Be it ever so humble..

Tulita is starting to feel less like a town and more like our home every day. In a town of 500 people, it doesn't take long to meet the major characters. The people who want to keep to themselves do so, and the friendly folk waste no time in introducing themselves. I'll introduce them to you. One of the first I met was Nellie, the elder. Picture the quintessential grandmother in a brown coat, long skirt, and shawl on her head. She comes in the store with her cane and her limp, although she usually walks off without her cane, leaving the store employees scrambling to find it. I don't think she remembers my name, but I always say hello to her, and she replies with her own sing-song "hello."

One day, myself and another employee gave her a lift to the store. She complained about the doctor in her broken English. Slavey is her first language.

"I want to go out in bush. Doctor says, 'no, have go Yellowknife. Get x-rays.' Get x-rays no good! Take x-rays, do nothing. Leg still hurt. I rather go in bush."

Then she said something, although neither of us could make out what she was saying. It sounded like, "you got eats?"

"Eats?"

"Yeah. Eats. Eats in can. For bread."

"Oh, yeast! Yes, we've got yeast. Jars or packets."

"Good. Need to make bannock. For bush."

Going "in the bush" is what locals do when they want to escape the hustle and bustle of Tulita. Most have cabins accessible by boat or skidoo. This is a world not yet open to myself or Nicole, mainly because our jobs do not permit us to take a week off work to escape into the woods.

Walking home from work yesterday my five minute walk turned into fifteen. I stopped twice to talk, first with Tim the foreman, and second with my landlord.

Tim and his wife moved here around the same time as Nicole and myself. He looks a bit intimidating with his bald head, broad biceps, biker shirts, and tattoos. But he is great guy to talk with. He was sitting on his deck, reading a book when I walked by. He said this was his first job where he always gets an hour for lunch, and every Saturday and Sunday off. I think he's starting to like Tulita as well.

I had hardly taken twenty steps down the road when I ran into our landlord and his girlfriend. I'll call him J. He is younger than me. His father gave him this house, and he agreed to rent it and live with his brother. J was standing there in the road, his arm around his girlfriend, who was smiling. J kept rubbing his side and wincing, but he talked with a smile. I told him we're happy with the house, although talk soon turned to how cold it would be in the winter. I mentioned I would probably buy some firewood.

"Oh, I can get you firewood. We can go out. I got the gear. I mean a chainsaw. We could go right now with dad's truck except I've been drinking a bit."

It was getting onto seven o'clock, and the sun was beating down as we stood there. I had just gotten off work, and had no intentions of cutting wood, today or tomorrow. I hope he doesn't just show up on the doorstep some Sunday and announce that we're going to go cut some wood. I'd rather snag some of the driftwood that floats up the Mackenzie all day. You can't look out in the river without seeing a tree, it's roots sticking up like a sea-serpent's head, floating close to shore. I'm sure I could spend a hot Sunday like today dragging this wood to shore. I asked J if anyone burns the driftwood.

"Well, only her crazy uncle," he said, nudging his girlfriend. "But he's the only one. Everyone else cuts theirs."

I don't see what would be wrong with driftwood, as long as you left it to dry. Perhaps they know something I don't.

Nicole and I watched a movie last night. After that was over around midnight, we went out to sit on the deck. It was an eerie atmosphere outside. The sun had sunk lower in the sky than I had seen in days. It was finally a bearable temperature. The wind had picked up, and was gusting close to thirty out of the south. It seemed to be pushing the swift-moving Mackenzie along at a faster than normal rate. The town was silent, except for the occasional cry from a party down the street, the wind, and the sound of the river passing by. Across the river, the setting sun lit up the snow-capped peaks of the Mackenzie mountains, giving them a golden glow. I realized it was past midnight, and therefore my birthday. It is one I doubt I'll ever forget.