I don’t think it’s possible to write anything without your life creeping into it somewhere.
Not all miracles are obvious. Not all Christmas trees have needles.
“Is this story true?”
That’s one of the most common questions I am asked as a writer of short stories and novels set in the Yukon, especially by those who know I once lived there.
My answer is always, “yes and no.” I don’t think it’s possible to write anything without your life creeping into it somewhere, especially if your life happens to have been populated with some rather interesting characters.
Sometimes the reality factor is quite strong, sometimes a little less. The story I wrote for Christmas with Hot Apple Cider falls into the “quite strong” category.
My husband and I lived just outside Dawson City, Yukon, for about twelve years. We became very familiar with the extreme temperatures and the idiosyncrasies of living in a remote northern community. We also met many unique and often eccentric people. We saw many of them come and go; some who found themselves in Dawson by accident, and others who wanted to live there just to “experience the north.” We also knew people who came for the summer and stayed for a life-time.
My husband, Spence, for instance, made the long trek to Dawson with two friends in an old 1950 Dodge one-ton truck loaded with supplies, including a 50-pound bag of soy beans, an air-tight wood stove, a hand-crank washing machine, two chain saws and three dogs.
The truck had a tarp over the back that said, “Ancient Mariner Industries,” so when they arrived they opened a joint bank account under that name, (in the CIBC where Robert Service once worked), found an abandoned mine site out on “the creeks” (where all the gold mining happens), and set about fixing up two of the abandoned houses.
Three other friends joined them before the end of the summer and they all settled in for the winter.
Meanwhile, I wandered down to Dawson City from Alaska, where I’d been helping friends build their dream cabin in the wilderness.
As a Canadian, I hadn’t been able to work in Alaska, so the first thing on my agenda when I crossed the border back into Canada was to find a job. Someone told me they were hiring at the asbestos mine about 100 km north of Dawson and I managed to secure a position there. But all my free time was spent in Dawson, where I began to meet people and grew to love the place.
I would see the Ancient Mariner crew in town now and then, but didn’t get to know them well until my best friend decided that Spence and I belonged together.
Eventually, her match-making worked. We were married in 1980, in the eight-sided log house we built ourselves on the banks of the Klondike River.
So, there are elements of “Oh, Christmas Tree!” that came from the life we lived there.
The story about trying to cut down a Christmas tree in extremely cold weather, for instance, is true. The needles really do fall off, completely, if you try cutting one down at anything colder than 50 below zero.
And the bit about the one store in town running out of everything was taken from reality as well—in fact, that often happened.
The idea of the Christmas tree that wasn’t came from a real character we knew well—a man named Bob Frisch, a naturalist and ornithologist who spent most of his time wandering the Ogilvie mountains. I remember one wonderful Christmas dinner we had at his house with a few friends, and how I couldn’t take my eyes off his unique tree.
Our time in the Yukon has given me a plethora of characters, settings, and story ideas, both for fiction and non-fiction. You can read more about them in my two Christmas books, Love in the Room, a devotional book, and Christmas, a collection of four short stories. Both are available on Amazon.
Marcia enjoys life across from a pond in central Alberta, along with her pastor husband. She has five published novels and four devotional books, all sold on Amazon. Marcia’s column, “The Spur,” is widely distributed, and she blogs regularly for novel–rocket.com. Marcia has been a frequent winner at The Word Awards and InScribe conferences.
marcialeelaycock.com
For various reasons, I’ve felt that a chunk of your heart remained in the North. Now that I’ve read the background behind “Oh Christmas Tree”, I better understand how that came about. However, you two managed to bring some of that “heart” along with you.
Enjoyed seeing the photos from your Northern adventure. I’m wondering who might be living in that log house now.
Have never read anything of yours that I disliked. As in other cases, appreciated your tree story. Your writing is so clear, yet layered! You don’t waste a single word. Thank you.