Off the Grid

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Alaskan cabbage harvest

Cabin Confessions: Putting Up

I’m not sure what was in the air or the water or the stars this October but for some reason, the month brought with it many confessions. From candid to long-hidden, confessions came from dear friends and new friends alike, as if the month held a sort of truth serum that all of us had unknowingly drunk (for, of course, I had confessions of my own).

In this growing age of online versus in-person, of creating personas based on snapshots and moments in time, it’s easy to assume that another’s life is just how he or she portrays it: downright near perfect. That’s not to say that across the board, we all simply share the good times and hide the bad. I’ve seen plenty of Instagram feeds with hilariously relatable “fails” or beautifully honest posts. Yet overall, the online personas we often see showcase the best of the best of the very best sides of all of us and sometimes, I think that too flows into our in-person lives.

Enter: October

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Leto the Alaskan Malamute

Leto and the new ice.

 

I think the truth is catching and it caught like wildfire. The truth serum must have been drunk at a gathering of gals early on in the month and from there it spread. That night I learned “dirty secrets” (that were neither dirty nor did they need to be secrets) that made me feel…

Normal.

Since that night, I’ve aimed to honor that honesty and spread the good word: we all have things we think are odd, weird, ugly, bad or boring when it comes to ourselves but unearthing those hidden weirdos, bringing to light what you consider bad might just make you feel a little bit of good.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Best Friends

Let’s hear it for the weirdos in our lives! Love you girls.

 

 

And so, in that honest vein, I bring to you: Cabin Confessions, a sort of mini-series within BTB to keep the truth moving through us all, self-included. May it spread your way and help you to feel a little better, brighter and lighter. Or, just a little more normal.

Here goes:

Cabin Confession: Putting Up

Sometimes it feels that upon moving to Alaska, you’re supposed to have already learned all of the “Alaska Skills”.

Chop wood? Of course I can!

Fish? Sure, old hat for me!

Garden? Duh, easy peasy.

Sew? Yep!

Knit? Mmmmhmmm!

Survive in the woods? Yesireebob!

The list goes on and on. The truth is, when I moved here my first Winter I scored about a wobbly, uncertain 1.5 out of 6 on the list above and the above just breaks the surface. Heck, I didn’t even know how to dress myself (and in truth, when the weather changes these days, I still find myself wondering how I did it last season). So, when it came to Putting Up (a term I had never even heard before) I felt my familiar “friend” creep over my shoulder. Hello, Overwhelm.

Four years later, I still feel that sense when it comes to Putting Up food.

What is Putting Up?

Canning fish, pickling cucumbers, drying herbs, making sauerkraut, freezing bulk garden goods, etc.

Basically, to Put something Up means to harvest and preserve something you’ve bought or for more Alaska gold stars, something you’ve grown or harvested (typically in the warmer months), so that you can enjoy it for the colder months to come.

Easy, right?

Confession: Nope. Not for me.

Certainly, some Putting Up I fell in naturally with. I love harvesting, though sometimes I have trouble with the follow-through if the follow-through involves more than drying. Thank goodness for tea!

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, harvesting wild alaskan plants

Goldenrod, Spruce Tips, Labrador Tea, Yarrow, Lupine & River Beauty

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Gardening in Alaska, harvesting spruce tips

Spruce tips (and Leto0

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Gardening in Alaska, foraging for morels

Morels, found by Leto (and Leto)

 

Yet, for some reason, putting up fermented foods has always made me feel more put down, by myself. The phobia I had discovered in California didn’t suddenly melt away upon moving to Alaska (I must have missed the Alaska Newbie Handbook), it froze solid. I can’t tell you how many cabbages I’ve bought at the store to make sauerkraut or kimchi that ended up moldy in the compost. Wasting food out here, where the nearest grocery store is 4 hours away is a serious no-no. Sure, food going to waste happens, but it’s often more of an accident; someone gifted you something you couldn’t quite finish or you had to leave for a few days unexpectedly and your refrigeration failed in some way. It’s not often because you have been staring down your food, too scared to fail and thus too paralyzed to do anything with it, that it goes bad. This year, to ensure I’d really learn the kraut craft, I grew my own cabbages.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Gardening in Alaska, starts from seed

April starts

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Alaskan garden starts

Brand new garden bed

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Alaskan cabbages

Gigantic cabbages!

 

The pressure was on but it was ok because this year I was making sauerkraut, no matter what.

Yep!

Sure was.

Right?

Nope.

Wrong.

A few days ago, I peeked at my last harvest of cabbages, 5 beautiful cabbages I had been lovingly caring for since starting them from seed in April. Watering, feeding, guarding, admiring every day, watching grow bigger and bigger…

They were rotten.

I’ll give myself a slight out to say that food storage in a tiny cabin where the temperature fluctuates between 90 and 40 degrees almost daily is a challenge but…I had also procrastinated for almost a month since their harvest. Sure, there had been an unexpected Town trip and well, I definitely needed to deep clean the oven…twice. I had procrastinated them into oblivion.

* I did, however, eat these first babies up!

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Gardening in Alaska, giant cabbages

First harvest

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Gardening in Alaska, giant cabbages green

Cowabunga, dude! Enormo!

 

My last harvest of beautiful cabbage babies met their end in the compost, joining the many before them.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Alaskan cabbage harvest

The second harvest as the frost came tumbling in. Leto helped a lot.

 

Not only was it disappointing in the sense that all this time and energy had gone into this food that now lay spoiled before me, not only was it disappointing to have lost 5 good cabbages which could have made endless meals if not kraut, but the disappointment that again I had failed after 6 months of preparation was almost too much to bear. I was so disappointed…in me and I didn’t want anyone to know that I had, yet again, failed.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Alaskan Malamute puppy

I felt a little bit like this.

 

Thankfully, The Chief was in the next room, a few feet away to hear the sigh.

“It’s OK, we just won’t let this happen next year. It’s OK, Julia. Plus, we still have one cabbage left!”

Oh great, one more cabbage to stare me down as it degrades.

Yet, instead of going down that path, I remembered honesty. I told everyone about my ruined cabbages and as I listened to others lament about kraut cold feet or pickling paranoia I suddenly felt better. Not in the misery loves company way because they were no longer miserable as I was, in the way that I felt I could (finally) get over this, as they all had.

The last cabbage left was a behemoth of a babe that my girlfriend had grown this year. She is an epic gardener (you can read all about it here) and after a dinner date at her house this Fall (read: 2 hours out, 2 hours back. That’s an Alaskan dinner party, if I’ve ever heard of one!) she gifted me one of her gargantuan gals.

I may ruin storebought cabbages and I may ruin my own, but I wasn’t going to ruin hers.

Right?

Finally, the answer was “Right”.

Three weeks later.

Meh, better late than never, right? I had been battling this fear for years, three lousy weeks weren’t going to take me under this time (plus, I had some gentle nudging from a friend, moving me slowly but surely along).

So, three weeks later than I had planned on doing something with her cabbage, I finally did.

1 Quart for experimenting

1 Big Bowl of Potluck Coleslaw for Poker Night

1 Big Crock

later and the enormous cabbage was finally gone and…

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Alaskan cabbage harvest making Sauerkraut

Half-way through

 

Kraut is on the way.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Gardening in Alaska, Malamute puppy in Alaska

Finally, I felt like this!

 

I’ve psyched myself up time and time again to do the Putting Up I dream to do here but time and time again, I’ve found myself talking myself down, stressing the details, deciding I’ve failed before I’ve even started and thus, never begun. Perfectionism sure is a sneaky beast that robs you of entering new experiences with lightness or confidence, if you enter into them at all. Yet step by step, uncertainty by uncertainty, I moved forward this time and I owe it all to honesty (and certainly to some truly non-judgemental love from The Chief and friends and to my furry Leto, who sat on my toes or watched me squish cabbage the whole way through).

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Alaskan Malamute 9 months old

Ice dance.

 

Opening up about my own shortcomings, or things I just see as such, has helped me to see how normal they are. Certainly, mine may not be yours. You might be scoffing at this little backwoods cabbage waster but I’m certain there is something for you too. Some half-finished project, some goal yet unmet, some hidden habit that you feel guilty or sad or embarrassed about. The good news is: you don’t have to! Who knew?! Feeling bad provides little impetus for change. Feeling bad leaves the cabbages rotting and the sauerkraut supply still empty. So go and tell your tale of your closeted self, whoever that may be. Chances are, the person you tell might really, truly need to hear it and I guarantee you’ll feel better.

Best wishes to you and to all of your quirks and flaws and beauty that make you who you are. You are doing just fine.

Cheers to you.

Cheers to honesty.

May it spread to you and yours and beyond.

With love (and sauerkraut),

 

From Alaska

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-11-19, Post Cabin Confessions, Putting Up, Alpenglow Alaska

Alpenglow time of year.

 

P.S. Do you too have a fermenting phobia? My friends pointed me towards Nourished Kitchen, The Art of Fermentation by Sandor Katz and searching Facebook for helpful groups. There are many salt to cabbage ratios but one tried and true method I’ve heard (and tried) is to make it as salty as the sea. If that’s too vague for you, I totally understand. Let the professionals guide your way, it’s not as scary as I thought. I promise.

P.P.S Beneath the Borealis has been featured on Feedspot’s Top 30 Alaska Blogs and Websites to Follow in 2019. Thank you, Feedspot! I’m honored. Check the good company we keep here: Feedspot’s Top 30 Alaska Blogs

This post is dedicated to Danielle. I love you. Thank you for always encouraging me to keep trying new things in the kitchen and beyond.

 

 

 

 

A Wedding in Six Acts

ACT I: The Arrival

It wasn’t until the wedding was a few months out that I really realized that we were having a destination wedding. For me, the destination was my backyard. The ceremony would be a 15-minute walk in one direction and the reception 15 minutes in the cardinal opposite, faster even by truck or 4-wheeler. It was as close as it could get. Yet (and feel free to yell “duh” in tandem with me now) for all non-locals the commute was, well, a bit farther.

The week before our wedding, The Chief and I headed back to Anchorage for our third trip in 2 weeks. We had been earning our Road Warrior badges with trips more frequent than we wished but this trip, this was different.

