Christina Hunter
Bio
Author, Mother, Wife. Recipient of the Paul Harris Fellowship award and 2017 nominee for the Women of Distinction award through the YWCA. Climate Reality Leader, Zero-Waste promoter, beekeeper and lover of all things natural.
Stories (50/0)
The Winning Game. Top Story - June 2021.
The décor of the Summit Centre was just as pretentious as the awards show itself. Everything had been meticulously chosen in the same shade of cream; the lighting, the tablecloths, the dishware, the flowers. Ruby sat at her assigned table staring at her nameplate in front of her place setting. She wished that Joel had come with her, at least it would have been someone to talk to. Instead, his nameplate and empty seat beside hers would be a reminder of how alone she really was. She was surprised he hadn’t at least called or sent a text. After 10 years of marriage, one would think he’d have wanted to say good luck, for the moment put the divorce aside, especially since it was so new. Ruby awkwardly scrolled through her phone even though she had been told not to do that at events like these. She hated these things.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Fiction
Jacob's Raven
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. An insult to Jacob. It was a reminder of the beauty of the world just beyond his bed. Darkness ate away at him in the form of stomach pains. Lurching and consuming, they pulsed through Jacob's torso, up through his spine and pounded at his temples. He had lived with aches and pains his entire life, though not as intense as these. This vile thing demanded his attention, calling for pause from whatever he was doing. It was as if he'd ignored a smoke detector within his body for years, and now, the alarms were getting louder. The pain subsided, the purple clouds dissipated and he closed his eyes, begging for sleep.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Humans
The Sum of Her Days
1988 I am five years old and weaving my way through the cobblestone streets in the cool mountain air. The Italian sun is high above us now, it's midday. I'm wearing a chunky-striped tank top that she knit for me, my cheeks dirty from the day's play, my hair disheveled. I come across a wash basin, which seems to be a strange murky pool...for ducks? I am curious and inch closer to peek over the edge. She explains it's how the people of the village wash their clothing. She makes a motion to scrub something against the cool hard stonework on the ledge. Later we bring a toy sailboat back to the spot and blow it across the still water.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Families
I Started an Eco-Club for Kids and it Changed My Life.. Top Story - May 2021.
It was 2015. I had begun the year depressed about the environment. I couldn't take any more news articles on the declining climate crisis, and was constantly inundated with infographic memes of how we're trashing our world. During my doom-scrolling one day, I came across a link to a Climate Reality Project training by the one and only, Nobel Laureate Al Gore, which was coming to my area, and a link to an application. I decided enough was enough, I felt pushed to take action.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Earth
5 Things I've Learned On Sharny & Julius' FitMum Program
It's been eight days since I began my journey on the popular weight loss program by Sharny & Julius, called FitMum. I began seeing the ads on my social media's newsfeed, almost daily, for months. Every few days a new testimonial would pop up with a fantastic before and after image and I would swoon for my own story.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Longevity
Knit One. Purl Two.
Knitting holds a sweet nostalgia for me. Memories bubble up of my Italian grandmother teaching me on her plaid sofa as a little girl, her accent catching on words as she slowly explained "knit one, purl two" followed by "Yes. Yes. Not so tight. Good.", as I struggled with awkward finger placements.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Families
Soundtrack To My (So-Called) 90's Life
At 16, I scoured the pages of my dELiA's catalogue desperately seeking something unique to call my own. Constructing myself like a magazine collage, I carefully procured each aspect of who I wanted to be. I hoped that in my small town of 10,000 people, the end result was individuality without seeming eccentric.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Beat
Zero-Waste For the Win
I stood nervously at the front of a packed auditorium looking out at a sea of cotton-white hair while shining spectacles reflected florescent lighting back at me. I gently placed each prop on the table in front of me, feeling as though I was setting up for a strange show-and-tell to a hundred grandparents. in essence, I was.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Earth
5 Songs That Foster Earth Love
Now more than ever we need to find and foster our love for Mother Earth. Sitting in nature helps to calm our minds and relieves stress, but it also allows us to connect to our surroundings and take a moment to thank the Earth for all she has given us.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Beat
To My Sister, Who Sat Poolside at Her Burned-Down House
To my sister, who fled the flames with her family and pets in-tow, arriving at our Mom's place of refuge in the depth of the night. Dogs running wildly into the pitch-black of the yard. In and out of Mom's house; nervous, frightful, drinking in new house smell while fleeing the fresh smoky house memory.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Humans
Small Town Girl Meets Big City.
I’m not sure what I was thinking accepting a college co-op location in the big city of Toronto. I knew nothing of city life, growing up in a small community two hours north. It was only a month-long stint for our final credit before graduation, and I chose a cottage magazine publisher that spoke to my rural roots. I wore a pinstriped suit, hair pulled back so neatly I must have resembled a child dressing up in her mother’s closet for a fake fashion show.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Confessions
Sacred Space. Second Place in Dream Date Challenge.
The day collapsed into evening with a sigh of relief from the group. The workers were tired, not just from today, but from all the days that came before. Their hands were raw and chapped from exposure and dust particles flying up with each passing car. Some had splinters from the wooden posts they carried as they paced along the shoulder of the highway. LOCKED OUT, the signs read. It had been months of the strike with no end in sight. They watched as the season turned from winter to spring. From snow pants and extra gloves to sunglasses and on the warmer days even t-shirts. At the beginning there was outrage from the community, and the support from passing vehicles was heartwarming. Cars honked, good samaritans dropped off coffee and donuts, even pizza on one occasion. But the community was getting tired of the rolling strikes, and it was taking it’s toll on the morale of the workers too. First it was the teachers, then the nurses, and now the factory workers. It seemed to be an ongoing issue with different sections of the town, each group putting their lives on hold. Ali had mixed feelings about it. As the youngest in the crew and only one of two women she felt she had to stand her ground with the crew men. She didn’t want special treatment, and while some of those harsher winter days out on the picket line were enough to make her want to quit, she never would. She felt a camaraderie with what she now considered her group. The other woman, Marg, had spent her life as a factory worker, her skin weathered with age and stress and even her voice had deepened to that of the men’s. Ali on the other hand was Marg’s opposite; young, petite, fragile. Some of the men would shield her from the winds when they came, other times they’d offer her their coats or extra mitts. When it was her turn to lug the wood to the burn barrel someone usually stepped in to take her place. The only one that treated her the same as the others was Mack. When it was Ali’s turn to collect the signs at the end of the shift and place them in the back of the pick-up truck, Mack would joke “better you than me!” while he sat scrolling his phone. Something in the way he smirked when he said it made her understand that he wasn’t being a jerk, he was showing that he saw her as his equal. She had heard him say that very sentence the day before to Al, the elderly worker. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why it made her feel better about the situation, but it did.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Humans
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