Tsiigehtchic

There’s a community of less than two-hundred people on the cliffs above where two mighty rivers -- the Arctic Red River and the Mackenzie River -- converge. Here, the whitewashed church stands majestic among the purple fireweed. Here, the sky is enormous. Here, children play in the middle of the gravel road, greeting the visitors with brave and innocent waves. Here, an old man filets coney (aka inconnu) and hangs the strips of fish inside his smoke shack while his grandchildren roam about, climbing inside the old pickup. He chats easily with the curious visitors, and takes a break to light up a cigarette. Here, peace meets vibrant beauty. Here, in the glow of summer, anything seems possible. Here is the place that holds the capacity to transform me.