I traveled to Whitehorse in the Yukon for 8 days for a larry. knitting retreat, my goal to get a bulk of the collection for 2010 knit up all at once in an inspired environment.  I also had the benefit of visiting one of my greatest friends in the world, who is a force of inspiration herself: living in a one-room cabin in the woods, with no electricity or plumbing, and managing to do it all with a smile on her face.

1. If you have a choice between sleeping in this bus and sleeping outside, choose outside.  I know it’s tempting when the bus is headed to Pleasantown…but much to my own surprise, I managed to get a decent night’s sleep after drinking a bottle of wine next to a blazing fire and watching the Northern Lights, despite the freezing cold weather.  No toes were lost to frostbite.

2. When you’re stranded in Skagway, Alaska on a holiday weekend before the cruise ships have rolled in for the summer, and the only thing open in town is the liquor store, it’s perfectly acceptable to get drunk mid-day and roam the fake-movie-set-looking-town and investigate everything that’s closed for the season, such as: trains (none of which were unlocked, damn).

3. You can eat seaweed right off the shore here.  And take buckets of it back to Canada to dry and use for salads and whatnot.  Make sure to wash the sea snails out, and dry the seaweed before it rots.  There are supposedly only 2 poisonous plants in the Yukon, so if you’re in a bind you can pretty much eat anything in the woods and you should be ok.

4. If a door doesn’t make sense, don’t go through it.

5. Work gloves and winter boots are about the only accessories you need here.  Fashion as I know it is basically moot – which introduced a really interesting element to my design process.  Functionality and necessity are key.

6. Silence is golden.  I spent 5 straight days working alone in this cabin, with only a cat to keep me company.  There’s no noise, except for the fire slowly chugging along in the stove.  No electricity = no music.  This was difficult for me.  After a while, you really learn to appreciate the silence, the softness of thought that grows from silence.  And the opportunity to talk to other humans.

7. I can work hard, chop wood, chip stairs into the wall of ice up the hill next to the cabin to prevent serious injury to myself from slipping and falling, and learn the delicate balance of keeping a wood stove fire burning; I can be covered in cuts and scrapes and bruises and not complain, be dirty for days on end, make the most of what I have around me, and take responsibility for myself.  I’m more capable than I gave myself credit for.