The first two and a half years after I brought Pam up to the Yukon, we lived “dry”; that’s to say, no running water and very limited electricity. A combination of small dry cabins and campers. We ended up in a larger dry cabin in Mendenhall that was actually very nice, with an amazing view.
I remember the day we moved in there. Pam danced in circles, with her arms outstretched, saying, “Look! I can’t even touch the walls!” We were very comfortable as winter settled in.
Pam was hired as the branch manager of one of our local sample prep labs and was given a personal-use truck. I was hired as, basically, the assistant manager and had the use of a brand-new F-350 flat deck. Kermit was finally retired to garbage runs, after doing his job exceptionally well. We had paid $500 for him, so he owed us nothing at that point.
One day, the next spring, the owner of our rental cabin decided to sell his property and buy a different one on the far side of Mendenhall. He would have the cabin moved for us to his new lot, which he did. After that, things got really weird all of a sudden. Pam and I were working in the busiest exploration season the Yukon had ever seen and we were run off our feet—12- to 14-hour workdays, six to seven days a week, for months on end.
It was after one of those long shifts that we came home to find a two-page list of “new rules” taped to our front door. The last line said, “As long as you abide by these rules, we’ll continue to get along just fine!”
We were sitting in Irene’s Place (the now-since-closed pub/restaurant/convenience store), having a beer and chatting with Irene about all of the strange things going on since the cabin had been moved, when this gentleman came in to buy a six-pack. He overheard some of what we were saying and said, “When you’re done dealing with him and his BS, I’ve got a brand-new stand-alone rental house that I’m about to start renting.” He went on to tell us that it was fully electric, full kitchen and bathroom, dog-friendly and would be available in the next couple of weeks.
When we moved into Mendenhall, we never imagined we’d become homeowners
“When can we see it?” we asked.
“How about right now? It’s right next door.”
We had a look and loved the place, the little house, as it was affectionately called. Things got progressively worse with our then-current landlord after we gave him legal notice that we were moving, so we ended up parking our truck camper next to the little house and living in it for a couple of weeks until the house was ready for us.
Al, our new landlord, became more of a friend than a landlord. He came over to visit at least four or five times a week and we’d jam with our acoustics and tell each other tall tales. Al joined us for a turkey dinner just about every Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter. He truly was a dear friend and we miss him terribly at times.
On New Year’s Eve, 2017, Al came over to celebrate and ring in the new year with us. Before he left to go back to the “big house,” he dropped all of his keys on the coffee table, told us he had to go away and made us promise to “take care of” his stuff. This was not unusual and we promised to do so. He called us the next afternoon from a payphone in Alberta and told us to go and retrieve the key for the big house that he’d left in the door lock. That was the last time we ever saw him or spoke with him.
After a couple of weeks, I went inside the big house for the very first time. I went in to remove things that had gone “off” in the fridge and, a couple of weeks after that, went back to remove more food that was rotting. The big house was very nice, even if it was a bit messy. We didn’t touch a thing.
One day in the spring we came home to find that the sheriff had left his card in both front doors and asked us to get in touch. When we met with him at the court house, he served us both with a Petition for Foreclosure and gave us two additional copies for Al, should he ever show up again, which, of course, he never did. I made a difficult decision to report to the police that Al was a missing person.
In mid-August of 2018, Pam and I had a lovely wedding ceremony on the deck of the big house. We had friends and family from the Yukon and from down south; from the U.S. and even as far away as Europe, who came in for the event. At the time, we made a decision to temporarily move into the big house. We cleaned up the little house so we could house guests there, parked the fifth wheel over by it, for more guests, and I turned the deck into a stage. We had the wedding and reception and then a couple of days of a live music festival, with dozens of people camped in the yard and with awesome live music. It was wonderful.
At the end of the dance, the northern lights showed up to enthral our guests and, seemingly, to bless our marriage.
When we moved into the big house, we knew that Al could come walking down the driveway at any moment, so we didn’t move any of his things—just put ours on the shelves in front of his. (His things are still there to this very day.) Shortly after the wedding, in early September, the bank started foreclosure proceedings. We made the decision to stay the winter in the big house—partly to get some fresh culture into the septic field; partly to keep it from being looted—but mostly because we couldn’t afford to keep the house warm without using the wood stove.
The following March, in 2019, the house went on the market for sale, but it was no ordinary sale. Because Al had never finished the final-occupancy permits, the foreclosure sale was limited to a cash-only sale—no mortgage approval (cash on the barrelhead).The house was on the market for a year without a single showing. There was lots of interest, but nobody with access to that amount of cash on hand.
I’ll be honest. It was a very tense time for Pam and I. Al had been missing for over two years. The RCMP told us he was “safe” and would call if he felt like it. We had no idea if someone would buy it and kick us out or if Al would all of a sudden come back home. We considered just moving but stayed because of our promise to our friend, to take care of his stuff. We were very confused.
Our lawyer figured out that we were the only people who could make a conditional offer on the house (get a mortgage) because we were named in the Petition for Foreclosure.
Acting on his advice, we made an offer to purchase, in the dead of winter, while there was three feet of snow in the yard and no one would be the slightest bit interested in seeing the house and property. Then we crossed our fingers and waited.
To be continued …
