At the far-flung edge of Canada’s boreal forest, outside the tiny sub-Arctic town of Dawson City, Yukon, a handful of unlikely farmers are growing everything from snow-covered Brussels sprouts to apples. These modern-day agrarians have carved out small patches of fertile soil in an otherwise unforgiving expanse of isolated wilderness to make a living and a life.

Over the course of a year, Dawson filmmaker David Curtis follows these resilient, unassuming farmers—including a German immigrant, a young family that taps birch trees for syrup, a First Nations youth, and a matriarch who can shoot and quarter a moose—exploring life, death, and time through the simple, rich day-to-day of people deeply tied to the wilds.

Sovereign Soil is an ode to the beauty of this ferocious, remote land and the wisdom of those who’ve chosen to call it home.

At the far-flung edge of Canada’s boreal forest, outside the tiny sub-Arctic town of Dawson City, Yukon, a handful of unlikely farmers are growing everything from snow-covered Brussels sprouts to apples. These modern-day agrarians have carved out small patches of fertile soil in an otherwise unforgiving expanse of isolated wilderness to make a living and a life.

One young family taps birch trees for syrup, homeschooling their children in the steam of boiling sap, and lovingly scratching the rumps of their pigs before slaughter. A third-generation German horticulturalist, struggling to keep moose out of his radishes, alters Dawson’s food supply while facing the limits of agriculture in the North. The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in youth, raised hunting and trapping, who now weeds rows of lettuce on his self-governing First Nation’s teaching farm; the couple grafting fruit trees; the tomato wizard grappling with chronic illness; and the matriarch who can shoot and quarter a moose, are all in it for the same reason—a profound love of the land.

Dawson filmmaker David Curtis follows these resilient, unassuming farmers over the course of a year, watching as the heavy dark of winter gives way to the incessant summer sun. And as the seasons pass, time slows and transforms, reshaping notions of what really matters through the simple, rich day-to-day of people deeply tied to a life in the wilds.

Sovereign Soil is an ode to the beauty of this ferocious, remote land and the wisdom of those who’ve chosen to call it home.

Set in the northern wilds surrounding the tiny sub-Arctic town of Dawson City, Yukon, Sovereign Soil is an ode to the beauty of this ferocious, remote land and the wisdom of those who’ve chosen to call it home.

What inspired Sovereign Soil?

Yukon filmmaker Andrew Conners and I wanted to work together on a project, and we were both interested in the back-to-the-land movement and how it’s played out in the Yukon. Working with the NFB, we decided to integrate contemporary lives and look at modern-day food producers outside Dawson City, Yukon. We wanted to look at what makes people come into the bush and eke out a subsistence living. It’s hard work surviving out there. Lots of people come north with this romantic notion of living in the wilds, but as soon as the first snow comes, they tend to scatter. We’re looking at those who stuck it out.

It’s a wide demographic. There’s a former hippie from downtown Toronto who came north and ended up becoming a successful market gardener, homesteading and raising a family on a remote island in the Yukon River. There’s a DIY German immigrant who’s a third-generation horticulturalist exploring the limits of sustainability in Canada’s North; a young family living off the grid in the wilds but still fully connected with Wi-Fi, and there are some from that older generation where back-to-the-land is about survival and self-sufficiency more than community.

You grew up with a strong connection to the land; how did this help shape the film?

I was raised in small Prairie towns and in the Northwest Territories. My parents emigrated from Ireland and they loved this country and wanted to experience all of it, so we moved around a lot. My dad was a fixer for cooperatives—general stores that deal in everything small rural communities need. He got assigned to be a fur trader for the Coop in the Dene community of Deline, NWT, and this had a big influence on me. I’ve always loved the natural environment and felt most comfortable in the wilds, but Deline was magical to me. This is what brought me back to the North. I’ve been living off-grid outside Dawson for the past 21 years—working as a commercial salmon fisher, carpenter, artist, and teacher.

Living here, I became more and more interested in the principles and philosophy behind living on the land and sustainability. And how our Western, colonial frame of mind has imposed itself on Indigenous ways of life. I’m interested in how we can have a more equitable relationship with the planet. And in Sovereign Soil I am looking at all this through food production.

Sovereign Soil is about sustainable food production, but it’s also about so much more. Can you speak to this a bit?

A lot of films and media are looking at this subject in a very focused and particular way. But I’m not a documentary filmmaker who goes in and asks questions, then lays out the facts. I prefer people to come to their own conclusions.

Sovereign Soil is a big exploration, with friends and neighbours, of what is at the core of people’s spiritual and philosophical connection to the land. It deals with life and death, seasonal cycles, notions of time, and how people are living custodially, in relative equilibrium with nature.

Can you talk more about why this connection to the land is so significant today?

Our disconnect from the land is at the core of our potential demise. From the disrespectful ways we consume resources and pollute land, to the unprecedented issues and catastrophes we’re facing due to climate change. People don’t spend time experiencing the seasons and connecting with their environment. We don’t realize we are still part of nature and so dependent on it, until it slaps us in the face and our home is flooded, or a forest fire burns us out. We have to have a more reciprocal relationship with nature to get back in touch with what is happening around us.

What are you hoping people will take away from Sovereign Soil?

I always intended the film to raise more questions than answers. I hope people leave thinking more about their consumer impact on the environment, their relationship to the land, and about the people and industries that supply them with food.

Agriculture is one of the biggest polluters in the world. Our modern way of producing food is really not sustainable. As one of the characters says in the film, the only really sustainable way is hunting and gathering. But now we have the local Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation, who once were hunter gathers, turning to agriculture for food security. This raises very important questions about community, our changing connections to land, and self-sufficiency. What is our fundamental relationship to food, the people who produce it, and the land where it is produced?

Can you talk about the challenges of making a film about your friends and neighbours?

I started off having honest, deep conversations with each one of them to make sure they felt comfortable with the themes we’d be exploring together. And at any point if they felt intruded upon, I’d back off. I also felt it was unfair that I ask my neighbours and friends to give of themselves and their time without giving something back. So I’ve been pitching in—planting and harvesting potatoes, weeding, collecting birch sap, cooking dinners, teaching workshops, building fences—throughout the making of the film, and I continue to do so.

I didn’t want to come in and make a film, then take off and reap the benefits. Documentary filmmaking often objectifies or exoticizes people. I wanted to create a reciprocal relationship with the participants.

What were some challenges in making Sovereign Soil?

Logistically, snowmobiling in the middle of December at minus 25, or canoeing in summer carrying $30,000 worth of gear and portaging it across islands, lugging everything to access these remote locations, proved challenging. But then boating, hiking, skiing, or snowmobiling in all types of weather—I love it. It’s what I do.

What did you take away?

 Making this film I gained a much deeper appreciation and respect for people who choose to live a life like these people have, to provide food for others. They are passionate about what they do. And making this film, I learned more about my own passion for the wilderness and how my living in it has impacts, seen and unseen.

Ultimately though, I just have this absolute sense of joy, having been welcomed into these peoples’ lives. I was given such trust. And I hope the film respects that.