work from home

What’s in a Name?

Two years ago this Winter Solstice, The Chief and I got engaged. We’d talked about marriage since the week we first met and cheesy as it may sound, the moment I saw him, I knew we would marry. I knew, but I certainly didn’t know how. The odds seemed stacked against us. I lived in California, he in off-grid Alaska in a lifestyle completely foreign to me. I was looking for a change but hadn’t anticipated a change that great. I wanted a career and living in the woods seemed like the last place one might bubble up. Yet, that feeling, that knowing I felt when I first saw him, that was all I needed to know. I threw my cautions to the wind, gave fate up to the universe and dove into a life together.

Thank goodness.

Having discussed marriage right off the bat, we had always had an open dialogue surrounding it. How would we do it? Where? Would we change our names? Did we care if we were married before we had kids? Just like any hatchling of an idea, we brainstormed about where and when and how it would all go down, what we valued (food, food, more food) and what was less important but one thing was missing: our engagement.

I figured it was just a formality, a simple change in status from girlfriend or boyfriend to fiance. Yet, once we were engaged, things actually did change.

 

Beneath the Borealis, What's in a Name? December 30th, 2019, The Chesters

Post-engagement photo courtesy of LB

 

After getting engaged, our dual daydreaming we’d nestled in together for the two years prior suddenly became public and the questions and comments started pouring in.

“Where will you get married?”

“When?”

“Alaska? Alaska is too far.”

“Whose name will you take?”

Suddenly, our private dreams turned public were instantly open for opinions, suggestions, and scrutiny. As with any public decision, that’s the norm. We all do it. I’d seen it happen and I’d done it myself despite friends lamenting to me about it. Yet even familiarity with this switch didn’t prepare us.

Alaska is a long way off from a lot of the people we love but it’s also our home. Yet, within weeks of getting engaged, we were suddenly somehow planning for a California wedding. Things moved so fast. At first, I was just looking at dresses, then suddenly I was being asked to sign on the dotted dress line, all while discussing our venue options, all while in California.

 

Beneath the Borealis, What's in a Name? December 30th, 2019, Dillon Beach, CA

She’s beautiful, isn’t she?

 

Returning home to Alaska made us realize that, just as always, despite the hard, despite the sacrifices, Alaska is our home and home is where we needed to be married. And so, we planned together for our marriage in Alaska.

One of our plans was that I would change my name. This was something we had gone back and forth about since the very beginning and it was a decision made after much debate and a little magic. You see, The Chief and I both have some interesting familial twists and turns and as we followed each potential family name, we often found ourselves at dead-ends. There were adoptive names, step-family names, names we could have created together and family names. After trying all of the above and more on for size for years, we had finally settled on choosing a family name of which there were two contenders: Page & Chester. However, other than occasionally (and jokingly) being called The Chief in town, The Chief has been known as his last name since moving here: Chester.

 

Beneath the Borealis, What's in a Name? December 30th, 2019, The Chesters of Alaska

Chief Chester

 

In deciding for whom it would be more difficult to change, I decided that it should be me to switch. Changing my last name was less of a hassle than essentially changing The Chief’s first name. My change would consist mainly of paper while his change would require a complete social shift. While The Chief agreed that perhaps it might be easier, we both wanted to be thoughtful in the process and all the history it carries with it.

We sat with the idea. It grew familiar and warm and sweet. I cherished it.

The Chesters.

Still, despite the sweetness, I wondered if it really mattered? Why do we need to share a last name when we are already sharing a life? I ran through my reasoning in my head. Some reasons were small like the simplicity of just writing: The Chesters versus both of our last names and the idea of our kids not having to enter epically long hyphenated names on a scantron test. Some were larger, deeper like the fact that growing up, almost everyone in both of our households had different last names. Everyone was a step or a half and I wanted us all to be a whole, the same. For me, it always boiled down to having kids. To me, this was our chance for a new start together as our own family unit.

Still, I waffled. What would it mean publicly? Would I be considered less of a feminist? Looked down upon by those who had held fast to their names? Would I miss my own last name?

Despite the waffles (and the pancakes), the true, most basic reasoning I wanted to change my name was that my gut told me that “Turning the Page to Chester” (a phrase coined in an Anchorage bridal shop by a spunky lass from Ireland) was an important move for me, one that I needed to make in order to transition from just me to us.

Still, logical or better doesn’t always compute to easy. Change has always been uncomfortable for me, even when it’s in my benefit. I’ve ducked many a change just to avoid transitional discomfort. This change I was hurling my own direction.

So, like any big decision, I put it up to the Universe. I’d ask, the Universe would respond and that would be the end of that.

Right?

Sort of.

The first time, which I swore would be the one and only time, to help me decide I asked:

“Universe, what do you think? Should I be Chester or Page?”

I was driving the backroads of my childhood hometown, roads I’d frequented for almost 30 years at the time. I knew every stretch, every turn. No sooner had I finished my query did I look up and, on a road I’d driven umpteen times, there was a sign, literally: Chester Lane. The sign was old, not some newbie staking their new territory. It had always been there.

 

Beneath the Borealis, What's in a Name? December 30th, 2019, Chester, CA

Chester Lane

 

Convinced, I drove on, feeling warm and light and calm. It was decided.

A few days and a few “Oh, you’re changing your name, huh?” conversations later, I was feeling a little less warm, light and calm. Should I not change my name? Our private decision, which had once felt so right was being publicly challenged. Perhaps I had misheard the Universe. So, again, I asked:

“Wait, did I hear you wrong? Seriously, what do you think? Should I be Chester or Page?”

I said this in an antique shop as I thumbed through vintage postcards. They were divided by state. I was sending cards to people based on where they were from in the country. Missouri for my Grandma. California for Chris and my family, etc. I was halfway through California when I posed the question to the Universe and the next card I thumbed past was a postcard of a snowy scene…in Chester, California.

 

Beneath the Borealis, What's in a Name? December 30th, 2019, The Chesters, Chester, California

My little reminder, on my desk still today

 

I’d never even heard of Chester, California and I’d lived in the Golden State most of my life.

The second time was the charm. I was tired of debating, tired of going back and forth and tired of not listening to myself. I wanted to be Chester. I would be. It was decided.

Our wedding day grew closer and closer and with it came public formalities: registering for a wedding license with the state, filling out paperwork, making financial decisions. Our once private decision-making was now not just public, it was about to be set in stone in the public record. While weddings are, at their base level very romantic, they come with a lot of red tape and planning and learning the hard way. They may not be for everyone, but for us, it was an important transition that I cherish (though certainly, I didn’t always at the moment).

 

Beneath the Borealis, What's in a Name? December 30th, 2019, Marriage License, Anchorage, Alaska

Cuteness.

