Rachelle's Mission

As many of you know, our daughter, Rachelle, is serving a church mission in the France, Toulouse mission. Guys who are worthy and able serve for two years; girls who are worthy and want to serve for eighteen months. Rachelle has wanted to serve a mission since she was a very little girl. Her whole life, she has had that as her primary goal.

Rachelle was originally scheduled to come home near the beginning of March. But she requested an extension. Actually, citing injustice to girls, she requested a six-month extension. She was given six-weeks more. So her new return date was April 13th. But she learned that the mission wasn’t going to get another sister missionary until the end of May, which meant they would have to pull the missionaries out in one of the towns and form a threesome. So Rachelle convinced her mission president that it was a “silly” thing to do, when she was more than happy to stay another six weeks. This would allow the “ville” to stay open, and everyone would be much happier. He cleared it with us, and then took it to the Area Presidency for approval. (Missionaries are not permitted more than a single transfer extension, and she would be onto her second transfer.)

I just got an e-mail from him—and she got clearance to stay another six weeks. So she will have served for twenty-one months by the time she is finished—and she is quite happy about that. She cracks me up.

Rabbit Update

I wanted to give everyone a short update on the rabbit situation:

Rabbits like peanut butter! I thought they might.

We didn’t actually catch any with the peanut butter, but they sure ate it up. They just outsmarted the traps. But our hunting crowd (Keri and Larry) figured out a way to outsmart the rabbits. We have now caught a grand total of four. This is a very good thing, because we were quickly running out of meat. And as I think I’ve mentioned, produce is even scarcer. So the rabbit is very much appreciated. (And it’s fun eating with Leigh and Larry. They are a hoot. I cook it up, and they come on over. I’ve tried a new recipe each time. So far, we all have the same favorite.)

Tips for future rabbit connoisseurs:
1. Let the meat simmer for a couple of hours, or it will be tough as leather.
2. Watch out for the bones. They are very small and it’s almost impossible to get them all—and they are sharp.

Bowled Over

I have learned a valuable lesson:

When dropped just right, a corelle bowl can shatter into approximately 2,854 tiny pieces—shards which can propel themselves across a space the size of a football field.

I’ll be sweeping and vacuuming the stuff up for months. And that’s just what doesn’t get embedded in the soles of my feet first.

This wouldn’t be such a big deal, except for the fact that we only had one bowl per person. No spares. Coming to this place with no extra bowls makes as much sense as heading out on a cross country trip through a desolate land with no spare tire. Yup—not exactly a brainiac move.

We’ve given new meaning to the phrase “family togetherness” at meal time. Just think—sitting down together, talking together, and eating together—from the same bowl. It can be very romantic; but it’s usually just really, really irritating.

But one advantage of having so few kitchen items to worry about is that every dish and pot and pan and utensil in the house could be dirty, and it will only take half an hour to wash them all. So the cozy mealtime scenario does have its advantages.

"Fun and Games"

One challenge of living in a village of Alaska is that there are very few healthy activities for us to do. There are no theaters, malls, museums, school activities, or anything else that most people do. So our family makes our own fun.

This afternoon, Tanner and Taco were messing with their poppers that they’d won at the arcade while on the temple trip. One thing led to another, and before long, they had a “battle of the poppers” going. They sat at opposite sides of the living room and shot the things at each other. Even Keri got involved. That game entertained them for quite a while.

Last night, Keri and I went out with a few of the other teachers, and we actually bought a pizza at the newly-opened one and only restaurant in town. It is a tiny place with two tables. They have pizza and hamburgers. Pizzas cost about $30, and hamburgers run from $10 to $15. And they are pretty regular fare. But we figure we haven’t been on a date in about a year, so we splurged.

Tonight we are having a movie night at our house. Tanner bought the movie 2012 (also while in Anchorage at the youth temple trip). All of the teachers are invited to come over, and we are popping popcorn and showing the movie on a white wall with a projector. Next year, I think I will make Saturday movie night a weekly event.

