The Birth of an Angel

Lara left her shack on Ragged Ass Road and trudged along the snow-covered gravel towards Franklin Avenue. It was 8 a.m. but dark. Living in The Land of Midnight Sun meant amazing summers, like sitting on the deck of a pub and realizing its 2 a.m. when the sun dips behind the horizon. It also meant very cold, very dark winters. 

She met the honey-bucket truck as she turned the corner. There was only one proper house on Ragged Ass Road; the rest were shacks- or cabins as her grandfather insisted she call her abode-and each one had a honey bucket bin at the road. These days the old prospector shacks had power, but no running water; inside the honey bucket bins were thick plastic bags full of human waste. Trucks delivered water to large tanks in porches, with a tap at the bottom. Water needed to be boiled for baths and to wash dishes.

It was -32 C and her eyes were the only part of her body exposed to the elements. She loved gazing up at the stars as she walked to work, that is, until her eyelashes froze.  

The last time she stargazed properly was with her grandfather a week ago, when she was home for Christmas. It was their special thing; they had done it since she was a kid. In the fall they would step away from the backyard fire, lie on the grass, and he would point out as many constellations as he could see. In the winter, they would jump on the skidoo and lie in the middle of Athabasca River; if they were lucky, the northern lights would provide a mesmerizing show. He always yearned to see a shooting star with the northern lights, a truly rare occurrence. A falling star was the birth of an angel, her grandfather always told her; imagine an angel being born among the aurora borealis? That would be a powerful angel, he would say.

The day her father died in an accident at the diamond mine, he took her out and they stared at the vast expanse of the milky way. She was numb. A falling star crossed the sky and finally, she sobbed uncontrollably.

After the funeral, they moved in with her grandfather. She was eleven, and she would never forget the first night in her new bedroom, hearing her mother weep through the thin walls, and squeezing her hands into fists, trying not to cry as well.

Lara turned onto Franklin Avenue and started climbing the hill towards downtown Yellowknife. She noticed Pierre up ahead and picked up her pace to catch up with him. He acknowledged her with a nod while they walked, mouths covered in icy scarves. They climbed the hill, turned onto 49 St. and entered The Centre Square Mall, hastily removing hats and wrappings.

They walked into the elevator and Pierre said, “What are you doing for New Year’s?”

“I’m heading to Rae. We’re snowmobiling to Moses’ camp, ice-fishing,” Lara said.

“You are going to freeze your butt off ice-fishing on New Year’s Eve like it’s 1872?” Pierre said, with his heavy French accent. “We’re ringing in 1995! Come to The Brew Pub with us! Small Town Rhinos are playing. It’s going to be a time!”

“Noooo, I promised Peggy. I’ve never been ice-fishing before and I love being in the bush! Your night sounds super fun, though.” They stepped off the elevator. “Have a drink for me!” she called behind her, intent on finding coffee immediately.

It was Friday, and work let them leave at 3 p.m. even though New Year’s Eve was not until the next day. The sun was setting as Lara stepped outside, but all it did at this time of year was skim the horizon, so the lighting was like sunrise and sunset all day. She walked down the hill, stoked the fire, changed, and packed for her trip to the camp. After quickly making a sandwich, she bundled up and headed outside to cut kindling and bring in firewood. Then she headed next door to Walter’s and asked him to add wood to the fire a couple of times per day while she was away.

Lara woke up early the next morning. She gathered a few groceries like potatoes, carrots, coffee, milk, and cereal. Peggy honked the horn outside, signaling that it was time to go. They were off to Rae-Edzo to meet Moses, Peggy’s step-father, a respected Dene elder. As Lara quickly stowed her belongings in the truck’s backseat, Peggy cranked up the music, her fiery red curls bouncing as she nodded along to the beat.

They drove up Franklin Avenue and Peggy parked by the sidewalk while Lara ran into the Gourmet Cup for some coffee and bagels. Then they hit the gravel highway to Rae.

“Moses wants to leave at 8. We’ll take Mom’s skidoo. She won’t be back from Calgary until tonight. Are you sure you’re brave enough to get on with me driving?” Peggy said teasingly.

“As long as you are not driving THIS fast! Maybe I’ll snowshoe to the camp instead,” Lara said, her voice filled with laughter.

