Most of our Arctic Hive guests spend a night or two in Fairbanks before or after their adventure north. We get asked often for our favorite places to stay, eat, and more... so here it is! Where to Stay Hotel prices can fluctuate greatly, so feel free to shop around—there’s not really one “best” spot. Just make sure your lodging offers an airport shuttle. Uber and Lyft can be hit or miss in the winter, and getting a cab in Fairbanks can be what we lovingly call type 2 fun :-)
Iconic Fairbanks Experiences
Coffee & Treats
Eats & Drinks Around Town
Sweet Treats
Local Markets & Gifts
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Before I moved to the Brooks Range, I thought I knew wild places. But nothing prepared me for the tundra igniting in fiery reds and oranges, or for the punch of antioxidants packed into tiny Arctic blueberries. I couldn’t believe it when I first saw hundreds of caribou migrating across snow-covered mountains… it’s like witnessing the land itself in motion. I was already used to living off-grid and burning wood for heat, but here I discovered the peaceful satisfaction of loading a dogsled with spruce rounds, and and letting our Alaskan huskies haul the weight home to the front door. Moments like these remind me how small I am — and how lucky I am to belong to this place.  Sean and I love to bring guests on Nature Walks through the boreal forest to meet the beings who live here with us — like the trees, berries, birds, and more. One of our favorite sensory experiences to share during our Harvest of the Heart retreat is the smell of a plant called Labrador Tea, sometimes called “Tundra Tea.” We split a sprig in half so people can breathe in its distinctly arctic aroma — one that always reminds us of home.  We’ve learned so much about our (massive) “neighborhood” here in the Brooks Range. Sometimes called the Himalayas of the Arctic, these mountains hold the title of being the tallest anywhere in the world above the Arctic Circle. Given that, folks are surprised to learn we only live at about 1,500 feet, surrounded by peaks that average around 5,000 feet. The tallest peak in the Brooks Range is Mt. Isto, topping out just shy of 9,000 feet. And while that might sound modest compared to other famous ranges, it hasn’t always been this way. A few winters ago, we hosted a group of friends — one of whom was geologist who had been to the Brooks Range before on assignment. He shared this fascinating bit of history with us: Many millions of years ago, the Brooks Range towered at nearly twice its current height! Below is an actual screenshot of his impromptu geological slideshow from that fateful evening in the Igloo — my mind was blown!  I later mentioned this fact to Jack, a local here in Wiseman who grew up in the village. He told me the old-timers and the Indigenous people who lived here for generations have long carried that same wisdom. Their ancestors passed down the knowledge that these mountains once stood much taller than they do today. Imagine if we all extended that same level of presence to the places we live —whether that’s a rural community or a city block. Instead of just seeing “humans” and “everything else,” what if we saw humans, trees, mountains, birds, wildlife, insects, and even rocks… each with a name (and a history) worth learning? I think research, stories from elders, and local field guides can help. But mostly, I think presence simply requires curiosity, a willingness to slow down, and the joy of meeting the wild world around us.  If you’re feeling called to come see what we love so much in person, one spot opened up for our Sept. 24-28 Harvest of the Heart retreat… maybe you’ve been waiting for a sign to come visit? Yes — this means you could smell Tundra Tea in person! And… we are excited to tell you we’ve launched another NEW retreat in 2026! It’s a cross country ski and yoga retreat March 11-15, 2026 called SKIWild. Check out all the details here. Whether we’ll see you in the Brooks Range, or virtually via email, please know we’re grateful you take the time to read our love notes from the Arctic. In light, Mollie (and Sean)  
Growing up, I always loved math class — especially geometry and algebra. That love has come in extremely handy as we’ve become off-grid builders and architects for Arctic Hive! So humor me. Here’s a philosophical math problem I’ve been grappling with: If all things — you, me, the trees, the rivers — are made of the same five elements (Space, Air, Fire, Water, Earth)… doesn’t that mean, on some level, we are “one” with all things? Spending time outdoors reminds me of this again and again — whether I’m hiking with guests, romping through the woods with the pups, or standing on the roof of a build at Arctic Hive. I felt it listening to the waves of Lake Superior when I visited in May. I saw it in the shifting fall leaves along highways and trails a few years ago in Wisconsin. I hear it every day in birdsong, owl calls, and wind through the Brooks Range. “Nature” is everywhere. We are nature. Below: Love on the trail from our good ole’ boy, Poss.  