My brother was in a car accident on a logging road a few days ago. He was driving behind a loaded truck in a dust cloud, and it pulled off to the side to let him pass. Thoughtful, but unfortunately he couldn't see it at all and it suddenly loomed up at him out of the haze. He swerved to the left and tore the passenger side off of the work truck. I called my parents, thinking they'd be in a panic, but they were oddly calm about the whole thing. Now that I know he's ok, I have free license to feel slightly smug. Because the person in the family who is always getting targeted for not being a fast/competent enough driver by her little bro sure didn't get into an accident when she was 16.
There is another Emma in town at the moment. Museum Manager Jon's girlfriend flew up a few days ago to join in the Yukon excitement. We were at a beach party and everyone was worried because she was wearing a light summer dress. The comments about their upcoming camping trip all included references to jeans and warm clothing. She took it in stride, though. They are a gentle and kind couple whom I like very much. Jon shows his affection for her by placing freezing cold water bottles against her neck at surprising moments. The 50/50 Arts Collective is showcasing her photography at the moment right now, in case either of you are interested.
A woman came back this morning and bought four jars of homemade jam. When she inquired as to what highbush cranberry tasted like, I told her that they smelled like rotten socks. Her eyes went wide as saucers and it was time for some hasty reassurance. The salesman gene apparently does not run rampant through my bloodstream.
Much of the free time here in Teslin is spent climbing a hill/mountain to get cell service and drinking a beer at the top. There is also a system of back cat roads that are simply referred to as "Ned's trails." He was an older fellow with a bulldozer who was convinced that there was gold in them thar hills. Apparently he washed out enough placer to keep himself dirt poor but happy, and his ambling tracks have reverted to a fairly wild state. I often steal a little husky named Mougli, who delights in roaring around at top speed.
Kory is attending a "sports car party" right now. I don't even...