Survival in the Bush

Apparently, the bush of Alaska has more Search & Rescue incidents than the rest of the country combined. A guy comes to the school every year to talk to the kids about survival. The boys and I heard him, and he was full of survival tips and funny stories.

He told the kids to always carry a VHF radio with them (a kind of radio/walkie-talkie). The radios only have a 10-15 mile working radius, so the kids were taught what frequency the airplanes use that fly overhead. He said you can always get help if you get through to one of them.

Incidentally, a VHF radio is the one thing we don’t have—maybe next year. Around here, they are used like telephones, and they have multiple purposes. One day, someone got on the school frequency and called out for Keri, asking him to phone her dad. So Keri took down the number and called the guy. When the guy answered, he said, “Thanks! I couldn’t find my cell phone!” and then promptly hung up.

One safety tip the speaker passed on, is that while traveling over a frozen river, always carry a big stick, holding it sideways with both hands as you walk. That way, if you fall through the ice, it will stop you from going all the way under because it will hopefully be longer than the hole is wide, and you can pull yourself out. He’s done that for years. But when he actually fell through, it was such a shock that the first thing he did was throw the stick down so he could grab for the ice. That reflex reaction almost got him killed.

One time, search and rescue were out looking for a family that had disappeared. They were riding around on snowmobiles looking, and it was dark, so they all had their lights on. Well, a snowmobile went flying past, but they just figured it was one of the search party so they kept right on looking. Turns out later, that it was the people they were looking for. They were so frozen and disoriented that they hadn’t even seen the other snow machines. Fortunately, they made it into town (kind of bumped into it). But they couldn’t remember where they had come from, and the sled full of kids and one adult was still out there. So the search party went looking in the direction that the people had come from when they had whizzed by. They finally found the rest of the family, huddled in the sled under a tarp, half frozen. I’m still not sure what the rational was for disconnecting the sled. Maybe speed and gas consumption? Or maybe it was a frozen brain not quite working right.

He told of a friend of his who got caught in a terrible storm. He kept trying to find his way home, but just couldn’t. Finally, he was forced to stop and build a snow cave and just ride out the storm. He almost froze to death that night, but somehow managed to stay just warm enough to survive. The next morning, he heard noises outside his snow cave—an animal sniffing around. He listened carefully, and decided it was a dog—not a wolf or bear—so he carefully crawled out of his cave. He was shocked to see his own dog, but was even more shocked when his wife came walking up to see what all the barking was about. She said, “What are you doing out here?! I’ve got breakfast ready, and it’s getting cold.” The storm had been so bad that he’d spent the night in his own backyard without even realizing it.

Most high schools have “Don’t drink and drive” or “Say No to Drugs” assemblies. We have “How to survive the bush” speakers. I guess a frozen body is seen as being more problematic than a fried brain.

Traveling Tales

Some of us are having a “girls’ night” of talking and games, and it is a blast—a much-needed diversion. Well, tonight, we got talking about some of the traveling “adventures” that have happened to us flying around the bush. They are just too good to not pass along.

This past December, I needed to fly home. All I wanted to do was get to Anchorage so I could head off to Utah. Simple, right? Apparently not.

I arranged to get picked up at Alakanuk (I had to get to Emmonak to catch a flight to St. Marys and on to Anchorage). But they didn’t give me a time—they just said the pilot would radio when he was on his way. And he did—about 20 minutes before I was supposed to catch my connecting flight. Some guy came and picked me up with a snow machine and we raced out to the airstrip, which is exactly that—no building, just a strip where planes land. The bush plane had just landed, so I helped unload the postage and a pile of packages, which the snow machine driver was going to deliver in the village.

I then jumped in the copilot seat, and we took off—headed the wrong direction. I hollered to the pilot that I needed to go to Emmonak, and he said, “Ya, I know. But we need to drop some stuff off in Nunam.” “But I need to catch a flight!” “Don’t worry—they’ll wait.” So we headed to Nunam. But not before he practiced his stunt flying—buzzing the tundra to show me a close-up of a moose and her calf, flying low over ice fishermen so I could get an eyeball-to-eyeball view.

