Ideas on Handling Medical Conditions

I have been stalled for a blog idea for some time. One topic that I have been asked about over the years is how to handle medical conditions in such an isolated lifestyle. As it stands, my family is quite aware of the difficulties that surround living with medical conditions that can, if something goes awry in the treatment, become life threatening.

My life has been one of awareness and calculated risks because I was diagnosed with sleep related epilepsy as an infant. In the last quarter of a century, my parents and I have lived a life filled with neurologists, tests, and medications to control my seizures. At 21 years of age, my neurologist began to phase me off of drugs with a slight alteration in my medication every six months and there was little to no negative change in my brain's abnormal activity. Six months ago I was declared epilepsy free and since October I have been on a rapid phaseout plan that, providing all goes well, shall find me off of all medication by January 20th. The last few weeks, however, have not been so easy and, given my situation, they have led me to contemplate every outcome that is possible and to implement even more calculated risks than is normal.

What is a calculated risk? In the bush, you learn very quickly that every action has a consequence. Whether that is slipping and injuring yourself when it's -30C, falling through a beaver dam, or getting lost you learn to measure your actions before you walk out the door.

A few actions my family takes to ensure my safety as I complete my life's greatest science experiment:

1) During the winter, we keep a small gas filled generator inside at night. This permits us to plug in and start a vehicle during extreme temperatures in the event that I need to be taken to the hospital.

2) As a team, we ensure that I have several months of medication on hand at all times to prevent any problems if my drugs get short listed by the pharmacy a good five hours away.

3) We keep track of my nightly activity and follow a disciplined routine to help ensure I do not end up sleep deprived, which is crucial to controlling abnormal brain activity.

4) I maintain an active lifestyle to combat the adverse affects of stress -- stress is never good for someone with a seizure history. 

5) If I have had a particularly spastic night, my parents maintain a quiet sound level and don't push me beyond whatever function I am capable of maintaining without making my day worse.

6) Most importantly: Whether I like it or not, I never sleep alone. 

These are a few of the ways we maintain my condition in the bush to aid me as much as possible as my brain adjusts to not being on medications for epilepsy. That said, there is absolutely no reason why others with controlled medical conditions need to live a life close to the hospital. The truth is, I have never felt better about my condition than I do in the bush and that alone has made my isolated life worthwhile. With a few adjustments to your routine as someone with a medical condition, and the development of an action plan between you and your family, you are likely just as able as I am to enjoy the isolated lifestyle while being considerate of your medical needs. 

Here's to a Merry Christmas and All the Best for the New Year.

Love,

Jenn

How We Entertain Ourselves Without Technology

WARNING! For the duration of this blog entry, I'm going to ask you to read without checking your cell, your e-mail, your facebook, your twitter, your linkedin, your updates, your uploads, your downloads, your accounts, or whatever your avatar self does all day. Do you think you can do it?


One question my family often gets is, "What do you do up there?" True, we don't have television, internet, or cell service; we don't have a game system, the latest blue-ray player, or other gadgets that so many of our friends can't seem to live without. I'm not bashing the technological world for I use it all the time. Without technology I would not be writing this post right now and it provides me with the service of communication with those people whom I choose to maintain contact with (like you). That said, my family has discovered the bliss of unplugging from the age of technology and it has resulted in a sense of freedom.


So, what do we do to entertain ourselves?


Activity: We read books.

Cool Family Moment: One of our family's great memories took place during our War and Peace marathon, which literally resulted in the demolition of the book. I handed sections of pages to Daddy and he then passed them along to Momma who made perfect little stacks of the close to 1000 pages after everyone read Tolstoy's words.


Activity: We talk.

Cool Family Moment: We solve the world's problems, our own problems, and our two nations' problems through dialectics before breakfast is over.


Activity: We go for walks alone or together.

Cool Family Moment: When alone, we are able to sort out our own lives and dreams so we don't kill each other from lack of space. When together, we learn more about one another and discover thoughts and sides of our family that we never knew existed.


Activity: We sit around and think.