 

After two years of waiting, the real deal wheels were set in motion and in early September this year, I became Julia Chester.

Sort of.

Talking about a life change and making that change, as I had learned already with talking about marriage versus actually doing it, are two different things. Talking about becoming Chester was easy, changing was less so.

 

Beneath the Borealis, What's in a Name? December 30th, 2019,The Chesters of MXY

September 2019

 

A month after our wedding, sitting solo in the Social Security office on a rainy Fall day in Anchorage, it didn’t feel so easy. Writing my old name next to my new name made me well up and not with joy. I felt a sadness I didn’t quite understand. Still, forward I went. The Universe had answered, twice. I need not ask again.

A week later, back at home, I received my new Social Security card. Julia Chester. The Chief beamed. My stomach hurt.

“I’m having second thoughts about changing my name,” I told him. He responded with kindness and comfort, telling me to do whatever I needed. He encouraged me to take a pause, a breath, a moment. Besides, it would be a while before I would be headed back into Town for phase two of my name change (my license). I would take this pause, slow things down and see where it lead me.

For a few weeks, I decided not to think about it. I’ve always been someone who needs a lot of space to think and a lack of self-judgment to connect with what is true for me. It’s not easy. I gave it some breathing room. After a few weeks had passed, the planted seed started to sprout. I started to think about it again, to research. I reached out to friends I trusted, who were married and who had or planned to have children to ask how they had decided on their last name. I researched the topic on the internet. I researched within.

Then, I put it up to the Universe one final time.

“Should I be Chester or Page?”

Silence.

Nothing.

Everything.

At that moment, the moment I waited for a sign, I heard nothing from outside but from within, I heard myself say “Chester”.

Chester.

The sadness I had felt in the weeks proceeding suddenly felt far away, outside myself. The warmth returned. I no longer felt I was losing a part of me, I felt like I was moving into a new part of me and a new part of us. It felt exciting, new and pretty darn adult. Speaking with my therapist (yes, I see a therapist. I highly recommend it and hope that sharing my experience with this tool helps to remove the taboo of seeking help. If you want it, it’s there and I support you finding it) helped me to realize that, for me, letting go of Page was much deeper than a name change. For me, it meant letting go of what Page had always meant for me: being a daughter in my family. My name was given to me by my parents and thus, my attachment to it was my attachment to them, to my family, to what might have been. Moving on meant letting go of that and moving from the role of daughter to wife. My family as a whole was getting larger but my family unit was getting smaller. My unit had shifted from my parents, my brother and I to instead, The Chief and I.

A unit of two.

 

Beneath the Borealis, What's in a Name? December 30th, 2019,The Chesters of MXY Wedding.jpg

Something old, something new

 

Plus Leto. A unit of three.

I finally felt at peace.

Now, don’t get me wrong, changing one’s name is a royal pain in the patootie. The instructions make it seem simple:
1st: Change your Social Security card

2nd: Your driver’s license

3rd: Your passport

Badabing, badaboom! Easy peasy!

Oh so very wrong.

Aside from the fact that changing all of these means 16-hour round trips (#2 and #3 both requiring #1 to have been completed first, meaning another at least 8 to 16-hour round trips), there are the nitty-gritty changes that I never anticipated. You see, once I’m in, I’m in and having loose strings hanging drives me crazy. Having already completed Step #1, I thought I was close to the finish line. I started in on the other, unmentioned changes I hadn’t quite factored in: changing my bank, my checks, my computer ID, my logins, my email, my work information, etc. etc. and at each junction, I ran into issues. Mailing in copies of our wedding certificate, spending hours on the computer, sending a photo ID and other legalese has proven far more time consuming than I had ever anticipated. To say that changing your name is a breeze is like calling a hurricane a breeze. It’s not. It’s difficult and time-consuming and frustrating, all of which is exacerbated by our remote location.

 

Beneath the Borealis, What's in a Name? December 30th, 2019, Sunset in Alaska

3:30 pm sunset.

 

Yet still, despite the annoyances, each juncture has allowed me to continue my commitment, our commitment to the private decisions we made years ago, in our tiny cabin in the woods. For me, it’s been extremely healing, for others it might simply be a non-issue. We are all different. I’ve spoken to many different people and gained countless insights while I hemmed and hawed over my own decision. I’ve learned that even when in public it seems someone is moving effortlessly through life phases, in private, they might not be. Everyone struggles in different ways. We don’t know until we ask. We are all different, yet one thing everyone agreed on was their advice: find what works for you.

While this sounds so simple, for me, it wasn’t. It took years to discover and years to accept but now that I find myself on the other side, it’s the best advice I could give: Find what works for you. You know. Deep down, you do know. Do what works best for you and your family. It’s no one’s decision but your own.

Thank you to everyone who has candidly shared their private decisions turned public with me. Your honesty and openness helped me to be open with myself. Open to a new name, a new unit, a new phase. May your transitions be smooth and may the Universe guide you, if not anywhere, then back to yourself.

With love,

 

From Alaska

Beneath the Borealis, What's in a Name? December 30th, 2019, Chester Christmas

Happy Holidays

Beneath the Borealis, What's in a Name? December 30th, 2019, Chester Christmas Leto

From the three Chesters

Beneath the Borealis, Stay, Home Sweet Home

Welcome to Alaska, Enjoy Your Stay

Last night I received a text from one of my dearest girlfriends inviting us all to her annual Vision Board Party. Despite the madness of the holiday season, every year, she calls us to action to think about what we want going forward and despite the hustle and bustle, we all show up. Truth be told, this woman could rally a group of sloths into action. She’s spunky and fun and has always been able to motivate our squad into whatever quirky plan she’d hatched. Once she came over after I’d just awoken from a nap and somehow convinced me to play dress up like we did in Elementary School together and go for a walk. We were decked from head to toe in random 80’s workout gear, fanny packs included. Did I mention we were in our twenties? Like I said, she’s a good motivator.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Stay, Best Friends

Dress up Nerds then. Dress up Nerds now. Love you two.

 

I got her text invitation last night as I sat in front of our fireplace, book on my lap, dog snoozing by my side, Winter finally having arrived and I realized, that last year’s Vision Board had come true. Well, last year’s Vision Board Party premonitions at least. I never quite got to the board.

Last year, everyone cutting and pasting away while laughing over discussions of love and life, I felt loved but lost. People kept sending the wedding magazines my way. I wasn’t that bride. I hadn’t even thought of our wedding. There were travel magazines filled with places I’d like to travel to and skills I’d like to hone. Exercise, relationship, work goals all sat in front of me. It was normally my smorgasbord of goodness. I’d normally dive right in. I just didn’t feel motivated.

