The Big Breakup!

We finally had Spring Breakup in Alakanuk--our tiny village on the banks of the Yukon River. We knew it was coming, because we got a play-by-play account of Breakup on the River. It was like having a town crier. “One o’clock and all is well...Two o’clock and all is well...Three o’clock and all is well...” You get the picture. But instead, our cry went like this: “The ice has moved in Tanana...The ice has moved in Klulato...The ice has moved in Kaltag...in Anviko...in Russian Mission...Pilot Station...Mountain Village...” And finally, it “moved” in Alakanuk.

I wasn’t sure what “moving” meant or why it was such a big deal--until I saw it. What a sight! All I could do was gawk. Spring Breakup truly is spectacular! I’ve never seen anything like it in my life!

One day, we were standing on the banks of the Yukon, looking across the 300 feet or so of flat, frozen river. The ice right at the shore had melted, so there was running water on the sandbar. But the rest of the three-football-fields distance was smooth ice.

The very next day, we heard the cry. “The ice has moved!”

We ran down to the Yukon and into a dream. It was magic! Mountain ranges of broken ice now stood where just a few hours before, all had been smooth and quiet. Chunks as big as semi-trucks were jammed up and reaching to the sky. It was magnificent. The power of nature is stunning.

I can’t begin to describe the immensity of this power. Even pictures can’t portray the force of nature. But it will give a small idea...kind of like a miniature replica of the Taj Mahal. So here we go:

This is a picture of Spring Breakup on the Yukon River near the Alakanuk dock. It is taken around midnight...with no flash. I love the 24-hour sun!

For a video of the breakup, go to
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49PY9bWSJ_U
This is a little long (about 3 minutes), and I actually do a lot of babbling and repeating and stumbling over my words...because I am so “WOW”ed by what I see.

My personal favorite is this video where Taco gets “up close and personal” with the Yukon. I couldn't stop laughing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOqb1w7QyIM&feature=related

Q & A part 2

I received an email (Question #4) asking, “What exactly is ‘breaking through’?” (see The Adaptable Brain)

It’s really quite simple. “Breaking through” is exactly that--breaking through the ice.

In The Adaptable Brain, Keri and Taco and I were riding the snow machine down the Yukon River. It had been warmer weather, and the snow had turned slushy--and yet we were barreling down the Yukon River on a huge, heavy piece of machinery. I didn’t trust the ice. I leaned forward and said in Taco’s ear, “If we break through, you push off and roll away and don’t stop--no matter what.”

There is good reason for those instructions. Every year, people push the limits and get on the ice too early (before it has frozen thick enough) or stay on too late (long after it has started to melt). And every year, someone falls through the ice...and oftentimes drowns or simply disappears.

Last year (maybe the year before), we lost a recently retired school board member who was driving his snow-go down the river with his young grandson, when he suddenly broke through. His grandson was sitting in front, and the old man grabbed the boy and threw him towards the bank. But the man couldn’t save himself. The boy survived, but his grandfather drowned.

In school, the kids have to sit through a survival safety course every year. One of the things they are taught is when walking on the ice, carry a big stick and hold it sideways. That way, if you fall through the ice, the stick will hopefully stop you from going all the way under, and you can use it to crawl back out. The trick is to not let go of the stick. The guy I heard lecturing said that the first time he broke through ice, he immediately let go of his stick so he could try to catch himself with his hands. Reflexes tend to take over, and they aren’t always right.

If you break through while riding on the river, you are to push off, try to land sideways, and roll away from the hole. Don’t get up and run--just roll. Your weight is distributed farther, and there is less chance of breaking through again. That is what I was telling Taco to do if we should break through.

We had just spent an hour or so digging our snow machine out of slushy snow. And I just wanted to make sure he knew what to do if we ended up breaking through the ice underneath.

Life in the tundra...on the banks of the Yukon River...just below the Arctic Circle...can get crazy at times.

The Cat's Meow

The other day, we went for a six-mile jog /walk/crawl. Keri and Taco were fine—I was the one who could hardly move by the time we got back. Because I didn’t want to get my good shoes all muddy, I'd worn my old ”piece of junk” pair—also called a “ten minutes in these things and my feet are screaming” pair. By the time we got back home, my feet were doing just that--screaming. The next morning, my feet still ached, my ankles were stiff, and I had blisters. My entire body joined in on the “woe is me” chorus. Every muscle in my body was quite annoyed with me and let me know about it whenever I so much as moved.

But the shoe-fiasco aside, we had a WONDERFUL time on our walk. The birds were out in force. We saw Canadian geese and trumpet swans flying overhead. I love watching the swans. They remind me of giraffe--a picture of grace and beauty in what looks like a disproportioned body. There was also a sandpiper near the road, as well as a slew of other birds flitting around the trees. What with all the honks and chirps and tweedles and twaddles and twitters, we’ve got a perpetual orchestra going on around these parts. They don’t even slow down at night--maybe because the sky never gets black, but it just gets darker blue like denim, so they don’t realize they are supposed to sleep. I love it!