Lately, it feels challenging to hold onto that sense of harmony. Maybe you’ve felt it too — the tension between wildness and a world that seems determined to pave over it. Roads cutting through untouched lands. Ecosystems under threat. Traditional ways of living slowly being erased. Somehow, those aspects of the world are also nature — but under the banner of “progress” and “change.” It feels like the math ain’t mathin’ on that one. At the same time, I realize that my view isn’t a fixed number in a universal math problem. Solving for “X” in this case is personal. Each of us — humans and beyond — has a different “X” to solve for. What works for me may not work for someone in Washington D.C., or a salmon in the Yukon River, or a caribou migrating to the Arctic coast. Scientists have a perspective. Residents have a perspective. Politicians have a perspective. Native Alaskan communities have their perspective. Moose, grouse, and mosquitoes have a perspective. Finding “harmony” between all these viewpoints seems impossible because, well… it is. There isn’t just one solution for how to live in harmony with nature. There are infinite possibilities. I have control over what I do in life. I can educate myself, listen deeply, and try to understand other perspectives. But at the end of the day, the only action I have control over is my own. Below: Hiking with guests late July — under a natural Black Spruce archway.  So then, when I consider myself as just one person on a planet of 7 billion people, I feel small and insignificant. What does it matter what I do? But maybe there’s an answer hidden in a simple proportion: If the world holds infinite possibilities… and I am made of the same five elements as the world… then I, too, hold infinite possibilities — even as just one person.  Here, I’m on familiar footing. I teach this concept in every yoga class, lecture, and course I offer. Every action we take is as important as the infinite number of actions taken by others throughout the world. Money? Temporary. People? Temporary. Material things? Temporary. But the way we move through the world? How we treat one another? How we respond to nature? Those are the things we have to live with... forever. Simple math tells me that all we need to do is listen deeply, live intentionally, and protect what we’re made of. I hope you come around to the same solution :-) Below: Sean snuggles one of Willow’s pups - Lichen! He’s by far the biggest of the three. Be sure to watch our Instagram stories for videos of the three pups romping through the tundra!  We’re on the brink of fall colors here… hunting season has begun, and our massive lodge addition build project is a week (or so) from being completely dried in with windows. More on that in a future newsletter. Time flies! In light, Mollie  
A quick recap… because this is a long story!
Now, I’m going to skip the part where we move to Alaska, decide the Kenai Peninsula doesn’t have enough “winter,” explore land in the Brooks Range, and move to the arctic. Some of you have heard that story in here or over here. Below, skiing to the land on a scouting mission before we dove into the arctic, head first:  Flash forward to 2021: We have a blossoming wilderness lodge called Arctic Hive. We’d hosted our first two REWild retreats that March. They were nothing short of incredible — for the guests, and for Sean and I.  And (because two things can be true at the same time) on the inside? I still just felt... busy. I was still a fully vested Yoga Studio owner, and I was tired. Sean could see it, and told me time and time again that I should sell the studios to lighten the load — to which, I offered more excuses.  Finally, one day, out of sheer desperation, I made a deal with myself. I decided, just for a few minutes, I would allow myself to daydream about what life *might* look like if I didn’t own yoga studios. As I loosened my mental reigns, Knowing flooded my senses like a spring rainstorm. It was time. I cried because I knew it was the truth. I’d been holding so tightly to a former version of myself — despite the (ironic) fact she no longer existed. Intentionally letting go started with my imagination, and ended after a long 18 month process when I sold the last studio. This courageous chapter carved out space in my life that — for once — I didn’t rush to fill. I could finally just be.  Four years later, this is what I’ve learned about Knowings:
To experience and embrace a Knowing from conception, through its relevance, until its completion — and to celebrate all three parts as significant — is what I think it means to live a spiritual life. And I know each time I courageously hear and step in a direction of Knowing, I earn a little more of my own trust. I learn, and I grow. So when my Dad died this past March, I felt that same pattern of completion drawing near. I cried because I knew: It was time. Going through the rituals of his funeral after a decade of saying goodbye was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. Yet, Dad may not have witnessed Arctic Hive during his lifetime, but I know he’s seeing it now... with me, through my eyes. He can see I’m capable of doing all the Dad Jobs on the list (and then some!):  He can see the commitment Sean and I have made to our dog team and dog mushing as a way of life.  He can see the life-changing experiences our guests have in the Brooks Range — and he can see how when guests are fully present, they can better hear their own heart’s Knowing, too.  So whether we’ll see you at a retreat this fall for Harvest of the Heart, for the Winter Solstice, or someday in the future (or not!), I’m grateful for this virtual time we’ve spent together this week!
