Rejoice!

...for the subfloor does not need replacing. So says the contractor, who's a former roommate of a friend, so I have a high degree of trust in his assessment, especially since it means no business for him. "You really don't want to open that up," he said, "because the minute you do, dollar bills will start flying out." Hehe. He did recommend some ways to reinforce it before we lay new flooring, because three whole layers of the plywood came up in that nasty hot-water stew that was brewing down there.

And...admire! Our tankless heater is in. It is SO COOL. Here it is, with dogs included for scale.
The heater, as you can see, sits outside, where it can produce constant hot water, though not instant hot water since it has to travel from the heater to the various plumbing fixtures. They were very particular about explaining that to me, since apparently many people confuse "continuous" with "instantaneous," and are disappointed to learn the difference. The water is heated by gas, though like our furnace it requires an electric switch, so it can't make hot water during an electrical outage. In this sense there's a drawback relative to the tank model, which still holds a certain amount of hot water even with the electricity out. However, apparently you can run this thing for a limited time off a large battery, like the backup power supplies for computers. So if we really wanted to prepare for disaster - we could buy one of those. Along with a year of freeze-dried meals, and enough ammo to fend off the zombie army.

Inside the house is a little control panel and thermostat:

And, here is the scariness that is The Place Formerly Known as the Water Heater. Eventually, this will be a lovely and handy storage area. Right now, it's a freak show. The three holes in the floor probably saved our bacon, because they allowed much of the leaking water to drain into the crawl space. Right now, they are an inviting portal for the rat army, which frankly concerns me much more than the zombies. Hopefully it will dry out by the weekend so we can close it up.

The home repair roller-coaster

Ready or not, we are entering one of those phases of home repair/improvement. Which seems like the vibe of the times; several people we know have been preparing to sell their homes, and doing zillions of projects.

The water heater leak may require repair to the subflooring. The tankless water heater means we've freed up space in the kitchen which, once it's dried out and repaired, can become much-needed storage space. Plus we'll pull up the adjoining washer and dryer, and check/repair/replace that flooring as well. (I finally have a reason to install some marmoleum!)

So this will be the impetus to do the myriad other cosmetic fixes in the kitchen that have been waiting for critical motivational mass: Patch the drywall above the dishwasher from the re-plumb job (5 years ago), touch up the drywall and paint the trim from the window/door replacement (2 years ago), and repaint the whole damn thing.

I will just say, what lurked beneath the leaking water heater was the most disgusting thing I've seen in my years as a homeowner. It wasn't anything interesting; just 60 years of linoleum and plywood, stewed into a gelatinous, reeking oodge by the hot water. Even after I'd cleaned it up yesterday, I felt so dirty that I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the house. We hadn't yet put away all the stuff from the big trip, and then the heater episode caused more items to be displaced, so the house was just cluttered with crap, from end to end. If things get too cluttered I simply cease to function properly until it's brought under some kind of control. Cousin Flora likes things tidy.

Meanwhile, the arson house property across the street is looking quite tidy! They've cleared it, leveled it, and have dug holes for the new foundations. I'm very curious to see what these houses will look like.

How do normal people manage?

I am largely self-employed, and work out of our home three days per week. So when things happen, like the hot water heater leaks and needs to be replaced, I usually take care of it. I call contractors, meet contractors to get estimates, arrange to be at home while work is being done. I spend two hours draining the hot water tank because holy crap, water is bubbling up through the hardwood floor in the next room, so apparently this can't really wait a few days after all. That sort of thing.

And every time this happens, I think - What do families do when all the adults work outside the home? How do you take care of these kinds of things without a household member who can spend the day at home on no notice, ripping up four layers of soggy linoleum and writing breathtakingly large checks to contractors? Or taking the pet to the vet, or the car to the mechanic, or whatever? It's a marvel to me, really.

Woke up this morning...

...and heard the sweet, sweet sound of bulldozing. The arson house across the street is being torn down.

The demolition guy told me it will be down in an hour, and completely gone by end of day. Then they'll start pouring foundations for the new houses.

Ironically, I have two contractors coming to bid on the water heater job later today, and since our house is slightly quirky to find, I gave them both the same advice - "We're right across from a burned-out arson hulk. You can't miss it."

