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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.
Allan Benjamin wants to blend traditional knowledge and modern materials to create efficient and “indestructible” snowshoes.
Skinning and cooking a caribou head might seem like a daunting task, even for experienced cooks. After all, how often do Yukoners have a chance to eat morel mushroom caribou brain ravioli?
Living about as far away from the East Coast as you can get and still be in Canada, it might be safe to assume St. Patrick’s Day celebrations in Whitehorse are close to non-existent.
When Douglas Rody moved from Yellowknife to the Yukon in 1975, Whitehorse only had a handful of traffic lights, there was no paved road to Skagway, and only few subdivisions existed.
Janaki is too pretty. Her black-lashed eyes dominate a heart-shaped face. She exudes such sweetness. Janaki was 5 or 6 when she first came to the orphanage in Lumbini, Nepal.
If you love dogs but can’t own one, and still want to spend time with humanity’s best friend, here’s an idea: become a foster owner.
Local historian Murray Lundberg’s book Fractured Veins and Broken Dreams sums up the man behind the Windy Arm mining stampede and Conrad City, the townsite that appeared and vanished almost overnight more than 100 years ago.
The Whitehorse Public Library has found a quick and easy way for patrons to explore its collection.
I met Dick Person on my first trip to the North in 1994. I was as green as green could be. I hadn’t even been camping since I was a kid, but here I was, setting off for a summer in the bush.
It was almost dark and the lights flickered in Bairahwa, Nepal. Men and women were rushing. In half an hour — 7 p.m. — the last bus would leave Bairahwa for Rupandehi.