But there are some animals that are never seen here--and I’m not talking about the obvious tropical variety. I’m talking about basic things--like snakes. Snakes just don’t exist in Alaska. In fact, no reptiles do. That is something I look at as being a big plus. It almost makes up for the frigid weather.

Trying to describe a snake to the locals is a real challenge, because there is no frame of reference. You can’t say, “it feels like...” or “it looks like...” or even “it sounds like...” There is nothing in their world that is remotely similar to a snake.

Another thing that can’t be found--at least out in the bush--is the good-old-fashioned housecat. They are unheard of. A while back, during basketball practice, a crowd gathered on the steps at the side of the gym. (Our bleachers here consist of three wall-to-wall steps leading down onto the gym floor.) The group was all excited about something, so Taco went over to check it out. There, in the middle of the ruckus was a visitor from Anchorage, holding a Siamese cat. The kids had never seen anything like it. They were all talking at once.

“It must be a small dog!” “Then why does it look so funny?” “It doesn’t sound like a dog.” “Why does it have such a long tail?” “What is it? What is it?” “Can you eat it?”...

One of the kids made the mistake of trying to touch the thing but ended up kind of bonking it on the head, and the cat struck out at him in true Siamese fashion. The visitor just grinned.

Taco watched for a moment and said, “It’s a cat.”

Immediately, there was a flurry of questions. “What’s a cat?” “How do you know? Have you ever seen one before?” “Why does it sound so funny?” “Why is it so mean?”

Taco tried to explain about cats, but it just brought up more questions.

Finally he said, “A cat is like a really small lynx that you keep as a pet.”

There was a chorus of “Awwww!” with grins and head nods.

THAT was something they understood.

Prom Night

We went to Prom on Saturday night—all three of us. So Taco has now been to his first dance, where he sat around with his parents and ate cheese chunks, olives, and baby carrots for dinner. I think there was a fruit platter, but that vanished almost the moment it was set out.

The Alakanuk Prom is definitely different than any I’ve been to—and I’ve attended a few. (I’ve gone to several with Keri to help chaperone.) I think there were more adults than kids there (not much to do around these parts, so everyone turns out).

And around here, “anything goes” in the wardrobe department. The kids were dressed in everything from sweatpants to scruffy jeans and t-shirts to full-blown formals. I fit right in. I wore a fancy beaded top with a pretty black skirt. And to complete the outfit, I decked my feet out in hiking boots. But at least I scraped the mud off and wiped them with a washcloth first. They had won out over the other options—snow boots, white runners, or big rubber farmer boots.

During the evening, there was the traditional announcement of Prom King and Queen, as well as the Junior Prince & Princess. The Prince & Princess were siblings, and their dance together was hilarious. They stayed about as far away from each other as they could and robot-stepped around the room.

The decorations were cute, the music was not bad, and I got to dance with my husband. It was a fun evening.

Next year, I think I’ll buy something special to wear to the Prom. Like black runners—and maybe even some sparkly shoelaces.

Our Junior Prince & Princess.

A group of kids dancing the Macarena—wearing anything from jeans to formal dress. The girl on the right is wearing a quspuk (a traditional Yup’ik top). Just off camera is someone in sweatpants.

The Adaptable Brain

It is amazing what mindset a person can get used to.

Several years ago, we moved to Wrightwood, a small mountain town in southern California. It is in an area that I’m sure must be the fire capital of the world. We lived there for 14 years, and I don’t think a summer went by that the town wasn’t threatened by a wildfire coming from one direction or another, sometimes several fires at once.

When we first moved in, we lived just below town in a sparsely populated valley where the houses were rather remote. If you jumped really high, you could see the roof of a neighbor. It was the type of place that you could go stand on your front porch in your underwear, and no one would care. Of course, I guess you could do that in San Francisco or New York too. In our valley it was because there was no one around to see you.

Our first week there, we hit two out of three of the “fire, famine, and pestilence.” Mice got into our pantry and left little droppings in strategic places; I had to throw away a 25 pound bag of flour. Ants infested the same room; there went my sugar and a bottle of corn syrup. I made the mistake of leaving the stroller on the front porch overnight, and awoke to find that all the rubber had been chewed off the wheels; kangaroo rats had turned the stack of wood under the porch into their personal country club and invited every relative within a ten mile radius. But the worst was when I came face-to-face with a rattlesnake.

Plenty of famine and pestilence to go around. Now all we needed was fire. The second week took care of that one. A wildfire came through and the entire valley was evacuated.