What I did feel motivated to do was to go Home. It took my other dear friend telling me so first though. There, amongst the scraps, she looked at me and said: “As much as I don’t want you to, I think you need to spend the next full year in Alaska.”

It felt as if someone had given me permission to sleep after months spent awake. Suddenly, a weight felt lifted. In a few short weeks, we would be heading Home to the wintry North and Home we would stay.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Stay, Home Sweet Home

Last year. Finally home.

 

It’s funny the things we get used to, take as fact, expect and accept, even if they no longer serve us. Every year our pattern has deviated slightly but overall, without much thought, has been the same: months away from home, starting in the Fall. Dont’ get me wrong, it’s been great but until last year, we’d never evaluated whether it was working for us any longer. Besides, it’s a classic Alaskan pattern. Our pattern began when I left Alaska after my first Summer to return to California for two different weddings in late August. I’d already RSVP’d (though probably only verbally. Sorry, y’all!) and I’d already changed my ticket once. I was going down South.

Soon after, The Chief, having not left the state in years, joined me and we road-tripped down the Pacific Northwest into California where we stayed for the next two months. All in all, I was away from Alaska for almost four months and The Chief for almost three. A third of that year and a quarter of that year, The Chief and I were gone from Home.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Welcome to Alaska, Enjoy Your Stay, Home Sweet Home RV

Home sweet California Home (or one of them).

 

It was the longest time The Chief had been gone from Alaska since he had moved here.

By the time we were leaving, he ached for Home. I, on the other hand, was trepidatious. Home wasn’t quite one Home to me yet, rather it straddled two states. My first Winter in Alaska loomed before me and stared menacingly like a beast under the bed. It was unknown and uncertain with just a pinch (or two, or three) of fear added in. Leaving California, leaving Home to go Home, was hard but love is a crazy drug. Off we went.

Once we got Home to Alaska and I started to get the hang of a whole new type of Alaskan life (Winter), I fell in love with this place all over again.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Welcome to Alaska, Enjoy Your Stay, Happy Husband

Day # 1, Winter #1. The happiest hubby in our happy place.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Stay, Alaska

The back-backyard.

 

Still, the following Fall we left again as we have every year because suddenly, that’s what we did. With one trip a rhythm and an expectation had been created in ourselves that we simply followed without much thought. It was nice to know when I’d next see friends and family. Nice to know when I’d get a change of scenery.

So, we did the finding housing in California dance (which always starts long before we leave, as does the stress of it). We did the car dance, making sure our California rig was registered and ready (which, of course, it never was). We spent hours on end preparing our house for Winter, packing away that which would explode when frozen and hoisting off of the ground anything we didn’t want to become unusable yard art. Then, to top it all off, we spent thousands of dollars to make the journey through plane tickets and vet appointments and health certificates, car storage fees and more. All of which was fine. It was what we did. 

And I’m glad we did. We spent quality time with those we love and those we have lost. We grew to know one another’s friends and family and backgrounds. We got to experience the love one another’s friends and family feel for them and now for each of us.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Beneath the Borealis, Welcome to Alaska, Enjoy Your Stay,  Friends

Julia Dinner. I will always cherish this picture. Thank you, Sloats.

 

We loaded up the car and boarded planes countless times to travel here or there to learn one another’s past and grow our family as a whole larger by combining our two worlds. Traveling from home for months on end became the norm.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Welcome to Alaska, Enjoy Your Stay, Dillon Beach

So did beach days with this love (the one with two legs).

 

We didn’t think much of it. Seasonal travel is a common rhythm for Alaskans. The Great Exodus starts in late August with a boom. This town goes from hustling (for us) to hushed in a matter of days. Yet those who stay welcome the quiet and settle in to enjoy it for the time they have left until they too depart. Conversations lead with Winter plans. Every few weeks someone is leaving for a few weeks, a few months or until next Summer.

This and many other things Alaskan quirks have become the norm to me:

  • Outhouses are now old hat and sometimes preferable (except in the middle of the night. I’ll give indoor plumbing that).
  • Smelling of gasoline is the new norm (when dealing with the generator. Don’t worry, I’m not using it as a chosen perfume).
  • Spending intensive time with and without my partner (this is a true Alaskan relationship tip that I think is priceless: build in time to miss your partner).
  • Salvaging bits off produce that before I would have thrown away whole into the compost (I think L.H.’s term was is it “Alaska good still?”. Love it.)
  • Showering once, maybe twice per week in the Winter with birdbaths in between.
  • Leaving.

Yet this year, Leaving suddenly didn’t feel normal. After seeing so many of our beautiful friends and family at our wedding, celebrating together and feeling so much love and validation for our place here, leaving just felt like the exact opposite of what we needed and so, we didn’t.

As much as I miss our friends and family down South, this is what we needed. A time to be cozy together. A time to nest into our life here that we’ve thrown on the backburner for the last few years. A time for firsts. First birthday at home, first Thanksgiving. A time to focus forward on our future here.

California, lucky for us, was Home to both of us for twenty plus years. It will always have a place in our hearts and our itineraries but this year, the Vision Board Party wish came true:

Home Sweet Alaskan Home.

This year, I’ll connect with the Vision Boarders vis FaceTime as we wish one another well in our year to come but this time, I’ll be doing it from exactly where I need to be: Home.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Welcome to Alaska, Enjoy Your Stay, Vision Board

First year’s board. A lot of checkmarks here!

 

May your wishes come true and may your Winter be cozy, wherever you may be.

Cheers to the motivators in your lives, the loves who know you even when you don’t want to admit they are right. Cheers to tough choices and friends to help you make them, even if it’s hard for all of you. Cheers to dear friends and family, near and far. I can’t wait to see you.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Welcome to Alaska, Enjoy Your Stay, Nephew

I’ll miss my O snuggles for sure.

 

With love,

from Alaska

Beneath the Borealis, Welcome to Alaska, Enjoy Your Stay, Alaskan Malamute

and Leto at 3:30 pm.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-25-19, Porcupup, Alaskan Malamute

Porcupup

Almost two months ago now, back when Fall colors had fallen and the leaves paved our paths in gold, we were starting to settle in. Time had slowed, Summer had fallen away and with it, hundreds of people were gone. There were no drumbeats for us to keep pace to. The quiet was upon us.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-25-19, Porcupup, Fall colors Alaska in September

Handsome hubby.

 

With the wedding in the rearview and no looming leaving deadlines ahead of us, without plane tickets requiring chores to be done and the house to be shut down, we were home for the foreseeable future for the first time ever in our four years together. Since our very first year as a couple, the Fall has meant packing up and shipping out to the Lower 48 and spending a great deal of money to do so. It’s been a time of continuing the energy from Summer, rather than a slowing down as the season requests and of spending resources we don’t exactly hold in excess.