Hug the ones you love today… and I wish you courage to take steps (even the baby ones!) toward your own Knowing. Sending love, Mollie 
When we weren’t busying ourselves with Yurt Life, Sean and I were on a mission to travel the world on ski and snowboard expeditions. A professional snowboarder since the age of 16, Sean had been backcountry snowboarding and guiding many places — including both South America and Antarctica (twice!) before we met. So naturally, we worked on ticking off expeditions to the other 5 continents. Sean took his first descent on his 7th continent on Valentine’s Day in 2014. I remember how the snow was tinted pink from all the sand that had blown in from the Sahara Desert — a truly wild experience and a crowning achievement for Sean. Below: Sean riding Mt. Toubkal, High Atlas Mountains, Morocco  Below: Sean riding the aforementioned snow colored pink from the Sahara sand  Below: Seeing camels on the hike in to the snow-line of Mt. Toubkul  After Morocco, without a new goal, our future was a blank canvas. Around that same time, I’d gotten really into practicing yoga. I trained to become a yoga teacher in early 2015, and then one day, on just a regular drive home from a class, I heard a surprising, yet unmistakable Knowing: I would open a yoga studio. That was not on my bingo card for 2015, but I wasted no time getting to work. One month later, I was teaching my grand opening class at Yoga Hive in my first quaint, back-alleyway studio downtown Whitefish. It was intimate, grassroots, and insanely fun. One studio led to a second in Columbia Falls, and a third in Kalispell. And while Sean was (and always has been) supportive of these ventures as my business partner, he still maintains today that his “yoga” happens in nature... not on a yoga mat :-)  While I was sending it full-speed into yoga world, Sean was forced to slow down. He’d spent over year managing a complicated, life-altering health diagnosis that shifted his entire outlook on life. It was during that time of quiet reflection when he finally listened to a Knowing that had been knocking on his mental door for years: Alaska. I’d heard him say “Montana is just a stepping stone to Alaska” a million times... but I never imagined it would happen. I had plenty of excuses...
Despite my logistical reservations, I put my trust in Sean’s intuition and I agreed to make the move north — albeit slowly. Surely, the pieces would eventually fall into place.  Sean would’ve preferred a more remote homestead, but we ended up compromising on the Kenai Penninsula — it had a small town vibe like Whitefish, epic mountains, and we already had a few friends there. In early 2017, Sean and I made a trip to Alaska to look at properties with a Realtor. Our options were... dismal. I walked up to each one and thought to myself, “It’s a no,” before we even walked in. We nearly gave up entirely at the last house. Before getting out of the truck, our Realtor said, “Ok, this is a great option, but you’ll need to use your imagination...” He rattled off a few facts about the acreage and pricing, and then he said something I’ll never forget: “... and, I have to disclose that the former owner died in the home.” Pause. “And it was a year before they found his body—“ “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” The words barreled out of my mouth before he could go further. Once back in our rental car, we called our local buddy Mike, laughed as we recounted the story, and admitted how bummed we were. Then Mike had an idea. His parents had some friends who’d built an off-grid cabin many years ago that he could remember visiting via snowmachine as a child. He knew the couple was getting older, and wondered out loud: “Maybe they’d consider selling it to you guys?” I laughed. No way this works out. After making a quick call to that sweet elderly couple, Mike called us back with the news: They’d just decided to sell the cabin but hadn’t listed it yet! We hiked out with Mike the next day, took one look at the idyllic hand-built log cabin, incredible views of multiple glaciers, mountains and the ocean, and my mutual Knowing was undeniable: Alaska, here we come. Below, our first off-grid homestead in Alaska:   Below, our cabin surrounded by fields of fireweed in the summertime + glacier views in the distance:  There’s one more part to the story — and one more move north, of course. Hopefully I haven’t worn out my welcome in your inbox yet! I’ll send you the final part on Sunday.