Cool Family Moment: Through reflection and introspection, we have discovered the importance of the phrase, "Know Thy Self" and life is now so much more rewarding.


Activity: We work on our own personal hobbies (i.e. I knit and write, Daddy reloads and does leather craft, Momma bakes and crochets).

Cool Family Moment: The discovery that we are able to think and enjoy our lives without being told what to think and do.


Activity: We watch and commentate on movies together.

Cool Family Moment: That point in LOTR when Frodo is a prisoner, the orc says "that shiny SHIRT is mine" (except that "shirt" comes out like a four-letter word), and everyone still bursts into laughter after all these years.


Activity: We write letters.

Cool Family Moment: When we send off a letter and smile from the knowledge that there is a small ray of joy on the way to someone dear to us.


Activity: Hunting with Daddy.

Cool Family Moment: When we're making our way home at dusk and hear the eerie bellowing of a cow moose echo over the land and rip to shreds the sleeping silence of the forest.


Activity: When we go fishing.

Cool Family Moment: When I park my kayak next to a beaver dam, eat a few snacks, soak up the sun, and think of how my parents look like a Rockwell painting as they fish from our canoe.


Activity: When we take road trips (no backseat screens for us, thanks)!

Cool Family Moment: When everyone is singing along to old hits from the 70s because they're awesome and help us make crazy 2 day, 36 hour drives possible.


Activity: Waking up and watching the aurora borealis dance through the midnight sky.

Cool Family Moment: Waking up everyone else, going outside, and reeling with that glorious feeling that tells you that you are doing exactly what you ought to be doing for the moment. Okay, it's 3AM -- what's your point?


Activity: We live in a family zone.

Cool Family Moment: When we realize that we are together not by force or the use of agenda-shifting time blocks, but because we have come to enjoy our life together.


My short list does not begin to cover all that my family does together, but it's a small example of how we entertain ourselves and what we like to do. I've been bushed so long, I don't remember what we did before creating our uncivilized life. Oh well, it obviously didn't leave much of an impression. Life is far too vibrant now for me to ever want to go back to the former norm. By writing this blog entry, I've made myself curious: What do you do out there? And, how free are you?


Love,
Jenn

The Beauty of Life

The beauty that surrounds me is without compare, but every year at this time I discover that I am standing on the edge of something gorgeous and filled with allure. There is tension, there is sadness, and there is hope that all swills together into the giant blue cocktail glass we call the sky. What is there in the coming of fall that brings such intense feelings?

As the leaves fall in frozen showers of gold, I wonder at the world we are so privileged to live in, to love in, to flourish in. It doesn't take a miracle, it doesn't take a lifetime, and it doesn't take anything more than amazement at the sheer loveliness found in every waking moment to comprehend how precious are our lives.

A quick look at the garden reveals that my sunflowers gleam with ice. Until the morning thaws, they are preserved in perfect likeness of the sunny beauties that have greeted me all summer long. How fragile is life here and, yet, so resilient. A laugh wells up from inside me as the mental image of a giant dumping bottles of clear nail polish over the well shaped flowers blooms within my mind.  I cannot stop myself from contemplating the fantastic sight before me. I don't feel that it belongs to our world, but to the pages of a good fairy tale.

The chill air makes me shiver and I feel a warm smile spreading over my face. The fond memories of my life are lucid today and I possess a perfect clarity that is akin only to the thrill of walking barefoot through the first good snow of winter. Pure joy. Though the day is the same as yesterday, I know that today shall be different if only for the great dreams it promises to bring.

It's true, today's entry is not in keeping with my usual entries. Right now, form and narrative don't seem to matter or even have a place here. After all:

July 1st, 2014,

The world fascinates my every feeling sense, until all that remains is my soul.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, I hope that you are able to look at the small and the large, the simple and the complex, and realize that the greatest beauty of all has nothing to do with where you are; rather, it has to do with who you are. I know that in my own life that knowledge has made all the difference.

I love our world and I love all of you who have helped to make my life beautiful.

Love,
Jenn

What I Have Learned This Summer

Every year, well, every season, I find that I learn more about myself and more about my environment.

So what have I learned?