This year, we looked forward to the continuity and calm of home and the tightening of our financial belts by living simply.

So, two months ago, on a quiet Sunday, in keeping with a calm home program, Leto and I decided to take a walk with our neighbor and her dog while The Chief read and dinner bubbled away on the stove. The stage for the night was set: a leisurely sunset walk with a friend, sausage soup with greens from the garden and herbs harvested throughout the Summer for dinner and a cozy evening, just us three.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-25-19, Porcupup, Malamute family photo

Chester Family photo, September 2019

 

Leto has a tendency to be like a horse to stable, barn sour if you will. For most of the duration of our walks, he’s within eyesight, regularly stopping to check in on me, sit and watch for me, circle back for me but there’s a point too when he realizes that “Homeways is rightways now” and home he heads, leaving me in the dust. Our last pup, Cinda, used to do the same thing and we joke that she’s up in Pup Heaven (a.k.a MXY in the Sky) teaching him her wonderful ways. So, I wasn’t surprised when, as we rounded the bend up from the river, indicating the turn back towards home, he started gaining ground ahead of us, taking a shortcut through the woods.

I was surprised, however, when I heard what I can only describe as a scream coming from the direction he’d run (and by surprised, I mean surprised and then terrified). It sounded as if something had been dealt its final blow. The something, I wasn’t sure of. It was a noise I’d never heard Leto make but something told me all was not well with my pup. My heart started pumping faster as I tried to place the scream and run towards it. Bears were still out, moose are always a concern and wolves had been roaming the neighborhoods of the valley and have taken dogs as their prey. There was no knowing what this could have been but the sinking feeling I felt told me the options weren’t great. If I found him, I expected to find him dead.

“Leto!” We yelled as we circled back through the woods he had run through. No, this didn’t feel right, I thought. Homeways, head homeways. Screaming for him and hearing nothing in return, no movement, no yip, no whimper sent my fear into overdrive. I started running home and then, around the corner, running towards me, came Leto.

Leto with a face full of porcupine quills.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-25-19, Porcupup, Malamute with porcupine quills in Alaska

The Porcupup

 

In my wildest worries, I had never considered that the scream could have come from a porcupine encounter. A wolf, a bear, a moose, yes, but a porcupine? We just don’t see them on our side of the river very often. In fact, I had never seen one in our neighborhood in four years. Lucky Leto, he’d found the mystical West Side porcupine.

Immediately upon seeing me, he came in for a moment of comfort and then ducked into the trees to lay down and assess his situation. I did too and the outlook was grim. I’d seen dogs with quills before but they’d always been few enough to pull ourselves. This was another level. He started thrashing about, trying to pull them out with his paws, each time coming precariously close to the one just centimeters from his eye. In his panic, he threw open his mouth and I saw the roof, littered with quills.

This was bad.

Still, he wasn’t dead. A face full of quills was suddenly the best-case scenario I hadn’t considered and bad as it was, I was glad we were in it as opposed to the other fears that had fetched my mind.

Finally, we convinced him to come home with us but the quills in his paws must have been excruciating as he would duck back into the soft mossy ground of the woods every few paces and lay back down. I needed to get him home to where the pliers were to see if this was something we could even handle on our own. Finally, he just stopped.  He wouldn’t move and I couldn’t get a hold of The Chief as he was fully ascribing to our evening electronics shutdown goal and his phone was off.

Our neighbor offered to go and get him while I stayed with Leto. I didn’t want him running off deeper into the woods like he wanted to. I had a flashback of our Cinda doing the same thing when she got the injury that eventually ended her life and it made me sick to my stomach. Off E went to fetch The Chief and just as I heard our truck rumbling closer, Leto decided he could make the journey home.

Like ships in the night, the missing game began. The Chief came my way, I went back his way. Now we both were panicked. Back at home, Leto tucked himself in under the house. I crawled in after him, still listening to The Chief calling for us but still not wanting to leave Leto. Our neighbor came to check on us and saw that The Chief had missed us and off she went to find him again. Thankfully, this time when ships in the night floated past one another again as he turned back home at the same moment as she arrived to tell him where we were, The Chief was headed back to us. The Laurel and Hardy, Who’s on First routine certainly didn’t help the frustration of an evening already thoroughly thrown off the rails.

Quiet night?
I think not.

After we pulled the first quill, huddled under the house with headlamps, Leto knew the game and was not a willing player. Quills are barbed, like sea urchin spines and so when they go in, they lodge there, making pulling them out extremely painful. He was wild-eyed and after pulling 15 or so, we realized that this was not going to work. There was no way we could get the quills in his mouth, he wouldn’t dare let us near them. Another neighbor came over to check on us and validated what we feared: a trip to the vet was in order.

Tonight.

The emergency vet was four hours away and I didn’t know if she was even on-call these days (I called our regular vet and she was out of town and wouldn’t be back for weeks). Thankfully, she was.

“How soon can you get here?”

“Probably by 11 pm, depending on how good driving through The Pass goes.”

And so, we set out to drive the wintry pass to Valdez. We loaded our quill-faced pup into the car where, after an hour of pain and thrashing and panic, exhaustion started to set in. He sat up, trying to sleep without putting pressure on any of the quills, not being able to rest his head. The drive was dark and tense as we still hadn’t purchased our much needed new headlights (after losing not one but two lightbars to the 60-mile bumpy dirt road) and the view of the night was dim at best. I put on an audiobook to lighten the mood: Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States. If you know the book, or just even a basic history of our beginnings, you know that it didn’t quite do the trick.

Finally, four hours later, we arrived. Still, despite everything, Leto wagged his tail and joyfully greeted the vet. He’s a big fan of new friends. A few minutes later the sedation came on and the quills started coming out. His face filled with blood as she ripped the quills out of his delicate lips and sweet little nose but it wasn’t enough and he thrashed about, despite all three of us holding him down, screaming and crying as only a Malamute can do. It was awful. Finally, with more sedation, she was able to prop open his mouth to unveil the work to be done inside. It was like a cave with stalactites and stalagmites. Top to bottom was filled with quills: tongue, roof, cheeks, gums. She started pulling. Some were wedged in sideways, going longways through his gums but she worked methodically to get them out and soon he was near finished.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-25-19, Porcupup, Malamute with porcupine quills

Still smiling (or just very stoned).

 

She checked his body for any stragglers and found them in his back, his neck, his paws and his shoulders. We had a moment of lightness as we joked, “Did he roll on it?!”. I pictured him trying for a tasty bite of the “spikey bunny” and being in such shock at the pain of the taste that he fell and rolled onto the poor creature. Some quills came out quickly after we found them (which is no easy feat since the quills burrowed through three layers of fur) but some had gone in completely and lay flat against his shoulder blade and face. She tried to cut them out but decided they weren’t going to budge. “They will work themselves out”.

