Who is a Churchillian?

 Who is a Churchillian? It is a bit of a puzzle to determine because for a long time no one has been born there. About 900 souls thrive in Churchill, but their moms flew to big city hospitals to give birth.  The town also has more people than those who live there year round. Hospitality workers come for the bear season or the aurora season.  There are park rangers and researchers. And a thousand tourists a year. 

I want to give a shout out to our itinerant chef at the Churchill Northern Studies Centre. This one guy had to create and serve meals all on his own. The other chef was stuck in Cuba. Trump cut off oil to that country causing Air Canada to stop flights. If planes landed they wouldn’t have enough fuel to take off back home.  So here he was feeding two groups of visitors of 20 people or more each. And, as I pointed out in another blog post, the food was delicious.

I was surprised though there was no decaf coffee since our group and the first one we overlapped with consisted of seniors. Not to worry — the first trip to town was for necessities such as decaf and cannabis. Although when the bus driver, Ashley, asked if anyone wanted to stop at the pot shop there was a loud gasp from the predominantly American cohort. “It is legal here — that’s why I ask,” she smiled.

The second group that overlapped with our stay consisted of an Earthwatch team — they were about 20 years younger, buff, and had an outdoorsy, health fanatic vibe. This is a good thing for folk, who in support of scientific researchers, measure snow characteristics for nine days outdoors, at temperatures no warmer than -20 degrees celsius.

Another demographic consists of the workers at CNSC. There were three guys amongst the ones we interacted with: the young, big cook; the young, giant indigenous technician who loved fixing snowmobiles; and the regular-sized director who may not yet even be in his 40s. There was not a single lumber jack shirt amongst them. And the three employees that are young women could usually be spotted wearing snow pants, beaded earrings, and doing double duty.

Faith inside: delivering instructions. 

The learning program director, long-legged Faith, was our constant companion. She seems to unintentionally channel the comedian Bob Newhart.  With a gentle, friendly smile she would throw subtle zingers into her instructions. “I’m Faith but you can me Hope, Charity or Prudence. In fact I’ll answer to any virtue.”  And “If there is a fire do not take the elevator.  Since it hasn’t worked since October that’s an easy instruction to follow.” She still smiled gently as if she was simply telling us where to collect artic-rated boots. She is also:

(1) a wonderful guide,

(2) a patient driver of a skidoo lugging around a sled topped with a wooden box into which tourists are stuffed and bruised,

(3) and pleasant hostess of wine, cheese, and smoked artic char receptions.  

Faith outside: Telling us the history of the rocket range. 

Lara taught us how to cut snow to make igloos and inuksuks. 

Tiny Lara, is an on-site researcher, lecturer, luggage lugger, and trainer in how-to-cut-snow-to-make-an-igloo. She gave an interesting lecture on research done at the non-profit CNSC. Since the station isn’t affiliated with a particular university, scientists come from all over the world to study the biomes and creatures.  Sure everyone wants to know about the polar bears, learn that their skin is black and their bristles are actually transparent hollow tubes. At the moment we would not be able to confirm this ourselves, even if we had bravery enough to ask a gentleman polar bear to permit an examination if we crossed paths, for the males floated on ice patches on Hudson Bay, noshing on seals, and we were about a week too early to encounter the females exiting their dens with their cubs.

I was intrigued by the part of Lara's lecture about the original DoorDash.  After foxes eat lemmings they poop and pee around the opening of their den. These nutrients cause there to be more greenery than in other areas. So the lemmings come to eat the vegetation right by the den. That is, food delivery right to the foxes’ door.  

Dustin, Danielle, and Ashley, a guide, who also taught us how to bead. 

Ashley, with the silky long hair, to all appearances is the manager of the gift shop and gear rental. She is also a bus driver, guide, instructor for the indigenous beading workshop, and marvellous tale teller. She had us riveted with the one about a polar bear sticking its head in through the door right by the couch she was napping on -- her dogs saved her by barking blue murder. She also drove us across to the wrong side of the tracks to proudly show the creative sheds her indigenous community called their homes.  We learned how and when she started to relate to her Swampy Cree culture’s art of beading when she gave us a workshop in the craft.  I loved the pattern she provided us with— a flag tree. I stitched mine to my toque that commemorates my dog sled ride.

Oh! I forgot one other demographic, one I was part of — the lecturers for the Winter Sky Learning Vacation. There were a couple of guys for the other groups. For our group, it was me and Danielle. Someone from another cohort asked me if that young girl was our instructor. So I leave it to you to guess Danielle’s age from the photos — she’s the one in the fluorescent magenta toque.  I gave my lecture the first night, called “CosmosCanvas: Creating Astronomy Images”,  which our group seemed to really appreciate.  However these folk were really at CNSC for the three aurora lectures that Danielle, a solar physicist, delivered. They hung on her every wonderful word.

Aurora-like Danielle and the ever considerate Dustin.