This one was the arrival.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Wedding Belly Laughs

The belly laughs had begun.

 

We pulled up to the hotel and out poured my Mom, my Aunt, my two best friends since 5th grade and my friends partner (and my friend) and my niece (not by blood but close enough). It was a cacophony of “hellos” and laughter and hugs and total mayhem. Thus, the logistics began (a favorite Alaskan pastime). No sooner had we packed the umpteen suitcases into the bed of our truck (first bagging each one in a contractor bag to avoid their getting dirty on the deeply dusty drive), buckled up and turned out of the hotel than my neice performed a barfing act not dissimilar to a small cannon. A small cannon that landed right in her lap, soaking her to the bone in her own vomit.

The suitcase with her clothes was positioned perfectly at the bottom of the suitcase pit.

The trip had begun.

Like any good Alaskan road trip, nothing comes easy and smooth is suspicious, yet despite our precarious start, we were on the road a few hours and a few hundred Water Wipes later.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Reunions

The belly laughs continued as one of the KaCaJus kept documenting…Love you C!

 

We arrived that evening, in a caravan of wedding guests, The Chief and his two truckloads of groomsmen and family and us. My girlfriend, badass mother of my beloved puker, upon finally hearing “Yes” to the question “Are we close?” said truthfully, “That was way worse than I thought it would be”. The entire car burst into laughter. Surely she had misspoken? The trip which had started at 11 am and ended 13 plus hours later? Certainly, she couldn’t have thought that was all that bad?

And so, we arrived at our destination wedding, laughing.

ACT II: Preparations 

Our friends and family had all arrived, the wedding week was in full effect and after one day to settle in and get the off the grid crash course we put them to work, as any good Alaskan couple does (it’s a sign of love, truly).

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, Off-Grid Living

Off-Grid techniques like how to clean puke out of a carseat and do laundry at the same time…and spray Leto, his favorite game.

 

Despite our “low-key” wedding, it took two full days with a large and ever-changing group of friends to dust off and dress up our reception site. One friend spent an entire day raking leaves to create paths, while another group of friends (and my Pops, straight from his drive in that day) spent trip after trip hauling wood shavings to fill those paths, creating a sort of Winter Wonderland in September.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Wedding Setup Crew

Part of the work crew. Team meeting.

 

It was all coming together.

The couple who hosted our reception spent countless hours nailing down every last detail and sweetly surprising us along the way.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Wedding Decor

Huge hearts from a play in Anchorage, salvage and spruced up by B&D

 

There were two circus tents and food tents and eating tents and 10 strings of lights to light the way in the darkening nights. We set the tables and prayed for sun, while fully prepping for rain. It was a wedding in September, a September (and August) which, so far, had only been filled with bluebird skies and sun so hot we all were steaming away in tanktops. Could we really expect a sunny wedding?

ACT III: The Bachlor/ette

As if we hadn’t yet been scooped up by our community and showered in enough love the days prior, we still were both lucky enough to enjoy a true treat: a night with the ladies, a night with the boys. After two days of non-stop prep, my girlfriends gave me a hard “out time” and whisked me off for what? I did not know.

We left our house and passed car upon car heading opposite us towards the Bachelor Pary. Everyone was so jovial and excited.

I arrived to the Footbridge and was greeted by the many smiling faces of the lady loves of our town.

It was incredible.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Alaskan Bachelorette Tunnel of Love

Tunnel of Love

 

We had a champagne toast as the water flowed beneath us and the mountains shone to greet us.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Bachelorette Party Alaska, View

No sooner had a stepped onto that bridge and greeted everyone did I turn around to see the head party planner with her wonderfully mischevious grin. “Turn around Juju” (she calls me Juju. I love her eyeballs). It had begun. Something was on my head and in my hair and her laugh erupted. The penises had entered the scene. I had penises on my head and penises in my hair. I was ready.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Bachelorette Party, Alaska

Claps for all you ladies.

 

We walked into town (handmade boquet from a girlfriend in hand, sweet E), gaggle of gals that we were, laughing all the ways as the two penises on my head (think bunny ears) would randomly clang together, as if clapping for us. We arrived to one of the local restaurants to find that the head party planner (and co-owner of the restaurant) had shut it down for us. A special event.

Special it was. Like any friend of mine knows, food is king and eat we did. We had to keep our stamina up for the many bachelorette activities to follow: penis ring toss, a dollar per mint nibble, a delicious penis cake and some fill in the blank games that made us roar.

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Alaskan Bachelorette Party

Gotta love the attention to detail.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Bachelorette Alaska

One of my favorite photos of the night.

 

The night ended at The Bar with dancing to our favorite guilty pleasure songs.

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Bachelorette Dance

Leto wasn’t so sure about my new friend Fernando.

 

It was perfect. Thank you, ladies.

Act IV: The Rehearsal

After another day of last-minute prep, we had finally arrived: the night before the wedding. Again, our friends closed their restaurant and hosted us for a fabulous Italian dinner.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Wedding Rehearsal Dinner

You sweet thangs.

 

There were roasts and salads and more deliciousness than I can recall (but enough for two platefuls. Ever the timid eater. Gotta fit in that dress, right?!). Looking around, we felt surrounded in love, The Chief and I. Fifty of our closest friends and relatives were nestled in together, meeting, reconnecting. We toasted (ugh, I love toasts!) and shed a tear or two and before I knew it, it was over.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Wedding Rehearsal Dinner Toasts

Cheers to you two. Thank you Mom and Dad.

 

The Chief and I kissed goodnight, our last unmarried kiss, and the bridal party and I escaped to the beautiful B&B a few miles outside of town that would be our haven for the night.

Upon arrival, the mood was set. These girls know sure know how to woo me. I was promptly placed into the center of the couch, my feet put in a footbath, and the sweet silliness began. Our resident Yogi and primo planner (who gave me the biggest compliment I could get that week when she told me: “I’m stressing out because you don’t seem to be stressing out at all. You seem very relaxed.” and I was because every step of the way, someone was there to support me) had us all go around the room and recount how we had met and a wish for The Chief and I. Like at Thanksgiving, where you might go around the room and say what you’re thankful for, it at first felt funny and then the belly laughs and tears began. It’s not always easy or natural to start, but it is such a beautiful gift to give someone that love, that care and that attention. I was deeply touched…and deeply tired. We all were exhausted. These girls had been running full steam ahead, one, our resident Fertility Goddess (and Penis Cake maker extraordinaire) was due 10 days after the wedding but still had been there every step of the way. These loves were the ultimate troopers but it was time for bed.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Karelian Bear Dog Snuggles

Karelian snuggles documented!

 

ACT V: The Wedding

On the morning of our wedding, I wrote my vows.

Surprised?

Yea, me neither.

I woke up and did a quick workout, took a shower and sat down to paint my nails and write my vows when something else showed up: nerves. The nail polish skidded across my fingers as I tried to calm myself. I ate the beautiful breakfast my girlfriends had prepared and the tea they had brought specially for me (all while sewing the dogs’ outfits) but still my stomach was in knots.

It was really happening. This day we had talked about and planned for, stressed over, laughed over, counted down the days till, this day, our “destination wedding” was about to happen. I jotted down that which could only scratch the surface of how I feel and decided to let my heart lead the rest of the way. It was time to get ready.

 

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

Thank you, sweet friends.

 

All the ladies and I donned our wishbone necklaces (wishbones hold a special place in my heart. My Auntie El taught me the wishbone basics and they always make me smile and always make me think of her) as we got ready. A sweet, simple connection to those around me and those we’ve lost. I did my makeup and donned the same lipstick I always wear (even though I’d bought multiple new ones to try. I’m a creature of habit, I guess). I was ready.

Or so I thought.

On a recent trip to Anchorage, I had been talking with an esthetician I knew from going to her salon. Upon hearing that I was getting married and that I didn’t even own concealer in case I wanted to cover my scar (or as she lovingly called it “the copper vein running through your forehead”), she told me she would be there to do our makeup. We didn’t talk much after that and I had assumed that perhaps it would work, perhaps not. When she called that morning and heard we were leaving in an hour, I figured there simply wasn’t enough time (and I’d done my best already). There wasn’t enough time. She didn’t have access to her car, it was just too much.

That didn’t stop her. She somehow found a bicycle and huffed her way towards us when she happened upon our wedding photographer and together, they made the jaunt to us. She is a character. She spiffed up my copper vein a bit and gave us all the special treatment that made it start to feel official.

 

 

Suddenly, my excitement trumped my nerves. I was going to marry The Chief!

Our entourage got in various cars packed with who knows what and made our way back to our house. We arrived to smiling family and friends and two girlfriends who were creating the most unbelievable flower crowns, boutonnieres and hairpieces (all flow in by them from their family’s fly-in lodge. How special can it get?!).

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Floral Arrangements Weddings

Flowers for the peeps, flowers for the pups. Thank you E&L!

 

Inside were more friends, visiting, doing one another’s hair (I even took a turn) and toasting to the day. One of the bridesmaids ran the ties and pocket squares over to the groomsmen. It was happening.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Wedding Get Ready

Last-minute prep

 

It was so joyful.

Finally, it was time.

Leto and I were out ahead, leading the way (now that it was happening, I was ready to get moving!). We walked the trails we take on our (ideally) daily walk to The River. Trails I’ve seen change through the seasons, trails that have seen me change in the four years I’ve lived with them.

 

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

The procession.

 

Along the way, we spotted the rocks the groomsmen had painted to mark the trail for the guests. At the end of the trail, my family was waiting for me. It was time. They set out ahead of us, Leto escorting my Mom proudly/trying to get her to run to Dad.

 

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

Too much cuteness.

 

My girlfriends and I got into formation (Beyoncé anybody?), a sort of Flying V meant to hide me from The Chief for our long approach and then, we were finally there. My girlfriends walked slowly to the willow arch our friend had made for us that morning and lined up while I was left standing with my first boyfriend in Alaska: Buddha. Buddha is the dog of one of my girlfriends and when I first came here, he escorted me everywhere and so, it seemed only appropriate that he walk me down the aisle. The Chief and Leto were waiting for us both. My family.