Two hours, one very wobbly drugged dog and 400 plus dollars later, we were out the door, in Valdez at 1 am with nowhere to stay. We stopped by every hotel we could find but as the tourist season had just closed shop for the year, our pickings were slim. We took turns running into the hotels and each time came back with a thumbs down: no dogs allowed. Finally, the last hotel allowed dogs for a 20 dollar fee per night.

20 dollars in addition to their nightly rate of almost 200 dollars.

Thankfully, the front desk took pity on our little man and gave us a discount bringing the total to just under 200 dollars.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-25-19, Porcupup, Malamute after the vet

Still a stoney baloney

Still not able to walk, The Chief carried Leto through the slippery parking lot. He howled and cried every time he moved even an inch, in pain and dysphoric from the drugs. We settled into our very expensive hotel room and I washed the night off of me with a bath. Leto whimpered and panted all through the night. None of us slept well. The next day, my morning started early and with yet another bath (someday, someday I will have a bathtub and I won’t even have to pay 100 dollars per bath) as I prepared for three hours of Monday morning meetings at work. Thankfully, there was a breakfast buffet.

A few hours and a few meetings later and it was checkout time. Leto still could barely put pressure on his paws but he finally peed on his own. It was time to go home. We filled up on fuel and grabbed some road snacks and off we went.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-25-19, Porcupup, Valdez, AK

At least it was a beautiful drive.

 

What a Sunday. What a start to the week.

Four hours later, we returned home where yesterday felt very far away.

In just 12 hours, we had spent over 800 dollars of unplanned expenses and our quiet, cozy Fall evening had turned into a panicked, hours-long stress fest. We were all completely exhausted, but we were home.

Home sweet home.

Two months later, we are still finding quills in little Leto. They burrow their way out and pierce through the skin. One erupted over a few hours and was heading straight towards his eyeball until The Chief deftly pulled it out. Even last night, I was rubbing his chest and felt one slide sideways through his tissue. Someday, they will all work through.

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-25-19, Porcupup, Alaskan Malamute

Hello, handsome dude!

 

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be crouched under a cabin with my husband in the middle of nowhere pulling quills from our Malamute. Four years ago I’d never even thought twice about porcupines. What a difference a few years can make.

The Fall finally fell into place and the quiet settled in again, even more so as the final departees left the valley. We retightened our financial belt that had been busted loose from our porcupup and cozied down, preparing for Winter.

In the two months since Leto’s brush with the pokey bunny, we’ve had two more unexpected trips to Town and the expenses to go with it. One to replace The Chief’s broken snowmachine and one to repair a UTI turned kidney infection of mine. Oh, joy! So much for spending less by staying home but, still at home we are, mostly. Despite missing friends and family, I know it’s exactly where we need to be right now: cozied down, pulling quills and praying for snow.

With love,

 

From Alaska

 

Beneath the Borealis, 11-25-19, Porcupup, Alaskan couple

Knit cap brigade.

Beneath the Borealis Back to the Wave 08-12-19, McCarthy Alaska

Back to the Waves

A week ago we returned home from a week in Anchorage for a Town Run.

Town.

{insert ominous music}

As we drove out, we waved to passersby on The Road (our 60-mile dirt “driveway” that leads to the “town” we live just outside of).

 

Beneath the Borealis Back to the Wave 08-12-19 Malamutes of Alaska

Helllllooooo!

 

Around here, we wave to everyone. Everyone does. It’s a sort of natural reflex we all seem to feel out here. Everywhere I go, every person I pass, I wave a greeting of “Good day”.

Yet, that’s not true.

As we hit the pavement, the waves continued…until at some point they didn’t. Around 4 hours into the trip they just stopped for both of us automatically. It wasn’t due to waving fatigue, those muscles are strong, (waving fatigue, a real killer. But, like I said, we are seasoned wavers) it was something different.

By the time we reached Anchorage, waving was no longer a part of my repertoire, it wasn’t even a consideration.

Perhaps it’s due to the reality that even a seasoned waver might get fatigued with all the faces to greet in a big town. Perhaps it’s the fact that in all likelihood, you’ll never again see most of the people you wave to in a city whereas in the woods, you may not know the person but in all likelihood, you eventually will. Maybe it’s because in a city we are all too busy. Maybe it’s because a city feels as if it belongs to no one and a small town feels as if it belongs to everyone. Everyone gets a Mayoral wave. Maybe it’s because out here we are rarely anonymous and out there we almost always are. Perhaps I’m just missing the wavers. Perhaps they’re waiting for me to wave first.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

In all the hustle and bustle of Town, contemplating waving fell far back in the line of things to do and I promptly forgot about waving altogether. With our wedding date fast approaching and a litany of lists of To-Dos, and the simple fact that we were in Town, my contemplation didn’t get much deeper than How Do We Do Every Single One of These Chores Done in Not Enough Time to Do Them? and Oh No, I Forgot to Eat Again! What’s Close and Quick?

Town is a jungle for us. We navigate our way through traffic and hike through lines of people. We get cut off and passed at 90 on the freeway. It’s intense going from one extreme (where I swear I haven’t driven over 30 mph in months) to the next but in all honesty, the place gets a bad rap. There’s a great art scene, delicious restaurants, fun cocktails, and beautiful trails. The truth is, it gets a bad rap because we rarely get to enjoy the benefits of Town. It’s in and out and rushed all the way through.

 

Beneath the Borealis Back to the Wave 08-12-19, Get Married in Alaska

Chores galore. Even this became a chore…but we did enjoy ourselves.

 

We ended up staying at our best AirBnB yet tucked next to a sweet little creek on a trail system with salmon swimming upstream and ripe raspberries prime for the picking in the backyard. It was tranquil and idyllic and still we had next to no time to try to soak in the meant to be mini-vacation (unless, of course, you consider walking your dog at 11 pm soaking it in because damned if I wasn’t going to walk the trails, even if it did have to be after a 12-hour chore day). It wasn’t all rushing, we did get to see some great friends, try a cardamom cocktail(!) and enjoy some delicious eats, just all with a steady level of hurry packed in with them.

 

Beneath the Borealis Back to the Wave 08-12-19 Cardamom cocktail

Cardamom & Star Anise? Yes, please.

 

After our unanticipated week in Town (we meant to be there for 2 days but realized we had chores enough for 10) we were beyond ready to be Home. We hit the pavement, leaving Anchorage at a bright and early 12 noon. Ouch. The 8-hour drive stared at us menacingly, but we didn’t care. We were pointed in the right direction.

