Outside there are big, wet flakes of snow falling past the second-story bedroom window. I am curled up in bed with Daisy sprawled out next to me, one paw resting on my lap. Winter is beginning to settle in for the long haul up north. The leaves have long since fallen from the trees, and the sun hasn't been seen for days. Soon the lakes will freeze over.
Our little town took a big blow this week. One of the mines closed and over 300 people were laid off. Red Lake Airport was filled with fly-in, fly-out workers hustling to get out of town and back to their real homes. People are talking about it in worried tones at the grocery store and the post office.
"Did you hear?" they say. "This town isn't like it used to be."
Yesterday the delivery truck that drives five hours to bring our papers every Wednesday was four hours late. Our local deliverers had other commitments later in the day, so I filled my car to the brim with bundles of papers, made a little space in the back for Daisy, and spent the whole day driving around delivering papers. By the end of the day, my fingers were black with ink, but it felt good to be out of the office.
The day before we walked down to the beach to find an abandoned (and quite large) bonfire hissing and popping near the water. I stood nearby for warmth as Daisy waded in for a drink. It's freezing out, but she still loves to saunter into the water and stand there looking at me.
This week I also had the pleasure of meeting and interviewing a 91-year-old British WWII veteran. His sense of humor was refreshing. I'm working on some unique coverage for Remembrance Day since this year marks the 70th anniversary of the end of WWII. I have a collection of beautiful black and white photographs of soldiers with ties to the area in one way or another, and I plan to scatter them throughout the November 11th issue.
My tea is nearly cool enough to drink, and there's not too much else to tell. Until next time.