 

 

The sea of smiling faces all around us beamed our way. You could feel the love radiating. I’ve never felt anything quite like it. The Chief and I hugged and held hands and then held the hands of our friend who was marrying us. We all took a deep breath and took it all in, all of us too choked up to say anything without taking a moment first.

The vows I had written earlier came together and The Chief spoke his beautifully from the heart, as I knew he would (me with my notepad, him off the cuff. So perfect). We both laughed, we both cried. We both made promises, both lighthearted and serious.

 

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

We laughed a lot.

 

We both vowed to love and be loved as kindly and gently as we can and to continue on, even when it is hard, even as it has been hard, we promised to go forward together.

At the finish of the ceremony, all of the guests found a rock to bestow a wish upon and sent it flying into the river. The joy just kept getting brighter and brighter. There was not a cloud in sight.

 

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

You ladies are so beautiful.

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

Rockin’ the pinks and reds. Lookin’ good, gents.

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, The Wedding Party

The whole wedding party

 

We took pictures and then everyone meandered back down the trail to our neighbor’s house (also the wonderful man who married us) where there was a full spread of hors d’oeuvres and a cocktail hour (The Chief and I even got to stroll solo, taking it all in for a moment).

 

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

Our first married kiss.

 

Without asking, people manned the bartending station and had created this beautiful spread (thank you E, C, D & J!). We all lazed on the lawn in the sun until the next leg began.

 

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

 

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

 

ACT VI: The Reception

We arrived to a full house, a party fully in swing. The decorations looked beautiful (our friends who hosted had made note of where everything was to go and then had brought it all inside to protect it on account of rain, then set it all back up again on the day of) and the flown in flowers and bouquets graced all of the vases and bottles throughout the garden and the dining tables. It truly looked like a Wonderland.

 

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

Us arriving.

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

The beautiful backyard

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

Yet another surprise!

 

Again our friends fed us and again it was phenomenal fare. My girlfriend even ran to the line for us (twice) so that The Chief and I could catch our breath (again, these ladies are troopers). We had set up six tables, but in true Alaskan style, most people ate standing and so, the wedding party and all the kids (the kids who mainly spent the night playing in the compost pile. Ha! I love Alaskan children), The Chief and I dined together under the beautiful warm lights.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, La Mama

Con La Mama

 

After dinner, the entertainment started and…my band got to kick off the festivities. I had always wanted to be in a band and here I was, not only in one but singing at my own wedding, looking at the face of my husband in the crowd beaming with joy. It was my favorite show we’ve played.

 

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

Love you boys.

 

After that, the bands continued to rock it (two bands from out of town came in just to play the wedding) and we cut the cake that had been made by a few dear friends.

 

 

The night ended for us a few hours later as the last band finished and we finally made our way home, husband and wife.

The Chief carried me over the threshold, though certainly not up the Ramp of Doom (I’m a sucker for tradition but not for a broken leg) and we nestled into our cozy cabin in the woods.

Every bit of the day had the touch of love in it. From the painted rocks to the ball and chain piñata surprise to the candles lit in the garden for our ancestors’ table, to the hand-grated carrot cake, to the frequent flyer mile ready flowers and beyond. Every detail, every bit of the day was seen to in this communal way I’ve never experienced before.

 

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

We love you.

 

Each person raised us up together, beamed with us in happiness and congratulations and in confirmation of our choice. We are meant to be together.

And together we are.

 

Beneath the Borealis, A Wedding in Six Acts, 10:28:19, Cheers, Love

Cheers to you, my love.

 

Thank goodness I found you, tucked away in the woods, sweet Chief. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s always been right. Life has handed us a hefty dose of sour in these last few years but together we have helped to sweeten it and will only continue to do so. Thank you for who you are and who you help me to be. I love you, always.

To our community, near and far, with us and passed on: Words cannot begin to describe how you made us feel but I will say that we felt held in a way that we hadn’t felt in years, safe and happy, beautifully happy. Thank you, all of you, for your contributions great and small. You made our wedding and our start together in this new life a beacon of hope for us. Thank you, always.

 

With love and laughter,

 

from Alaska

McCarthy Alaska Wedding

 

P.S. A special thanks to our wedding photographer, Kate Lamb. She’s awesome. Check her out here: Wild In Love Photography

Beneath the Borealis - Do the Hustle - 2:11:19 - Shopping in Alaska

Do the Hustle

(The moment this title, “Do the Hustle”, came to me, I’ve been singing the tune of the classic “Do the Hustle”. Wanna sing along? Do it, do the Hustle).

Here, the Hustle (Alaskan name: The Shuffle Hustle) is a dance even those with two left feet know well. In our cabin, from the moment we return home to the next time we leave to resupply, the floor of this cabin looks like a jumble of Arthur Murray dance diagrams. You see, the dance is always changing.

The First Dance: The Big Haul

Shopping.

 

Beneath the Borealis - Do the Hustle - 2:11:19 - Shopping in Alaska

Heaven…unless I’m in a hurry.

 

Returning from Town is a trip of endless possibilities and outcomes but in most cases, especially in the Winter, no matter how early our start, we tend to return in the dark and the cold. Headlamps light our way as our sleepy though psyched selves haul in everything that can’t freeze. And what might that be? More than I realized. Everything from bottles of wine to bags of produce and even some sauces (I’ve even had vinegar explode). What can freeze? More than I originally realized as well: bananas, peel on and all, kale (though be prepared for tiny kale pieces and spread about your freezer in a sort of healthy confetti), cheese, tortillas, guacamole even.

If you’re smart, which occasionally we are, your totes (in which you haul your Town booty) is organized by freezables and non-freezables. Yet often, your Town bounty overfloweth and cannot be contained by totes alone. You return home and despite your best Tetris efforts, the back of your truck might look like this:

 

Beneath the Borealis - Do the Hustle - 2:11:19 - Tiny House Alaska

Let the panic ensue.

 

You open the back door slowly to reveal a crumbling mountain of goodness which, despite your caution, often tumbles out towards you, out of the truck and into the snow.

As you know by now, a Town trip is basically a continual reconfiguration of things, a process of stacking and re-stacking, packing and re-packing. Messes made, messes cleaned, messes eventually just lived with for another hour or two. But now, that you’re home the process can stop, right?

Wrong.

The packing and re-packing of Home though at least comes with a theme song: Do the Hustle.

Finally, endless trips up and down the Ramp of Doom and you have finished. The anticipated (read: idealized, unrealistic) 8-hour trip turned 12-hour (duh) trip due to extra stops and groceries and packing and re-packing and finally unpacking at home is now complete.

 

 

*Year one’s haul on the left (Kitchen: two-burner camp stove, chest freezer, desk, no oven, no room). The evolution on the right (stove, refrigerator, lots and lots of fresh veggies, still not a lot of room but better utilized).

 

The Hustle, however, has just begun. Your first dance steps are tracked upon the floor where countless others will follow.

The Second Dance: The Shuffle Hustle

You’ve brought the first wave in, the non-freezables and you’ve secured them in their respective safety zones…for now.

 

Beneath the Borealis - Do the Hustle - 2:11:19 - Tiny House Alaska Organization DIY

After. Shelves, water buckets, and fridge all full.

 

You see, everything has its place here until it doesn’t.

Since we don’t have a pantry or a fridge large enough to store all of our goods, our house becomes our perma-pantry and perma-refrigerator where the Shuffle Hustle begins (cue the music please). Different corners of the house serve different purposes at different temperatures so the cold corner from one night where the low was 10 degrees Fahrenheit turns to the frozen corner the next night when the temp drops to -10 degrees Fahrenheit. Which means, that if the cold corner had delicates (lettuce especially), it’s time to get those precious dainties on the move. Do the Shuffle Hustle to find a new home…for now.

Our goodies storage, in order to make up for a small pantry and even smaller fridge,  consists of the hodge-podge following:

 

 

4 totes on the floor stuffed underneath a counter’s shelf

1 mini fridge/freezer combo

1 wall pantry measuring about 2 cans deep, 3 ft. wide and 7 ft. tall (shower hardware at the ready)

 

Beneath the Borealis - Do the Hustle - 2:11:19 - Tiny House Alaska Pantry Organization

Oh, the meals into which you’ll go!

 

3 large totes, 5 mini organizers in the loft upstairs (aka our bedroom)

Multiple cold to potentially frozen corners of the house

1-2 (weather permitting, meaning, it stays below freezing) totes outside.

 

Do the Hustle.

The initial landing places of most things will inevitably change as the goodies get eaten and the rest of the truck gets unloaded. From one day to the next, the fridge can go from chock full to half empty and then right back to filled to the brim again. As one thing moves or proves hearty enough to shift, another, perhaps more delicate flower takes its place.

But this doesn’t just happen with produce. The beans and canned good and frozen fun, they too get in on the dancing.

Let me set the scene of a typical evening:

The dinner of choice: Pasta with Pesto, Shrimp, Peas and Carrot Ribbons

The Dance: Shuffle Hustle (Techno Remix)

As the water comes to a boil, The Chief might ask me: “Babe, do you know where the pasta is?” I might say “Totes!” and point him towards the milk crate in which we store “grab-ables”, AKA, the high touch items like pasta, tuna, canned tomatoes, chocolate (when we have it) and snacks. Needless to say, this is my favorite spot of the house. But alas, The Chief replies the dreaded response: “Nope”.

The dance begins, the music gets louder. Up I head into our Loft where I try to remember the clues I left myself as to where everything was last year. I know both totes are freezable (or at least hope I know that otherwise, I’m likely about to discover a mess). I know one tote is mainly freezable (fingers crossed) condiments and canned goods while the other tote is filled with grain-type goodies: pastas and noodles of all varieties and some coffee to top it off. Which one? Does it really matter? Just open them both, right? Well, the thing is, it’s not just the opening of a tote, it’s the dance, the constant moving of one thing to gain access to another. In this case, it’s the moving of one large tote or five smaller totes off the food totes held captive beneath them. I close the hatch to prevent a spill. I choose the one with the one large (and I’d forgotten, very heavy) tote atop it.

Wrong.