It’s funny how quickly we can change, adapt, forget. Within 7 days I had gotten used to getting a mid-day coffee or chai and so as we drove towards Home I pondered which I would order when we stopped for coffee…

In the middle of nowhere?

Nope.

As the city fell into our rearview I realized I was 4 hours out from the nearest coffee shack which just might be open when we got there. In just one week I had forgotten that a coffee stop wasn’t just a few streets away at all times.

Then, I had to pee.

This time, the realization that we weren’t in Town was a joyous one. Having to pee in Town means lines, people, sometimes a purchase, waiting. Having to pee in the woods (or at least on your way) is a simple switch of a blinker and a slow down. The Chief pulled the truck over and Leto and I each found our spot and within a minute, we were back in the truck, back on our way Home.

 

Beneath the Borealis Back to the Wave 08-12-19, Malamute puppy in a wedding.jpg

Happy puppy, tucked beneath a mound of flowers.

 

Within a week I had gotten used to some aspects of Town and forgotten the way we do things. The new normal happens so fast.

Four hours or so into our drive, it happened.

We both waved…

to a stranger.

And the stranger waved back.

It hit me then. I hadn’t realized our waves had stopped in the city until that very moment. That wave brought me back all that we were driving towards. To the calm I feel out here. The connectedness.

Don’t get me wrong, I love me some city time. I love the art and the culture and the variety and sometimes the anonymity but I also love predictability. Friendly familiar faces. I love the wide-open spaces and the feeling of being known, even by strangers. That simple wave, that automatic reflex reminded me of the goodness and the simplicity that sweet gesture makes me feel.

Yet as the week has passed since we’ve been home I’ve pondered: does the act of waving have to live in such a dichotomy? Is it a Venn Diagram with an empty center circle or am I creating this image? In the last month, I’ve done more online shopping from our tiny cabin in the woods than I’d like to due to the sheer fact that I can’t just pop on over to any store to get what I need. I’ve brought the metropolis to me (my aching wrists can vouch for this). Further, while in Anchorage, I saw Steelhead swimming upstream in the most relatable of struggles: life. I walked in the woods by simply stepping off concrete and our pup bathed in waters minutes from our home away from home.

 

Beneath the Borealis Back to the Wave 08-12-19, Sockeye Salmon

Can you spot the Salmon?

 

The city finds the woods and the woods are found in the city. They aren’t that separate after all.

It’s easy to feel solo in the city, to feel like your anonymous life doesn’t impact others. To sit in your car facing forward and never make eye contact. I’ve done it. I did it for a week straight. I shifted into city mode. Yet the reality is, we are all humans, always, anywhere, despite the veneer a city can provide to make us forget. And, of course, if I lived in the city I would have my familiar faces and places, I would have my people I waved to.

But that’s not the point.

The point is that our people are everywhere. In the city, in the woods. We are all impacting one another.

So why not throw up a little wave wherever you might be? Maybe at first, it’s small, maybe at first, it’s infrequent. Maybe you get strange looks but in the end, I think the benefit will outlast the output.

I’ll try it if you will.

With love,

from Alaska

 

Beneath the Borealis Back to the Wave 08-12-19, McCarthy Alaska

Hello and goodbye to the sun

 

Speaking of waves, this gal is giving a momentary wave “Goodbye” until after our wedding dust has settled. So, until then I bid you adieu, with a wave, of course.

The Sunshine Blogger Award

A couple of weeks ago, amidst the unknown of our little Fluff, a comment from a woman named Maggie came up on the blog:

So heartbreakingly beautiful! ( I nominated you for the Sunshine Blogger Award. Enjoy! https://fromcavewalls.wordpress.com/2019/04/19/sunshine-blogger-award/ )”

A blogger’s award?
For me?
I was completely flabbergasted.
The blogger who nominated me, Maggie, writes a daily blog she started last October as a challenge accepted, a 365-day challenge that is! She is rolling and writing right on through it. Today’s post marks day 214. I am in awe of her dedication to the craft and continuity. Thank you for the inspiration, Maggie!
Check out her blog here: From Cave Walls
So, what is the award?
The Sunshine Blogger Award 2019
The Sunshine Blogger Award is an award given to bloggers by their peers. It is meant to acknowledge bloggers who are creative, positive, and inspiring while spreading sunshine to the blogging community.”
Thank you again, Maggie. I am honored.

 

The Rules: 

  1. Thank the blogger who nominated you.
  2. Answer the 11 questions the blogger asked you.
  3. Nominate up to 11 new blogs to receive the award and write them 11 new questions.
  4. List the rules and display the Sunshine Blogger Award in your post/or on your blog

 

Maggie’s Questions:

Where do you find inspiration for your blog?

Everywhere. In nature. In music. In people. In graffiti. In contrast. I think it’s easy for me to get far too serious so I appreciate the time writing makes for seeing things in a light renewed.

Country or city or somewhere in-between?

While I adore cities for all they have to offer, I prefer to visit them nowadays, rather than reside in them.

Have you ever seen a glacier or the northern lights?

I have been lucky enough to experience both! We live just a few miles from two glaciers that are both approachable and awe-inspiring. The northern lights make their appearance all over where we live and we’ve been lucky enough to view them from the comfort of our bed even! Beneath the Borealis was named for the northern lights (the Aurora Borealis).

Where do you feel most at home?

In Alaska in the Winter. I can think of nothing better than listening to a crackling fire in the woodstove while reading on the couch with my love.

What talent do you wish you possessed?

I wish I played an instrument, piano and guitar, specifically. Growing up I was surrounded by musicians and I was always the singer. I didn’t push myself to accompany myself. I hope I do.

What animal would you consider your spirit animal?

Back in the days of honeybadger stardom, I hoped myself a honey badger but…I do give a shit (the honey badger, he doesn’t, apparently). I’d say my inner spirit animal is most like a Lynx and my outer spirit animal, the one most people see is a dog.

Have you ever been on television?

Not that I know of.

Can you play a musical instrument? If so, what?

I play the voice. There’s not much else in the world that makes me feel as free as singing does.

If time travel were possible, what time would you like to visit?

Ancient Rome. I went to the Colosseum in Rome once and it felt like I had been there before. I’d love to see what life back then was all about.

Is music an important part of your life?

Hugely. I always have a song in my head and randomly break out into song. Singing and performing and discovering bands that I need to hear on repeat for forever and a day are the ultimate inspiration to me.

What is the one thing your followers don’t know about you?

