When I was 8 years old, my family went on a month-long holiday to the Yukon.
Of all our vacations, this one stands out in my memory. I fell in love with its rugged beauty and tried desperately to convince my parents to move there. I'm pretty sure my dad was on board with the idea but mom was a bit more practical.
I never forgot that summer and somewhere in the back of my mind I imagined living there one day.
This never came to pass but when I travelled to the South Cariboo for the first time, the Yukon lost its spot in my heart.
This photo? It's what I woke up to my first morning in Lone Butte. This was the moment when I decided to move.
Of course, I did not make the decision then and there. Uprooting my life and leaving the security of family, home and career was not an easy decision to make.
I could survive for three months off the money I had in the bank. After that? Well, failure was not an option in my mind.
I had three months to get my business off the ground. No small feat but I found a few clients and settled in to make ends meet.
I would work for a couple of hours in the morning, knocking off around 10 a.m. to go for a walk in the woods with the dog. After chasing anything that moved over the next hour Griff would crash on his blanket when we got home while I went back to my laptop.
I was rattled when the pandemic hit. At first, it seemed as though I could ride things out. But as the shutdown dragged on, my jobs dried up.
What to do - somehow I needed to earn money to keep Griffin in dog food and bones.
When the kids were small I had a job cleaning an emergency clinic in northern Manitoba. Cleaning houses proved easier and led to cleaning offices and light yard work in the area.
Eventually, I took on auto-detailing and wound up scrubbing everything from side-by-sides to excavators.
Some months were a little leaner than others but overall, life was pretty good.
I found I enjoyed the physical labour although detailing on hot days sucked. On the days when I could not postpone a job, I learned to quickly wipe panels down so the cleaner did not dry under the relentless sun.
Going home to my basement suite was a joy. I'd collapse on the sofa and after guzzling a huge glass of water and giving the dog love I would pack up a meal of finger foods and take the kayak out on the lake - slowly drifting back to shore as the sun began to slip below the horizon.
Once a week my stained shirts and ratty pants went in the wash on the heavy-duty cycle. The smell of cleaner permeated the seats in the Sequoia, making me wrinkle my nose as I slipped behind the wheel.
A far cry from the air-conditioned comfort of the office where I dressed in business casual and stepped out for lunch at the corner sushi restaurant.
And the grandkids loved my new home almost as much as me.
We hung off the dock and scooped up tadpoles with the bug nets I bought them for chasing butterflies.
There were hastily eaten picnic suppers at the local swimming lake. I would be left to tidy up the mess while they laughed and splashed in the cool green water.
We never caught any fish but we tried. My grandson still gives me grief for losing his favourite fishing lure. My knots need some work!
One of my best memories is kayaking in the rain with my oldest granddaughter.
It was heaven on earth.