1) Pick your flowers while you can because killer frosts come far too soon in this forest.

2) When adolescent bears are 30 feet from your door, they are adorable. When they proceed to eat the wild cranberries, they are merely cute.

3) Mushroom pale students + intense northern sunlight = pain

4) We no longer have to pick the squirrels off with the .22 because PJ, our year old cat, picks them off for us.

5) This world may be the same, but each moment brings new and unique experiences.

6) There is nothing better than the taste of sunlight.

7) If you listen hard enough, you can hear the Earth's heartbeat.

8) The smallest gestures in life produce the greatest results.

9) Your brain may feel clogged with duckweed, but at least it has a purpose.

10) Each moment is precious. Never let the frosts of life touch what matters to you the most.



Love,
Jenny

August 2014 (Because I Love Experimental Forms)

A note on the post: Just because I think they are fun to write, I have decided to write a blog post that is a combination of the braided lyric and the flash essay forms. Enjoy! ~MUL

Sweat. Trickling it slides and tickles. A mosquito flies by. Itching hands seek out the insect that is biting into tender, fleshy parts. A slap.

Summer’s autumn days are here. I walk through the compact of tan foundation with its cool powder puff of clay, and contemplate the insect sounds that flit here and there and all around. The days are hot. Exposure bleached my hair out long ago. The forest, sick with streaks of gold, flaked out in the sun for too long. It peels without interest. Those trees whose roots are shallow have leaves of half-green -- squiggled scorch marks -- and of half-yellow.

            

The hand feels wet and the mouth emits a groan. Great. Another blood bomb. But, look. The hand is covered in a translucent, clear substance. Sweat.

Well, that was a fun way to spend twenty minutes.

Have a magnificent week!

Love,

Jenny

              

A Beautiful Summer

A few weeks ago, a dear friend of mine asked me to keep him posted on how my summer goes. I told him that, in short, it glows. After that conversation, I began to think of just why this summer seems so perfect. You see, I expected it to be one of the worst in recent history because I intentionally took a very difficult semester in order to justify the slack fall line-up I have on board for travel reasons.

Why does this summer glow?

1) The world is a beautiful place.

2) I know I love others and that I am loved in return.

3) The creatures that surround me are made more brilliant by their simple needs and complex designs.

4) The forest acts more alive than I remember from past summers.

5) There is an abundance of sunshine to soak up and a blue, blue sky to wade through each and every day.

6) There are more songbirds this year and, for that very reason, more songs in my heart.

7) The breezes are gentle caresses that shield me from the bugs that bite and drive me crazy.

8) The berries glisten with raw seduction in both shade and sunlight; giant gems waiting to be picked.

9) The rocks sparkle more and make me wonder at the vastness of our world.

10) I feel myself glowing in the awakening that has followed a long sleep filled with beautiful dreams.

It took me quite awhile to come up with the above ten points, but I know my list really has no end. Each day, I continue to add new thoughts and beautiful observations that show me just how magnificent is the forest in which I live, how all of life itself is glorious. In my beautiful summer I want only to lean back, observe, and enjoy each and every moment with the peace that by my waking thoughts revives my soul.

In this moment, may each of you know that you are loved. I hope your summers glow.

Love,

Jenny

A Typical Day

I realize I haven't added to my blog of late and, for it, I apologize. The truth is, I have been contemplating a blog suggestion from an old family friend.

What is a typical day like in my life?

Good question.

The only answer that felt right is that there is no such thing as a typical day. But, that doesn't really answer the question, now does it?

7:00am - My parents have been up for an hour or more, and one of them shouts up to where I am curled up in my snug little world wishing I could ignore the sounds of their alarm clock voices. Daddy goes for a walk

7:30am - I switch to autopilot, and slip on clothing that reflects a mad scientist's ideas of good taste and ask someone to please put up the ladder. Daddy usually has my coffee poured and waiting amidst the continental mess I call a desk. When I sit down, it's a gross understatement to say I'm awake. Rather, I'm lost in my mind and trying to capture that beautiful dream I had to leave behind in my bed. I listen to my parents talk and maybe throw a random thought out there, but for the most part I'm a coffee drinking veggie.