We stayed with friends, but still kept tabs on what was going on. We drove to the highway to look across the valley, watching an army of firefighters battling the flames. I made frequent phone calls to the “command post,” the only people allowed to give out information. About 2:00 AM on the third day, I called in, identified myself as a resident, and asked what the status of the fire was. He said, very upbeat, “It’s going great! The only spot where we still have a serious concern is at the junction of Desert Front and Oak Springs Valley Roads.” I paused a moment before replying, “That’s my house!” oops. He backpedaled fast with, “Well, I’m sure everything is fine, because we have all our firefighting power focused right on your house.”

Sure enough, they stopped the fire. (The ironic thing is that five and a half years later, it burn down on its own. Chimney fire.)

The next day, we were able to return home. But once we got back in the place, we had a lot of cleaning to do. The entire house reeked of smoke. Soot was everywhere. I opened all the windows and doors and started scrubbing walls and counters, vacuuming floors and furniture, and washing window coverings. The place stunk, was hot as a toaster oven, and I was sweaty and grumpy. About mid afternoon, a refreshing breeze suddenly whipped through the house, and I heard a loud WHOOSH. I walked onto the deck, and saw flames about thirty feet high that had just exploded about thirty yards from the house. The breeze must have reignited smoldering embers. But I think the heat had cooked my brain, because I just watched. It didn’t even occur to me to leave.

As I stood there, I noticed two fire trucks racing towards our house. The flames had gotten their attention too. A helicopter, that was hauling water to a far plume of smoke, turned around and flew over our house, dumping its load right on the fire. The spray that hit me felt wonderful in the summer heat. So I left the fire in the hands of professionals—and went in and took a shower.

Looking back, I realize that the mind is weird. If I’d seen those flames a week before, I’d have been grabbing kids and high-tailing it out of town. But I’d become used to the idea of fire and had adapted to it. That’s kind of what has happened up here. I find myself saying and doing some pretty outlandish things.

Every day for months after I first arrived, I’d holler, “The sun’s up! Let’s open the blinds!” During the dead of winter, we celebrate whenever the sun peaks over the horizon. We love every moment that it creeps along the skyline before dropping down again. Now, we get to enjoy it most of the day! It’s up before me, and doesn’t set until about 11:30 at night. I love it!

“Have you got your gun?” That’s what I ask whenever Keri heads out the door for any kind of a jaunt (skiing, rabbit traps...). You’d think he was going for a midnight stroll through Central Park or something. But taking a gun if you’re going to be fifty yards from the house is just a really good idea here. Especially in spring when animals are more prone to have babies with them...or in winter when they are probably hungry...or in summer when there’s foliage and you can easily bump into them...or in autumn when they are eating lots getting ready for a long winter... So we take a gun with us wherever we go.

A week or so back, Keri was catching a bush plane to Anchorage, with several stops along the way. Since bush planes aren’t heated at all, we dress up in full winter gear before we hop aboard. He was lacing his boots, and I asked where his hat was. He said, “It’s OK. I don’t need it.” I responded with, “And what if your plane goes down?” (That’s a definite possibility in these parts.) He ran back and got his hat. There aren’t too many places where a major traveling concern is keeping your ears warm if the plane goes down.

Taco walking back from pulling a trap. I really like the frosty stars on the tree branches. They are beautiful.

A couple days ago, we went out to bring in the rabbit traps. The weather has changed; it now gets warmish during the day, and freezes at night. That means everything is covered with either hard ice or slushy snow, so we didn’t want to ski or walk. The ice makes skiing treacherous for me (I’m not that great when it comes to balancing on a pair of long skinny sticks). And walking was rather difficult because we sink up to our hips in the soft snow. So we took a monstrous snow machine that weighs a ton. Like that makes a lot of sense.

Sinking down to our hips. It makes walking rather difficult.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDr1QnZ-tyo
This is a short video of Taco trying to navigate the snow.

Out of our eight traps, we’d caught—and lost—two rabbits. Something (lynx or wolf—there were no distinctive tracks) took them, and broke the snare in the process. With only two more traps to go, Keri dropped Taco and I off to pull one while he rode down further to grab the other and get the snow machine turned around. Since we were on a narrow trail, in order to turn that beast of a machine around he had to drop down onto the Yukon, make a sweeping turn, and come back up on the slue facing the other direction. I heard him drop down to the river, and then he let out a loud, urgent yell. My head snapped up, and I choked, “Did he break through?” But we could see his head over the bushes, so we knew he was OK. He hadn’t fallen into the river. Maybe he had just lost the machine. Taco and I waded over, struggling through the deep snow. And there was the snow-go, half sunk in white mush. It hadn’t broken through—it was just good and stuck. The three of us tugged and pushed and dug and grumbled. And finally, we got it out.

