Home for the holidays

For many of us, this seasonal expression infers traveling “home” as in visiting the old sod, the hometown, the family farm or perhaps simply returning to the area or country of birth.

The Yukon has been home to me for more than 40 years and the roots are deeply planted at Lake Laberge. Oh sure, like most of us, we too have been tempted to travel “outside” for the year-end holiday. These plans were usually motivated by the arrival of some drastic seasonal temperatures and the lack of daylight that starts happening as the year winds down. When those things happen it would be nice to leave the daily routine of boots, shovel, snow and parkas for a time and it would make things a lot easier as in “I’m too tired to pack firewood today” department or “Jeez! It’s 30 below out there lets crank up the stove and stay home today”, but for the most part our traveling plans have been no starters.

On my way home today, my thoughts are on these occasional temptations. As I turn off the main highway onto the country road that leads to home, I slow down, put the truck in four-wheel drive and flip the headlights on bright. I involuntarily come to a complete stop and simply sit there for a time. After all these years the country still has the ability to awe and inspire me. Even at -30 and in the dark it is a beautiful sight that meets my eyes.

The lights reflect off the young aspen trees that border the road. Their winter coat is a pure white cover of hoarfrost that sparkles and glistens in a light show to rival any man-made display that I have seen. To make things even more magical, the dark blue sky above is filled with endless streams of stars that add their sparkle to the already breathtaking performance. As I start to move, the tires squeak on the compact snow in a perfect musical accompaniment.

Our long driveway resembles a tunnel, as the treetops on both sides of the driveway appear to lean inwards and coupled above me. The dogs bound up with puffs of chilly breath echoing the tempo of their welcoming bark. Bright halos of icy air surround the deck lights that come on as I drive up. The door opens and a room full of Christmas cheer reflects off the powdery cover of fresh snow that covers the walk.

Once inside we turn off the lights and stand in front of the large picture window that overlooks the lake. The frozen, snowy expanse glistens under a sliver of moon. Even the dogs join us at the window and there is complete silence as we all gaze out at the vista before us. We can hear a low groan, an occasional crack, and high sonar like ping as the ice on the lake shifts occasionally. It is the lake talking, a sound that will be with us until breakup in spring.

I look back into the room and there in the light of the flames shining through the glass door of the stove sits a new pair of beaver-fur mitts and a matching hat complete with tie-down earflaps.

“You know”, I say, “minus 30 isn’t really all that bad. I can haul some wood in tomorrow morning before I head out for jaunt across the lake”.

All the best to you and yours for the holiday season.