One thing that shaped me greatly as a person that I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned was that I used to be a competitive Irish dancer. After I quit, the “Lord of the Dance” became very popular and so when I mention my competition days, it seems silly to people but in reality, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I used to sneak out of class when I was in Kindergarten in order to watch the older girls take their lessons and eventually, after a lot of pleading, my Mom let me join. By then I knew all the beginning dances by heart. Quitting was one of the harder decisions I have made and though I’m glad I did, I still wonder what might have happened had I continued.

 

Here are my questions:

  1. Why did you begin your blog?
  2. What is the first thing you thought of when you woke up this morning?
  3. How do you soothe yourself when you’re having a bad day?
  4. What is your ultimate favorite meal or food item?
  5. If you could only recommend one place to go in the world to everyone you met, where would it be?
  6. What is your favorite pair of shoes?
  7. Do you feel like an adult?
  8. What makes you feel alive?
  9. What is your favorite cocktail or beverage?
  10. Do you like where you live?
  11. What do you need to do for yourself to feel good?

My nominees are (check them out, they are superb):

Chasing Piggens

Paul Scannell Photography

The Jealous Curator

The Travel Season

Tales of a Stitcher

Alaska from Scratch

Nizina Naturals

Smitten Kitchen

The Alaska Life

Viola!

Nourished Kitchen

 

Thank you, again, Maggie and to all of you for reading along. I am genuinely honored by your presence.

With love,

from Alaska.

 

Beneath the Borealis, The Sunshine Blogger Award, Alaskan Malamute

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19 Fairbanks, Alaskan Malamute

The Fluff, Part II

Our lucky stars aligned.

Our little one made it.

The Fluff is home.

After a week of wishing and hoping and living my life in a permanent state of superstitious paranoia, our little Fluff gave us the green light. The Chief and I immediately started simultaneously laughing and crying at the breaking of the good news.

Good news.

We couldn’t believe it.

My heart leaped at this happiness, hungry to not feel heavy, lunging for lightness.

Thank you to every one of you who thought good thoughts and wished on stars and didn’t step on cracks and pretty pleased their way with us into the universe’s good graces for our little beast. He and we are forever grateful.

As soon as we heard that he was ok, I wanted him with us. He’d been our little man since the day I laid eyes on him and not being with him through it all had been a new kind of parental torture I’d yet to experience (yes, I refer to myself as a dog parent, I know it’s not the same as kids…but is it?). We were beyond ready for him to be home.

Home, however, was 370 miles away from where he was. Fairbanks, AK, where their deep winter temperatures laugh at ours by comparison (60 below, anyone?). Despite having just been gone the week before, my boss understood that I needed to get to my little beast. “You bring that pup home, Julia,” he told me. Lucky, once again.

The morning of the trip I had umpteen things to get done before departure and about one million to get done once I got there with an 8-ish hour drive in between.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19 Fairbanks, Alaska

Fluffs.

 

After the events of the week, the up and down rigmarole of emotions, I was grateful for the solitude of a long drive through open country. The drive is less of the curlicue mountainous route that we are used to when heading to Anchorage. It’s more like the plains in the Midwest, wide and big and open and insanely gorgeous. I listened to tunes and podcasts and silence, letting the reality hit me that in the morning, I would have a partner in crime with me. I cried tears of joy more times than I can count.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19, North Pole, AK

North Pole, AK. Santa Claus is coming to town.

 

That night, I arrived around 7pm to…ice cream.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19 Caribou Caramel Alaskan Ice Cream

Caribou Caramel. ‘Nuff said.

 

Ice cream, people!

This may not seem like a big deal, it may even seem like, “Why don’t you have ice cream? It’s cold there all the time!” Yet, with the early Spring we’ve had, bringing back ice cream minus the purchase of dry ice is not really an option. So, when the hotel concierge greeted me and alerted me to the complimentary Ice Cream Happy Hour, this girl was elated.

Still, there was no time to bask in the melty goodness. I dropped my bags and picked up my scoop (Caribou Caramel, yes please!) and headed to a store I’ve had zero reasons to frequent lately but have dreamed about going to:

The pet store.

I

Love

Pet

Stores.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19, Fairbanks Pets

Option overwhelm.

 

I love them so much that I had to get kicked out of this one. It was announced on the loudspeaker that the store was closed and could the person in the store please bring her purchases up to the front.

Whoops!

The musher we were getting him from, Aaron, had given me a particular recipe for fat and protein, phosphorous and calcium content for his food and I was having a helluva (as my Mom says) Goldilocks experience. Too little fat but enough protein. All the above but no phosphorous. What even is phosphorous?! Waist deep in 50 lb. bags, I sheepishly asked if I could have a little help. The crew kindly helped me sort through and find what we needed and I thanked them and apologized for my tardy departure. Packed to the gills with all things puppy, I made my way back to the hotel to eat before the restaurant closed. It was already 9:30.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19 Fairbanks, AK Love Alaska

Love Alaska? We do.

 

Since, apparently, the grocery store closes at 11 pm I wouldn’t be able to shop that night (for which I was grateful, honestly, even though it meant the morning would be a push. I was completely pooped still from my trip the week before). I drew a bath (heaven!) and read up on raising a puppy. It’s been a while.

I fell into (the huge) bed.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19 Fairbanks, Alaska Pike's Landing

King size me, please!

 

The next morning, my heart was pounding to the drumbeat of “get it done and get it done fast!” By 8 am I had exercised, went grocery shopping, checked our oil, worked and started our laundry. Two work meetings to go and I could go get our little dude.

At the strike of 11 am I folded our laundry faster than I knew I could and ran to the truck. There was an atm (to get the remaining balance for the pup) and a coffee hut (Alaska is chock-full of these drive-up little huts. I’m a huge fan) right next to one another. Score! Two chores, one stop.

Nope.

I was meeting Aaron at 11:30 across town. It was 11:15 and the atm was telling me “No way, girl”.

What?!

It turns out that I had forgotten to activate my new card (since I never use it) and thus, it was invalid. Thankfully, after a call to my bank, I found that there was a supported branch on the way to our meeting spot. I made every attempt to guess my account number with complete failure and then was shown some good old-fashioned Alaskan kindness as she withdrew the money despite my lack of clarity (don’t worry, I had jumped through quite the many identifying hoops already). Aaron called me back and suggested we make it noon and not to worry.

At 2 minutes to noon, I pulled into what I thought might be the meeting spot (his directions had been vague: a bank near Fred Meyers) and immediately knew it was right.

In the back of a minivan in a little kennel filled with hay lay our little dude. He was a little shy and a little sleepy, nuzzling into the arms of his first Papa. Almost an hour later, after I had asked him probably every question known to man about Parvo and puppies and mushing, oh my, we parted ways. Though not before a USPS woman stopped because she “just had to see the cute little thing” and show us pictures of her pup who ended up actually being a cousin of ours. Small world, eh?