The stuck snow machine (or snow-go, as the locals call it)

Keri didn’t want to risk trying to get it back up to the slue, so we took off down the river instead. Taco was between us. I leaned forward and said in his ear, “If we break through, you push off and roll away and don’t stop—no matter what.” He nodded.

Yup—the mind is weird. We’ve adapted to a whole new “normal.” We’ve gotten used to the idea of sunlight extremes (either no sun or constant sun), dicey bush planes, freezing temperatures, wild animals, and ice highways. And the crazy thing is, for the most part it’s not that bad.

Queen of Stupid

I have a confession: I can be the Queen of Stupid.

A few days ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go and check the rabbit traps. There happened to be a blizzard raging at the time, but I was very insistent.

But since I’m still recovering from the tweaked knee and jammed shoulder I got from the last time I went skiing, I decided to just walk along while Keri and Taco skied.

There are several lessons I learned from this little jaunt into the great outdoors:

1. It is much easier to stay up on top of the snow when on skis. Boots tend to sink down—sometimes to the hips.
2. Skis move much faster than boots—especially if the boots are three feet or more below the surface of the snow.
3. My boots are not waterproof.
4. Snow can somehow work its way inside ski pants.
5. I get very grumpy when trying to wade through deep snow.
6. Sometimes I have really dumb ideas.

We have eight traps spread out in an area about a quarter square mile—and we have to go about half mile to get there. That may not sound like much walking, but when you consider that it involves trudging through deep snow in hurricane winds, and having to make your way bent over under low growing trees, it can feel like quite a trek. And this particular trip was especially grueling.

In frustration, I finally started crawling on all fours trying to stay on top of the snow. By the time we were half done, I was completely undone. I refused to move another step. I’m not sure what I thought I was going to do out there in the freezing weather—maybe wait for spring? But I was pooped. So Keri said he would ski home and come back with the snow-go. (That is what the locals call a snow machine.)

Taco and I huddled in the trees, next to the frozen rabbit we’d caught, and tried staying out of the worst part of the storm. It seemed to take forever, but Keri finally flew up on the snow-go. We climbed on, holding Taco’s skis on one side and his poles on the other, stuck the frozen rabbit between us, and took off. We looked like knights of the north, carrying our lances as we head off for the joust.

One thing about our rabbit-hunting grounds is that in order to get home, we have to cross the airstrip. That wouldn’t be a problem, except for the mountains of snow surrounding it. To keep the airstrip functional, the thing is grated after every storm, and the mounds of snow are over six feet tall in places. Add to that fresh powder, and you’ve got a rather intimidating snow machine ride. Taco and I were a little nervous. Keri used his “Aw—we should be fine” routine, but we didn’t buy into it. And a good thing too. The first major hill, and the snow-go started slipping and sliding. Then it went into a roll. But the first bit of a tip onto its side, and Taco and I shot off of the seat like wound up springs. We did NOT want to get trapped underneath a snow machine. We took the skis, poles, and dead frozen rabbit with us—and landed in a crumpled heap. It looking like a garage sale gone wrong. Once we were off, Keri was able to get the machine upright again—but it took a lot of coaxing to get me back on.

We finally made it home with no more problems—but the next day I found a big honking bruise on my leg. It’s my Queen of Stupid badge.

Taco in the storm we were in.

Keri coming back from checking the trap. We have to bend over to get through the trees. The piece of plastic bag tied to the tree is what we put up to mark the path so we can find the trap again.

That is me--trying to trudge through the snow. It may look like I'm laughing, but trust me--I'm not. Not long after this was taken, I announced I was done, and sat down--which wasn't hard, since I didn't have far to sit.

Ice Age

We’ve entered the ice age.

For the past several days, we’ve had a cold snap and awful storms. According to the locals, that is because someone died. Two someones, actually. (It was old age.) They believe that when anyone dies, the weather turns colder. And so it did. We’ve had almost non-stop snow, and often blizzard conditions for a week now.

But before we realized the cold snap was here, we were still feeling a bit cocky about our spring weather. The temperature had hit double digits. The sun was shining. It was beautiful outside.

For some hare-brained reason, I decided to dress up the other day. Blame it on Spring Fever, or idiocy, or whatever—I wanted a change. So instead of PJs-robe-and-wool-socks or jeans-and-sweaters or any other outfit that would make sense in our neck of the woods, I put on a light cotton skirt and a t-shirt. No long johns—just bare legs. Inside, that may be kind of alright. But we were hoping for a package, so an outing to the post office was in order. Taco suggested I put on pants—but like I said, I was feeling rather cocky. I responded with, “It’s beautiful outside!” He shrugged, and off we went.

