The town is on a main trucking route, but it is also a major service centre for outlying communities. Multitudes of trucks line the streets, parked in front of restaurants, shops and service centres.
First stop is IGA. I gather up more baking supplies, fruit and vegetables. I head to the meat counter, where tiny bits of beef are packaged and labeled “boeuf bourguignon” at exorbitant prices. No good stewing beef in sight.
“You’ve gotta start hunting, Andy,” I tell him
It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I have become accustomed to living in an English community, hearing lulling, soft Cree spoken everywhere.
“Anything else?” Andy asked.
“No” I tell him, as I look around, “Let’s just go home.”