It was a hot day, my shirt sticking to my skin, and the only reprieve was driving with the window down. I left Hay River after a few memorable days and headed south, barely making it 30 minutes before hunger set in, and given the situation, I would've eaten my toe. I pulled into Enterprise, a hamlet outside Hay River. At first glance, I could only see a single gas station, a motel and a few dozen homes. I took the time to drive the few streets in case of a chance encounter; the place seemed like a ghost town. I settled for the motel parking lot, spotting a row of aspen trees adjacent to the building and parked in their shade; a tailgate lunch of mac & cheese was on today's menu, quick and simple.

While eating, I noticed two men sitting outside their motel room, door open, smoking and drinking. I met eyes with one of them, and we said hello. I am trying to remember what started the conversation. The stove I used to cook my lunch may have piqued his interest— a compact backcountry, Isobutane burner. He came over, looked at the set-up and, with a nod, approved. I finished eating and started to pack up before leaving. I noticed the same man, cigarette in hand, beer in the other, leaning on the porch railing, staring, though his body language suggested he was somewhere else, deep in his thoughts, maybe.

I finished cleaning my dishes and organizing my things before departing. I was in the driver's seat, keys ready. I hesitated. I stepped out of the truck, approached the man, and asked him to humour me. I told him what I was doing, the people I had photographed and asked if he would be willing to spare 20 minutes of his time. He responded with, "Why the hell not." His name was Torrie Bringedahl.

I was rushing at a level I wasn’t comfortable with; maybe I didn’t want to be a burden to someone’s time. I set up some camera gear but failed to set up my phone to record the conversation. My memory of what we spoke about is fuzzy at best. Though, I do clearly remember two things Torrie mentioned. The first was that he had terminal cancer, and the other was his two sons. I let the conversation remain casual, following Torrie's lead. We spoke about what he did for a living, where he was from, and his illness. He didn't seem fazed or sorry for himself and even joked about his imminent death. We shared a few laughs, and he asked me to stay for a beer. Usually, I would have said yes. However, I declined as I had other towns to visit before returning to Calgary.

As I get older (I turned forty this year), I think more about death and my interactions with strangers, friends, and family. I catch myself being optimistically cautious about my time, where it goes and who receives it. I won't say for sure if I would have the same casual attitude as Torrie, knowing your time was coming and soon. Though, if news of my departure from this life did become a reality, I would hope that stranger would stay for that beer.

Torrie passed away on the morning of Wednesday, January 25, 2023, at the age of 61.