Well, I wasn’t ten feet from the front door before I admitted that maybe the skirt was a mistake. The wind was blowing, whipping right through my clothes. It was rather unpleasant.

Being a Saturday, the post office was only open for a couple of hours—and the woman often closes early just because. So I didn’t want to take time to run in and change. I also wasn’t going to miss out on a chance to get out (excitement is hard to find around here), so like an idiot, I just “pressed on.”

I didn’t realize how far away the post office is—I thought it was just up the trail a bit. But judging from that trip, it must be 100 miles away. And the trip back was even longer. The temperature had plummeted and the wind was really whipping. By the time I got home, I was purple with cold from head to toe. So I wrapped up in several layers of blankets and sat there shivering. And the kicker was, we hadn’t even gotten a package.

A few days later, Taco was at the school for testing. You know those stupid twice-a-year tests they make the kids take? Well, even though he is home schooled, he had to participate. And sure enough, when the temperatures were back into the negatives, the boiler decided to break down. Those poor teachers and kids about froze. They couldn’t cancel school, because they are required by the state to give the tests on a particular day.

Few people come to school dressed in winter gear, because they have the silly expectation that once they get inside, they will actually be warm. The ones who live near the school (like our son) will just wear a sweatshirt for the quick run there. So those poor kids who were supposed to be concentrating on the test sat there, bouncing in their seat and blowing on their hands trying to keep warm. Some of them even got up and hopped around the room in an attempt to get their blood flowing. (Since it was the essay section of the test, there was no concern of cheating.) Gee—I wonder if frozen brains is an excuse for low test scores.

It has hardly stopped snowing here for a week now, and at times we’ve had blizzards raging—heavy snow and howling winds. There are nights when the house shakes, rattles, and groans. I’m sure we are being blown off the map and all the way to Oz. But we must be taking a wrong turn somewhere because I have yet to see the Emerald City. Personally, I’d love a bit of green. We keep landing in the Diamond Dump where everything is white, icy, and cold.

Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes

The other day was awesome! I tweaked my knee and jammed my shoulder (the one I had surgery on last summer), but it was still awesome. Pretty sad that a day ending in injury was my best day yet. But I guess it’s understandable, considering I spent the first five or six weeks battling pneumonia and a thrown-out back. With a start like that, a messed up knee and shoulder is an improvement.

During the dead of winter, we hardly get any light. The sun comes up, runs along the horizon for 3 or 4 hours, and then goes back down. But we are approaching the other end of the spectrum. Now the sun doesn’t know when to go home—it just stays and stays. It’s kind of like an unexpected house guest. At first, you are really excited to have it drop by. But when it refuses to leave, you start wondering. It stays light here until after 10:30 now, and it gets later every day. Soon, it won’t be going down much at all.

This whole sun-switch has our internal clock completely thrown off. Unless we look at our watch, we have no idea what time it is. The other evening, we were doing stuff until dark, and then we sat down for dinner. It was 11 PM. Our systems are all whacked up.

So back to the terrific day. It was gorgeous outside! And we had sun! And it was not too cold (we'd hit double digits). Life was really looking up. So Keri, Taco, and I went cross country skiing.

The locals think we’re nuts to enjoy skiing. It’s hard to stay up on skinny skis, it takes energy, and you can’t go near as fast as on a snow machine. I guess they look at us the same way I look at people who seem to enjoy jogging—figure there must be a few screws loose.

But out in the open with nothing but nature and a couple other nut jobs (fellow skiers) is a wonderful place to be. And around here, if you go fifty feet in almost any direction, you end up in the thick of nature. So we took off. It was my first time on skis this year. We'd been gone a whole ten minutes before I wiped out—which was a coupe, because I expected to biff it after only five minutes.

We picked up a couple of extras on the way out. Or rather, they picked us up. A couple of village kids started following us, and before long they had started a game of “tag” with Keri and Taco. I was deemed too dangerous after my first face-plant, so I just stood there and took pictures. The kids ran all over, yelling and chasing and being chased. The kids were squealing, and my guys were roaring. I don’t know who was enjoying it more. All four of them ran and skied themselves to exhaustion.

When they finally slowed down, the kids decided they wanted to ski too—so they stood on the back of Keri’s skis and held on while he took them for a ride. It was really fun to watch.

I actually made it through most of the trip before I hurt myself. I waited until I was within sight of the houses where people could see, and did a spectacular face-plant that was quite laughable. If there had been judges, I’m sure I would have rated a 9.7 at least. I could feel my knee hurting, so I took my skis off and limped the rest of the way home. And the next day, I could hardly move my knee or shoulder. I hobbled around the house for days.

But tweaked knee and jammed shoulder included, it was still a terrific day!

The World Looks Better in Green

The world looks better in green. And I’m not talking about being in the jungles of Costa Rica rather than the snowy Arctic Circle—although that would be a definite improvement too. No, I’m talking about food.