Ah well. After two years and three months, I will not miss it AT ALL.

Back to work and life

Yesterday we went back to work. So far, so good. It appears we still know how.

Meanwhile our hot water heater seems to have sprung a small leak, so I'm back in the deep end of the pool of life - dealing with contractors. Oh, we could just run to the hardware store and buy another tank, and it would be cheaper and quicker; but I'd like to take the opportunity to go tankless. That takes a bit more work. It's eligible for an energy efficiency tax credit, though, so at last we may be able to take advantage of the stimulus!

I can tie myself up in knots trying to understand the environmental angle on this one. Switching to tankless probably means switching from (our current) electric to gas; so because our electricity is produced "clean" out here in terms of CO2, we would be increasing our carbon emissions rather than decreasing them, which seems bad. But we'd be using a lot less energy overall, since water tanks spend a lot of energy heating the water while it's just sitting around. And Enrico makes compelling though slightly confusing (to me) arguments that in the big scheme of things, we'd still be helping by switching to the tankless, even if it's burning gas.

So we'll see what I learn. Last of the estimates come tomorrow.

Photo themes

Yes, we are home! Some end-of-trip reflections may follow...But for now, between unpacking, we've been labeling photos while we still remember what they all are (a pretty complete album is now up on Flickr). I've noticed a couple of themes. For example, Enrico has become quite the accomplished wildflower photographer:











Or for example, there is the series Toby under a picnic bench.






Or Studies in Napping.

Endings and ironies

It's ironic that after driving nearly as close to the Arctic Circle as we could by road, we ended our trip in the warmest place in all of Canada. It's also ironic that on our last night we found ourselves in circumstances seemingly without lodging; after visiting the most famous national parks on a holiday weekend, only now did we have to consider simply parking in a field for the night. And, having spent weeks visiting the places of my great-great-grandmother Sarah's life, it's ironic that we ended up being pulled, almost against our will, to a place that was never even on our itinerary, but is in fact the place where Sarah died.

But once again, I get ahead of myself. I know I posted already since Yellowknife, but now that I have real bandwidth and time, I think I'll revisit some of that territory with some photos while bringing things up to date.

We left Yellowknife, and made two ferry crossings, back across the Mackenzie and then across the Liard River. These are not the big, fancy ferries of Washington state, but little and nimble boats that cut across the current and deposit you on unceremoniously on dirt roads where buffalo roam.



En route from Yellowknife to Fort Simpson, we stopped at a beautiful park called Sambaa Deh Falls.

Then, at last, we made it to Fort Simpson! Where so much of the family story happened! We sat on the spot where my great-grandmother and great-great-grandparents looked out for many years on the Mackenzie River. The original fort isn't there any more, but the site is marked. Everyone except me took a dip in the river. We also saw the Anglican church, St. David's, which started as a mission at the old trading fort.


But it turns out that you can't see the Camsell Mountains from the road, and the town of Fort Simpson is small and fine but not very scenic, and the mosquitoes were brutal on the dogs. Fort Simpson is on an island, but one of the channels around the island has been filled in to build a road; this created a big marsh which is a virtual mosquito factory. Even the The Structure couldn't keep them out.

So, we left a little earlier than planned. From there, we went to Fort Liard. Sarah and Julian lived at Liard for several years, and four of their children were born there. On that route we went from the relatively flat but impressively vast forests, to rolling hills with the peaks of the Nahanni Mountains in the distance. On the way, we visited another lovely but bug-filled park called Blackstone.

On we went to the BC border. After driving on a really sucky gravel road - and believe me, we covered our share of gravel roads on this trip - we crossed the northern border in to BC. The hills were rolling and beautiful, with mountains in the distance. Check out the pavement!

Eventually, we got on the Alaska-Yukon highway, and drove to Fort Nelson in BC. My great-great-uncle Philip once wrote about a dogsled trip from Fort Liard to Fort Nelson at Christmas in the 1890s. Our trip was just like that! Only our dogs were passengers rather than beasts of burden. And it was summer instead of winter. And, we weren't living on moose lard.

