Some languid evenings, when the late autumn light slants into the grasslands where the Nicola River tumbles toward the great, green glint of the Thompson at Spence’s Bridge, everything seems burnished with gold, just as it must have appeared almost 120 years ago to homesteader Jessie Ann Smith. She’d come from her Scottish village as a bride in 1884, one of the multitude pulled into the unmapped interior of a remote and little-known colony on the far side of the world by a gold rush that...
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