Somehow we made it to Nunam. As we were unloading the rest of the boxes, a guy drove up in a snow machine dragging a sled with two old people who must have been pushing a hundred. He yelled, “They need a ride to Emmo. Can you take them?” So the pilot pulled two collapsible chairs out of the tail of the plane; he ran them along metal tracks on the floor and clicked them into place. The old people climbed on in.

When we finally got to Emmonak half an hour late, there was no sign of the plane. Turns out I had plenty of time to sit and visit, because the thing was almost two hours behind schedule. (Emmonak does have a shack on their airstrip, which makes waiting much nicer.) But checking in was dumb. Not because there was anything wrong with my luggage, but everyone flying had to toss their luggage onto the scale, and GET ON WITH IT! I felt like the prize steer at a cattle auction. All I can say is that my luggage has got to lose some weight.

The rest of the flight was uneventful. Of course, I came prepared. I’d learned from experience that the planes aren’t heated. You combine an Alaska winter with high altitude flying, and things get a bit frosty. But not to worry. I was layered. Long johns (top and bottom), sweats and jeans; T-shirt, sweat shirt, and jacket. So I was only cold—not frozen.

All in all, it was a pretty average flight for up here. But of course, there is the condition of the planes.

One teacher was on a small bush plane when it blew a tire on landing. The pilot was yelling, “MAYDAY ON THE RUNWAY! MAYDAY ON THE RUNWAY!” as the plane careened down the landing strip and finally tipped on its side, bending the propeller. Fortunately those things aren’t really going very fast, so no one was hurt.

Another teacher rode a plane with a broken seatbelt. It kept coming undone from the floor.

And then there is the duct tape. A teacher commented on being on a plane where a window was duct taped in. Someone else piped up, “I challenge you to find a bush plane that hasn’t been duct taped together.”

But tonight, the prize for most adventurous flight went to Theresa—hands down.

This poor girl was called and offered a job taking over a class where the teacher had just up and quit. (But that is another story of its own.) She was told that they needed her within a couple of days. So she had precious little time to prepare for the trip. She’d never been to Alaska, wasn’t sure what to expect, and it was her first year of teaching. But she was determined to do it.

Well, her flight schedule was insane! So to facilitate things, she wore flip flops so she wouldn’t have to take her shoes off and on at security checkpoints. She managed to survive the tight transfers and plane changes. She was sitting at the Bethel (Alaska) air shack waiting for the final leg of her flight, when she was approached by a native girl. The girl asked her if she was the new teacher going to Alakanuk. Theresa said she was, so the girl asked her if she could help take her baby to the baby’s father in Alakanuk. Thinking that the girl needed help carrying her stuff, she said, “Sure.” The girl handed her the child, and started to walk off.
Theresa hollered, “Wait! Where are you going?!”
“Oh, it’s OK. Just give her to her father.”
Theresa protested, but the girl insisted that the baby needed to get to Alakanuk. The father was expecting her.
“What’s the father’s name?” Theresa asked.
The girl told her.
“Don’t you want to know my name?” Theresa asked.
“Why?” the girl asked, and she walked off.
So Theresa boarded the plane carrying a stranger’s baby. When she got to Alakanuk, no one was there to pick her up, and the father wasn’t there for the baby. Apparently, no one told the father she was coming.

She eventually got to her house, and she got the baby to the father. (One of the locals saw the guy riding by on an ATV, and flagged him down. He was headed out hunting--but went home with a baby instead.) Unfortunately, what Theresa didn’t get was her luggage. It had been lost. So for three weeks, the poor girl had to walk around in flip flops and the same change of clothes; other teachers helped out best they could. Her luggage eventually showed up. It had been sitting in Emmonak the whole time—about 15 miles up river.

Youth Temple Trip

This past week, our boys went on a youth temple trip for the bush branches. It was something that had been planned before the district was dissolved and incorporated into the stakes, but they went ahead with it.

