It’s no secret that the Yukon is overflowing with artistic creativity. The territory is jam packed, side to side with aspiring young artists. But, one painter and carver really stands out from the crowd:
A little bit over a decade ago, Yukon lost a monarch. A frozen dairy monarch, to be exact. I’m not sure of the exact dates, but at some point in the mid 2000’s Whitehorse’s branch of Dairy Queen shut down. Children were crying to their mothers: “Mommy, I want Ice cream”, but their mothers could not oblige. How could they? There was panic in the streets, and Whitehorse fell into chaos.
Every Tuesday after I get off work, I go home, eat dinner, and grab my case. In this case is a series of hollow cylinders with metal buttons and switches. Each tube is punctured with holes.
I was vegetarian.It was no fling, oh no. In fact it was the longest commitment of my life, from age 14 to 27. Protect the animals! I thought, ‘How can you possibly eat your animal friends?’. Though, I will be honest, it wasn’t all giggly piglets and twinkly eyed lambs; sometimes it sucked. My choices at restaurants were often limited *sob* and I was constantly plagued by fatigue.
Nowadays, humans are mostly sedentary people. We have houses and workplaces, staying in one region for months or years at a time, as opposed to the old ways of following nature’s patterns in search of food and resources. In North America, one of the only notable human migrations is that of the university student. Every year, after high school is finished, thousands of recently graduated teenagers leave their homes and travel across the country to start a new portion of their lives. This is a fairly normal part of life, and so are the intense emotions that accompany this change. The separation from the everyday routine you have gotten used to creates a new perspective. Soon, the realization dawns upon these teens that there will be no going back. It is this moment that begins the transition into adulthood, where they can never revert to a more carefree time.
By day, the town of Whitehorse is coated in a layer of something resembling beauty. The snow falls, covering the environment in its lovingly crafted flakes. Gainfully employed citizens commute to and from their jobs, breathing in the crisp air and enjoying it while it lasts, before eventually being safely ensconced within a comfortably-heated building, one they know will always be there to shelter them from the environment, from harm.
Over the past few years, Canada has seen epidemic levels of overdoses and deaths because of one highly potent substance. The agent is odourless, colourless, and an amount the size of two grains of salt can kill you. It is easily mixed with any type of drug and is undetectable with most at home drug tests. Something that we may only associate with Vancouver’s East Hastings can in fact devastatingly impact any person, of any standing. It happens to the junkies, the hungry ghosts, the dwellers of our country’s underbelly, to gangs, in dark alleyways, but it also happens to people like me. It is a boogeyman of the inner city’s, a hovering spectre of the party scene, waiting to fall on its next victim and suck the spirit from their body. It is called Fentanyl, its family is Opiates, and it does not discriminate.