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I live in a smallish city in Northern British Columbia. It is surrounded by smelly pulp mills, it is labelled, by some media outlets as “the most dangerous city in Canada” and I still have a mound of snow almost five feet high and can see no green grass despite it being spring, I love it here.

I was, this very morning, relaxing in the hot tub when all about me there arose the voices of many many birds. There were chickadees and sparrows and crows and ravens and even a woodpecker. I sat back, closed my eyes and listened to the cacophony of sound. It somehow made perfect sense to me. Like a wild jazz quartet going off on some improv tangent. At once crazy and yet somehow in sync.

Even though we got 6 inches of snow in the last week or so, I am grateful that moose wander in my yard, bears tip my garbage, although I cannot prove it, I am sure the odd cougar, wanders about and Pileated woodpeckers pound on the chimney cap (crazy fuckers). I have lived in some remote places, howled with wolves and shooed bears out of the bed of the pick up, but nothing like living in the city and because it seems so unnatural to look for a moose crossing the residential street, I almost hit one.

I am blessed living here.

We have a vibrant arts community, a top notch university (the greenest and one of the best medical facilities in the country), some very cool community minded businesses ( I work at one of those) and some very charismatic people.

There was a time when I used to bemoan the fact I lived in one place or another. Now…well…now I would bemoan the fact I didn’t live here.