The eagles have landed.
Fly day was an event. My father met us at the airport to help with eight pieces of luggage — bins, bags, and a general sense of controlled chaos — all of which needed to be weighed, taped, and fed through before any of us could breathe. By the time it was done we were sweating in our Arctic gear and already behind schedule.
The dog went into cargo. The cats came with us. Everyone received a dose of Gravol and a generous spritz of calming spray. Not sure it helped them, but it helped me feel like I was doing something useful, which is practically the same thing.
Security was memorable. I was wearing my full Arctic coat and boots. Thomas, who had run out of packing space, was wearing approximately three layers of outerwear plus a stuffed knapsack and a cat carrier. The man behind us in line deserves a medal.
On the small 20-passenger Dash, we could hear Daisy barking from cargo, and then both cats started. The man across the aisle looked at us and said, “If I hear a cow moo, it gets weird.” He asked where we were headed with our small farm.
Here’s what I know about myself in moments like that: chaos doesn’t rattle me. It never has. When everything is loud and complicated and nothing is going as planned, something in my brain actually settles. I don’t know if that’s a skill or just how I’m wired — probably both — but it’s useful. We got through security, we got on the plane, we got there.
We landed in Nunavut on December 4th, 2013. Everything after that was new.