It was a wonderful experience for them! The kids all flew into Anchorage on Friday afternoon. (Keri and I took our boys to the airstrip in Emmonak by snow machine—about a 40 minute ride—where they caught the plane to St. Marys and then on to Anchorage.) The kids were all picked up in Anchorage and taken to the host homes to drop off their stuff, grab an apple, and run to the temple for their first session. There were 14 kids—9 boys and 5 girls. (Note the picture at the top.) All the boys stayed at the Harrells’ (a truly brave couple) and the girls all stayed at another home.

They had a baptism session Friday evening, and then again Saturday afternoon. They also had time as a group to socialize and hit the mall and play games together. Saturday evening, there was a church dance for the older kids and bowling for the younger ones. On Sunday, they were able to attend a “real” ward that actually meets in a building. The rest of the kids left Sunday afternoon, but our boys and one other stayed until Monday because the planes don’t run to our part of the bush on the weekend (too remote, I guess). So Sunday evening they went to a fireside.

It was an amazing experience on many levels. They were able to get to the temple. They were able to do service. And just as importantly, they were able to associate with good kids who have the same standards. Sometimes, in the bush, it can be very difficult and lonely. Not only are many of the kids the only members of the church in their village, but they are so isolated that it can feel like they are the only members on earth. And this gave them the opportunity to meet other kids who are just like them—standing tall while living in an area fraught with immorality and low morals of all kinds.

The boys came home all excited and chatty about what they’d done, who they’d met, and what a great cook Sister Harrell is. They had questions and comments about the fireside they had attended. And they were thrilled because as a group, they had done enough baptisms to make a ward.

But the truly amazing thing is what went into this trip to make it possible. This trip took an enormous amount of work and planning. People gave of their time and themselves, and they housed and fed the group of energetic and hungry teenagers. But another logistical difficulty was getting the kids there in the first place.

Getting to Anchorage from the bush is not an easy feat. There are no roads, so the only way in is by plane. And flying around the bush is a very expensive venture. It would have cost us $1400 for our boys to go. But some amazing members in the bush donated their frequent-flier miles so that all the youth who wanted to and were able, could attend without it costing them anything. And the people who donated miles didn’t even have anyone attending. They were going to kids whom they may have never met. Our boys were able to go on the trip because of a man by the name of Blake Hillis. I’ve never met him before and don’t even know what part of the bush he is from. All I know is that he is a kind and generous man who donated enough miles to get two boys to the temple and back.

So just know that the Lord has many anonymous heroes helping with His work—even out here in the bush.

Zombie Fish

I’m sure you will all be happy to know that zombie fish are alive and well here in the village of Alakanuk. Actually, throughout the Yukon River and beyond.

Yes, it is true. They are known as blackfish. But the truly strange thing is that people catch and eat these mystical monsters. In fact, I hear they are quite tasty. The problem, as with any supernatural fiend, is how to get it to the state of being dead. You see, these fish can live quite well out of water. True. Apparently, they have the benefit of both lungs and gills. And after being frozen, they come back to life when thawed. Also true. If cats have nine lives, how many do blackfish have?

The boys made blackfish traps in Yup’ik class. The picture is of Taco with his trap. It works like this: You set the trap in the river, fixing it in place (I’m not sure how), and just leave it there. The fish come swimming along, and they follow the wooden “funnel” right into the trap, where they swim around, unable to figure a way out. (They are mystical—not smart.) Sometime later, you return and pick up your trap, which is full of fish. They are rather small, only about 6 – 8 inches long, so the trap can hold a lot of fish. Then you eat them—assuming you can get them dead first.

The Yup’ik class is going to take a field trip where they set out their traps, and see how many fish they can catch.

Their Yup’ik teacher said that one time, he was in a hurry, so he took the blackfish he’d caught and just threw them in the freezer all together. A couple of months later, he took the solid block of frozen fish out and plopped them in a pot of water to thaw them and then cook them. When he came back a little bit later, there were a bunch of fish flopping around on the floor. They had come back to life and flopped their way right out of the pot. Kind of creepy, if you ask me.

While I realize that this makes them perfect for the frozen north (they can survive the winters because when the rivers freeze, they are still alive come spring), it makes me a little wary of making a meal of them. This breath-out-of-water and come-alive-again fish is just a little too weird for my liking. Maybe a wooden stake through the heart might do the trick. Works for vampires. A box of toothpicks should do nicely.

