Since I have returned to Ontario this blogs seems to have gone dormant for me. Its just too much work to write about my daily musings and how I have spent most of my time since my last post (August 16th) transcribing interviews from this summer. I have 2 more interviews to go. The process has actually be enjoyable for me - which is perhaps why it has taken me so long to slog through the interviews. I have relived plenty of laughs and fascinating stories from this summer.

I have also been busy with conferences. I went to Tromso, Norway for an Arctic workshop. The workshop and the whole trip were great experiences for me and have helped me move along the path of this masters degree. I met many great people and sorted through the many strings of thought that have emerged through my research. Despite the reality that I have not written out any of the chapters for my thesis, I think that I have been able to sort out my ideas in such a way that the writing process promises to be fairly smooth (knock on wood). I often struggle with writing because I never really know what I want to say - but this time around seems to be different. At the moment I am on the train on my way home from Ottawa. I was at a 3 day conference on oceans management. Since Tuk is a coastal community and they heavily rely on marine resources, my research fit the bill. I am not quite as enthused about the benefits that I gained from this conference but I did have the chance to make a few good contacts, have some meetings with colleagues, and share some of my research pursuits (on a poster). I also managed to sort through a few more strings of thought that had been dangling by the side and nagging me.

So all is well. I will finish transcribing those last 2 interviews pronto and then the writing process will commence this week (with a bit of analysis mixed in there somewhere). Maybe one day I will get around to writing about my trip to Norway, stopover in England and trip to Ottawa. Probably not, though.

My real motivation for writing this post actually has nothing to do with what I have written above. I read a great article in the Globe & Mail that I want to share. I would have posted a link to the Globe & Mail but I think that it would go dead after a while and then you wouldn't get to read it. So I have pasted it here.

The article is well written and should give you a better idea of the culture that I was immersed in this summer. I hope that this gives you a deeper understanding and appreciation of Inuit and the Arctic in general.

Confessions of an urban Inuk
The North is a place where you don't have to
walk far to visit a friend or a family member – for no other reason than
visiting is what we do

by Adina Tarralik Leger
The Globe and Mail
October 22, 2007

Since moving away from Nunavut and becoming a bona fide city girl, I've
been warming my feet with California-cool Ugg boots instead of sealskin
kamiks, and treating my tummy to soy lattes and biscotti instead of Red
Rose tea (with two sugars) and a side of fresh homemade paniqtitaq
(bannock).

I never thought the day would come where the words “I miss snow” would
fall from my lips. Or that I could ever truly sing, “I'm dreaming of a
white Christmas,” with any sort of dreamy conviction, when I've celebrated
what seems like 1,000 winter-white Thanksgivings and Halloweens.

My recent trip home reminded me of the beauty of our cultural priorities,
one of the foremost of which is visiting. Just simply visiting. I adore
that as a people we cherish each other's company, even if this goes mostly
unspoken: The simplest and sweetest of pleasures is to enjoy one another's
presence.

We are rather oddly blessed by our geographical isolation and the
smallness of our towns. We aren't distracted by the consuming convenience
of big-city life (the endless commutes, the alluring pursuit of the
American dream, the plethora of entertainment options, movies, malls and
restaurants), the pull of which seems to dissipate the farther north you
go.

If you were to ask my grandmother about the American dream, she'd probably
smile sweetly, shrug her shoulders and laugh. To her, what's important is
that you aren't too skinny and that you come by and visit her at least
once a day while you are in town.

Maybe that's the beauty of grandmothers of all cultures – they share the
universal wisdom that fat is not a four-letter word and it's a good thing
if you stop by and see them more than once in a while.

The first words most people think of when they hear the word Arctic, or
think of Nunavut, are isolation, cold, barren and snow. The first thing I
think of isn't cold but warmth.

I think of family and friends. I think of the richness of our culture, the
beauty of the open, vast tundra and the uninterrupted, multihued horizon.
I think of the endless hours in which time seems to stop, and the
incomparable charm and idiosyncrasies of northern people.

I think of hot tea waiting for me, and fresh bannock being offered at
every turn (sharing traditional food is always on the agenda). I think of
a place where you never have to call anyone if you want to drop by. A
place where there is always somewhere to go and always someone who doesn't
mind if you just walked through the door, without knocking, and sat down
on the couch.

No call necessary, no explanation, no reasons, no knock. Just go down the
road, walk in the door, kick off your shoes, drink tea, eat bannock and
indulge in good conversation – as much at home as you can be without
actually being at home.

And life goes on as though you were always a part of it. There is no
shroud of politeness or façade of Martha Stewart-like perfection, or a
flurry of apologies for messes or family chaos.

Our friendships are based on time spent with one another, conversations
and laughter shared, stories told, tears tasted together. We do everything
together, not apart. We all live a stone's throw from each other and
that's the beauty of small-town life: Nunavut is just like small-town
anywhere, covered in a more-than-usual amount of snow. A place where
dreams come easy, and you know everyone and everyone knows you, and
probably knows everything you've ever done wrong.

Hollywood would tell you it takes a pair of ruby-red slippers and a trip
to Oz to realize that there is no place like home, but in my case there is
no pair of ruby red kamiks necessary.

When the novelty of city life has worn off, after the lights fade a little
and the electric pull of modern convenience and entertainment have lost a
bit of their lure, you open your eyes and the important things come to
light. That's the trick of taking things for granted.

Most of the time you aren't aware of how wonderful, how beautiful life is
in your own backyard. Even if your backyard is kilometres of frozen ice
and snow for 10 months of the year, and sometimes even the sun doesn't
want to get out of bed.

[Adina Tarralik Leger lives in San Diego, Calif.]