I proceed to move the heavy tote back and unearth the other. With everything finally up and off of the tote, the true tote of my desire is now exposed. Pasta! I grab a couple of bags in order to stave off having to do this particular Shuffle for a while and make a mental note of the contents of both totes to speed my next foray into the “pantry” as I put everything back in order.

Downstairs I head. This dance is almost over, there’s dinner to be had. Until…

We need the shrimp and the peas. Out The Chief goes to dive headfirst into the frosty haven that is our new freezer. Despite our best efforts to catalog just what lies beneath, still, disorder sneaks her swift paws into our frozen bliss. Finally, he finds the shrimpy pals and heads in. Onions and garlic going, I move to toss in the shrimp and ask for the peas for the shrimp’s cooking company.

“Shoot!”

Out again The Chief heads, this time to the frozen totes near the house (which only the week before had to be completely emptied, goodies stored elsewhere, due to a three-day stretch of warm, sorry “warm” weather. 33 degrees Fahrenheit I don’t think should be so nonchalantly labeled as warm. But here, it is as it’s simply too warm to keep a frozen handle on things). The peas smile up at The Chief as he collects them and delivers them to his bride to be. Yet, just as soon as he starts to take off his boots, I toss them back his way, realizing that due to our recent lemon juice ice cube making marathon (due to lemons who wanted to go bad within a week of purchase. What gives?!) our inside mini-freezer can’t spare the room. Again out he goes to put them back into their frozen holdings.

The Chief finally un-boots and prepares a movie for us as I put the finishing touches on dinner. Carrot ribbons spun, it’s finally time. The pasta is twirled into bowls, the shrimp and peas plop atop and the pesto…

The pesto.

I go to the cold northern corner of the house, a wonderfully consistent corner for cold-hearty condiments and champagne alike.

The pesto is not with its chilly friends. The champagne looks up at me with a shrug.

The pesto, we realize, we forgot to replace (by bringing a new one in from the freezer) when we finished it the last time we made our pesto shrimp feast and now, we are about two hours too late.

This time, figuring this evening had tortured The Chief enough,  I head out to the freezer to do the deep dive to find the pesto and find it I do, but not until I’ve dove to the depths. Oh joy! Chickens and vegetables and frozen fruit get tucked back in again and I bring my pesto prize proudly into the house ten minutes later to the presence of now cooling pasta. Back everything goes, into the pot as I fight to scoop the frozen pesto onto the awaiting pesto pasta dinner.  A little warmer and much more of a pesto pasta than before, the meal goes back into the bowls, preparing for their crowning glory: carrot ribbons. They prance atop the highly anticipated twenty step dinner and as I head into the living room/dining room, I reflect on what seems ages ago when I ventured into the loft to start this pesto pasta process.

Dinner, my friends, is served.

 

Beneath the Borealis - Do the Hustle - 2:11:19 - Tiny House Living Alaska Champagne for Everyone

I felt approximately this happy. Champagne for everyone!

 

The final dance of the night is the cleanup step. Thankfully, there’s room in the cold corner next to the champagne for her newest pesto friend and room in the tote under the open cabinets to keep the leftovers. Yet, tonight it is cold, in the near -30 Fahrenheit range and so, in order to prevent the pasta from freezing (the texture of brown rice pasta once frozen is lacking, to say the least) I take one of my puffy jackets and wrap it up like the present it is. A present into which a lot of work and a whole lot of Shuffle Hustle dance steps went.

The music dies down.

And just like that, just as you get comfortable with your jacket wrapped leftovers and your pesto placed just right. Just when everything has its place and your tiny world is contained enough that you don’t feel overwhelmed by it all, a friend calls…and asks if you need anything from Town.

Let the tumbling crumbling mountain of goodies dance begin again.

The things we do for love (of food).

Do the Hustle.

 

With love,

From Alaska

 

Beneath the Borealis - Do the Hustle - 2:11:19 - Backcountry Alaska

 

Beneath the Borealis - Snowtime Stories - 2-4-19 Tracks

Snowtime Stories

People always wonder at me how it is I stay entertained in this blank canvas. Without the bustle of business, the tremor of transactions, nary a Starbucks in sight, how does one fill the void left by the sudden loss of the familiar hustle of humans?

Yet, without the clamor of a consistent chorus, the songs are still there. They simply play a different tune.

The quiet here opens up the possibilities to hear the faintest stories.

A vole scampering by on my way to the woodshed, diving out of my footstep into a snowy cave below.

A chickadee, grateful for our (or at least our seed’s) return.

And still, sometimes, the loudest song stories are those which require you to see, not hear.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis - Snowtime Stories - 2-4-19 Tracks

Lou and I deciphering human tracks, 2016

 

 

A little over a week ago, while on a mid-day ski to the River, I happened upon a story I’d only ever been told, one I’d never read myself: the story of the Wolf.

You see, vole tracks, with their heart-shaped happiness dart about with the Arctic Hare in the arsenal of tracks I hold in my mind. Bear and moose too make easily identifiable imprints (though, much to my chagrin, I mistook a hare for a moose my first Winter. “Moose have been all over the yard!” I exclaimed as we jumped out of the truck that first night of my first Winter, so proud to identify it, incorrectly, first. The Chief gently suggested a bunny might be the more likely culprit, considering the print’s depth. I love that guy).

 

 

Beneath the Borealis - Snowtime Stories - 2-4-19 Bear tracks

Summer bear track bounty

 

 

Yet the wolf, I’ve always been second on the scene to identify. Mostly because every time I’ve seen the tracks I’ve been in the company of my best guy friend who is a tracker extraordinaire. The day I beat him to identify a wolf track, I will probably pass out from giving myself too many high-fives.

The odds of identification were stacked in my being second to notice them for years until this year when, suddenly, I stopped in my tracks to notice…tracks.

And not just any track, a track that stuck out all its own.

This time of year, the neighborhood can get quite quiet (and truth be told, my tracking pal was out of the area when I spotted this find so I don’t think I’ll pass out from high-fives just yet) and this year is no exception. The only dogs in the area on the day of the tracks were tracks I knew. Full grown pups who leave what seems like a big print.

This was something entirely different.

As I stopped to take a picture, The Chief rounded the corner on the snowmachine on his way to Mail, his machine threatening to sweep away all the clues that lie ahead. I flagged him down and pointed, certain enough to be the one to say it first (à la the bunny tracks of that first Winter) yet still a little uncertain in my qualification:

“Wolf tracks.”

He nodded and gave The Chief “Yep” and then mentioned that our neighbors too had just told him that they too had wolfy suspicions.

Bingo! Bunny mishap no more. My confidence was on-track (sorry, that one was too much but I couldn’t help myself).

I took a picture, using my glove as a reference point like a pulled splinter next to a penny, steered The Chief to the right of the tracks and kissed him “adieu” as he smiled a mischievous smile at me, knowing I’d be tracking the Wolf the rest of my woodsy wanderings.

 

 

 

 

Wolf of the left, Dog on the right. Same glove.

After my first foray into following tracks, one might think me a bit of a fool to follow in the footsteps of a furry non-friend (I mean, we weren’t friends yet), but I had read the first sentence and I was hooked on the story. Plus, it was mid-day and the wolf was probably long gone by now ((two things I wasn’t totally certain of at the time but have, after some research, verified. Wolves are indeed night-time prowlers and they move on through quite quickly minus the presence of an unearthed invitation to stay and thankfully, I didn’t think it had found one (trash, etc.)).

I followed the tracks along the trail that I myself meander each day, honored to walk in the prints they had lain the night before. That much I knew, these were fresh. The snow here sets out like a blank page upon which is written the stories of a secret world. We may often miss the first showing, but at least we get to read about it the next day.

But wait…

I thought about the night before.

I too had been on the River Trail.

At nightfall.

 

 

beneath-the-borealis-snowtime-stories-2-4-19-sunset-ski.jpg

Fire sky sunset

 

 

A non-stop day at work had left me sequestered inside and so, despite the falling of dusk, I decided to take a quick ski.

Strangely enough, despite how distracting that ski had been (I had actually been on the phone with a girlfriend had some verrrrrrrrrrrrrrry good news) I had kept stopping to look over my shoulder.

I just felt like I wasn’t quite alone.

Perhaps I wasn’t.

The tracks headed down to the River and led right out onto the River’s frozen surface, which was now shattered by the breaking of Hidden Lake (a glacial lake, which normally breaks in the Summer but for the last four Winters has also broken in the Winter). The path back was no longer but never you mind because the backtracking was not the goal of this endeavor.

 

Beneath the Borealis - Snowtime Stories - 2-4-19 River Crossing

River crossing

 

The tracks continued…

Back to our neighborhood.

I followed the storied imprints towards home until our trails divided and I tucked myself into homeways while the Wolf continued on. As we parted ways I dreamt up a tale of the wolf’s passing through, its certainty in its steps, confident and steadfast.

From then on, I visited the tracks every day to see if I could unearth further clues. I visited them in better lights of day and photographed them, I found scat and photographed that too (because I am a weirdo and because it’s a clue!). Every day I returned until one day, I found a new clue: more tracks.

I quickly checked with our neighbors to make sure they hadn’t ventured in this direction lately (even though I knew the tracks were too large to attribute to any pup I knew).

They hadn’t.

A return visit.

 

Beneath the Borealis - Snowtime Stories - 2-4-19 Wolf tracks

Well hello again.

 

 

Perhaps the Wolf had found something of interest in our neighborhood? When I consulted the interesting options, the neighborhood dogs as a snack were at the top of the list. We collectively kept a closer eye on the pups who roam about laissez-faire here from cabin to cabin visiting and exploring on their own free time.

Still, the tracks never led directly up to our houses and other than natural instincts, the Wolf didn’t tell me of ominous plans.

I visited the tracks every day again, looking for old clues and waiting for new ones.

And then, just like that, the book was closed. It started to snow, washing the tracks away, tucking them beneath the layers of stories already told and those still to come.

That’s the thing: out here, the story whispers at you to listen, to follow, to imagine and just as soon, before you know it, that whispered invitation is gone.

I guess that is the long answer to a short question of how I stay entertained. I like the stories this place tells and the urgency with which they arrive and depart. The scarcity makes each story louder, the closeness makes each one more personal.

