Every single time I fly over BC, I feel like a child, my face stuck to the window, mouth agape as I look at the fields of snow-capped mountains surrounded by wispy clouds and the turquoise lakes at their feet… As we near Whitehorse airport, I see the twisty Yukon river and its sandy banks, I recognize a few friends colorful houses in the Takhini development, I spot the Canada game center where I spent countless hours with 3 energetic toddlers in the dark of winter…

As I step outside the airport, the 10 o’clock summer light and pure fresh air of the North holds me in its embrace. The sun slowly comes down on the beautiful mountains as we drive to our campsite, the girls telling me everything about their mountain bike team meets, bubbling with excitement.

The bus is there. Parked under a canopy of tall protective dark spruce trees. Its familiar sight feels me with joy.

Later, as I lay in bed, I hear the birds sing their midnight song (birds never really stop singing at night here in the summer), I feel extremely grateful. I feel full. I am home.