Eliguk Journal – March 6, 2025.

My son turns 36 today, and I can’t help but reflect on what a remarkable age it is. It’s a time when one possesses a profound understanding of life, paired with the energy and time to chase dreams. Yet, as I ponder this milestone, I realize we’re not in the same world that existed even a few decades ago. The whirlwinds of change have swept through our lives, and we often find ourselves living outside the grasp of mainstream culture.

This is why I chose to venture into the wilderness—to escape the relentless tide erasing the traditions and values I hold dear. Out here, among the trees and the whispers of the wind, I find solace in preserving what many seem eager to forget. I resist the pull to conform, to reshape myself into something that feels foreign.

It’s a bittersweet realization: the past is slipping away from us, and though I may seem old-fashioned or stubborn, I cling to my beliefs, striving to remain in control for as long as I can. What does it mean to hold on to the past in a world that constantly pushes for change? Is it possible to stay rooted in our traditions while also embracing the inevitable forward march of time? These questions sit heavy on my heart as I celebrate my son's journey into this complex, ever-evolving world.

As the seasons unfold, each one leaves behind its own unique imprint—wrinkles of wisdom, scars that tell our stories, and aches that remind us of our journeys. We're nearing the completion of a hundred meters of deadfall clearance around our five-acre resort nestled in the heart of the coniferous forest. Often, when faced with the daunting task of working in winter's embrace, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed and question the possibility of progress. Yet, nature has a remarkable way of being our ally, gifting us with seasons that urge us onward, converting challenges into opportunities. It reminds us that perseverance can lead to remarkable transformations, not just in the landscape around us, but within ourselves as well. It must be the reason it was a mild winter without an accumulation of snow! All we need now, is ample spring rains to lessen the risk of forest fires.

Since this has been the mildest winter I can remember at Eliguk, I'm pumped to get the greenhouse up and running earlier than ever! At the very least, I can prepare the beds using all the white fluffy snow laying around outside. Water lines are still frozen and the dry beds wick up more water than I can bucket right now. Letting snow melt naturally and slowly on the tops of the bed, is better than trying to water the dry soil that seems to repel water and take forever to soak in. It's a step towards getting all those solo cups off my table!

Honestly, moving all the plants around to chase the sun in the cabin feels like a botanical game of musical chairs—exhausting and slightly chaotic. And let’s be real, when company swings by, it’s like hosting a potluck without the "pot" part; I’ve got nowhere to entertain—or serve food!

A few adventurous souls are planning to drop by this week and speaking of grub, I’ve finally gathered the guts to say, “Hey, why not bring some food with you?” I love cooking, but it’s like a game of culinary roulette when my fresh supplies get raided by visitors who have 24/7 access to stores. While my Mountain Man takes at least two full days and a small fortune just to fetch the goods. Let’s be honest: it’s not just about being nice and playing the role of the grateful host. In this wild wilderness game of life, where we’re trying to make a living and navigate mother nature's chaos, asking to bring along fresh supplies feels like common sense! So, when unexpected people arrive, I won’t just roll out the welcome mat—I’ll roll out the “bring your own snacks or fresh veggies” reminder too. I don't mind putting on a big spread and spending a day or two cooking and cleaning - but have the awareness to understand how much effort and cost it takes in doing so. After all, sharing is caring, and it’s time I embraced it with a grin instead of guilt! (Kudos to the people that do call ahead and offer to bring out fresh supplies!)

It takes me back to a winter morning when a random couple mysteriously appeared, landing their plane on the frozen lake out front. From the air, they saw the welcoming smoke billowing out our chimney, signaling life way out in the wilderness below. Absolutely stunned, and at first curious; as to how in the world we managed to survive so well way out here far removed from civilization? They came into our log cabin - out from the cold, settling in around the crackling fire by our table that overflowed with freshly baked buns and hearty homemade soup, while sweet treats sat patiently waiting. Bellies filled with culinary indulgence, a day of hosting off the grid guided tours of our not-so-secret resort grounds and guest cabins - one of them had the audacity to suggest we charge five dollars per person for this delightful day of experience! At the time, (wide-eyed and gob-smacked) - I'm sure I looked like I had just fallen off my rocker! No, they were serious - and I'll never forget, as a person in the profession of catering and hosting a remote resort of this scale - how small that made me feel!

I may have been speechless at the time - but I am no longer at a loss for words. I spent my forties summoning the courage to finally start saying "no" to requests and not feeling guilty about disappointing someone should I not have the time to meet their needs or expectations. Now, in my fifties the lesson is that the welcome mat is out - but lets be reciprocal about it. We are all trying to survive - every relationship should be a give and take.

Mountain Man is always on the go, and every day is different from the previous one. As far as fire mitigation goes - his landscape changes all the time. From excavator repairs, to chainsaw sharpening, fixing an electrical problem or cleaning the chimney. The Jeep needed some attention with the 4-wheel drive disengaging on the last trip out, and since snow machine season was almost non-existent this year, the repair on the Jeep can't wait for better weather.

Overall, this winter has been nothing short of magical, and I am deeply aware of how fortunate we are that it has made life in the wild not only bearable but truly enchanting. I know that such winters are rare gems that we cannot always expect, no matter how much we wish for them. Could it be that the universe is finally answering my long-held dream of starting to build the lodge I've envisioned? One thing is certain: our forest district is poised to set burning bans across this region, and my husband will not rest in his mitigation efforts until that day comes.

As I reflect on these moments, I will cherish the long, starry evenings, where the embers of the bonfire dance their way up to the heavens, merging with the vast tapestry of stars above. Each flicker feels like a whisper of possibility, reminding me of the wonders that lie ahead. I know that right now, life is good - and I will never take that for granted. It can change at any moment but I will always strive to live within each and every cherished one of them.