8:00am - Still a vegetable for whom the world doesn't really exist.

8:30am - I start to contribute to the family by joining the philosophical, political, or sociological debate going on around me.

9:00am - I'm finally to the point that I can function, and I usually make more coffee. By now I'm thinking about school. My thoughts usually go something like:
          1. Spanish. Need to work on Lección whateveritis. Oh, and the next assignment.
          2. Faust. Hmm... I should probably sit down and figure out what I want to write my research paper on.
          3. Creative Non-fiction. Editing, again? Oh, well, I guess those cute little punctuations can be fun.
During this process, I'm usually toasting two slices of homemade bread, toasting them on Momma's cast iron skillet, and reminiscing with Momma.

9:30am to 11:00am - I study and Momma gets exasperated with me because all I want to do is talk. That's studying for you.

11:15am - I go plaster myself to the flatbed and soak up some sun in a pair of Daisy Duke lookalikes and work on my tan.

11:30am - Lunch break.

Noon - Back to work after I eat, usually bread again, and maybe have a short talk with Daddy who comes in to get out of the sun for a break. Throughout the morning, Momma usually reads or works with Daddy (depending on what he's doing that day).

12:00 to 2:00pm - Another tanning session where I hum old rock tunes, day dream, and think of those I care for most.

2:30pm to 4:00pm - Back to the books.

4:30pm or 5:00pm - I organize my studies for the next day. Really, there actually is an organizing thought behind The Monstrosity. Then, I take off for a 3 mile walk down to Homestead Road.

6:00pm - I'm back, buggy, and getting ready for dinner.

6:30pm - Dinner and a movie on my laptop.

9:00pm - Bedtime.

That is as typical an agenda as I can form. We take one day a week and go to High Level or, maybe, Peace River if we need major items. On those days, I swim laps at noon to 1pm and then go to the library to get online for research purposes and talk to my friends. There is nothing else typical about my life other than eating, sleeping, and breathing.

Love,
Jenny

Spring Revelations

What I write for MUL is sometimes the runoff work I do when developing an essay for a class. To survive this semester, my work often contains 3 parts whimsy and 10 parts coffee...

Every spring, the forest inhales and holds it breath. The air is laden with expectations of new life, a ballooned world rich with foreboding and tension. During this time, the world is brown with speckles of new green. The aspens are heavy with blossoms that resemble tentacled pussy willows waving in a whiff of breeze. In less than a week, the blooms begin to shrivel up into little brown strings that look more dead than alive.

Though I adore winter, this may be my favorite part of spring. I begin to notice grasses, golden all winter, flushed with green blush. The ducks, robins, and the small birds that look suspiciously like whippoorwills fill the air with sound. Frogs in chorus croak and rasp. They remind me of cicadas and crickets from Missouri’s sultry summer nights.

One unexpected morning, I look out the window by my bed and see the tree by the woodpile. What large leaf buds! How could I have missed the trees budding out? A closer look reveals that the trees are all budding and close to leafing out in the denouement of spring. I notice that the wild cherry trees have thin leaflets poking out from fragile stems, the rose bushes push forth their wispy leaves from between their thorns, and the lilac cuttings from our last home are lowering their green spears and will soon unfurl into soft shapes. If I blink, I know I’ll miss that exhale when the whole world grows up for another season of life and virility.

My transplanted wild violets are in bloom and, every day, I check the clumps of twin flower, my personal favorite, that grow on the northwest sides of random trees. The first mature green leaves in spring, I wait for their pixie-sized stems to form, for their duel-branched flowers to curve toward the many-layered mulch of dead aspen leaves, and for their miniature translucent pinks and white bells to flash up from the forest floor. The child in me wonders what it would be like to be smaller than an inch, wandering free through woodland halls of blooming twin flowers, unseen by the mountainous giants that thunder by my little trickling streams and deep mossy bowers.

