I went into my patient's room yesterday evening to find the call bell at her ear and the phone in her fist. As I rearranged her and tried to explain the difference between the two modes of communication, I couldn't help but notice a big bag of gorgeous cherries on her table. This is not a common sight in the north, exotic fruit that isn't frozen, wilted or bruised. At least not for the majority of us who can't afford the grapes at $8.99/lb at Arctic Foods everyday. So I asked my patient, 'where did you get your beautiful cherries?' I simultaneously narrowed in on the asian pear nestled amongst the apples in the fruit basket behind her. 'The Fruitman brought them', she said casually. Now given her previous predicament with the call bell and the telephone I figured she was either referring to her son or has a very active imagination. None the less, I gave this elder the respect she deserves and accepted that there may be some truth to this 'Fruitman'. 'Who's the fruitman?' I said, 'I would like to have a Fruitman'. 'Oh, it's Bill', she repeted, 'the Fruitman.'
Probing her a little more, I was only able to determine that this man's name is Bill and he delivers fruit from the South. I figured if this man exists, I likely have the wrong color skin to receive his juicy deliveries and thus would have to bribe a local for some fresh cherries (such is my plan for the fish-man anyway.) Alternatively, I thought, everyone in Inuvik will know him because here, everyone knows everyone's business. Not unlike the small town I'm from in Nova Scotia.
So I ask my co-workers: 'who is Bill the Fruitman?' 'Oh the fruit-legger!' they exclaim. 'He's here tonight with his truck from the South, let's go check him out'. Yeeeeeees! I was right about two things: 1) the elders deserve respect and 2) everybody knows him. I promptly report off on my two patients and jump in my co-worker's truck to go check out the north's version of a farmer's market.
Apparently Bill Rutherford has been doing this for 20 years. He used to be and apple farmer and then gave it up to deliver fresh produce to northern communities year round. In the summer he drives the gravel road up the Dempster highway from BC and in the winter he treks up the ice road to Aklavik and Tuktoyatuk. He's written a children's book about the ice road and CBC's On The Road Again did a documentary about his adventures (which I've yet to find a way to view online.) Apparently he occasionally fills up his empty truck with cardboard on his way back down south to recycle, since the only recycling done up here is drink containers. Granted they're likely the majority of the recyclables anyway.
We find his 53 foot Mac truck parked in the parking lot across from the cafe, right next to the chip truck with a small neon light on the back that says 'Open'. Inside you can find everything from watermelon to soymilk to free range eggs; all things hard to come buy up here. Although the watermelon was $15, most of his prices are considerably cheaper than the local grocery store, as you can tell by the 'celantro' for $1.25 ;-)
I introduced myself to Bill. He's a friendly older gentleman with a the sun-baked skin of a farmer and working hands to prove it. I bought a big box of groceries and before we went back to work my co-worker took me on a tour of the town; he showed me the friendship centre and the boat launch. We were back to the hospital in ten minutes.
My fridge is considerably happier now and I'm starting to like this town more and more.
I just need to find myself a Fishman up here.
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