Today, as I write, the snow falls thick again hiding all the tales since its last frosted ancestors fell, leaving a blank slate for stories anew, waiting to be explored.

With love (via heart-shaped vole prints),

 

from Alaska

 

Beneath the Borealis - Snowtime Stories - 2-4-19 Animal Tracks of Alaska

 

 

Beneath the Borealis The More On 10-22-18 Tiny Home Alaska

A Confession: Phase I

Here’s a confession:

As much as I love our life and where we live, I’ve always been a bit reticent to show what our house looks like.

Well, at least on the outside.

The inside of our cabin is our cozy haven, filled with bright colors and soft fabrics and candlelight enough to make a Dane shout “Hygge!” (if you don’t know about the Hygge movement, check it out. You won’t be disappointed).

 

 

Beneath the Borealis The More On 10-22-18 Tiny Home Alaska Christmas

First Christmas, Family photo

 

 

The outside…well, let’s just say it doesn’t quite evoke the same feeling.

Still, I tried to pretend it didn’t matter. In my newly found simple life, it felt incongruous to care so much about appearances. It was such a small part of my life. The outside of my house bothering me? It seemed petty. I tried to push it down.

I’d take nighttime photos of snow lit evenings, the house aglow with the warmth it possessed inside but in the day, without the camouflage of night or the focus shifted to something in the foreground, I was less likely to share the view.

Why?

Our house is naked.

 

Beneath the Borealis The More On 10-22-18 Tiny Home Alaska

Hello, love.

 

 

With Tyvek that doesn’t even cover all of the house and no siding in sight, our little haven looks a little rough from the outside.

There’s a lot of things I’ve grown used to while living in Alaska that I realize are still strange to others, no matter how normal they’ve become to me.

Outhouses? Normal.

Peeing outside? Normal.

No running water? Normal.

Infrequent showers? Normal.

Living off the grid? Totally normal.

I’ve adapted and found a way to make these changes work for me and some I’ve embraced completely unaltered, loving the way they’ve changed me instead. And of all those normal to me, strange to others things, not a one felt noteworthy or strange or something to hide…except for the outside of the house.

It’s a work in progress and a work in progress is a very common thing in Alaska but it never sat quite right with me. Perhaps it’s because we are really stretching the “normalcy” of it all since we most likely are holding the current record for most years before siding. Still, it’s not as if our neighbors scoff at it, though it is a bit of an ongoing joke at this point.

You see, our house was built by The Chief and his family over a decade ago. I loved it on sight and it immediately felt like home. Despite its bachelor veneer, I saw the beauty underneath and with a little (ok, a lot) of scrubbing and love it became our home. Our cozy cabin has everything we need. Yet, because of the grand plan for the house (The Chief added a 10’X12′ addition on a few years back and we have plans for more expansion), our house has remained “in progress” and naked (read: without siding) since birth. We may not be the only house in progress, it’s definitely more common in Alaska than the Lower 48 but still, at ten plus years, our house really takes the cake.

Houses, like ours, that have additions added throughout the years are lovingly titled “More-On” houses where we live. It’s, you guessed it, pronounced like “moron”, insinuating simultaneously that you’ve learned a lot of what not to do along the way and that the project is never quite done. There’s always more to add on.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis The More On 10-22-18 Tiny Home Alaska Winter Construction

An oldie but a goodie. The first shelving project.

 

 

It took me time to adjust. In the Lower 48, you buy a move-in ready house or construct a house and often, you don’t move in until the last nail is placed and the final bits of sawdust have been vacuumed. In Alaska, it is far more common for people to move in before the project is finished. There are a lot of factors that make this so. For The Chief, it was a race against Winter. He could stay in the house he built, even though it was unfinished, or he could again rent a cabin that was not his own. He chose to go with his own work and finish it as time went on. And he did, but when it came to the siding, it just didn’t take priority. Houses take two things to build on your own: time and money and when you’re a young man in your 20’s with a roof overhead that you built by hand on a property that you own, I’d say you’re doing pretty well. Who cares if you don’t have siding? And, if you plan to expand, why go through the time and money to simply provide a finished look outside, when the inside is where you spend your time?

It made sense.

I guess.

Yet still, the more we planned and talked about the projects we wanted to do in the future, the farther away we realized that the future would be. As we already know, construction is costly in both money and time and every project here always ends up being 10 times more involved than it seems. From needing extra wood because you missed a cut to running out of screws or vapor barrier or running into unpredictable weather, there is always something that prolongs the process. So, for now, we’ve decided that we have plenty of space in our 12’X22′ cabin for the two of us. At some point we will expand, but for now, we’ve decided to focus on improving that which we already have.

And so, along came the birth of the siding project.

It would be simple. The Chief have already harvested trees and milled them into boards in a late Spring shuffle. All we had to do was “slap them on” (a favorite phrase of The Chief’s).

Phase I:

In order to put siding on your house, your house should be complete. This was the step I thought we had completed prior to deciding that it was finally siding time. But (big, big “But”), in talking more, we realized that wasn’t true.

As a man in his 20’s building a house from scratch on his own dime, The Chief had to be resourceful and so, in that resourcefulness, he had incorporated plenty of recycled materials to finish the job. From windows to interior siding, our house was a lovingly crafted hodge-podge of materials from the valley we live in. From historic to hand-me-down the house had come together in a wonderful, less-expensive amalgamation of materials. Yet, despite the low-cost at the time, the novelty of some of these things was wearing off as they started to lose their functionality. We finally relented to the fact that the old windows he had salvaged that no longer had screens and wouldn’t open, needed replacing.

“Great! Let’s do it next Summer when we have a little more money!” I suggested.

Wrong.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis The More On 10-22-18 Tiny Home Alaska Construction

Windows out!

 

 

Like I mentioned earlier, a fact which is clearly new to my construction understanding, every change needs to be complete before the siding goes up.

We had ten days before we were leaving.

If we wanted to side the house this Winter when we finally would have time to, the windows needed to go in.

And so, The Chief made the trip to town which he graciously allowed me to back out of since I’d basically been on the road since July.

A few days later, he returned and the race began.

New windows before departure.

The clock was ticking.

In a hustle like I’d never seen, The Chief not only put in windows but also built us a shed for our newly acquired solar freezer (so we did not have to ask for storage help as much) in less than a week. Thanks to some serious help from our friends, everything was built in time to start the project…

This Winter.

Siding project: Phase I: Complete.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis The More On 10-22-18 Tiny Home Alaska Windows

New windows. One less couch. New set-up. Thanks, K!

 

 

Now, we only have to wait a few months until we get home to start actually siding.

Just like everything in Alaska, this too will take time.

And so, now that the secret is out, now that you know our house is naked, I’ll share with you it’s clothing process along the way.

Until then, may your projects be speedy and finished…eventually.

With love,

 

from Alaska & California.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis The More On 10-22-18 Tiny Home Alaska California

Good day, sun ray.

Beneath the Borealis Under Pressure 10-15-18 Fennel Herb Salt Gardening in Alaska

Under Pressure

I hate to say it, but I often perform best under pressure.

//Obviously, we all are going to need to listen to Queen’s “Under Pressure” now. Come on, you know you want to.//

Throughout the past ten years or so, I’ve been able to start to curb the maddened procrastinator’s panic and channel it a fraction more usefully by ever so slightly planning ahead. Yet still, that edging towards a deadline, that building of pressure seems to always produce something a little more magical than that which is created without the deafening drumbeats of time.

Or maybe, that’s just the procrastinator’s validation because, really, there’s no true way to test it.

All that I do know for sure is that sometimes I need a little fire beneath my feet in order to jump in.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Under Pressure 10-15-18 Ozarks MO

Jump on in, the water is fine. There may be a Water Moccasin or two but…

 

 

Alaska, in and of herself, is a fire underfoot. She pushes you to do things now because later will often look very different. And so, to her, I am grateful for the small procrastinations she’s helped me to shift. To do the little things immediately, before you can’t. The generator is warm? Run it now before it cools down outside and you find yourself having to build a fire to bring it to temperature, all while your computer battery is now suddenly dead and you find yourself suddenly approaching a deadline. Do it. Now.

The other way, perhaps a bit sneakier, that Alaska has set a fire beneath my feet is in the way of a simpler life. I wanted a simpler life. I read about it. I dreamed about it. But my life was so plentiful that I didn’t have scarcity to be my guide.

Never fear, Alaska is here.

I needed the scarcity of Alaska to really learn to take inventory and advantage of what I have. To use everything to the very last drop and savor it, knowing that it may be months before I can replace it. To get inventive in stretching meals when unexpected guests come over without simply going to the store to pick up more. And don’t get me wrong, there are times when I wish we could do just that, but I also love the communal effort that ensues when you’re short just one egg for a recipe and suddenly, the neighborhood search is on.

Scarcity has forced me to repurpose and reinvent that which is no longer available and to use all of that which is abundant.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Under Pressure 10-15-18 Conjoined Summer Squash Gardening in Alaska

Conjoined Summer Squash was all this baby wanted to produce. Twinsies for days.

 

So, when our garden had gifted us it’s very last labors of love and was ready to be put to sleep, I turned my attention to our final product: herb salt.

After a girlfriend gave me a heaping jar of this salty goodness, I could not get enough. It’s a finishing salt (something I didn’t even know existed until another girlfriend introduced me to Maldon salt. Try it, thank her later) that goes on, well, everything and I absolutely adore it.

And so, since that first gift, I’ve been taking anything and everything from our garden I can to make herb salt.

Fennel salt?

Sure!

Chive salt?

Bring it on.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Under Pressure 10-15-18 Fennel Herb Salt Gardening in Alaska

Hello, gorgeous.

 

 

My usual suspects, sage and rosemary were only flying at half-mast this year (the rosemary was a no go) and so, the old steadfast oregano came in for the win.

I spent the better part of an afternoon in my gardening overalls, watching the sun make it’s journey as I sliced and diced and salted to my heart’s content. I layered pink and white sea salt and labeled away and as the sun started to make her descent and the chill came on.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Under Pressure 10-15-18 Herb Salt Gardening in Alaska

 

 

I packed up, using my garden bounty baskets I’d collected the herbs in (which feels very fancy and fun. Funny how one small wicker basket can bring you such delight) and was almost inside when…

I spilled the salt.