Spring Fever & Rabbit Stew

Excitement abounds here among the hunting crowd (the hunting crowd being Keri and his hunting buddy Larry). They caught a rabbit!

A couple of days ago, Larry showed up at the house with a grin and a bunch of nylon cord. He’d rescued a set of blinds bound for the dump and put them to use one last time by unstringing the cords—and made them into rabbit snares. So Keri and Larry took off for the trees and spent several hours setting traps. The next day, when no unsuspecting bunny had inadvertently run through the snare, Larry baited them with wilted spinach. And today, success! There stood Larry at the door holding a big snow white rabbit by its back feet. He’d gone out to check the traps—and they’d gotten one!

So Keri butchered the thing and I helped him stretch the skin (now there’s something I never saw myself doing). We are all going to eat rabbit stew tomorrow after church. Leigh and Larry Myers are the other couple in the village who are members of the church. So we get together every Sunday to listen to church on speaker phone, and then have dinner. They are good friends. I like them a lot.

This evening, Keri and I went out to check the traps again. But I think Spring Fever has hit a little before it should, and that makes us do weird things. It was 25 degrees above zero outside, so beautiful and spring-like that I dressed down—jeans only, no snow pants; no hat or face mask; and ankle socks instead of my long socks; my spring boots instead of Tanner’s warm ones. Well, about 100 yards out I missed my hat when the wind started whistling in my ears, but I didn’t turn back for it because the sun was starting to go down and we still had a hike ahead of us. And I noticed the lack of snow pants when I started wading through knee-deep snow in jeans and also when I fell flat on my face. And apparently, my sock and my left boot didn’t like each other, because they would not cooperate. My sock kept catching on my boot and being pulled down, so I didn’t have a sock on for insulation and I was walking on a ball of crunched up fabric.

Turns out we didn’t catch another rabbit, but Keri built up the walls around the snares. They put a border of sticks on one side of the snare with the idea that the rabbit can only get to the spinach from the other side, thereby having to reach through the snare. Tomorrow, I’m going to leave some crackers with peanut butter and see if that doesn’t get their attention. Peanut butter is smelly. Sure they normally eat vegetables. But who says they wouldn’t like a change of pace? Just because they aren’t offered desert doesn’t mean they won’t like it. So I will try to remember to report on the success of a change in diet in the rabbit world.

I was about frozen by the time we headed back. My kneecaps were ready to fall off, and I couldn’t feel my ears. As we trudged along, we heard yelling and screaming coming from the direction of the school. When we rounded the corner, there were about a dozen kids playing their version of kickball in the snow, and another bunch on the playground—wearing no hats, and coats flapping open. Seems I’m not the only one around here affected by a sudden case of Spring Fever.

Tales of Monkey Tails

OK. I have got to pass on words of wisdom from my son. The other day, Tanner and I were lounging around talking, and the conversation wound around, covering all sorts of topics like conversations tend to do.

Well, we’d been talking about the pre-existence, valiant spirits coming to earth, whether or not there would be animals in heaven, were animals as valiant as people when they were spirits, and on and on. Then somehow, the conversation took a turn and it came up that I am sometimes klutzy.

Tanner said:
Actually, Mom, I think you were supposed to come to earth as a monkey, but God had mercy on you. God said, “I can’t send that poor creature down as a monkey and expect her to handle a tail; that would really throw her off. I’d better send her as a human so she only has four appendages. Five would really do her in.”

I about fell off the couch I was laughing so hard.

Beached Whale Sighting

There was a beached whale reported just outside Alakanuk the other day. You might ask yourself what the blazes a beached whale was doing up the ice-covered Yukon River. Well, I’ll tell you—she was stuck in waist-deep snow. Seriously. I should know—I was there—and I was beached.

