The Incredible Shrinking Town

I grew up in a fishing village of, like, 800 people. When I moved into the nearest town of 5,000, I wrote bad poetry about sidewalks and city bustle. When I first moved away to college, I chose the booming metropolis of Shelburne, population 2,013. You see the theme.

But lord preserve me, for the first time in over a year I feel absolutely batty about the lack of exit roads here. You really don't want enemies or exes, because there are only so many places in Arctic Ventures in which to hide. Ugh.

Since moving here I've encountered a substantial body of social folklore involving couples who moved North with great dreams, only to crash and burn in short order. A recurring theme has one party loving it here just a little bit more than the other.

When my own such relationship landed on the discard pile - due in no small part to that very reason - I suddenly found myself to be living in The Incredible Shrinking Town. It really defies all laws of time and space.

Subspace rifts draw every single person you know into the Nav on a Friday night, at precisely the same time you enter.

The distance between your place of work and Northmart is prone to temporal feedback loops which, when travelled on any given afternoon, cause you to encounter your ex over, and over, and over again.

Like anywhere else, house-party floorspace is mysteriously halved when he or she walks in. But here, especially in cases where the ex is accompanied by his or her new love interest, the space is reduced to a third, or even a quarter.

Really, I don't even know why this is a problem. It's not like there's any true acrimony there. Maybe it's because I had a weekend off, with way too much time on my hands. So maybe I'll go back to the greenhouse and get dirty.

Or maybe I'll go to Northmart, wearing a disguise.

Springtime

Why reporting rulez

We get to watch shit burn on the bay while everyone else is chained to their desks. Like lobster season in the Maritimes, circa 1999. And yes, that is DFO spray-painted on the side.

How the garden grows

One of the reasons I have been so busy (and not blogging) lately was the ramp-up to the 2008 gardening season in the community greenhouse. Our first official planting day was Saturday, and it was amazing to see all the things we wrestled with on paper since January actually coming to life off the page.

We've got close to 70 members, and about 50 active gardeners this year. For instance, fellow blogger Reefer is testing out his green acumen with coworkers, while Dooner and Bob Izumi Jr. have opted to pitch in on various construction and soil projects as they won't be around the whole time.

The temperature inside floats around a balmy 28 degrees during the day, making it a little slice of summertime in the Arctic. There has been much talk lately about hot-room yoga at the spacious end.

Sunday was a good example of what we envision this project becoming. Members dropped in throughout the day to check on their plots and show off their farm to friends. There were little kids running around while adults compared notes on what to plant in two languages.

In the afternoon, the group home kids came by and I gave them a crash course in gardening and their own little plot. You should have seen them! They were so excited, preparing their patches of soil and planting seeds. One little guy seems to think he'll have full grown carrots by tomorrow morning, but I guess that's part of the learning curve.

And in the midst of the hubbub, we even had tourists come to check it all out!

This, in my mind, is a true community centre: people really taking ownership of the project. A greenhouse has the potential to provide healthy, locally grown food as well as a positive recreational outlet for the community. It can be a nexus for disparate social groups and an oasis from regular life.

This also happens to be the first time I've been involved with a volunteer board, let alone take on an executive position (I'm currently serving as VP - random, eh?).

So, if you're a local resident and interested in learning more about the project, send an e-mail to iqaluitgreenhouse@yahoo.ca. Or just stop me on the street I guess. :) I'll probably post some pictures later when it's not so hectic.

From the answering machine

"Hello. I want to report something about [Restaurant-X]. We ordered something and there was a cooked bug. For more information, please call 975-[XXXX]. Thank you."

I found it

I found my CF card. Also my thesaurus, five pens, some stickie pads, a greeting card that sings, three hair elastics, a bottle of oregano oil, a calculator and a criminal court docket from February.

"Where did this bounty come from?" you may be asking.

Answer: From beneath the monstrous rubble that once was my desk. Now it is a welcoming flatland of coffeestains intersected by a phone book, writing utensils and a notepad.

I feel much better about my life now.

Dumas rocks da house

10-ish p.m. at the francophone last night

Relatively speaking...

A little optimistic maybe, given the amount of ice and snow hanging around town, but the season's swift change had folks out in shorts and other summer gear this week.

I have also taken one big fat step towards those balmy days by booking my vacation. For those of you who have been reading that long, I moved north this time last year and haven't been south since. I don't mind the not-leaving part, but I really need some time off. And the fact that I haven't seen half my family since December 2006 could eventually result in disownment.

So, with deep, deep satisfaction, I announce to my loved ones that I'm leaving for my premier vacation on July 2. I'm taking a month off, which will begin with a yoga retreat, and include time in Toronto and Nova Scotia.

By my calculation, this means sweet, sweet vacation time is only seven deadline days away. There's a lot of stress in between those days, but seven seems like such a wonderfully manageable number.

Great grafitti in the capital

Cameras at the Kamotiq

Malaise

I'm sick.

I haven't taken a sick day in a year because, well, I can't, or else I get too far behind. I did have to cancel my yoga class last night, which made me feel bad. So I stayed on my couch and watched two terrible romantic comedies on VHS which I purchased for $2.99 at Ventures. And cried. But like, what is with this storyline about people getting so drunk they get married? It's dumb. It probably happened once in the history of humankind but all these dumb people cling to it, secretly wishing their reluctant partner would get so drunk they don't notice when the ring slips on. Or like Miss Piggy tricking Kermit into getting married in the end of Muppets Take Manhattan or whatever. (Biggest movie letdown EVER.)

Anyway, at least my job is taking me out of the office today, or else I would just sit and cry in my cubicle. (Which walls I somehow knocked down over the weekend and The Meemers and I have propped up with chairs.) Instead I'm watching lawyers run in and out of the courtroom waving files around.

On an up note, it is sunny and above zero and the snow is melting away from the plateau above town. Also, I took so many vitamins, tinctures and herbal remedies that my body drifts occasionally into little euphoric states.

I am sending positive energy to my immune system.

The season has begun

The season began by accident this year.

Leaving home yesterday for work, I skirted a passing car on what I thought was a solid shelf of snow. Little did I know it was really a poor cover for knee-deep icy water. I lost my balance and tumbled in the mother of all puddles, straight out of Robert Munsch, just barely saving my camera and computer from certain death.

I had no choice but to retreat home, soggy and saddened, for new clothes. I was despondent - what a way to start a deadline day. Just then, as I shrugged off my muddy footwear and coat, I spied them in the corner. Warmth spread to my toes.

Yes, rubber boot season has begun in earnest. Bring on the puddles.