Tuesday, September 20, 2011
From my earliest childhood days, Yellowknife was synonomous with the north, adventure, the barrens and the final frontier. My grandpa told us stories of his travels on the land with a canoe and a friend and some very bad cooking. I still remember him vividly telling me about waking up with his sleeping bag covered in snow. My grandma tells stories of the people of Yellowknife - how an old miner taught her how to cook her first turkey for my Granpa after they were married.
Arriving here, I was caught doing something as lame as photographing the polar bear diorama in the airport. I had to laugh at myself as we were driving into town from the airport that I was getting that culture shock thing that goes with cars, roads and trees and large buildings because my typical viewscape is red clay/gravel roads, trucks, hondas and machines (skidoos), and the largest building in town is the high school. The view from my room is amazing - I can see the territorial legislature and Frame Lake.
I'd better throw out a few picture and then go take a bunch more for you all. I know a remarkable number of displaced Yellowknifers for someone who has never been here before.