On Saturday at 2PM in Lot 2, the nose-in parking on the left as you drive toward the Wolf’s Den, held thirty-two cars. Twenty-one of them had Alberta plates.

In my youth, Christmas arrived by train.

The ski area, and our town, died on March 16. Suddenly and dramatically, we drove off an unseen cliff.

The City must work with the employees to better their wages and move them out of “affordable housing” into their own homes, so the next group of residents can follow in their footsteps.

Next Saturday we’ll get back half of normal. The ski hill is opening, with some conditions.

Today I woke and walked downstairs in the half-light of early dawn. Two tracks broke the blanket of snow in the street. The falling snow diffused the street lights.

I want to look out the front door and have a difficult time seeing my vehicle covered in snow.

Standing in the front yard, about to take walk with Gordie, I see the Three Sisters newly plastered with white.

While the pandemic and ensuing financial issues forced the Fernie Writers Conference to postpone for a year, the steadfast support […]

Last Saturday night at 6 a crack appeared in the wall of our isolation. To be truthful, and historically accurate, […]

A bit of wind pushes the wet into corners, dry for weeks, and spreads the newly freshened air through the open windows and doors of the house.

I watch the moon from a hot tub. The moon, the first star a planet, which one I don’t know. I watch the moon slide down toward the ridge of the Lizards.