Of the dozen or so salts, my favorite, the one I had written birthday wishes upon for my girlfriend crashed to the ground, breaking the delicately crafted layers of pink and white and green into a swirled mess on the ground at my feet.

So is life.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Under Pressure 10-15-18 Fennel Seeds Gardening in Alaska

Herb castings.

 

 

Thankfully, there were others remaining that I could also dedicate to her and thankfully, a little bit of that good old-fashioned Alaskan fire underfoot had made me take the day to turn our garden’s goodness into something that would last all year.

I needed that fire.

Thank you, Alaska for always providing a little incentive (sometimes a lot) and for always giving a last-minute reminder to not take it too seriously, spilled salt and all.

With love, and a little bit of get ‘er done pressure,

From Alaska.

 

P.S. Want the recipe? It goes a little like this:

Dried or fresh herbs (they say to refrigerate the fresh herbs but I’m not so worried about it – up to you). Mix and match to your heart’s content. My favorite combination has been sage and rosemary. What’s yours?

Your favorite salt or salts. I adore me some pink Himalayan salt if for nothing but the color alone. Everything is good. It’s salt, what could be bad?

Mix or layer to your preferred ratios.

Enjoy!

//I know this recipe is more of a suggestion than hard numbers. If you like those, I totally get it, I’m exactly the same. Dashes of this and pinches of that used to stress me out. But, consider this a little fire under your feet, a little stretch to try out winging it. I know you’ll do great!//

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Under Pressure 10-15-18 Lavaterra Gardening in Alaska

The loverly Lavaterra, greeting the day.

 

 

 

Three More Days

There’s always a song.

For most of my life, I’ve had a song stuck in my head. Not so much stuck in my head, actually, but more a sort of mental placeholder, a marker for the time being. Others pop in and out constantly (some  I feel like I’m playing Whack-A-Mole with. “Get out of here, Bohemian Rhapsody!” Just kidding, that song rocks) but often, there’s one that sings to me in the background, over the in and outs and often it’s trying to tell me something.

When I was a young soccer player, I grew certain that whatever song popped into my head while playing would be an omen for the game. Since my 9-year-old self-was deep down a Country music rabbit-hole the outlook for my achy-breaky heart didn’t look good. After nearly three undefeated seasons I realized that my interpretation of the omens must have been slightly off. I must have just been hearing the message wrong. And so I grew to see my song companions as more of a horoscope. You can read into it whatever you want. Or you can just enjoy a (hopefully) really good song.

Last year, when we ventured to California, the song was, fittingly, “California” by Joni Mitchell. It stayed with me for months, holding space, holding its place as a teacher and a reminder amongst the awkwardness of shifting lifestyles of the beauty of this golden land and reconnected me to my love for it.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Three More Days 10-1-18 Central Valley Sunset California

Hello, Golden State.

 

 

This year, all I could hear was Ray LaMontagne (if you don’t know this sweet Southern-ish songbird, do yourself and your ears a fabulous favor and take a listen. Don’t worry, it’s not like the Country from before). In my ear, he sang the song “Three More Days”.

“Three more days. Girl, you know I’ll be coming home to you”.

The song is about returning to your love after being out on the road and getting the job done so you can return. It’s also, to me, about how there’s a draw for the road and for home, a dichotomous relationship between being stationary and being on the move. Wanting to leave as much as he wants to come home. As much as he loves the road, he loves his lady but both take him away from the other in a sort of tug of war of the heart.

It also speaks to a pretty steamy reunion, which never hurts.

This song popped in and didn’t pop out and at first, it seemed a little too obvious. Normally, the songs that stick have a deeper meaning but “Three More Days” starting on the day we left home? Well, yeah, from start to finish our journey takes us three days.

Come on.

Easy!

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Three More Days 10-1-18 Flying to Alaska

The first of many flights. Into Winter we went.

 

 

I’ve always accepted the journey for what it is: 3 days of upheaval, of packing and repacking, a flurry of activity, of last checks on the To Do list all wrapped up in a constant state of mild to moderate anxiety. “Did I turn off the propane at the house?” “Did I bring my Winter gear in case we need cold weather survival clothing on the way home?” and the Alaskan favorite due to our constant Red-Eye flight times and constant stories of missed flights: “Did I get my flight date right?”

But all of this is normal, right?

It wasn’t until I heard the song for the 50th or so time in my head as we trucked along that I realized how incredibly bizarre a journey like this is. It feels “Old time-y”. One friend asked me if we drove all the way here. Another asked if we had taken a boat. Both were joking but it made me realize that this journey Home (in either direction) is really, really, really long!

The initial message of the song may have seemed obvious but I guess I needed it because really, truly, I had never quite recognized what a trek it is. This Summer gave me an inkling after I returned from my 5th trip out. A quick weekend trip to Fairbanks of three days I realized was actually padded on each side by travel days. 9-hour long travel days. Making the grand total actually a 5-day endeavor with a return at midnight.

And then there’s recovering from it all.

We left our home, anxiety levels high and mental and physical checklists being manically ticked off around noon. We still had a few stops but we’d be on the road by 1pm, we figured. We barreled through our last chores. First: securing all merchandise in plastic totes at the Fire Department so we wouldn’t return to a cozy vole home of shredded Fire Department hoodies laden with the sleepy-eyed little mongrels. Next: Mail to send off final Thank-Yous for our Fire Department fundraiser. Then, storage. Our dear friend generously let us store our non-freezables in his basement again. Last year it was frozen items and non-freezables but with the addition of our new solar freezer, things had changed (more on that soon).

Finally, we were picking up our road buddy and we were off! Sort of. We crossed the bridge and headed to The Chief’s boss’s home to collect his last check of the season and to check out their enormous home. There’s a tower, people. A tower. There’s also a bridge. Honestly, all they are missing is a moat and this thing is a modern-day castle. Quite the shift from the cozy cabin life. After a tour and a catch-up, the road called our names and we were off.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Three More Days 10-1-18 Alaskan Off the Grid.jpg

Goodbye, Swimming Hole! See you in the freeze.

 

 

It was almost 2 pm.

The song began.

Nevertheless, we made great time to Town and floated into Anchorage in the late evening with plenty of time still left for a smorgasbord of sushi.

The next day was a whirlwind of “Town Chores” like doctor appointments and buying last minute winter gear and, of course, checking incessantly that we indeed had the correct departure day. “Ok, we fly on the 28th at 12:30 am so we need to be there tonight, right?” It sounds easy enough but when you’ve heard tale after tale of missed flights, you start to wonder.

Finally, it was time for the flight and after another sushi dinner (I can really pack in my “sush” on those Town Runs) we were ready. We settled in to try to get some sleep.

Nope.

A few restless, neck kinking hours later, we landed in Seattle where I suddenly remembered we had a four-hour layover. Oh joy! The Chief looked at me like I was crazy. He had been prepared for this blow. Didn’t I remember?

Nope.

We had booked the tickets way back in May and I had completely forgotten the mess we had gotten ourselves into in order to spend only a small fortune versus a large fortune on travel. The Red Eye Layover. So, at 3 AM Alaska time, we landed, tried to sleep, found ourselves incapable and succumbed to four hours of people watching and, for me, working.

Truth be told, people watching is my favorite, but sleep? Sleep is pretty high on the list too.

There would be none.

At 11:30 am we landed (hard, after popping out of the cloud cover to a seemingly closer than they realized runway) in California.

5 hours later, after a meal (a second for me. I had already had sushi for breakfast. I know, it’s a problem) and multiple introductions to friends of my Mama’s we were in bed.

Three days of travel and we had finally arrived.

We were exhausted.

And rightly so. Three days of travel. How had I not seen it before?

In the three days since we’ve been here, the song has continued. Perhaps, it’s helping me to see the obvious: that this trip I’ve always taken to be “normal” is actually above and beyond “normal”, ranging on “crazy” and thus granting ourselves permission to dip into the California pool slowly, toes first. To take time to acclimate.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Three More Days 10-1-18 Northern California

Dip the toes in. Peek out from the clouds.

 

 

Perhaps, outside of the obvious, which was not so obvious to me, it’s there to remind me of the dichotomy in which we live, the two very different lands our hearts simultaneously straddle. The wanting to stay and the wanting to go and the beauty of wanting both at once. It’s both hard to leave and a joy to arrive in both places. The pull of the new and the warmth of the known and the way each shifts to fill the hole the other creates.

Perhaps it’s an omen.

Perhaps it’s just a really good song.

Either way, in any way, it’s this year’s anthem.

Cheers to you and yours, whether at home or on the road, nestled in and waiting for Winter or rushing away with the chill of Fall nipping at your heels. Cheers to the omens, great and small.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Three More Days 10-1-18 Fall in Alaska

Until next Fall.

 

 

With love,

from Alaska & California

P.S. Next week, one of my best friends is getting married and so, in wanting to be present with her, I’ll be taking the week off. See you in two!

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Make a Wish

For the Love of Film

The last time the Three Amigos hit Anchorage, Anchorage hit back. What was supposed to be a quick trip in to see a doctor about a pesky sinus infection turned into a week-long endeavor, sinus surgery included. So, when The Chief mentioned a trip for the motley three of us again, I figured “Count me in! What could go wrong?”

The last trip was during my first Winter and was less motivated (for The Chief at least) by his sinuses and more about Fur Rondy (Fur Rendezvous) a 10-day festival in the height of Winter to celebrate the start of the Iditarod and to showcase well, fur. Being from California, this sort of thing was a bit foreign at first but in a place where the temperature can quickly shift to 40 below zero, there really is nothing like fur to keep you warm. That being said, I haven’t exactly been converted into a collector, but I do cherish my vintage white as snow Arctic Fox stole my girlfriend gifted me before I joined The Chief for my first Wintry adventure.

Fur Rondy was an adventure all in its own. There were Reindeer Races a la Running with the Bulls in Spain and furs I’d never even dreamed of and a general feeling of happiness in the dead of Winter.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Fur Rondy.jpg

 

 

However, as I mentioned, it wasn’t all hunky-dorey after The Chief’s doctors appointment turned into a scheduling session for emergency surgery. We left a week later, The Chief swollen and bruised, and all of us cranky from the amount of money we had had to spend in order to survive for far longer than planned in the concrete jungle.