We were skiing along a couple of days ago, and Keri decided we should take a slightly different route. Well, that slight difference just about put me 6 feet under—under the snow, that is. I hit a soft spot, and my skis sank in and came to a dead stop, but my body kept on going. I tried catching myself with my poles, but they disappeared up to the handles. I know this, because I could see the handles sticking up a few inches from my face, which was now planted firmly in the snow. I tried getting up, but every time I moved, my skis sank in further and my legs got more twisted. And I couldn’t reach my feet to pop my skis off. I resembled a pretzel.

That’s when a plane just about ran us over. You see, I happened to get stuck at the end of the airstrip, so the plane buzzed our heads as it came in for a landing. (And this wasn’t one of our bush planes, it was a big one. It must've held twelve people, maybe more.) How embarrassing.

Keri popped out of his skis and waded over to me—the closer he got, the more he sank. After much grunting and nose scrunching (he always scrunches when he’s concentrating), he was finally able to get my skis off. But now, I didn’t want to move. When he yanked my poles out of the snow, I could see through the hole—and it looked like a long way down. Turns out we were skiing on top of a mess of bushes and scraggly trees. Since I didn’t want to crash through and be stuck ‘til spring, I decided to try and roll over to where it was packed solid. (We knew it was solid because there were fairly fresh snow machine tracks.) Problem was that it was slightly uphill...and there was nothing to grab onto...and I could hardly move because my snow clothes were suddenly restrictive...and they felt like they weighed a ton. So I did the only thing I could think of. I laid there and laughed—hard. The whole situation just hit me as being ridiculous. And the harder I laughed, the less I could move.

That’s when the plane took off—again, right over our heads. I was lying on my back, and had such an up close and personal view of the plane’s underbelly that I could count its rivets.

But that gave me incentive to inch myself to solid snow and get out of there. I didn’t want to be around when Search & Rescue, the Coast Guard, and the Marine Animal Rescue Society show up in response to a pilot’s desperate plea to help save the beached whale. THAT would have been embarrassing.

Potlatch

In February, we went to a Potlatch in the village. It’s a night of native dancing. Kind of like a Hawaiian luau, but indoors and without the food. The thing ran two nights, and each night was about 8 hours long. It went from 6:00 in the evening until about 2:00 the following morning. We left about 11:00 both nights. (I know—pathetic; we just couldn’t stick it out.) It was actually pretty fun—especially since we know so many of the people who were performing.

People come from neighboring villages, and it's a big party. Each village holds two Potlatches every winter. They don’t have any after the thaw, because it is a busy time until the next freeze. During the summer and autumn, they are fishing (they actually go to fish camps where they stay and catch fish and prepare the meat, etc.), they are hunting and preparing meat and skins, and they are gather berries. So they don’t have time for celebrations. Besides—during the winter, it is much easier to travel to other villages for the Potlatches because the rivers are frozen over, and they can use snow machines to get around. And the Potlatches help break up the monotony of the long winter. They practice for several weeks beforehand. Just a couple of weeks after the one in February, they began practicing for the next one.

It's a big deal when a child performs at their first Potlatch. It's like a debutante dance, or a Spanish quinceaῆera, except it's for boys and girls. The child and his/her parents make special matching costumes, and they have special dances that they do together. The family brings a LOT of gifts for people who come. It is a very expensive event. At the one that we went to, I was given some warm knit gloves and a cool crocheted potholder. Keri was given a hat with ear pieces and some socks. Taco was given candy. And we were given sodas and cups of water. You multiply that by 200 to 300 people, and that is a lot of gifts being handed out. There were also some very expensive gifts that were given to the elders—like tools, torches, spears, stuff for ice fishing, etc.

After the child’s first Potlatch, when they have been presented to the village, then they are able to dance in any Potlatch. It was fun to watch our friends and their children.

The dancers move their body and use a handheld feather thing. Drummers chant and beat a type of drum made of a covering over a giant wooden ring. Each dance is quite short, usually only lasting a couple of minutes but the dancers repeat the dance as long as someone in the audience yells “more” or “again” in Yup’ik. (I can’t remember the words.) Most of the time, they are up there doing the same dance for about 20 minutes or so, but on some of the dances, the dancers repeated it for over 45 minutes. They looked exhausted.