Dr. Seuss had it right. Green in a diet is the way to go. Although, I don't think green eggs is a very good idea. Salmonella comes to mind. But green vegetables rock! In fact, produce of any kind is enough to cause a stampede in these parts.

We got a phone call today saying that the local grocery store had just gotten in a shipment of fruit, vegetables, and eggs. Around these parts, that’s as good as yelling “Gold!” And you know what happens in Alaska when there’s a gold strike. But those early miners had nothing on a bunch of Alaska Bush teachers chasing after apples and carrots. It was most exciting.

In fact, I was so caught up in the thrill of it all, that my brain turned to mush. Not a thought was processing right. It was beautiful outside! It was promising spring! I half expected robins to start singing in the bare treetops—at which point they would instantly fall out of said treetops, frozen stiff. But still—it was beautiful outside!

So when Keri ran home and revved up the snow machine, Taco and I raced out and jumped on—in clothing fit for a day at the beach. Well, maybe not the beach—but certainly not for our terrain either. Knowing that we were going to be running full throttle over the frozen Yukon River amid unending fields of snow and ice—you’d think it would have occurred to me that maybe gloves and a hat would be a good idea. But NO! I was sucked in by the misleading image of a sun in the sky. By the time we got to the store, I was a popsicle. Frozen through.

Keri and Taco

But not to fear. Just the sight of that glorious produce was enough to warm me from head to toe. It was lovely! An entire portable tabletop holding nothing but boxes of big fat onions, withered potatoes, brown spotted bananas, beautiful red apples and bruised yellow ones, soft mushy oranges, pale green broccoli, hard green pears wrapped in paper, and a single kiwi.

Taco grabbed that kiwi up real fast. It was a steal at only $2.00. And we filled our little carry basket with some of everything. It was heavenly!

But that wasn’t all. In the back of the store, I discovered a stash of lettuce in the cooler next to the eggs. Of course, there was a bunch of slimy stuff on the outside leaves. But I did find one head that only had a slime spot about the size of a golf ball—so I snatched it up.
Taco pointed to the spot and said, “Uh…Mom?”
Keri said, “That’s OK. We can toss the outside leaves.”
I looked at him like he had suddenly grown two heads. “Are you nuts? We can just cut that spot off. The rest of the leaf will be fine!”
Yup, this place sure changes what you're willing to put up with.

And next to the lettuce were the last two zucchinis. I just ignored the price as we dropped them in our basket. During zucchini season down south, you can hardly give them away. But those two prolific squash cost almost $6 each!

Last summer, my mom had a newspaper article hanging on her fridge for quite some time, and it entertained whoever happened to wander into the kitchen. It was about a woman in Montana who chased a bear away by beating it over the head with a zucchini. That must have been some squash! Babe Ruth could have used a bat like that. Well, our two $6 wonders are definitely not in the club category. Any self-respecting bear would laugh out loud if we tried to chase it away with those things. In fact, forget hitting the bear over the head--those slivers of squash are so small, I am sure they would fit up the bear’s nose. But when I cook them up tomorrow, they are going to taste wonderful!

By the time we were finished at that little store, we had three-and-a-half plastic grocery bags of mostly produce. And the cost? A mere $95.70. But at least we get to eat green for a while!

picture of our little village store

Alaska's Bounties

Alaska sure has its bounties. Of course, those come at a price.

For example—we decided that if we are going to survive this experience, we had better start eating better. So we placed a produce order with Full Circle Farms. They are a lovely business of green houses and artificial light that grows produce year round. And they ship out orders via the bush planes. Well, the other day, we had our first order delivered to our door. There is a village agent here—a guy who picks up the mail and any packages from the planes and takes them to the post office or the school. And he’s a nice guy. If he thinks a package might be really expensive or important, or might be damaged if it got frozen, he’ll drop it off right at your door. There are some people in life you will do almost anything to stay on their good side. He is at the top of that list.

So, we got our box of produce. In it was a head of lettuce, some Swiss chard, a small stalk of celery, a bunch of green onions, a very small head of broccoli, a nice sized orange pepper, three tiny purple onions, two smallish grapefruit, three apples, four tiny tangerines, a lime-green mango, about eight of the tiniest red potatoes I’d ever seen (with a combined weight of a single russet), and a small (lip gloss sized) jar of fennel & salt. And we were THRILLED! It’s not very often that a house breaks into dance over produce. The cost of that little treasure chest? A mere $67.50. Yup. In the lower 48 we would have had a very difficult time finding the same stuff, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen it sold that small. But if you just went by weight, we could have gotten the same thing for under five bucks. Three if you shopped the sales. But at least we get to eat fresh green stuff for a day or two.

