Good People
The other night we were invited to dinner by our neighbours who also act as our landlords. We prepared ourselves for an evening of grown-up conversation and adult manners. We were ill prepared.
It was one of those dinner parties where a minute doesn't go by without a tearful laugh. Where age doesn't matter and spirit counts for everything.
A dinner party where you wonder how such big, intricate flavour can make its way into such a tiny appetizer. Where the moose meat pot roast melts in your mouth and everytime you pick up your wine glass it seems to have replenished itself.
A dinner party where the more animated rise and begin reciting Robert Service poems and everyone struggles with the last line of The Creation of Sam McGee. Where suddenly there's a harmonica in the room and everyone joins in a round of 'Don't Cry for me Argentina'.
Personal stories and accounts of the Yukon were shared (we even have a few of our own now) and everyone reminisces about when you first showed up to view the cabin and they knew that you were good poeple. The kind of dinner party that now has you anxiously awaiting the new real estate guide.
The dinner party didn't end until we ended up on the ice rink our neighbours had been creating on the lake. They had done a very good job in making it slick and we had all drank a little too much wine. There were a couple of falls and we called it a night. The dinner party ended at 3:15 am.
When we moved up here I braced myself for a life of isolation and exclusion. Never could I have imagined that we would fall into the company of such wonderful characters. The more familiar we become with the Yukon the more I am amazed at the pockets of warmth and colour we find in such a cold climate.
It was one of those dinner parties where a minute doesn't go by without a tearful laugh. Where age doesn't matter and spirit counts for everything.
A dinner party where you wonder how such big, intricate flavour can make its way into such a tiny appetizer. Where the moose meat pot roast melts in your mouth and everytime you pick up your wine glass it seems to have replenished itself.
A dinner party where the more animated rise and begin reciting Robert Service poems and everyone struggles with the last line of The Creation of Sam McGee. Where suddenly there's a harmonica in the room and everyone joins in a round of 'Don't Cry for me Argentina'.
Personal stories and accounts of the Yukon were shared (we even have a few of our own now) and everyone reminisces about when you first showed up to view the cabin and they knew that you were good poeple. The kind of dinner party that now has you anxiously awaiting the new real estate guide.
The dinner party didn't end until we ended up on the ice rink our neighbours had been creating on the lake. They had done a very good job in making it slick and we had all drank a little too much wine. There were a couple of falls and we called it a night. The dinner party ended at 3:15 am.
When we moved up here I braced myself for a life of isolation and exclusion. Never could I have imagined that we would fall into the company of such wonderful characters. The more familiar we become with the Yukon the more I am amazed at the pockets of warmth and colour we find in such a cold climate.
posted by Kimnikinik at 1:09 p.m.
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