The pictures show: part of the parking lot at the Potlatch (nothing but ATVs and snow machines). In the group shot, it shows my friend Stephanie and her daughter (in dark purple, and Stephanie wears glasses and has her hair piled on top of her head); her husband is kneeling on the ground with their son (also in purple, and her husband has glasses). It is their son and daughter’s first Potlatch. The other group picture shows Stephanie and her daughter (both in pink) dancing the second night.

I took some videos of it, because Stephanie’s camera broke and they didn’t have any pictures of their kids’ first Potlatch. That would be like not getting pictures of a high school graduation. But it was too big to e-mail, so I put it on YouTube. If you want to see some, just pull up YouTube.com. Then put AlaskaGirl8 in the search bar at the top, and it will bring up my Potlatch videos. There are seven of them, and they are all short.

Just Call Me Frosty

I have made a discovery that will turn the psychiatric world on its head. That is:
Cabin fever leads to temporary insanity. And I have the story to prove it.

Here we live in the frozen tundra, but I got such a severe case of cabin fever that the fever part must have affected my brain. I was BEGGING to get outside. Unfortunately, “getting outside” around here is a team sport. It is stupidity to try it alone. And although I may have become insane, I’m not stupid. I needed an outside-buddy to come be miserable with me. The nature of the terrain, the freezing temperatures, the grumpiness of the wildlife when they run across humans, and the chance of getting lost all make it necessary to go with a buddy. That way, if you die, you have company.

I’d asked around, but no one seemed to want to take up cross country skiing—mainly because it involved going outside. After many not-so-subtle hints, a bit of nagging, and an episode of tears, Keri finally agreed. The problem was that he rarely got home before dark—and usually arrived long after. And “getting outside” is not only a team sport, it’s a daytime sport. Otherwise, you find yourself hanging around wolves and other cute and cuddly fanged beasts. So he began heading in to work earlier. Much earlier. That first morning, he got up at 4:00 AM so he could get enough work done to come home before dark. That is about the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard of. I think he likes me.

Even with the 4 AM start, he had a hard time getting home—but he made it, with about an hour and a half of sunlight to spare. So we grabbed Taco (Jeremy) and took off. (Tanner wanted nothing to do with it. Apparently he is immune to cabin fever.) It was marvelous swooshing through the snow and just being outside! Who cares that it was 20 below zero—40 below with wind chill. We were having a blast.

The trip was problem-free for about five whole minutes. That’s about how long it took me to realize that I couldn’t see. Seems my glasses don’t take too well to sub-zero temperatures. They somehow formed a layer of ice over the lenses. And since I am legally blind without them, and couldn’t see with them, it posed a bit of a problem. But I refused to turn back. I just alternated between looking over them, under them, and through tiny cracks in the ice. Occasionally, I stopped to chip the ice off, and I’d get a couple minutes of sightseeing in. But the ice didn’t stop at my glasses. It covered my body. My hair and jacket turned white with ice. (Notice the picture at the top? That’s me.) Keri started calling me Frosty.

Even so, it really was wonderful to be outside. We skied through the trees and scrub brush for a mile or so, dropped onto the Yukon, and headed back up river on the snow-covered ice. Eventually, we got back on land and kept going parallel to the river, looking for the turnoff to take us back to the village. Meanwhile, the sun went down. And it was dark. This was a bit worrisome. But it also turned out to be a good thing, because with no sun, Keri was able to spot the rotating light of the Alakanuk airstrip. It was behind us. WAY behind us. Apparently, we’d shot right past the village. We were on a fast and furious trip to the North Pole.

By the time we got home, we were frozen and exhausted. I was actually glad to be INside again. I collapsed into a chair, and since Tanner had stayed home, I elected him to pull off my boots and snow pants while I sat there and thawed. I ended up with frostbite on my left ear. (FYI: frostbite hurts!)

We slept well that night. And the next day, I covered up my left ear really well, and we took off on skis again. It really is great to be outside!

The Moose is in the Mire

Keri and his friend Larry have been trying to get a moose since they got here. But the moose have been doing an even better job at hiding. Finally, with hunting season almost done (it finished the end of February, which happened to be on a Sunday), they made one last ditch effort to bring home the bacon—in moose meat.

