NorthA Story by Shannon where the line between us in blurred As you travel north... The cities and farmer’s fields give way to trees and small towns. Eventually thinning to become hard snow covered desert tundra, though we are not going that far today. The concept of time starts to flex, with days stretching to unheard of lengths in the summer and shrinking to scraps of mid day sunlight in the winter. It is a place where people stop desperately trying to beat time into submission but accept its passing as inevitable. A place where civilized conversation is replaced by humor and camaraderie. Where even the ground becomes smaller, reduced to a few bare inches of soil covering a rocky shield over the land, in which all living things cling to life. And the sky becomes magnificently huge, without lights to damage nature’s beauty, she even sometimes shows us the colors of aurora borealis. This is where I met her. As we go into the store/post office/coffee shop/bait and tackle/laundromat for directions, I can see that we stand out. But the people are accepting of that, and we are as well. The campgrounds are just down the road, take a left at the fork. They are newly built, along with the permanent highway that recently replaced the ice-road. The outhouses still smell of paint, a pleasant surprise, especially in the July heat. We set up our temporary living quarters, noting no one else is around. The sounds of insects and dogs follow us into sleep. The following morning, a local man, dressed in an official parks department shirt, a pair of crisp jeans and work boots, stops by to teach us about our new, if temporary home. We introduce ourselves. “Call me Charlie,” he tells us, tilting his head in a slight nod. “You’re the first visitors since the road got built. Lets see…..what do ya need to know….?” He looks down, scratching his temple, before looking back in our direction. “You can swim down that way, off the dock,” Charlie tilts his head in the direction of a wide path through the trees two sites down from the one we have chosen. “I’ll pick up garbage every two days, but you need to take it down there,” he turns his whole body, so we can see the cans at the end of the row and thrusts his head in their direction, in lieu of pointing, “So the bears and other critters don't come too close.” I am sure my eyes get wide as he says this, but it reminds me of a question,“Were those wolves or dogs barking last night?” Charlie’s face lights up, either amusement or fondness, “Dogs, mostly. Old timers put the sled teams on a few islands. Stay out there, too, sometimes. Keeps ‘em safe from wolves and bears. They sure do make a racket at night,” he chuckles. “Here,” he says, walking towards the outhouse, quick movement of his head telling us to follow. The telephone pole beside the basic toilet has a grey box attached. Charlie opens the metal cover, revealing a telephone inside, “It’s the emergency phone. Goes to my cabin.” “The store has pay showers,” he continues, gaining momentum, “Need quarters, but they'll sell ‘em to ya. Might wanna bring a few cleaning supplies, to use before, just in case.” During our stay, we notice that people frequently drive around the single loop that comprises the camp area, before turning down the other fork in the road. One day when Charlie comes by to say hello and pick up the garbage, we ask him about it. He tells us there are two things down the road. People still get water from the crystal clear lake down there, even though they have been told it contains bacteria and a water system has been built. “And berry picking. Lowbush,” he clarifies. “Pick what you want. It's early; not as many people will be out, ‘cause they are sour. Sometimes bears come around. Drop your berries and back up. Those lazy devils will chase you for ‘em. They don't come this close to town much, but berries are tempting.” Blueberries are one of the first plants to repopulate after a wildfire. There was one many years ago, but since the earth is shallow and things grow slowly, these bushes have been bountiful for more than a decade. That evening after supper, we slather on the sun screen, since it will be daylight for hours yet. We drive the car a few miles down a washboard dirt road until we reach a place where there are no trees, just grass and bushes. The berries hang from the branches, as thick as grapes, though not nearly as big. Many are still green, but on the tops of the bushes, where the sun hits first, they are a rich purple blue colour. When I taste one, the flavour tart and sweet and so strong, bursts in my mouth. We begin picking in earnest, spreading out to give ourselves space. Sometimes we call to each other, to make sure we have not become lost or wandered too far. We are convinced all the noise we are making will keep the wild things who are sharing this forest with us away. Greener pastures, or in this case, bluer berries, draws us in different directions, lengthening the distance between us. I look up and meet eyes peering out at me from the edge of the forest. The steep angle of the sun in this part of the country, means it's rays are both casting very long shadows and getting in my eyes. I take a few steps forward, to get a clearer look, out of the harsh rays. She does as well. We meet in the clearing, a bare ten feet between us, regarding each other with wary interest. Her gaze is unwavering, I can feel her seeing me. I have a moment of clarity. While this does not look like any wolf I have seen, with her smooth white coat; she is much larger than any dog and is probably a wild animal. Charlie told us what to do in the case of bears, but not wild dogs. So I stare in awe, as my mind freezes under her scrutiny. After a few brief moments that seem to defy time, as I understand it, she lowers her head and chest towards the ground, then gives a short bark, before leaving in the direction from which she came. I, too, run the way I came, relating my tale. We decide it might be wise to pack it in for the day, rather than risk further contact with the local fauna. We feast on berries and cream that night before falling into a deep sleep, both tired from the day's adventures and sated from the treat. Charlie stops in the next day, to pick up garbage. He likes to talk, as do we. “Weather’s going to turn cool, and the berries are ripe, good picking,” he says, tipping his head towards the fork that leads to where the roads splits. Our neighborhood will be busy. “Most people’re friendly, but call me if you have any problems.” Charlie’s warning spurs me to ask him about my encounter. I ask, “Do the dogs and wolves ever mix?” "Sometimes, but we try to put those ones down, mess with the balance. Why?” I explain my encounter: “She was too big to be a dog, I think, and not the color of any wolf I have ever seen. She stood and watched me for a long time, in the clearing. Didn’t seems afraid, just sort of bowed her chest and walked away.” Thinking I did not relate the feeling or the story very well, I look to Charlie. He regards me silently, eyes meeting mine, the look on his face indecipherable. He responds simply: “mahihkaniwiw” - she is wolf. © 2017 ShannonAuthor's Note
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36 Reviews Added on April 22, 2016 Last Updated on January 21, 2017 Author
ShannonCanadaAboutI like to explore the world through the human experience, at once both varied and singular. Reading, writing and meeting people makes one's world larger. I enjoy connecting with people, learning.. more..Writing
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