuberant days of romance, I
remember hanging some laundry too close to the stove. The associated smell of a stove like that is of burning rubber
from my bra and undies.
There’s a tub of raw meat on a
chair nearby for the yummy pre-run soup.
A clothesline above it holds mitts, hats, socks and a string of Velcro
dog bootees. There is no semblance of
anything being up to code, not anything being organized in any way other than
to sustain herself and her beloved dogs in a joyous harmonious state.
A tiny shelf above the vintage
80’s couch holds a German beer stein, a framed tropical post card, and a photo of herself in a wedding party wearing a black gown with
spaghetti straps, carrying a bouquet of yellow flowers, embracing a plump
smiling bride.
Dusty wine glasses and cat haired
cutlery are gathered in a forgotten corner, along with mugs with broken
handles. I see no modern hardware, only
antler handles and wooden latches.
“People don’t like to rent to mushers,” Kelly said before leaving. Life here in this community seems relaxed,
focused and fortunate. She has several
neighbours, all mushers, like a tiny village far away from anything where no
one minds the howling excited barking.
Here they come! Ana-Maria has a broad smile plastered on her
face, she waves two thumbs up. She
disembarks the sled, straightens her leopard print jacket and gushes about the
amazing trail. I remind her that the
day before a stray dog bit her, but today she is firmly handling and harnessing these
huskies. When was the last time I saw
her so euphoric?
I leave you now Linda, and look
forward to having a healthy discussion upon our next visit about our concepts
of home. Alternative is the key; I know
you’ll agree,
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