A long time ago, there was a giant creature. The giant creature got stuck in a mud pit and was wedged between a lake and a river. It had to use all of its strength to crawl and pull itself out of the mud pit.

The motor goes quiet.

The boat comes to a halt.

The wind whipping through our hair dies down.

Robert Kyikavichik, Old Crow’s game guardian, leaves his seat and makes his way to the bow. Five passengers gently sway.

William Josie remembers standing inside the community centre talking to a few out-of-town guests when he heard someone yell.

It was the long weekend in May and the annual Caribou Days festival was underway. Josie walked out of the centre, stepped over a few broken eggs that had been dropped by competitors playing a friendly game, and rushed to the banks of the Porcupine River right outside.

“Vadsaih, caribou.” “Negoo, fox.” “Zzoh, wolf.” “Nehtruh, wolverine.”

Elizabeth Kyikavichik flips through flash-cards with children at her daycare in Old Crow. This is part of the daily routine. The three-to four-year-olds sit in front of her and confidently recite the Gwich’in names of animals shown on the cards like they’ve done it a hundred times before.

Old Crow may be a small place, but it lingers in hearts and minds long after a visit concludes.

We will remember the heat of the late-summer sun, big skies (often filled with the smoke from wildfires in Alaska), the scent of fresh cloudberries and Labrador tea wafting over Crow Mountain, the sizzle of just-caught Chinook salmon over a fire.

Love affairs. They can be sweet and intense, rich and complex. Sometimes we share our love with people. Other times, we fall in love with a place.

People and place are inseparable in Old Crow. The land defines everyone who calls this community home.