When I imagine such an enchanting microcosm, I have a habit of craning my neck back and looking straight up through the overarching branches at the bright blue sky. The microcosm I live in is far vaster than any I might ever imagine. Besides, who says that the trees that curve about me couldn’t become giant flowers one day? It’s true, I openly refuse to grow up. Maturity is great, but to lose my imagination would make life dry, common, and dull. Who in their right mind wants to live that way? The world is so fascinating that I could never permit such a bland outlook on that which is an ever-changing myriad of kaleidoscope details. Could you?

Love,

Jenny

The Rites of Spring

Every year, the snow piles up, the winds blow, and the spirit begins to feel squashed into a tight little space by the grey skies and the never-ending white of the snow. Then, it happens. The thermometer begins to flirt and tease us in jumps of its thin red line. Haltingly, the snows melt, freeze, melt, freeze. I dig out my rain boots and wear them when there is too much squelching clay. Daddy thinks of his garden, Momma thinks of her canning, and I think of my flowers.

As I walk down the dry road in my black and yellow rain boots, I can't help but laugh. What a sight I must make! Besides the irony of wearing rain boots when it's dry, I am also carrying an open umbrella. Looking around, I see that I am under a patch of bright blue sky and I can feel the intense heat of the sun. Feeling quite smart, I carry on and, before long, feel the pattering of raindrops as the sun goes behind one of many very large, very dark clouds. I am reminded alternately of Mary Poppins and Igor Stravinsky's The Rites of Spring.

The Rites of Spring... Yes, that is the perfect metaphor for how spring arrives in the north. It begins in bursts that lead to a psychological agony with all the stops and the starts pulled out. It rains, is snows, it pours, it shines, and, ultimately, the wet clay-mud sticks to everything it touches.

I look up. There is a flock of geese flying in V-formation. With a smile I watch the changing of the guard, well, of the lead goose. Their sorrowful and awkward calls fly before them from high above my mere form, which is only glorious in its insignificance. My days shall be filled with sound once more, for with the coming of spring comes the Canada goose. They will come and squabble for the best nesting sites; as I jog, I will probably have the occasional hilarious run-in with mating pairs and their young. But for now, it is still wintery and blustery; after all, it's only mid-April. In fact, it's supposed to snow.

Then, as though Winter were in a rush, the snow melts and the squishing ground underfoot begins to dry. As the clay becomes solid once more, I will find myself looking around at the bare brown world. With an air of expectation, the forest will seem to say, "I'm still sleeping, but--" In consternation, I will find myself wanting to know, "but, what?" Then the answer comes, a small surprise, and I will answer myself, "but -- not for long." For beneath me, far below the limbs and branches that I trail my fingers against as I walk, there it will be: green.

Even though I am enjoying the awkward youth of spring, I have to admit that I shall miss winter. There's something so delightful in the way winter freezes sound into little bites that, though mournful, are just enough to make me think, to wonder at the world and everything in it. On warm days, were it not for the snow, I would never be able to see the snow lice turn my white world into gun metal blue, nor would I ever see their little, black hopping bodies jumping in their little lousey way. The snow louse is almost invisible because of its extraordinarily small size. They are everywhere now, but that is because it is so warm, and the snow looks sooty to the untrained eye. While looking at the lice, I often find spiders that have blown off their perches in the trees lumbering by; or, if it is still quite cold by spider temperature, wiggling their legs in slow agony.

The first green of spring, really isn't green at all. I've tried to put it into words so many times, but the closest I have ever come to describing that first green is that it is more silver than green. The first seen, is never old enough yet to understand the bitter chlorophyll that shades all the forest in fertile green, is always of a pastel Easter green, a dye that is too dilute, and shrouded in winter's last reminder, enclosed in a faint frost of silver, the first tender living leaf will begin to unfold, to stretch upward to the deep blue of the May sky.

The wonder of life in the Boreal Forest. The rites of spring.

Love,

Jenny

Cabin Fever

The Price of Solitude

I truly love the soft serenity that the Boreal Forest offers any person who stops long enough to seek out the beauty of solitude; however, I would be lying if I didn't admit that solitude sometimes has a price. Perhaps you think I am referring to the lack of socializing. Well, that might be partially true. The real price is cabin fever.

