The road so far (2018): Jess
Firstly, I’d like to apologize for my hiatus from Salt & Brine. Taking a step back from this has been difficult, but as I’m sure my limited readership will understand, sometimes life just gets in the way.
I’ve had some truly amazing experiences in the interim, and as you’ll hear, have been hilariously busy. But I’m super happy to say that Josh and I have picked up our lives and are now travelling around New Zealand on year-long holiday working visas, giving us time to pour ourselves into this creative outlet once again.
Here we go.
In Newfoundland, I floundered. Searching for work, feeling lost. The only good thing to come from my first two months there with the cold and sleet and fog was my refound need to create again. I bought a sketchbook. I began writing, created Salt & Brine. Yes, I was terribly bored.
But after those two months of soul searching, I found a job. My first foray into geology, entry level though it was. I began as a till sampler in Gander, which is located in Central Newfoundland.
We were thrust out into its boggy landscapes, and with the moose began trekking through the woods before Newfoundland had fully dethawed. By the time it did, we wished it hadn’t. The blackflies following you like an ill-wishing cloud. Hard days carrying heavy packs made lighter by a glass of gin and laughter with the b’ys at the end of the day. Stories about what was next after we’d made some money—reminiscent of gold rush days.
Following that I had one of the most incredible months of my life, in which with my job I was transferred to the Yukon. Dawson City. An old gold mining town that never truly lost its glory. Home to Diamond Tooth Gerties and Bombay Peggys, the sour toe and the pit. For me, it will always be the land of eternal sunshine, as I arrived in early July and you’d stumble out of the bar at four a.m. and you’d see, to the horror of everyone around you, what sort of critters you’d become at that time in the morning.
The tent I slept in literally glowed green with the sunlight, but I know that once the days shortened, soon would winter, and eternal night be upon us. In the Yukon I became a soil sampler, again looking for gold.
Flown out to five or ten man camps on the remote Yukon mountains sometimes for weeks at a time—our only contact our helicopter pilot at the beginning and end of every long, hard day. But the views. And the friendships.
My heart achoes with the strength of the memories I made there.
The same job brought me to Labrador, just in time to miss the first sighting of the Yukon’s Northern Lights, but just in time to catch them dancing here instead. I’ll glaze over my time here as it was less spectacular. By now my heart ached for home.
Upon my return, Josh (or should I begin referring to him as my counterpart Brine), had found his way back to the shores of Halifax, and to him I returned. Postcards collected and memories stored forever, settling back in like old tree roots grown together.
A new job, again in gold, but one devoid of the life I found in my previous one. Winter upon us, and like a delicate flower, I wilted. Josh and I hatched a plan, and now, months later, with a month in Hawai’i and three of its islands, we find ourselves a month into our New Zealand adventure.
And I solemnly swear we are up to no good.
Or rather, we are hiking and living out of a van and cooking and writing and enjoying a simple life together. Herein we hope to share our travel stories with you, and perhaps someday convince you of the joys of abandoning convention at least for a time, and exploring the places at the top of your list—may it continually grow.
Eternally yours,
Jess
