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Plans to put pianos in public spaces would Whitehorse on par with cities around the world
‘Tā moko is not a tattoo for our people. It is a way of life’
‘This is one of the top folk music festivals in the country’
Scenes from Chickenstock
Fish and game association educates kids on the upside of the overlooked whitefish
‘Our ancestor’s stories are going to be our stories now. We’re going to make legends’
Eggs, meat, fish, berries: Yes. Chocolate and coffee? No.
New exhibits reveal the history of racism, prostitution and theft during Chilkoot trail era
Newly unearthed site Chilkoot Trail site was at risk of washing away
Staff hope to eventually grow produce year round
Whitehorse’s Main Street was once again a flowing river of colour, support and pride on June 10.
Janine Starink has a hair dryer in one hand and a brush in the other. She softly hums to the music playing on her portable speaker as she gets ready to carefully brush. But it’s not her hair she’s doing. Today isn’t about her. It’s all about Manny.
Jocelyn Joe-Strack was sitting on her desk, writing up the working land use plan for her First Nation’s land when she was struck with an idea.
The kale took longer than expected to come up. I suppose that’s because kale, when fully grown, will overrun a garden like a particularly delicious weed in about the time it takes to sneeze.
Roger Veilleux has been a bus driver with Greyhound for 31 years. He’s been driving the same run, between Whitehorse and Fort Nelson, for the last 16.
Glass artist Mark Steudle twists the molten glass — which has been heated in a furnace to 1,200C — about the end of the pipe with decisive but delicate care.
A child skips past holding a naked doll, a bead braided into its hair. An older man with the sleeves of his polo shirt rolled up to his shoulders leafs through a box of records, setting aside a copy of Bach’s collected symphonies with a well-loved cover.
Yukon’s most fit and those hoping to get shredded will be sweating and learning in the Whitehorse Westmark hotel next month.
Everybody loves a farmer’s market — the stalls brimming with vegetables, the artisans selling handcrafted goods, the smell of grilling food, the sound of kids running and shrieking through the stalls.
When the police came, they stepped inside wearing black polished boots, dripping salt and slush on the floor. The officers were both young white males and stood with their hands on their hips.