Her name was Bacon
When I was a younger , my Dad left Ontario to work in the Yukon (Yellowknife and Whitehorse) , it was not unusual for him to be gone for months at a stretch. Mom ,my two younger siblings (Jennifer and Doug) and I continued to reside in our family home in Guelph, Ontario. I remember we would take him to the airport, the three of us with our sad faces pressed against the glass, watching until we could no longer see his plane on the horizon.
Upon each of his returns, my brother, sister and I would duke each other out to climb over top of him just to get to his suitcase. For us it was a magical suitcase, always full of amazing surprises . On one particular return, from Yellowknife, my sister and I were each presented with beautiful eskimo dolls. They smelled like smoked meat to me..... And strangely enough the smell never left. What better name for a doll than bacon, so my sister named her doll Bacon. I would smell my little eskimo girl dressed in seal and rabbit fur. Her pretty beaded parka had a hood that almost concealed her leather face .I was mesmerized by the smoky smell of her. She stood about 12 inches tall, her eyes, nose and mouth were beads that were sewn onto her flat face, I thought she was so different, not your typical doll, I love her all the more for that. She was a mystery for me, I longed to know her story.
Another trip home Dad held out his closed hand, concealed inside was a moose tooth, and I had never seen a tooth so big, I would hold that tooth in my hand and try to imagine the animal and how big it must have been to have such a large tooth. I loved to listen to the hunt story that brought this amazing huge tooth to my small palm. I pictured it in my mind.... It was scary and exciting at the same time . I believe my fascination and life long love of the moose began when I held that magnificent tooth when I was so young.
On Another one of his visits home, he said come on everyone we are going outside. So we bundled up and much to our surprise spent the day building an actual igloo on our front lawn. Dad said the conditions were just perfect. I can still see him lifting the perfect blocks of snow and placing them on our igloo as it grew higher and higher. That igloo was the best fun, all the neighborhood kids spent their afternoons inside our igloo with us.
We would regularly sit and listen with eyes the size of saucers to stories of the last frontier, the Alaskan pipeline, Yellowknife, Whitehorse, the Eskimo people, the base camps where he stayed, the moose, bears and eagles, and the men in the camps.... I remember wondering , what would possess a man to leave his wife and three kids and go to the Yukon? When you are a kid you really just don't get it, everything seems so cut and dry and simple, the why's of yesterday make sense today, however at the time I was baffled. It was the 70's and even though I curiously contemplated his choices, I just as eagerly listened to him recite Robert Service poetry to us. The man who was the peoples poet.
A few years ago my Father passed away. Before he left us, he told us that he had lived the greatest life, he had no regrets, he spoke of the Yukon being one of the greatest experiences of his life . I was left with a huge hole in my heart for the greatest man that ever lived....my Father , Robert Manley Pearsall.
5 years ago, my quest began, to understand the hold that the Yukon and Alaska had on my Father. We made the decision to go, Vas and I... I wanted to see firsthand what my Father had loved so much, to his very last breath. We were not going to take a tour, or a cruise, there would be no hotels, I needed to feel, smell, breathe, taste and hear the true north .............. This will be my life journey from the Yukon to The last frontier.....Alaska
Joann Pearsall
Upon each of his returns, my brother, sister and I would duke each other out to climb over top of him just to get to his suitcase. For us it was a magical suitcase, always full of amazing surprises . On one particular return, from Yellowknife, my sister and I were each presented with beautiful eskimo dolls. They smelled like smoked meat to me..... And strangely enough the smell never left. What better name for a doll than bacon, so my sister named her doll Bacon. I would smell my little eskimo girl dressed in seal and rabbit fur. Her pretty beaded parka had a hood that almost concealed her leather face .I was mesmerized by the smoky smell of her. She stood about 12 inches tall, her eyes, nose and mouth were beads that were sewn onto her flat face, I thought she was so different, not your typical doll, I love her all the more for that. She was a mystery for me, I longed to know her story.
Another trip home Dad held out his closed hand, concealed inside was a moose tooth, and I had never seen a tooth so big, I would hold that tooth in my hand and try to imagine the animal and how big it must have been to have such a large tooth. I loved to listen to the hunt story that brought this amazing huge tooth to my small palm. I pictured it in my mind.... It was scary and exciting at the same time . I believe my fascination and life long love of the moose began when I held that magnificent tooth when I was so young.
On Another one of his visits home, he said come on everyone we are going outside. So we bundled up and much to our surprise spent the day building an actual igloo on our front lawn. Dad said the conditions were just perfect. I can still see him lifting the perfect blocks of snow and placing them on our igloo as it grew higher and higher. That igloo was the best fun, all the neighborhood kids spent their afternoons inside our igloo with us.
We would regularly sit and listen with eyes the size of saucers to stories of the last frontier, the Alaskan pipeline, Yellowknife, Whitehorse, the Eskimo people, the base camps where he stayed, the moose, bears and eagles, and the men in the camps.... I remember wondering , what would possess a man to leave his wife and three kids and go to the Yukon? When you are a kid you really just don't get it, everything seems so cut and dry and simple, the why's of yesterday make sense today, however at the time I was baffled. It was the 70's and even though I curiously contemplated his choices, I just as eagerly listened to him recite Robert Service poetry to us. The man who was the peoples poet.
A few years ago my Father passed away. Before he left us, he told us that he had lived the greatest life, he had no regrets, he spoke of the Yukon being one of the greatest experiences of his life . I was left with a huge hole in my heart for the greatest man that ever lived....my Father , Robert Manley Pearsall.
5 years ago, my quest began, to understand the hold that the Yukon and Alaska had on my Father. We made the decision to go, Vas and I... I wanted to see firsthand what my Father had loved so much, to his very last breath. We were not going to take a tour, or a cruise, there would be no hotels, I needed to feel, smell, breathe, taste and hear the true north .............. This will be my life journey from the Yukon to The last frontier.....Alaska
Joann Pearsall