While cabin fever is definitely a negative experience, I have always thought of a teddy bear fridge magnet Grandma would point to now and again that read, "Grin and bear it." That mantra of hers has stuck with me and it should come as no surprise that I have come to accept one of the most psychological circumstances of life on Rosehill as just a yearly phase we go through as a family.

You may be wondering why I've decided to talk about cabin fever. My reason is simple. It's reality. When I first began MUL, I decided to portray life as it is lived, not as I might wish it could be. If I didn't admit to getting cabin fever, I would be portraying reality as skewed, unrealistic, and might as well deem my family perfect in spite of our flaws. So it seems vital to discuss the cabin dweller's equivalent to the sailor's doldrums.

What is cabin fever?

What is cabin fever? I'm sure we all have our own definitions, but I would describe it as a crazed irritation that ignites at the slightest provocation. Raw nerves and frustrated tension tightened until that they are primed to snap. You become annoyed at the slightest hint of sound from one of your family members and reclusive to the point that you are as wary as a wild animal. (Odd as it is, I admit to hiding in the bush at times when I see a car coming.)

Now, none of these feelings are anyone's fault. In the spring and summer you can get outside, get your dose of vitamin D, and greatly reduce the effects of cabin fever.

In the winter, cabin fever builds up silently, the sky clouds over, you get far less sunshine, and most of your time is spent cooped up like a chicken that spent her summer running around the farmyard.

Yes. It's hard to adjust.

Coping

Since cabin fever is an annual problem, I have had time to devise ways of coping with an otherwise impossible feeling issue.

1. Get outside anyway. I'm not saying I don't fight the idea sometimes, it can be very hard to force myself to get outside, but I do know that one long walk a day does wonders for my mood. The temperature is irrelevant, as I layer up and go anyway.

2. Find ways to get through really cloudy weeks. Personally, I find citrus, juice, a calming tea with honey, or a steaming mug of hot chocolate can help get my senses going. I keep a candle lit and find the flickering flame soothing when the levels of light are low.

3. Lose yourself in an engaging book.

4. Lose yourself in your imagination.

5. Knit. It sounds weird, but the repetition helps me organize my thoughts (I imagine crochet works just as well). Besides, wearing out your irritations from cabin fever by doing this kind of activity results in great projects that also make great gifts.

6. Write. Maybe it's just because I like writing that I find this option effective. However, keeping a journal of your thoughts, dreams, and contemplations does seem to make the days go by faster.

7. Watch a movie with your family. When I'm really struggling with cabin fever, I choose war or action. Recently, I found Band of Brothers particularly effective as there are also a few comedic moments.

8. Any other hobby that you find soothing. I do find that engaging my creative side over my more analytic side is better where cabin fever is concerned.

9. Write letters (yes, I mean snail-mail style) to those you love. For example, I write family, honorary family, and friends just because I can, and hope to make them smile as they sift the bills from the flyers.

10. Try something new. Expand your reading list from your standard fare -- I once did Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove books, several of Terry Pratchett's Discworld Series, and all the Jules Verne books I could find in a six month time period -- pick up a new hobby or ask family members to teach you more about one of their hobbies (you may be surprised at what they know).

11. Bake bread the pioneer way, using no bread makers or mixers. Kneading is a great way for getting rid of your wintertime frustrations and the smell of the bread will help perk you up too! I love this one!

12. Above all, start your day off as positively as possible. It can be hard, of course, but if you train your mind, it gets much easier.

13. Avoid eating out of boredom. I did this one winter an can testify that it left me more miserable than when I started.

14. Get in touch with your spiritual side. Momma strongly recommends prayer.

15. Music. Whether it's listening to the radio, CDs, MP3s, or making music of your own, it helps.

16. Take time to laugh at yourself. If you're too far gone, try finding a comedy station on the radio because that helps too.

17. Do something random for others. On the back of every personal envelope I send, you will find, "Practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty." I think it sums it up.