Enjoy the weekend, Mollie 
During our recent visit to Wisconsin, Sean and I visited my childhood home with my mom and brother. With permission from the owners, we were able to spread some of Dad’s ashes in a place he — and we all — loved so much. As Sean and I walked around the property, we agreed this (see below) was the spot where we stood together in 2010 when we knew we’d spend the rest of our lives together.  Turns out, it was also the spot where, in September 2011, we said, “I do” in front of our closest friends and family:  This has been a theme in our 15 years together — a series of intuitive ah-ha moments that brought us from Utah to Montana to Alaska to the Arctic. Let’s call these: Knowings*. They don’t feel like ordinary decisions. They feel... deeper. Like we’re not just deciding to do something. The moment Sean and I listen to a Knowing, it feels like we’re remembering (and executing) a plan that we — or the Universe? — set out long, long ago. MONTANA I knew I wanted to move from Utah as soon as I got there. It fun for a while — but I crave lakes like the one I grew up with. Sean simply requires proximity to mountains. At the time, we worked at a college prep boarding school, and one of our students’ family generously offered us the opportunity to vacation at their cottage on Whitefish Lake, in Northwest Montana. Their only request: “Use the place as long as you like... as long as you don’t move to Whitefish before our son graduates.” … they were completely serious! I agreed to the terms and laughed at the peculiar request. I had no concept of what Northwest Montana even looked like, so the idea that I’d want to move there was so far-off. Months later, after making the drive north, I walked onto their dock on Whitefish Lake — mountain views in all directions — and a Knowing bubbled up: This is where we need to live. I laughed. How had they known?! It only took Sean and I a year to make the move. (And yes, we did wait until their son graduated!) Below, with our Weimaraner Daisy, on a later trip to Montana. This was when we began to search for a home and put down some roots.  In early 2013, our property search dragged on for months while we rented a cabin on the outskirts of town. But like all Knowings, it came in a flash. We’d rejected the idea of a bank-owned fixer-upper our realtor had strongly suggested. Having come from a fixer-upper in Utah, we wanted easy. (Or thought we did!) Suddenly one night, Sean bolted upright in bed and exclaimed, “What are we thinking?!” Like lightening, his Knowing drove us to buy what our neighbors would affirm was: The best deal in the state of Montana. On that 10 acres we bought in 2013, we were able to begin our off-grid journey, building our first home (a yurt!) and then renting our on-the-grid home on Airbnb. Dad came out to help us with the yurt raising, too... although “yurt” wasn’t really on his list of prerequisites as a self-taught carpenter, he made do!  He and I spent a few days after we raised the yurt to build the front porch and stairs. I don’t have a photo of us together — and I’m kicking myself I didn’t take more selfies with Dad! But he TOOK the photo below with me and our new (at the time) puppy, Glacier.  During countless trips to Lowe’s that weekend, Dad kept forgetting where to find certain things in the store and could never remember where he put his glasses (always on his head).
This is also where I experienced a different sort of Knowing: Something was definitely wrong. It would have been easy to continue to write off the forgetfulness... to avoid the diagnosis we all had a hunch was on the horizon. But Knowings never mean the path is an easy one. They don’t even mean the path is one that we want. Knowings push us to reach for our potential — so we can grow. And although I’d never choose to have a family member go through what my dad endured, I can definitively say the experience has helped shape me into who I am today. Dad would be diagnosed with Alzheimers about a year later... and that’s when Dad Jobs officially became my responsibility, whether I wanted them or not. Stay tuned for Part 3 tomorrow, where we continue our migration north… to Alaska! Until then, Mollie *PS — I first heard the word “Knowing” used in this way by my friend Kristen Cline, and it instantly resonated with me. Kristen: Thank you for sharing! 
Sean and I are pretty good at “divide and conquer” when it comes to construction. Over the past 15 years of marriage, we’ve learned there are skills that we both naturally excel at — and skills that we don’t. For example: For anything electrical, solar, plumbing, fuel, wood stoves, or heaters, Sean is your guy. When it comes to framing math, design, decor, installing flooring or window blinds? I’m your girl!  