Still, it was a great trip.

And so, we planned the next one.

Why? You ask.

For the love of film.

The Chief adores movies. When I picture his perfect evening, it’s Winter outside, the fireplace is going inside, and we are donning jammies while watching movies. And so, when we go to town, my little movie buff goes bananas. Catching a flick is his top non-chore priority. It’s one of the added bonuses of what can be a very rushed and tough few days during a Town Run.

But this time, it wasn’t the bonus, it was the reason.

You see, apparently “one of the best movies ever” was being re-released for its 50th anniversary for one week across the nation.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Hal

Perhaps this will give you a clue…

 

 

Since it came out in the 60’s, it was the first opportunity The Chief had ever had to see the film on the big screen. The movie? “2001: A Space Odyssey” co-written and directed by Stanley Kubrick (the other co-writer was Arthur C. Clark whose short story “The Sentinel” inspired 2001). The first I heard of the film was while we were in Anchorage. The Chief had just picked me up from a two-week family visit and as we sat and sipped our caffeinated beverages the next morning, The Chief told me about this amazing happening: re-released! One week! IMAX!

When?

Next week.

We were in Anchorage. We still had errands to run and an 8-hour drive home. I hadn’t been home in almost three weeks at this time due to travel on both ends and now The Chief was suggesting we do it all again 5 days after getting home.

I couldn’t have said anything other than an emphatic “Yes!” The sheer excitement in The Chief’s eyes made the choice easy. He was adorably elated.

And so, we made plans.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Alaska

Finally home. Only to leave again.

 

 

We packed up the truck with my barely unpacked suitcase and hitched up the trailer The Chief’s Dad had made for him years earlier. We were locked and loaded and ready to go.

 

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Alaska National Parks

Just missing one Amigo.

 

 

8-hours later, we arrived at our Airbnb. It was…interesting. The homeowner was extremely kind. The house was…in transition mode and the set-up was a little differently than I had thought. Our third Amigo was to sleep in the basement in a bed with barely enough clearance to turn over. Still, as they themselves proclaim, those boys can sleep anywhere and so we made it work and by “we” I mean “he” because he really took one for the team by taking that “bedroom”. I was scared just to walk down there, much less sleep.

We settled in and showered up and I got to go to dinner with a dear girlfriend and eat sushi. Be still my heart. The night finished up as the 8-hour drive caught up with us and we settled into dreams of the big screen.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Monolith

Haunting.

 

 

It was amazing.

Hype is a sure-fire way to make me skeptical and this movie couldn’t have had more hype. Anyone I mentioned the movie to was over the top excited about it. My co-worker about lost his mind when I told him of our plans and he realized he had almost missed an event (the re-release) he’d been waiting decades for. So, yes, needless to say, the hype was hyper-present.

It was also correct.

Even if you hated everything about the film, you’d still have to appreciate it. The sheer ingenuity of Kubrick to create those scenes without the use of today’s special effects was and is monumental. The film is a sensory experience. It just gets to you. Here I go, hyping it up now to you but really, if you haven’t seen it, do. Big screen or not, the film computes (and, I think it’s still in some select theaters. Go!)

After the three-hour film (oh yeah, did I not mention that? It even had an intermission. Amazing) we were amped and off we went to celebrate. We had even picked up another Amigo from our town and to add to the celebration, it was her birthday weekend. We joined into the downtown Anchorage weekend mayhem like Anthropologists watching a newly discovered people.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Anchorage AK.jpg

I didn’t realize someone had painted a portrait of The Chief in Town!

 

 

 

We ended the night with a walk home and fell into bed. The whirlwind of our trip had caught up with me and I was exhausted.

Just in time for more chores.

We awoke the next day, tidied the house and were off to errand our way out of town. There were just a few things to finish up since we had done most of our errands the day before in a mad rush of constantly checking our phones to make sure we had enough time to get to the movie. We had zig-zagged across town enough times to make me dizzy gathering up random necessities and helping friends with some last-minute pick-ups. Yet, at the end of the day, the lumber was ordered, the pick-ups were picked-up and we were all set for an easy out. Out of town. Back to home to finally settle in after what now felt like a month away.

Easy-peasy, right?

Wrong.

The first clue to our day of fun (that was sarcastic) was the lumber yard. The great thing about going to the building supply store we did was that they pick and pull the lumber for you (and actually pick the good pieces versus some other big box stores), wrap it and have it ready to load onto your rig. Well, our rig was ready but the lumber was not. As it turned out, not one pound of the near 4,000 pounds of lumber we were picking up had been picked out.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Anchorage AK Spenard Builders Supply.jpg

 

 

And so, we helped to load each and every piece and pound until we were face to face with the next bit of fun: our trailer was not going to be able to carry this load. So, into the bed of the truck I climbed. I crouched under the truck topper and pulled out every single thing from the right side of the truck bed. It was the first of many reorganizations of that day, another little hint of what was to come.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Remote Life Alaska.jpg

Only one item is ours: the sweatshirt on top.

 

 

Once the bed was clear, it was time to offload and reload the lumber that we had just loaded onto the trailer. 80 2x4s later, the truck was loaded and the trailer was lighter but there was still no way it was hauling that load. For around our valley, that thing is a beast but it was never meant for a trip like this, we had just hoped it would work.

It wouldn’t.

An hour later, after a teeth-clenching 20 mph drive along the freeway, the reality was unavoidable: we would have to buy a trailer. Suddenly, our 8-ft. trailer was traded up to a car trailer. This was a whole new driving situation. I’d never pulled a trailer until half-way through our 8-hour drive out and that had been without a load. This was a whole new ballgame. Thankfully, The Chief was up for the task.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Hauling Lumber Contractor.jpg

 

 

After learning all of the new things to know about this behemoth, then came the next task: loading the lumber. Again. Thankfully, this time we had another set of hands as a friend (whom we’d just said “goodbye” to hours ago after picking up some things for friends at his house earlier that day) came to retrieve the other trailer and haul it out later that week. Another hour later, the lumber was again loaded and secured with burly tie-downs. The situation felt umpteen times safer. Finally, we were situated. Finally, we could get on the road. We bid adieu to our friend for the second time that day and consulted our timepieces.

Our jaws dropped.

It was 5pm.

We still had Costco to do.

We still had 8 hours in front of us.

The idea to stay the night and try again for tomorrow came upon us like an angel’s kiss. Sweet relief! Until we collectively realized that the items we had collected for our friends that morning and the day before from multiple places were needed back at home ASAP. No relief.

Our bellies grumbled as we realized that no one had eaten that day (well, I had eaten almost all of our leftover pizza but it was a small pizza!) but time was of the essence so, we decided to run our last two errands and then head to Costco, the land of food. An hour plus later, shopping carts full, we found our treats to eat and took a moment to breathe. It was nearing 7pm. We packed the truck again, carefully re-organizing so that when we returned home, the things we needed most would be accessible.

By 8pm we were on the road.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Alaska Off the Grid Living

The drive may be long but it’s gorgeous through and through.

 

 

We still had shopping to do in the town an hour outside of town but at least we were on the road.

An hour later, we revved our carts like they were racecars and headed in for the last push. That momentum faltered as we tried to remember just what it was we needed here. It’s a funny thing in those moments, time either stands still and you walk around like a zombie, completely oblivious, comparing just which non-dairy creamer looks the best OR you panic, decide you need nothing and end up with a cart containing little more than random items you didn’t need and nothing you actually did need.

Finally, we re-packed for the last time that night and headed off into the night, The Chief at the helm with a caffeine co-pilot and myself up front, our third Amigo in the back in the somehow completely full backseat. The truck was packed to the gills, mainly with other people’s things but packed it was and ready we were.

8 hours later, we returned home.

As the clock struck 5am and I bobbed in and out of sleep, grateful for our third’s ability to stay up and entertain The Chief since I had failed at my copilot’s duties to do so, we pulled into our newly spiffed up driveway. The sweet smell of chamomile welcomed me back as we all let out a sigh of relief. As good as it sounded to not drive all night and to stay in Anchorage, being home felt so much better.

We layered our friend up for his cold ride home as he still had a 40 minute 4-wheeler ride across a river and a “creek” (read: river) and congratulated ourselves on another Amigo adventure. It hadn’t turned out the way we had planned, which meant it had turned out exactly as planned.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Make a Wish

Wish you may, but you still might not get home until 5am “tonight”.

 

 

Almost 20 hours of driving, countless hours packing and re-packing thousands of pounds and all of it for the love of film. I can’t say I’ve ever worked that hard to see a movie in my life but I can say it was worth it.

Every pound, every mile was worth seeing those two Amigos smiling from ear to ear for three hours straight.

Another trip for the books.

Until next time.

With love,

from Alaska.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis For the Love of Film 2001 A Space Odyssey Alaskan Highways.jpg

Fall is a comin’

Beneath the Borealis 04-16-18 Woodstove Tiny House

The Ebb and Flow

The Ebb and Flow

Alaskan Tiny Home Living Ups and Downs

Somedays, in the woods of Alaska, you wake up to an exact serving of fresh coffee grounds and the sweet sound of the tea kettle already boiling water. Your kitchen promises two dozen eggs at your disposal and the woodstove glows with last nights logs, now in beautiful coal form which means, lighting a fire will be a cinch and that the house is already likely above 50 degrees. Plus, a huge stack of firewood rests at your disposal next to the fireplace. You barely have to step outside for more than your morning “restroom” break (read: one must learn the art of the nature pee to live out here).

You spend your morning drinking your coffee, having scrambled eggs with veggies (you have tons at the moment) and your favorite cheese and even some orange juice on the side. You’re freshly showered and the laundry bin is empty as you spent the day yesterday doing laundry, depleting your water stores, and then hauling water to replenish them. You are stocked up in all avenues: food, warmth, clothing, hygiene, water and you even have some extras sprinkled on: orange juice, special cheese, freshly cleaned socks.

You are, as my Mama would say “In ’em”.

 

 

 

Stock-piled.

Things are looking on the bright side and lining up quite nicely.