Out of nowhere, a luminous white entity emerged from the darkness and swiftly darted across the truck’s headlights. Peggy braked and came to a stop at the side of the road.

“That was intense! We almost hit an owl.”

“Look!” Lara said. “It landed in that tree. It’s a snowy owl. She is so, so beautiful.”

 “How do you know it’s a girl?” Peggy said, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she started driving again.

Lara rolled her eyes. “Your jokes are getting as bad as the ones Moses comes up with.”

Moses had the snowmobiles ready to go when they arrived. He had a supply bag in the seat behind him so he added her foodstuff; the girls got themselves organized, and they hit the trail.

When they arrived at the camp, the sun was rising and Moses was eager to get on the lake. He grabbed his auger, tip-ups and rod and headed to the ice while Lara and Peggy unpacked the sleds, started a fire in the woodstove and made coffee.

They went out to the lake and handed Moses a steaming cup of coffee, then stood by, observing the lines.

Moses pointed to the treeline. “Beavers have been cutting trees here. Do you want beaver or fish for dinner?”

He chuckled to himself as Lara and Peggy yelled, “Fish!” in unison.

“We almost hit an owl this morning!” Peggy said.

“Beaver tastes better than owl,” Moses said with a slight smile. He paused and as he spoke, his voice carried a hint of unease. “That’s a bad omen. It means death.”

Peggy and Lara exchanged a concerned glance as his words hung in the chilly air, and suddenly the flag went up. With a skilled hand, Moses pulled up a sizable trout, its glistening body thrashing in his grasp.

He grabbed his jigging rod. “Whitefish would be good with that trout,” he said.

“I’m going to go in, find a comfy chair, and enjoy the view of you fishing!” Lara said, grinning. “I will make lunch, though!”

In the afternoon, Peggy went snowshoeing. Lara opted to stay in the bush-quiet cabin, sinking into in a plush chair with a book and a cozy blanket, overlooking the lake. Peggy came back mid-afternoon as the sun was setting, prompting Lara to get up and prepare the vegetables for supper.

Moses cooked the fish over a fire outside and they had a mouthwatering feast of whitefish, trout and potatoes and carrots smeared with butter.

“That was an amazing meal to end the year!” Peggy said. She sighed as she loosened the rope on her gym pants.

Moses and Peggy played cards as Lara retreated to her chair and picked up her book. As the northern lights started sweeping across the sky, she felt inspired to work on the poem she had started over the Christmas holidays. She picked up her journal and read what she had so far:

The sun melts icily into the horizon

exhales lavender and poppies and morning glories 

a malted milk moon awakens.

Night arouses star dots

like a child has brushed glitter

leaving streaks of white glue behind.

In just a few minutes, she added:

The cosmos are alive with

writhing ribbon-snakes of light

and wisps of spirit breath.

Something about the night sky always inspired her.

Lara put the kettle on the woodstove for tea and hot chocolate and started bundling up to lie on the lake and watch the northern lights.

The satellite phone rang as she stepped outside. It must be Peggy’s mom, calling to wish us a happy new year, Lara thought, as she sauntered towards the lake. She walked past the fishing holes and found a suitable spot to recline on the ice. The northern lights were stunning, the colours so vibrant! She couldn’t help but wish her grandfather was there to witness their beauty.

Lara noticed Peggy crossing the ice to join her. She sat next to her and with a trembling voice she said, “My mom called; your mom just called her. Your grandfather passed away! Fell asleep on his favourite chair and never woke up…”

Lara’s eyes widened with a mixture of shock and despair, and her heart sank to the bottom of her soul. She stood up and started pacing back and forth until Peggy reached out and pulled her into a warm, comforting hug.

“Let’s go back to the cabin. I’m sure Moses can figure out how to call your mom,” Peggy said.

“I need to stay here awhile. Look at the stars,” Lara said. “I’ll feel closer to him this way.”

After giving her another mammoth embrace, Peggy headed back, leaving Lara alone as she laid on the ice.

The northern lights were still dancing away; maybe her grandfather was helping them put on a special show for her tonight. She started looking for constellations, when suddenly, a brilliant shooting star zoomed across the sky. A cry escaped her lips and tears started streaming down her cheeks. Instantly, the final words of her poem materialized in her mind:

A shooting star streaks across the heavens

through petunia, peppermint, and honeycomb hues.

And alas!

A mighty angel is born.