But to make things even more exciting in a “declare it a public holiday” sort of way, Keri and Taco went moose hunting that afternoon—and GOT A MOOSE!!!!! Not only did they get a moose, but on the way back, they almost ran into another one with the snow machine. Moose were out in abundance that night!

A friend of Keri’s, a local by the name of George (though everyone calls him Boise for some unfathomable reason) took them hunting. Showed Keri where he goes to get his moose every year. Yup. This guy has the monopoly on meese—mooses—miisen—those really big things that look like a giant ugly donkey—and he was willing to share. That is one nice friend.

Judging by our past serious lack of success in the hunting department, I really didn’t expect much from the trip. (We are great at trapping rabbits, but had struck out with moose.) So I armed them with toe and hand warmers (those things you put in your boots and gloves so you can carry your own personal heater into the great outdoors while you pretend to rough it). And I humiliated Taco by screaming, “Hey—where’s your hat?!” at the top of my pneumonia-strained lungs. (I had a hard time being heard over the snow machine engine.) Apparently, they were just driving in a circle to make sure the sled was secure. He still had to come inside to finish getting decked out for the trip.

Anyway, when I heard the snow machine pull up front several hours later, I figured their toe and hand warmers had run out of steam or something. I was shocked to see a moose being drug behind in the sled! At first, I thought maybe they had just run into an ugly donkey—like road kill or something. But nope, it was an honest-to-goodness moose. And Keri and Taco were proud as punch!

Personally, I had a hard time looking. I remember being traumatized as a child the time my dad went deer hunting. For weeks, our bedtime story had been several pages out of the novel Bambi. We were convinced shooting animals was a sin.

When it comes to getting meat, I think I prefer picking up nameless and faceless packages of beef in the grocer's freezer. But it's a different world out here.

Keri and Taco brought in the guns and grabbed the knives so they could cut up the moose. (It’s kind of hard to fit the whole thing in a freezer.) About 15 minutes into the job, I heard a banging at the door. There, looking as pathetic as could be, stood my two fearless hunters, each carrying a hind quarter and pleading frostbite.

Before I knew it, I had lost my kitchen floor to the cause.

I threatened them with a night in the great outdoors if there was one drop of blood left anywhere in the house.

They’ve butchered rabbits in my bathtub. They have now butchered a moose on my kitchen floor. I shudder to think what will happen if they ever shoot a bear.

We've Survived--So Far

First of all, let me get this out of the way: I AM SICK!!! I feel like I have the world’s worst cold and sound like I have the world’s worst cough. I ache from head to toe; have no voice; am freezing cold; and basically miserable. There. Now that’s out of the way, I’ll get down to business.

Taco and I are now up in the bush with Keri. Tanner stayed in Idaho to finish the school year because…actually, I will explain that in the next blog. (If I go into it now, this thing could go on forever.)

Our trip here was crazy! We flew on three flights and were in five airports by the time we got to Anchorage. I will never understand why a trip that has you going south when you want to go north, and takes three planes when it could have taken one, is so much cheaper than a direct flight! Doesn’t make much sense to me. Maybe that’s why there is failing airlines.

Anyway, we started in Salt Lake City, then on to Denver, into Phoenix, and then stopped in Seattle. The Seattle stop was unscheduled; we had to refuel because of strong headwinds. We couldn’t make it all the way to Anchorage—and generally speaking, a frigid ocean isn’t the best landing spot for a jetliner. We finally made Anchorage at about 2:30 AM—4:30 Utah (and our bodies’) time. We were exhausted!

Since I am too cheap to pay a hundred bucks for a hotel just for three hours worth of sleep, we camped out at the terminal. The Anchorage terminals are different than most—the benches don’t have arms; they are made to sleep on. And that is what we did; or at least, that is what Taco did. I just sat there.

When the ticket desk finally opened for the bush planes, I discovered a problem with our tickets—we didn’t have any. Turns out that although I had bought one, we weren’t on their list. For the past three days, they had been unable to fly into the village because of weather, so there was a backlog of people wanting to take the flight.

We tried standby, but it became obvious that the plane was going to be full, so we got a hotel—which, by the way, was DISGUSTING! But the real annoyance about the hotel part is that it came highly recommended by none other than my husband. The smell in the first room about made me sick, so I asked for a different room. That one wasn’t a heck of a lot better. It was so gross, that I was hesitant to take a shower without wearing some kind of protective footwear. When I asked Keri what on earth he could have possibly liked about the place, it turns out he liked it because they fed him breakfast. Sure doesn’t take much to impress the man.

As tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep yet because we had too much to do. The girl at the bush desk was awful. And she was going to charge us $300 for excess baggage. The bush planes don’t allow as many pieces of luggage as regular airlines do—although, with eight trips in and out, this was the first time someone was going to actually enforce it. Great. So Taco and I took a taxi to WalMart to buy some great big totes. Then we walked across the street to buy groceries, and took a cab back to the yucky hotel. We packed the totes with one bag each (those small suitcases with rollers), plus a lot of other clothes. We got rid of two bags and a bunch of other stuff, totaling 70 pounds each, so that we had more room in our suitcases for the groceries. Then we took the totes to a 24 hour post office (yes—there is a post office open 24/7 near the Anchorage airport—that’s the nature of the bush). It cost us $20 to ship each of the really big packages weighing 70 pounds.

Since we hadn’t eaten all day, we hit a buffet, and then went back to the yucky hotel, and SLEPT.

The real problem began the next morning when we realize that we’d miscalculated. Could it be the effect of running for three days on hardly any sleep? We had WAY more stuff than we could fit into the suitcases—both size and weight. So we took the bags of powdered milk (I’d bought two big cans of powdered milk, and then put them in freezer bags to transport them) and a bag of icing sugar, and duct taped them to my torso. We had Taco tuck in his undershirt, and we dropped about ten oranges down his shirt and two big bags of dehydrated sliced potatoes. He was not impressed. The oranges made him itch and the potatoes were scratchy—which if you think about it, is the perfect combination. The potatoes scratch the itches caused by the oranges. Anyway, I felt like a health food terrorist. Good thing there is no security check to get on the bush planes, or we never would have made it through.

Anyway, we finally got to the village. Yay! But by that time, I had thrown my back out, what with all the hauling luggage and stuff. So I spent the next three days alternating between pain meds and muscle relaxant—both of which knock me out. When the pain finally subsided, I awoke to discover that I was horribly sick. I have been absolutely miserable for over a week now. And worthless. So far, I am wondering when this trip is going to start being fun. And I’m sure Keri is wondering why the heck he wanted me out here in the first place.

"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.

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.

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.

Sick? Just drag yourself through the snow!

The picture is of Keri and his friend Larry Myers standing in front of our snow machine just before they went hunting a week or so ago. Unfortunately, they didn’t get anything. How is it that this place is flat, with small trees and scrub brush, and yet the giant moose can hide so well? Just doesn’t make sense. They were rather frustrated. Especially when they got lost—three times. They ended up in a different village and went to a teacher’s house to warm up before heading back. Good thing they had a GPS to check, or they’d still be out there. They are going again this week when Keri gets back from Anchorage.

Taco (Jeremy) got sick, and it went straight to his chest. He missed two weeks of school because he had a horrible cough. The second week, I tried getting him into the clinic in either Alakanuk or Emmonak (a neighboring village), but there were so many people sick that I couldn’t get him in. Finally, after a week of trying, the clinic in Emmonak said they would work him in. (I think she felt sorry for me, because I called every day and I think she could hear Taco coughing in the background.)

So Keri took the morning off work, and we bundled up and climbed onto the snow machine to drive through the tundra in Arctic winter weather over the frozen Yukon River—to have our son checked for pneumonia. On what planet does that make sense?

The trip would have taken about 30 minutes, but we got lost—twice. So it took a little longer. Taco was sandwiched between Keri and I, and I had to reach around him every time I whacked Keri for getting us air born from driving too fast. But we made it.

Taco was put on antibiotics and steroids, and he is starting to get better now. (When he found out he was being put on a steroid, he said, “Cool! Does that mean I’ll get strong?”)

Cross Country Skiing

Lesson one of cross country skiing: A temperature of twenty-below-zero is not intended for humans. Polar bears, maybe--but not humans.
Lesson two of cross country skiing: A wind chill can drop the temperature another twenty degrees. Then it's not even fit for bears.
Lesson three of cross country skiing: A low honking/growl sound in the trees can make even the most novice skier fly over the snow. Especially when the noise sounds like a possible bear, and your twelve-year old is 100 feet ahead by himself. Luckily it turned out to be a moose with a nasal problem.
Lesson four of cross country skiing: Never let your twelve-year old get 100 yards ahead by himself.
Lesson five of cross country skiing: Distance changes. The trip back is a LOT longer than it was going out.
Lesson six of cross country skiing: It is a cold and exhausting, but fun thing to do!
This picture is of Keri, Debi, and Taco on the frozen Yukon River. We are having fun (in case you can't tell).

Our trip to Alakanuk, Alaska took two days, five flights, and four plane changes to get here. Unless you count our luggage. Then it took two days, seven flights, six plane changes, and three trips to the Alukanuk airstrip.
But we made it.
We got there in November just in time for Thanksgiving. This picture shows Tanner and Taco in front of the "big" plane. After this, we got on a small bush plane that maxed out at six people. (I sat in the copilot seat.) It was an adventure.