This past weekend, I was installing blinds — and remembered vividly the first time I ever helped install blinds. Probably more like watched... my dad did most of the work. In 2010, I’d moved across the country for love. My dad — a protective father who was always willing to make sure his only daughter had all her needs met, flew out to Utah in the spring of 2011 to help Sean and I with some DIY projects, one of which was installing blinds. I can distinctly remember the feeling of gratitude that Dad was installing the blinds for us. Honestly, it hadn’t even occurred to me that I could install my own blinds. For 23-year-old Mollie, that was: A Dad Job. (Below: My dad and I on a trip to Chicago a few years ago)  I was fortunate to have a dad who did so much for me, growing up. Other “Dad Jobs” in my childhood included vehicle maintenance and lawn mowing. I resisted learning to operate a lawn mower till well into my 30s because I knew this very important truth: If you learn it, then you’ll be asked to do it. A downside of avoiding Dad Jobs was that I didn’t even realize my car would need something called “oil changes” every few thousand miles. You should have seen the face of the first mechanic I hired to do an oil change for me... he was APPALLED at how long I’d gone without one! Eventually, I had to become my own father (as I think we all do) because we’ve always lived far from the midwest, and thus, far from my dad’s toolbox. I slowly started to take on tasks that had been done for me, all my life. (Below: My dad and I, preparing to go tubing!)  My dad passed away in March of this year — and as I’ve shared publicly, he’s been battling Alzheimers for the better part of the last decade. At the end, his death was both welcomed and devastating — like only someone who’s been in similar shoes can understand. I’ve been spending lots of time down memory lane since then... so it’s not weird that this specific memory of Dad installing blinds popped into my head. The projects we did in that little house in Utah set the foundation for where we are today: Living in the arctic, surrounded by cabins, domes, gardens, and dog yards that we built ourselves. So buckle up for a trip down memory lane with me this week... tomorrow I’ll tell you part 2, where we decide to move, sell our house in Utah (pic below), and start our migration north. Until then, Mollie  
“Did you see the aurora last night?” This is one of the first questions out of my mouth when guests trickle in for breakfast each morning. I love hearing their stories of late-night knocks on one another’s cabins, the way the aurora moved through the sky, and seeing the photos everyone captured. Unlike hotels in Fairbanks, we don’t offer “aurora wake-up calls” at Arctic Hive... not because we don’t want our guests to see the aurora — quite the contrary. The Northern Lights are a core piece of our retreats, and a bucket list item for so many. We simply believe in earning the magic of the aurora. (And we also believe that as your hosts and a mighty team of two, we should probably sleep at some point!)  The way Sean and I see it, half the game is getting yourself to the most ideal spot to view the aurora. Getting to Arctic Hive is no easy feat… but your chances are higher than nearly anywhere in Alaska... maybe the world! There’s no light pollution whatsoever, and we’re located directly underneath the aurora oval — with unobstructed views of mountains and night sky in all directions. If it’s a clear night in the winter, your chances are so so good. The other half of the game is the chase, itself. Speaking from our own experience, it’s so much more meaningful to wake up, peep out the window, dash outside like a little kid, and marvel at what you’ve discovered. The best part is that guests tend to work as a team — each cabin takes a certain time throughout the night to wake up, so that most of the likely “prime time” is covered (12pm-2am). Although the aurora is *likely* to be out during that time, it’s never guaranteed… and it can be out anytime, as long as it’s dark. In fact, as I write this at 8:30pm on New Year’s Eve, the aurora is out right now! The unanticipated magic of these moments of awe are that guests are surrounded by strangers who’ve become friends. Each retreat attendee brings their own life experience to the mix. Seeing a group jive more and more as the days go on is one of my favorite parts of hosting retreats the way we do.  I read recently that our brains aren’t wired to tell time like a clock. Our brains tell time based on memories. Specifically, memories that are different, unique, and new. We remember those moments more than the parts of life we have on autopilot. And when we’re in those moments, like when you’re watching the aurora overhead, time seems to crawl by — or stop all together. Time ceases to matter because… you’re just in awe. That’s why the first day at a new job feels like it goes on forever, whereas consecutive days move (seemingly) quicker and quicker. This is partially for survival and efficiency, so we put forth less and less effort as things in life become habit. But, when we change up our routine with a life-changing experience, it does just that — stops time, and changes us, from the inside out. And I’ll tell you... living where we do, it might seem like the aurora has become part of our daily routine and we’d get bored with it after a while. But when the light show is good, Sean and I stare up in awe just as our guests do — hooting and hollering with delight, like little kids! There’s just something about the magic here that never ceases to amaze me. I hope to never lose my sense of wonder — and I hope the same for each of you, too. (Speaking of wonder, the photo below was taken at 11:30am!)  (Shots from a recent private mushing retreat…)  Happy New Year, everyone. To all those who have visited us, who aim to visit in the future, and all of you following along virtually... we are so grateful for you, for all coming along for this wild, off-grid ride of ours. Thank you for your love and support. Cheers! Mollie, Sean, and the entire Busby pack PS -- *drumroll, please!!* THE PUPS HAVE NAMES! We named them with a Polar Night theme, as they were born on November 30th… the last day that the sun can be seen above the horizon in the village of Wiseman.
