by John Holman
The generator (the jenny) has run consistently since mid-October. The sputtering and coughing hack starts demonstrated the jenny needed a new spark plug shortly after the New Year turned.
Using 5W-30 oil for the winter conditions has also painted the snow with black soot; another symptom of faulty combustion. The seven horsepower two-stroke King Canada 4200W generates 3,500 watts, running the two electric heaters, entertainment centre, kettle, and lights in the camper. Yes, camper.
The camper has been home since early fall, when we moved out of the Fort Simpson campground to a lot on Wild Rose Acres (thank you, George). It is the only solution to low vacancy rates, and unaffordable housing, a chronic, territorial problem.
My peers at turns nod empathetically: “I remember those days,” or are curious at how we survive the sub-Arctic conditions, even to now, well into our supposed spring time. The alternatives are not appealing – including couch-surfing, or staying with friends or relatives, who often are also overcrowded, or just plain old winter seasonal “shacking up”, a hot affair of winter convenience.
The camper is teaching me a lot about this type of accommodation. For one thing, this tin can – as the camper has been referred to – only has R4 insulation. So I bank the three sides with snow, the North-side facing front of the trailer was completely banked to the roof, in fact, providing incredible wind-break insulation, and absolutely nullifying any drafts. I’ve sealed the windows and have had to fiddle with the door a few times, as it became ice-jammed with condensation.
There are pioneer conditions we endure, including the privy, yet we are not indelicately indisposed, as I was in the earlier part of the winter, squatting outside over a bucket. We cook on a borrowed two-burner propane stove, but have a slow cooker for variety. We do dishes in a portable dish pit, and stock up on food in order to avoid the endless commuting on foot to the village, four clicks away. We shower at friends or family homes, where we mostly do our laundry, too. Unlike the fashionable majority who drive to work we must dress for the season. It is easy to tell we live outside as we dress for it. Quite often I appear to be a Michelin man of the North as I tramp to or from work; in a village of characters, I must cut quite a profile in my highway perambulations.
It all sounds arduous and pitiable, but I can assure you: We take pride in this little home, even as it humbles me. We only have this camper, my girl and me, to brave the frigid elements, and of course, each other. Cuddling to keep warm has never been so important to keep the tootsies toasty, and as that good night approaches our survival hut every day, we are thankful for this independent sweetness.