On the other hand, some mornings, you wake up to a house at 37 degrees. You gingerly grab your robe, cursing the logs you had hoped would “catch” before you went to sleep and cursing yourself for not babying them further to ensure they would put out warmth. You go downstairs to find that there not only are no grounds, but there is no coffee, at which point, the rummaging begins to find where exactly in this tiny home of yours, you’ve hidden this gem from yourself. You further find that you are nearly out of water but luckily enough, you have just enough for coffee and so delicately fill up the tea kettle, hoping not to spill a drop. You’ll be hauling water shortly.

You go to light a fire and find that the fire did not catch well, but did leave you with a charcoal mess, by the time you organize it, you look like a chimney sweep. You resign to build another fire but there is no wood in the house at which point you decide to venture outside into what will, of course, be a brr-inducing morning and find that there is no chopped wood outside either. Being a stubborn beast, you decide to chop wood, despite the cold, with bare hands and slippers in your robe. Wild-haired, sweating with soot on your face, you return to start a fire, just as your water boils. Now it’s time to build a fire, find the coffee (and hope that you, in fact, do have extra coffee) and grind it. 15 minutes later, you’re finally getting the day started. It’s breakfast time but you realize your last egg went down the gullet yesterday and so you opt for oatmeal instead but realize you don’t even have enough water. A slightly mealy apple it is.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-16-18 Dogs of Alaska

You start to feel like this fine creature.

 

 

And now it’s time for water.

It’s still not even chimed 8am.

In all likelihood, your last shower was a bit too far off for comfort, your socks have been “recycled” once or twice (let’s be honest, at least twice) and your fresh food supply is starting to not even meet Alaska Good standards (a term my girlfriend created in California as a way to gauge if something was indeed too far gone to eat. Alaska Good is still edible, but it’s close. Really close. I’ve been known to grab things before people throw them in the compost, saving apples with little bruises and lettuce that has a few slimy pieces but I do cap it at Alaska Good, most of the time). You’re dirty, hungry, under-caffeinated, out of water, out of wood, warm only because of the exercise your just beginning day already required and the only extra you have sprinkled on is the plethora of chores you have to do. The only bright side is that you can see the beautiful fire you just made because in the ebb you made an amazing concoction out of orange peels that takes away the grime and leaves you with this:

 

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-16-18 Woodstove Tiny House

Hello, love.

 

 

You’re, as my Mama would say “Not in ’em”.

Some days, you’re in ’em and some days, you’re so far out of ’em you don’t remember what ’em looked like.

The ebb and flow here might as well be called the drought and the downpour because that is exactly how it goes.

Home from Town?

In ’em.

You’ve got meats and cheeses and eggs, oh my! Juices and fruits and veggies! You even have spinach.

Spinach, people. In the woods. That stuff barely keeps in the city but somehow, if you baby it every day, you can make it last a week here.

And then, a week passes and suddenly, supplies are rapidly decreasing. What felt like a boatload of supplies starts to look more like a mere bucket full and the rationing begins.

Ebb and flow.

Drought and downpour.

Yet oftentimes, just as you’re about to grab your divining rod, Alaska smiles upon you in the drought. Just as you crack your last egg, your friend’s chickens come out of Winter production and he’s selling again. Just as you face down your last bell pepper, your girlfriend picks you up one as a present one day while doing a laundry journey into Close Town.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-16-18 Woodstove Tiny House

Or, you remember the Shaggy Manes your girlfriend gave you a while back and you rehydrate them.

 

 

And the same rings true in reverse. Just as your neighbor runs out of salt, there you are, having bought extra with extra to spare. When all of your avocados ripen at once, you make a guacamole to share or you send one along as a gift. And then it returns, for just as you feel you can’t possibly cook another darn meal (as you cook every meal you eat, every day), someone calls to say they made extra chili if you’re hungry.

Of course, you are and you have a block of cheddar to top that chili with.

The go around come around makes the drought and downpour feel a little less torrential and a little more like an ebb and flow. It makes a life that can be hard, a little easier for even though the hard is what makes it good, sometimes you just need a little reprieve.

I’ve never lived a life where I couldn’t just pop into the store for what I’ve needed. I’ve never relied on my neighbors or felt comfortable enough doing so to call them at 9 pm and ask if they have an extra can of tomato paste. I’ve never cherished fresh as I do today or looked at a salad as if it were a goddess.

So, despite the sometimes harshness of the drought and downpour, the frustration of there not being wood, or not being water, or feeling like I may as well put in to be a member of the Garbage Pail Kids, the appreciation provided by the times where we are “In ’em” is enough. This place makes gratitude easy for the necessities are obvious and the ebb or flow of them is immediate.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-16-18 Ice Fall Nizina River Alaska

Plus, the scenery isn’t too bad either.

 

 

And so…

may your water buckets (or pipes) be full, may your pantries be stocked, may your baths be often (I am living vicariously through you, a bath is a gift from the Gods) and may your neighbors be kind enough to send over a little sugar once in a while.

I hope you’re in ’em.

 

Beneath the Borealis Easter 04-02-18 Easter 2018 Brunch Quiche

The Great Alaskan Adult Easter Egg Hunt

One of the first things I realized when I realized that I lived in Alaska was this: I miss my kids.

In California, I had kiddos galore.

Now, don’t get ready to call the authorities, I haven’t left a clan of little Julia’s running about stealing people’s pancakes and causing a ruckus. No, they weren’t little Julia’s, they were the littles of my friends and family and together, we ran thick as thieves.

I remember some of the first gatherings I went to with this particular group of friends turned family, over ten years ago now, and everyone laughed as they turned to see me, surrounded solely by children, not an adult in sight.

I was in heaven.

Growing up as the younger sibling of a brother 8 years my senior, things could get a little quiet around our house. I spent a lot of time alone, which I liked, but there had always been a part of me that wanted a big, bustling family.

Well, I got it.

Every week, at least once, we all got together to celebrate anything from Taco Tuesday to Frittata Fridays (actually, we never did Frittata Fridays but that is a genius idea. Jotting it down now). The point is, we were together all the time. From regular days to holidays, we were a great big extended family.

Those kids taught me so much: how to speak “Giggle” (as some of my adult friends now call it), how to make something from nothing, the art of a snack and the ease of pure love.

Upon arriving in Alaska, I missed those interactions, those lessons, those laughs and I spent my first Summer missing them more as I realized I was staying. Holidays were the hardest. Our first Easter here, I let float by with little more than a realization that it was, in fact, Easter. Without the littles running amok, what was the point?

Yet, thankfully, it wasn’t long before the families with kiddos became our friends with kiddos.

Hallelujah!

Since they aren’t always around, the littles I met here couple with missing the littles I’ve known in California for over a decade brewed a new reality: every holiday is cause for celebration, kids or no kids.

And so, along came Easter weekend, and there were kids and also no kids.

On Friday, I got my kiddo fix in the form of a lake party under a very nearly full moon to celebrate the birthday of a little lady of the lake.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Easter 04-02-18 Full Moon March 2018

A full moon and alpenglow? Lucky, indeed.

 

 

Although I didn’t know the kids as well, we had yet to establish inside jokes or hand signals, just being around them brought me back to the time of being surrounded by such intimacies. Plus, watching one of them fall asleep while in the middle of gearing up (boots, jackets, gloves, etc.) brought on the belly laugh that only kid foibles can.

Then, came Easter. The plan was a brunch but the day before, inspired by the kiddo time, we decided to add a little play into the brunch-y day.

The Plan: a sort of white elephant meets easter egg hunt, for adults.

Everyone brought a present or two to hide and by 5 pm, the frittatas, quiches and salads (gosh I love brunch) were eaten and the presents were hidden.

The hunt was on.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Easter 04-02-18 Easter Egg Hunt

And so it begins…

 

 

I was fully impressed. Unearthed were a soldering iron, a movie, a jar of whiskey, a coconut ladle, a leather-bound journal, a backgammon set, a hat and a picture frame. Everyone scored.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Easter 04-02-18 Adult Easter Egg Hunt Alaska

Tadaa!

 

 

Before too long, the sun was starting to make its descent, and in following with my family holiday post-meal tradition, I suggested a walk. The boys were already in pyro mode, setting up for a bonfire, and so the ladies and the pups and I took a stroll down to the river.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Easter 04-02-18 Snow Spring Diamonds

Snow diamonds.

 

 

An hour later, and the bonfire was roaring and the seats around it filling up.

It was time for the second hunt.

Having fully enjoyed the childhood energy of searching for goodies, we decided this couldn’t just stop at ourselves and so, The Chief and I donned our Bunny tails again and hid a new kind of egg in the shape of a can and the colors of the American flag. That’s right, people: The Great Alaskan PBR Easter Egg Hunt.

The eggs lay in snow-covered trees and in snowmachine nooks, at the top of our library and plopped straight into the snow and one by one, a thirsty bonfire-goer would return victorious with the chilled golden liquid in hand.

Yet, like every Easter I’ve ever been too, one egg remained unfound. I had deemed it the “Golden Egg”, as in my family there is always a Golden Egg. It’s the Cats Pajamas, the Cream of the Crop egg, normally containing a treasure paramount to the other eggs and it is always the hardest to find. My nephew prides himself on his Golden Egg radar and we could have used it because the lone soldier still stands today.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Easter 04-02-18 Easter 2018

Can you spot it?

 

 

The night faded and I tucked into dreams…

and awoke to one last wiggle of the Easter Bunny’s tail:

A girlfriend had come by and dropped off a chocolate Easter Bunny, and, in very Alaskan fashion, a scoby to make my own kombucha with.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Easter 04-02-18 Chocolate bunnies

What a combo!

 

 

How I love the woods.

Thank you, friends, for coming together for a beautiful meal, for testing and proving that a Himalayan salt candle does, in fact, also serve as a salt lick and for celebrating in kid-like fashion a day which I’ve missed celebrating.

Here’s to the lessons from the littles. I’ll miss you until I see you, but until then, I’ll try to live up to your liveliness.

Thank you.

Happy Easter, happy Equinox and happy Spring to you.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis Easter 04-02-18 Easter 2018 Brunch Quiche

Brunch: the best meal…until dinner.