We bought an A frame just before the snow
that fell early in September that year.
It had a roof, no walls, power, no water.
We built walls, took the electric box out,
used black pipe to divert the mountain spring
into the chipped cast iron kitchen sink,
built a home with coal oil lamps and junk
we found or bought from Doukhobor farmers.
We snuggled in the loft with Luc who turned one
the Sunday we put in our new front door.
When he was five we went back east for school,
we left with nothing, thought we would return.
We left it like a kind of shrine to that time
when there was only hope and nothing but love.
— from Juniper Volume 8, Issue 1