Today marks my last day at Nasivvik, as I'm staying at our host house tomorrow to pack and get all the necessary things in order for leaving Pond Inlet. While the weather looks like it should clear on all stops along the way (and it hasn't been great at either end, that's for sure!), I'm cautious about hoping for that clear shot through to Halifax I've booked. Things are unpredictable here, flights often delayed or cancelled due to myriad complications. But that's the way here: we take things as they come and adjust as necessary. There's no point worrying about that which can't be changed.
Yesterday's activity for the local youth had a good turn-out and there were some phenomenal cardboard chairs and foil boats built and tested. We're hopeful for the turnout for today's event as well. And this has been a really nice way to wrap up our time here, by spending time with engaged and interested teens. They are, after all, why we do this whole teaching thing in the first place -- and what a treat it is, to laugh and listen to hip-hop and make juice with junior high students who are just happy to visit and work away at the little activities we've schemed up.
A few photographs from the trip up the hill Brooke and I took the other day to visit the graveyard. The day was much like today: warmer, but overcast.
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| A qamutik, a cabin, and the sea ice. The sliding hill is down in that direction. |
The graveyard was a place both solemn and beautiful: so many of the markers, often bearing syllabics and wreathed in bright plastic flowers that were in stark contrast to the bleak landscape around them, were for the young. They were carefully tended sites, sad and remarkable all at once. The view from the site is phenomenal and I wonder if there is some comfort in the vastness of the landscape for those who visit the sites of their lost loved ones. Sometimes, feeling small and humbled by the sky and mountains can help; other times, it doesn't help at all. And I imagine the feeling depends entirely on the visitors and those whom they have lost.
Our way back down from the cemetery was marked by spectacular views of the hamlet below us and the change in perspective made the mountains look as new and remarkable as always and, perhaps, all the more solemn for the grey day and the place we had just left.
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| Shrouded watchers in the distance on Bylot Island, haloed by light. |
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