Latest Release:
Scatter my Ashes in the Fields Up Top
Elisabeth Weigand’s heart-wrenching tribute to the life of Mabel Brewster (1935-2015), whom she met upon her immigration to Canada’s Yukon Territory in 1993. This memoir is a stunning retelling of her life in the remote north that is at once spellbinding, light-hearted, beautiful, and heartbreaking, the reader is transported to the last untamed frontier—where nature reigns supreme and true friendship never dies.
This is a magnificent manuscript, radiating with beauty, passion, humour, and positive life energy.
A masterful accomplishment—well done.
FriesenPress
Yukon Facts
Yukon is the smallest and westernmost of Canada’s three federal territories, with a population of 40,369 people (2019) and its capital Whitehorse lovingly called “The Wilderness City”.
At 5,959 m (19,551 ft), Yukon’s Mount Logan, in Kluane National Park and Reserve, is the highest mountain in Canada and the second-highest on the North American continent. Most of the Yukon has a subarctic climate, characterized by long cold winters and brief warm summers. The Arctic Ocean coast has a tundra climate.
Notable rivers include the Yukon River, as well as the Pelly, Stewart, Peel, White, and Tatshenshini rivers.
Yukon Map
Living in the North
Yukon Stories, & Yukon News
During my 30 years living in the Yukon, I have seen some cold temps, especially on our fly-in trapline at the Hess River. But that is another story for another day.
Every year for the start of the Yukon Quest Sled Dog Race, it got cold. Always below -40Celsius. This year, the Quest became a story of the past, but the cold returned.
For over a week temperatures at night plummeted to -50 Celsius with the days only slightly warming up.
After a frosty Night February 14th, 2021
At 5 am in the morning I throw on coverall, parka, and fur hat, push my feet into seal skin boots and grab my huge trapline mitts. My dog Stella got up with me and faithfully waits at the door until her human is finally ready to go outside.
We open the door and a wave of white condensation swallows us up. It is pitch dark, and as silent as in a cave. A few tiny stars twinkle above the tops of the spruces trees.
Trying to shake off the sleep, I stomp to the shed. The headlamp’s light bobbing on the packed snow in front of me, half-obscured by the clouds of my frosted breath.
I grab another bucket of beet-pulp mash and carry it over to the horse corral. As the dog and myself, Amigo, the horse, is in its senior years. We all try to get through this winter together.
