We are sitting in the living room of my uncle's house in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. We are further north now than most people on the planet will ever venture. And yet tomorrow, in about nine hours in fact, we will fly north further still, almost to 60° but not quite. That's exciting for a few reasons.
In the first place, crazy people who want to teach in remote areas always set the Territories as their goal. We've thought this way, too. But such dreamers are, of course, an entire demographic. We're excited to be among the handful of people who have ever set a Denesuline First Nation of Northern Saskatchewan as the ultimate destination.
Second, we are intrigued by the mystery. We went to ship our freight at the P.A. Airport today, and a worker there who had lived in FdL said to us, "Wow. That's West." What a conception. In P.A., already North, and P.A.'ns know that they're north, to fly three hours even further north is conceptualized as West. I won't interpret the words at this point—your ideas are as good as mine are.
As I write this brief entry, I am sipping my last alcohol for, perhaps, nearly a year. We are flying to a "dry reserve" and intend to follow the rules. I am worried that my poor liver will not get enough exercise, especially since I have worked so hard to train it vigorously, but I suspect it could use a vacation.
"This might be the craziest thing that we've done yet," Kirsten tells me. I'm inclined to agree, though neither of us quite know why.
In the first place, crazy people who want to teach in remote areas always set the Territories as their goal. We've thought this way, too. But such dreamers are, of course, an entire demographic. We're excited to be among the handful of people who have ever set a Denesuline First Nation of Northern Saskatchewan as the ultimate destination.
Second, we are intrigued by the mystery. We went to ship our freight at the P.A. Airport today, and a worker there who had lived in FdL said to us, "Wow. That's West." What a conception. In P.A., already North, and P.A.'ns know that they're north, to fly three hours even further north is conceptualized as West. I won't interpret the words at this point—your ideas are as good as mine are.
As I write this brief entry, I am sipping my last alcohol for, perhaps, nearly a year. We are flying to a "dry reserve" and intend to follow the rules. I am worried that my poor liver will not get enough exercise, especially since I have worked so hard to train it vigorously, but I suspect it could use a vacation.
"This might be the craziest thing that we've done yet," Kirsten tells me. I'm inclined to agree, though neither of us quite know why.
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