It was a confusing time - we were heading east in order to hook up with the Rocky Mountains, which at that point were actually to our West. We seemed to change time zones several times a day. Just when I got used to hills again, we found ourselves in the absolute flat of Alberta, at a surprisingly wonderful park called Saskatoon Island, where the Trumpeter Swans live.

Then we headed back into the Rockies. We'd cut short our time up north by four days, so we figured we'd spend that in the mountains. First we stayed a night in Grande Cache, near the Willmore Wilderness area to the north of Jasper. On our way into Jasper we stopped at a pretty little provincial park, William Spitzer, with a lovely lake.

Then we spent four nights at a campground right near the town of Jasper, and did several lovely hikes, including Mt. Edith Cavell.

Some of the rivers are glacier-fed and therefore silty; others are stream-fed and clear. When the two come together, it makes a great two-toned effect - as seen here where the Athabasca and Maligne join forces. You can see the grey Athabasca further back, flowing with the clear-blue Maligne.

The wild flowers were out in force, and Enrico took many fine photos of them. We also saw elk and mountain goats up close and personal.

Then we started down the Icefields Parkway, the road from Jasper to Lake Louise. That was a great day. We had a beautiful waterfall hike in the morning, and then about halfway down the road you get to the Columbia Icefields. This is a massive sheet of ice that sits in a big bowl between high peaks; and it feeds multiple glaciers, sliding their toes down the mountains. Hordes of people visit there, and take snow busses onto the ever-retreating Athabasca Glacier. Despite the crowds, it's quite a sight, and we hiked to a high ridge across the valley to get a view of the ice.

That night we stayed at a simple but lovely campground, also facing the ice fields from across the
valley. The heat broke at last with a night of thunderstorms, and the next morning Eva registered 44 degrees F as we made an early walk without the crowds up to Athabasca glacier, amidst swirling fog. Markers show just how far the glacier has retreated over the years. We stopped at the year I first visited the glacier, as a teenager in 1982, and also the year my dad was born.


It was clear the clouds were here to stay, according to the forecast. So instead of stopping for a couple of days in Yoho National Park, we kept going as far as Glacier National Park, with a stop at some more fabulous waterfalls and lakes.

Glacier, a lesser-known park, is not actually in the Rockies, but in the Columbia Mountains - the source of the Columbia River is there. The peaks are steep, and it rained on and off all evening. Toby took up his new favorite place under the picnic table - "I'm going to have to build him one of those when we get home," Enrico cracked - while Nelly retreated to her cave to sleep off all those alpine hikes.

From here we decided to head south, through the Okanagan. We've never visited the Okanagan - a dry interior region that continues into Washington as the Okanogan - which is the "fruit basket" and wine-producing region of Canada due to its warmth. A woman at the Glacier campground suggested a place to stay - "But you do realize," she added, "that everything west of here is on fire, right?"

We had certainly noticed the smoke, but lacking in news, we hadn't heard about the extent of the fires. We started south through the Okanogan valley, which is actually very Mediterranean in a way. Dry hills, surrounding long blue lakes. Canadians come here from all over in order to get overly hot, and then cool themselves off in the water. Wineries abound. I don't have any good pictures, though, because the whole thing is draped in grey smoke.

We made a stop in Penticton, which happens to be where my great-great-grandmother spent her final years, living with her eldest son Ned who did quite well for himself as one of the early orchardists in this area. I spent a little time at the local museum. It's so different here from either Winnipeg or Fort Simpson - I wonder what Sarah must have thought of this place, so warm and dry.

Then we drove nearly to the US border to the town of Osoyoos, to the campground run by the Okanagan Band right on a lake. Osoyoos has the highest average temperature in all of Canada. It's basically a resort town - and by the time we got there at 4 in the afternoon, there was not a campsite or hotel room to be had. So we were faced with either heading into the States that night - into the most sparsely populated part of Washington - or just parking Eva somewhere for the night. But we learned there was one pet-friendly room left at a Super 8 back in...Penticton. Fate really wanted me to end the trip where Sarah ended her days. Weird, but there it was.

It's a bit anticlimactic. We envisioned one last night sleeping in Eva, on a lovely lake where the dogs could have a good long swim to wash the dust out of their fur. But it's all good. Tomorrow, we head home.