Along with techniques of your own, I hope you are able to get through cabin fever, as you experience it, until you can get outside in the spring. Though cabin fever isn't fun, at least it can be made bearable. Knowing and accepting it as part of my life has made all the difference because now I can focus on all the things that really matter.

When you think about it, cabin fever amounts to the kind of diversity that, if overcome, makes for times to remember in years to come.

Life couldn't be better.

Love,
Jenny

P.S. If any of you who read this post have gone through cabin fever, or something like it, I would love to hear your ideas and stories of how you get through the winter doldrums. ~MUL

On Wolves

Dear Readers, my apologies for getting so far behind and being so inconsistent. The inspirations that so often are available when I go to write left me for far too long. The good news is, I have one non-fiction book idea, a fractured fairy tale that I would love to have illustrated one day, a screenplay idea for a feature film, and an idea for a speculative fiction trilogy. All that came flying into my head within a week, so I think it is safe to say that my bad case of writer's block is over. Thank you for your patience ~ Jenny.

It's 8:03AM. The indoor-outdoor thermometer is displaying -33(C) in large, black numbers. After yesterday's grey skies filled with fluffy snowflakes, the morning sky looks clear. But, there have certainly been times when the grey cloud covering was so uniform that it only appeared clear. When the sun finally rises out of the early gloaming then, and only then, will I truly know what the day shall bring. As I watch the sky grow pale with light, I find myself thinking over my favorite sound to hear on a clear day. Part of it has to do with the radio newscast that just crackled through the speakers, but most of it has to do with some of my favorite memories despite that it is a rather contentious issue within our northern municipalities and counties.

Before continuing, perhaps I should explain why a clear day is so different from any other day. Where I live, you can hear for miles through the trees when the temperature is cold and the sky is clear. Many is the time when I have been on Rosehill and gone completely still because I heard the crunching of snow. Though it sounds as though a vehicle is driving up, the reality is that I am hearing the crunch of wind hardened snow squeaking and crunching under tires miles away (especially if the wind is just right). While the crystal clear sound quality may not seem like much, it seems magical if it falls at the very time of year the wolves come through.

About a month ago, we were privileged enough to listen to a wolf pack's chorus on one of these exceptionally clear nights, the kind of night when you could tap a bell and hear it resonate for hours, and hear the rising symphony of their voices harmonize while one wolf accentuated the rhythmic energy with a howl that reminded me of a cross between scat and jazz. So eerie. So chilling. So thrilling. Daddy decided to see if they had made a kill and, sure enough, he found what was left of their moose while the ravens cawed at him from overhead.

For me, this is one of the most stunning and magical sounds the wild has to offer.

Sadly, not everyone agrees.

Snapping out of my reverie of memory, I am reminded of the radio newscast. In one year, there have been over 700 bounties paid out for each wolf killed in those counties and municipalities that offer wolf bounties in Alberta. In my own county, the bounty is around 200 dollars (if I remember correctly). While I understand why farmers and ranchers find wolves a source of annoyance, after all, nobody wants to have perfectly good calves killed by wild animals when they could sell that same calf once it comes of age and turn a profit. I get it. It's bad business. On the other hand, my own perspective is the same as my hunting perspective. To kill a wolf that is harming livestock, as it harms the livestock, is one thing. To set a bounty on an entire population is another. I have no qualms with people hunting, but I believe in hunting to eat and hunting in moderation. It seems to me that a bounty on wolves will only cause an imbalance in the natural equilibrium, the carrying capacity of animals that are hunted by the wolf, and eventually lead to sickness and other issues within other populations.

As a testimony to the power of a bounty, let me explain it like this. Since we moved to Rosehill, we have listened to wolves nearly every year. It has only been in the years the bounty was officially issued that we heard no wolves and saw little to no sign that they were even in our area. Two summers ago, the coyote moved in. As you may know, this is a sign that the wolf population is not at it's usual strength.

The power of the bounty is just this: the clear air that filled with the resonating sounds of a wolf hunt were the first I have heard in several years.

And those years were just a little too empty for my liking.

I hope to see the bounties stopped, so I may continue to count on hearing the wolves sing.

Love,
Jenny