Part 4: What Elysium Gave Us

This post is part of our Elysium Lake Farm series. What started as a 10-day stay near Terrace, BC turned into something much bigger — a season of slowing down, exploring Prince Rupert and the Nass Valley, and finding family in unexpected places. You can start with Part 1 or continue reading below.

The Rhythm of the Farm

Life at Elysium was more than just a place to park the bus and rest. It was the long conversations with Al and Jen, the laughter of the girls as they played with the dogs, and the sense that this farm was alive with patience and resilience. Even the quiet moments — watering young seedlings, planting rows together, pulling weeds under the sun, baking, sharing meals, or watching the lake shift with the weather — felt like part of something larger, a rhythm we didn’t want to rush. Jen reminded us that life on the farm isn’t about pointing out what should have been done differently, but about noticing what has already been accomplished. That shift in perspective lingered with us long after we left, a reminder that growth is slow, steady, and always worth celebrating.

What We Learned

Elysium Lake Farm gave us more than memories; it gave us lessons. We learned the value of slowing down, where moving smoothly from task to task, of letting generosity guide us, and of honouring traditions that remind us to think seven generations ahead.

It also reminded us of something that’s central to who we are: we are strong believers in teamwork and in including everyone. The farm made us feel that same spirit — like we weren’t just visitors, but part of something larger. And we carried that lesson forward: when plans change, when choices are made, it’s not only about what’s efficient, but about making sure everyone — whether family or outsiders — feels included and considered. That sense of belonging is what keeps people moving together, not apart.

Carrying It Forward

We left on a Saturday, which was market day. Simon got up early to help Jen and Al pack up for the market, while the girls and I headed over later to say our final goodbyes. There was something fitting about leaving on a day of bustle and community — it felt like a snapshot of the life that pulsed through the farm.

Back at the house, we said goodbye to Little Poo and Big Poo. It felt right that they stayed behind, padding around their familiar home, while we carried on to the next chapter of our journey.

Driving away wasn’t easy. Our hearts were fuller than when we had arrived. What we carried forward was more than stories of road trips and side adventures. We carried the reminder to slow down, to savour, and to hold space for both joy and grief.

Isn’t it funny how often we’re rushing to the next thing? Elysium taught us that the real treasures — the meals, the views, the stories, the laughter, even the muddy play at the hot springs — come when we pause long enough to notice them.

It was a feeling we held onto tightly as we crossed into Alaska on our way to the vast and humbling landscapes of Salmon Glacier. By June 14th, one day ahead of our goal, we had made it to Alaska — just as we had hoped when we first mapped out this journey. Even with all our detours and the places where we lingered longer than planned, we still arrived right on time. We hadn’t defined which part of Alaska we wanted to be in, only that we would cross the border by mid-June. And when we did, it felt like the perfect balance: holding space for wandering and wonder, while still moving forward toward our bigger dream.

The funny thing is, that little corner of Alaska doesn’t even have a border crossing — you just drive through. The only time you see a checkpoint is when you come back into Canada. Another reminder that sometimes the biggest milestones arrive more quietly than we expect. But quiet didn’t last long — just beyond Salmon Glacier, something was waiting for us that we never saw coming. And that surprise became the real story of our first steps into Alaska.