The last Saturday of the month, those two left early in the morning, and they were gone for almost 12 hours. If we’d been almost anywhere else on the continent, I would have been suspicious of them hanging out at a local diner laughing it up, and then putting on quite an act when they came home empty handed. But we have no diner. Or movie theater. Or mall. Or library. Or anywhere else that one might go to pass the time. Besides—no one can fake the exhaustion they had. When they returned, Larry went to bed for two days. His back had given out on him. And Keri was a wreck. And they were both frozen. They’d shot a moose, but it took off into the bushes. They tracked the thing for over two miles in knee-deep snow. Sometimes, they were having to crawl through the brush. It’s amazing what spaces that animal could fit through. Finally, when it began to get dark and the wolves were coming out, they headed for home empty handed.

The next day, we were faced with quite a dilemma. Go look for the moose on the Sabbath, or keep the letter of the “Sabbath day holy” law and let meat go to waste. We decided that it would be worse to let meat go to waste. So Keri, Tanner, and Taco headed out in search of the elusive moose. (The picture is of Keri and the boys just before they left on their moose search.) Several hours later, they too returned empty-handed. They’d picked up the trail right away, and followed it easily at first. Well, easily is a bit of stretch, considering they were crawling through brush and digging through snow.

But it seems the moose gradually began to get stronger until the trail stopped. Which is good news for the moose. So we are assuming that it healed and will live a long and prosperous life—until next hunting season.

Think Your Church is Noisy? Bet I Can Top That!

Today, we had a change in our Branch Presidency. When they dissolved the District and divided the branches among the three Anchorage Stakes, that presented a problem in our branch. Our Branch Presidency all live in Anchorage (they have to for logistical reasons), but they are responsible for the people in the branch. But our Branch President lived in the wrong stake. So they had to replace him. We now have a new Branch Presidency.

We have our meetings over the phone. Everyone calls into a conference line and inputs a special PIN, and we are all joined on the same line. We are all supposed to mute our phones unless we are making a comment (like during class time) or actually speaking or teaching. But sometimes, people forget to mute or the mute doesn’t go through. Then things can get pretty interesting.

Anyway, today’s Sacrament meeting was largely about the switch. The previous presidency and the new presidency all spoke, and several wives too. We had people speaking from Hawaii (one of the new counselors is on vacation), driving cross country (the other counselor was travelling back up from the lower 48), Anchorage, and across the bush. But they weren’t the only ones contributing. Others participated quite by accident. We had the usual echo and background noises of static and clicking (like the movie Signs), and today we also had running and screaming children, sneezing, static and feedback sound that hurt our eardrums, and a flushing toilet. But the thing that was the most distracting was when someone slid their phone into their shirt pocket, and it picked up their heartbeat so loudly that it drowned out the person speaking. It sounded like Edgar Allen Poe’s “Tell-Tale Heart.” That’s when the branch president interrupted the meeting and asked everyone to mute their phones.

So next time you hear a baby fussing or kids whispering, don’t sweat it. At least your meeting isn’t like something out of the Twilight Zone. I’ll take screaming kids or flushing toilets any day. Just don’t give me the BA-BOOM...BA-BOOM...BA-BOOM...

You Want to Know Cold? I'll Tell You Cold!

We live in the bush of Alaska, just below the Arctic Circle, and our furnace broke this morning. It’s getting cold fast. I just broke a chunk of ice off of the inside furnace room. I’d go to a movie or the mall to warm up, but there isn’t one. And even if there was, it would require travelling in the open on the back of a snow machine.
So next time you scrape snow off a windshield and climb into a not-yet warm car, just be glad it’s enclosed. And meanwhile, enjoy your heat!
Sorry—I’m looking really hard, but I just can’t find the humor in this one. I think it’s been frozen out of me.
(By the way—I can tell you most positively that Hell has nothing to do with fire and brimstone, and everything to do with ice. Come visit sometime and I’ll give you a sneak preview.)
Gotta go put on a second layer of socks.