 Below: A recent Winter’s Womb guest getting ALL the puppy love… I remember her distinctly asking: “Can I hold them all at once?” Ha! Of course our answer was YES — as long as we could snap a photo! From left to right: Kaamos, Lykke and Hygge (Phonetically, say it: Kamos, Lookah and Hoogah)  
“I think she’s starting to push!” Sean relayed over the walkie talkie. A few miles from home, I guided my dog team to take a hard right turn. Winding through the black spruce forest, deflecting willow branches from slapping my face, I smiled to myself: They’re finally here. We’d been hyped to witness the birth of these puppies for many weeks now — luckily a dog’s gestation is only about 64 days... and not nine months, so we didn’t have that long to wait. Those of you who’ve been in the Arctic Hive orbit for a while may remember we’ve had newborn puppies before... er, ONE puppy back in April. We’d gotten three new 2yo sled dogs, and three days in, I discovered that Yara had (surprise!) given birth overnight. We thought she seemed a little chubby, but didn’t realize she was pregnant! Side note: The dad wasn’t any of our dogs, as we’d only had her three days — and he remains a mystery to this day. Eclipse just turned 8 months old, and is loving life with her big brothers and sisters, especially when she gets to go for a mush! She’s a natural — as we expected she’d be.  As I was hooking up the dogs in the yard after returning home, Sean beamed over the radio again: “I think the first puppy is comi— oh! The first puppy is here!” I hustled to de-harness and hook up the rest of the team, and ran up the hill to the house, just in time to hear that puppy #2 was out as well... just 12 minutes after the first. Inside, Sean told me what we’d read so much about: He hadn’t done much. Humans don’t have to do much for dogs during birth — there’s not much of a “delivery” process for anyone except the momma. We had lots of tools on hand to assist if needed, but it’s a lot of recording of times, making notes of markings to tell them apart, and adjusting the whelping box and towels to keep momma as comfortable as possible.  Mom’s instincts kicked in — as she’s done before, and after a pup is out, she tears away the fetal sack around the puppy and essentially licks the newborn to bring it to life — breathing, it’s immune system, awareness, etc. They latch on to her nipples pretty quickly after that, and then it’s a waiting game to determine if there are more puppies, or not. The third pup arrived about 25 minutes after the second, and his coloring was much more brown than the large black/white male (1st puppy) and smaller black/white female (2nd puppy). We don’t have official names picked out yet, but we are considering “Polar Night” as a theme for the litter. They were born on November 30th — the first day of Polar Night for the village of Wiseman. Here was last night’s weigh-in. We handled the pups just after a feed — so they were more than happy to sleep right through it! Below is the firstborn male — he has always been nearly double the size of his sister, and he has got quite the set of pipes on him:  Below is the tiny female — the smallest of the three, born at just 13 ounces!  Below is the third pup, a male — bigger than the little girl and with brown markings instead of black.  While momma stays in the house and cares for her three sweet pups, we’ve been out mushing, trail breaking, firewood chopping and general winter chore-ing as we prepare for the arrival of Winter’s Womb guests on December 17th. This time of relative calm at Arctic Hive is one of my favorites… with lots of space to dream, chill, and stay up late to see the Aurora dance in the sky. Life is good here — wishing you the same for you and yours. Sending love, Mollie   Life lately has been filled with dogs, dogs, and... dogs! Our minimal daylight hours have been spent on the runners, enjoying our final weeks of sun, setting up the new winter dog lot, and preparing the whelping box for our pregnant dog. (Yes — less than a week till puppies!) We recently moved our team to a new location on the property to make winter dogsled hook-ups easier. This move has been a year in the making, and while it feels great to have them settled in, there are plenty of kinks to work out. Below: Moving doghouses! They slide easier on the snow if they’re flipped upside down.  It also means countless trips up and down our access trail every day... which my hip flexors are still adjusting to in my 3-pound Bunny Boots! But when exhaustion hits each night, I remind myself that this energy isn’t draining... it’s an investment in our dream. Below: Straw day is the happiest day. The dogs (like Gilly here) get so excited when they see me carrying straw in their direction. It takes all my strength to keep them out of their house while I put the straw in! Here, I had to hold Gilly back from the sheer force of the kisses she was giving my face!  My yoga teacher in India always says “Your attention is your most valuable currency.” And right now, all of mine is on the team. As my body gets stronger with training, so does the team. The experience of caring for and mushing these dogs, while sharing the healing power of dog-powered adventures with others, is exactly what we’ve been working toward. It’s been a big leap of effort, but we can’t have effortlessness without effort... so here we are!  Just one month till our first winter retreat of the season (Winter’s Womb!) — and if you need one more reason to visit this year, remember... no matter which retreat you choose, THERE WILL BE PUPPIES! Sending love, Mollie  |
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