Coming to you live from my own desk and my own computer, from internet in our own place -- after my first full night's sleep in ten days.
Yesterday was quite the day. The people who I hired to unload the truck arrived early, and unpacked the truck in record time. In fact, they would have put themselves out of a job, but we paid a four-hour minimum. After all, they may have turned down other work to do the unloading.
Interesting story of how I found these guys. I posted ads on Craigslist and Kijiji: heard nothing. I contacted moving companies, but (a) they were based in Campbell River, and we'd have to pay for all the travel time, back and forth, and (b) they don't want to only unload, it's not worth their time. I even contacted a temp labour company, but they had no clients in Port Hardy.
A kind Port Hardy resident saw my Craigslist ad and emailed with a suggestion: join the Port Hardy Buy/Sell/Trade Facebook group.
I looked it up and sent a request to join. The Facebook group has the same number of members as the population of the town! The moderator who approved me said, "What brings you from Toronto to our little hamlet?" She is originally from the US, then Kingston, Ontario -- a path similar to ours.
From the Facebook group, I had a flood of responses. I was very concerned that people show up, so I paid very generously, feeling that would be good incentive, in addition to just plain good. A few people stayed in touch by email, and they were the four men who came yesterday -- a father and two adult sons, plus one other guy.
This was one of those times when I was acutely, uncomfortably aware of my own privilege. Here I am moving into this big house, with all this stuff, with my dog who has better health care than half the population of the United States. And we're here because I wanted to be, out of choice rather than necessity.
These feelings were exacerbated by the fact that three of the men were Indigenous. Perhaps that shouldn't matter, and perhaps I will feel differently as I spend more time in this area with a significant Indigenous population. But yesterday, I was not entirely comfortable with it. Offering the men sandwiches and coffee, and hanging out with them a bit on a break, helped. I think all one can do in those situations is be aware, be respectful, and look for ways to connect as people.
It turned out there was good reason to distrust the guys who packed the truck. Our dining room table has deep gouges from where the points of other furniture was digging into it through the entire move. There's a kitchen chair with two similar gouges. Two broken lamps.
All this easily could have been prevented by using some of the three dozen blankets we ordered from U-Haul -- which were still in plastic bags in the truck, untouched. This morning we found some broken wine glasses; unsurprising, since I had to ask the men to not throw and toss a box marked FRAGILE onto the top of a pile.
On the day they loaded the truck, the owner of the company offered me an $8.00 rebate in exchange for a five-star review. Now that I've seen the results of their work, I will definitely write a review. Can't wait. I'll share it here, of course.
When the men left, M, SIL, and Allan went to work. I was exhausted from being up since 2:00 a.m. and did very little except for a mountain of laundry, but everyone else did a lot. SIL unpacked and set up the entire kitchen! Allan and I had to force SIL and M to stop working -- or try to, anyway. M never stops.
Allan went out to the post office to see if anything was waiting in our mailbox. No door-to-door delivery here; P.O. boxes only. He came back happy and buoyant, saying, "I really like this town." For Allan, that's practically gushing.
Later on, we managed to get ourselves together enough to go out to dinner. We had a bit of trouble finding the restaurant, because it appears to have two different names -- Captain Hardy's, but also Fire Chefs. I guessed that they changed their name at some point, but wanted to be recognized by old customers; this turns out to be correct.
It's a one-room restaurant that looks like a coffee shop or diner. And, I kid you not, I had the best fish-and-chips I have every eaten. Incredibly fresh halibut, cooked to perfection, with whisper-thin batter, perfectly crispy, perfectly flaky, plus perfect fresh-cut fries. Even the coleslaw was outstanding. There was also a lot of it. We were all so happy and amazed with dinner!
We strolled a bit on the sweet little main street, which is about five-minutes driving from our place. (Everything is five-minutes from everywhere else.) There's a couple of hair/aesthetics salons, an Ace Hardware and a Home Hardware, a clothing store, a bookstore/cafe combination, and several restaurants. It seems both a bit touristy and also very sweet and homey. And, right there on the main drag: my library, attached to the Port Hardy Museum. Very, very exciting for me.
The main street was almost completely empty when we came out of dinner at 7:00 pm. Restaurants here close at 8:00, at least this time of year. And you know what? That's fine. It's been a long time since Allan and I needed a nightlife.
This morning I felt like a new person after getting a good night's sleep. Diego and I walked around our neighbourhood, a few curving streets of very large houses, fairly close together, although with big front and back yards. More than half the homes have an RV or a boat in the driveway.
An interesting note about our yard. There had been a line of big trees between this house and the house next door, as well as a few big trees in the front yard. They have all been cut down to stumps. In Mississauga, this might be from the ash borer infestation. Here, a cougar had been hanging out in the trees, and killed a small dog next door.
We've spent the morning unpacking and setting up, but after I post this, we're going into town. We now have internet, next step is a cellphone service that isn't roaming from Ontario.
Thank you all for bothering to read this. I must admit I don't entirely get it, but it's great to write, and I'm very happy that you're reading.