Our little guy and I got into the truck and took it slow. I let him sniff about and explore his new world and his Mama.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19 Fairbanks, Alaska Malamute

First quick cuddle nap.

 

An hour or so later, we decided we were good enough friends to get going.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19 Fairbanks, Alaskan Malamute

I can’t handle the cuteness.

 

It was 2 pm and we had an 8-hour drive ahead of us.

Right?

Well, sort of.

We did have an 8-hour drive, however, the 8 hours it normally would take us stretched into an epic 13. We were bonding. Every little bit or so, we would stop for food and drink and to see if he needed to pee. It took 4 hours just for him to feel safe getting out of the kennel out into the big world in front of him. Yet, despite his not wanting to leave his kennel yet, he never once had an accident. He mainly slept with his paws touching my leg through the grate. I waited for the motion sickness I’d anticipated to kick in but it never came.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II, 04-22-19, Malamute pup and me

The bestest fluff.

 

6 hours in, realizing I hadn’t really eaten that day, we got out (he was a pro now) to grab a snack. As I ate and drank, he ate and drank and then…

he cried.

Aaron had warned me that the separation might be tough, especially after all that he’d gone through.

He gave me a little howl that I tried to take very seriously, despite its utter cuteness. I comforted him but something told me to put him on the ground as well. There, he peed.

An hour or so later, he gave me a few sad cries again.

Uh oh. He’s missing home.

I pulled over and out he jumped. This time, to make a poop. I diligently sanitized the spot, digging up the ground and anything around it and then we were off again.

A few hours later, 20 miles from home, his howls started again, this time more frequent. Eyes heavier and heavier as the night wore on, I stopped repeatedly and let him out to do his bodily business but alas, none was to be done.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19 Fairbanks, Alaska Caribou Crossing

Caribou crossing. Hoooey! The wildlife was out that night. We saw about 6 Caribou, 10 Moose, one million Snowshoe Hares, and one Lynx.

 

At the onset of the next howl-fest, I stopped and opened his cage. He jumped into my lap and nuzzled into my arms. He had just needed some Mom time. My heart melted like the Caribou Caramel.

10 miles later, full-up on Mom time, he put himself back in the kennel and buckled up for the rest of the ride. We were almost home.

Around 3 am we arrived to a sleepy Chief and a once again shy pup. It was all so new. We brought his crate upstairs and left the gate open and just as I was about to crawl into bed, he came out for some belly rubs and kisses (with puppy breath!). We were home.

The last few days have been a total whirlwind of utter joy. I can’t believe that a week ago this little guy was fighting for his life. He is a tough little beast and I can’t believe we get to be his parents. He is sweet and funny and prone to face planting at any moment

 

 

 

He pitter-patters back and forth after me around the house and comes (sometimes) when called. He knows not to bite and also knows that he prefers to do it anyways, though just after nap time, those nibbles are gentle and full of licks (with puppy breath!).

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II, 04-22-19, Malamute pup and The Chief

Thanks for the Lamb Chop, Auntie E!

 

The little one, so far, sleeps through the night and then gently gives us a yip warning when he wakes up around 6 am that he has to pee. He’s my favorite alarm clock. He is a huge fan of belly rubs and not a huge fan of baths but he tolerates them (as long as Mom gets soaked too. Mission accomplished).

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19, Malamute puppy bath time

That face.

 

He is everything we dreamed of. I think even our Cinda Lou would approve.

In addition to all of this happiness, there also has been a seriousness, even after he made it through Parvo because of what having had Parvo means. It means he’s contagious until he’s “shed” the virus. Different sources say different amounts of time but most say it takes about 10-14 days to “shed” (read: poop out) the virus. Every time he poops, we bag it and the surrounding area up into a baggie and let loose a barrage of bleach (which makes my Mother Nature loving heart hurt but is trumped by my Dog Loving heart. We are waiting for a non-toxic and even more efficient vet-used product but, of course, they wouldn’t ship to Alaska so bleach it is until my Mama can ship it to us). We’ve quarantined him from other dogs and encourage those around us to reach out if they have any questions.

The following sites, plus discussions with breeders and many different veterinarians have been very helpful, however, I suggest you speak to your veterinarian to decide upon your specific pet’s needs and again, reach out to us with any questions, etc. We are doing everything we can to ensure the safety of our beloved pup residents. Dogs under a year, unvaccinated dogs, or dogs that are immune compromised are the groups most at risk. Still, the research we’ve done suggests that a yearly Parvo booster can’t hurt. Parvo is prolific and lives for up to a year in the soil (which is why we dig up the area he poops in and bleach it). While it is very unlikely that dogs outside of the at-risk groups (and unlikely in the at-risk groups, except with puppies who have not had their full round of Parvo shots) will contract Parvo ever (they likely have already been exposed since it is everywhere and their bodies fought it off) there’s no reason not to take extra precautions. We are keeping him well bathed and groomed and will be doing a full overhaul once he has fully shed the virus to rid our home of it (read: lots of bleach, lots of, unfortunately, things going into the garbage or if burnable, burned). It’s easy to panic in this information so again, we ask that you talk with your vet and, if you like, talk with us. We are open books and will be happy to further explain all of the precautions we and anyone in contact with him are taking.

Helpful sites:

American Kennel Club on Parvo

VCA on Parvo

Aside from the Parvo mania we find ourselves in, we also find ourselves deeply in love with the goodness that has graced us and are trying to focus on how lucky he has been, how hard he fought and how dang cute he is.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II 04-22-19, Alaskan Malamute

Hello, world!

 

Thank you, again, from the deepest depth of our hearts for all of your well wishes. We felt your love and we can’t wait to share our new little love with you (when you’re ready).

Best wishes and happy, healthy thoughts to you and yours.

With love,

from The Scribe, The Chief, The Pup (to be named) and Alaska.

 

Beneath the Borealis The Fluff Part II, 04-22-19, Fairbanks

You beauty, you.

Beneath the Borealis Post The Fluff 4-15-19 Honeybees

The Fluff

I jumped the gun, counted my chickens before they hatched. I promised exciting news before it was in my lap.

The Chief and I have been milling around the idea of getting a puppy. We’ve gone back and forth and around again until we were furry in the face from all the pups we’d looked at. We were offered three different husky pups, one which was taken back just as soon as it was offered and two that rang just too true to our Lou. Nothing felt quite right. We paused looking on and off for months. I was waiting for our dog to jump from the screen and choose us but it just wasn’t happening. Looking for a pup brought up a mixture of excitement, guilt, and trepidation. It was a step forward into a new chapter, it was a new start that we weren’t totally sure we were ready for and so, it seemed, it wasn’t ready for us either.

There were multiple times where it almost worked, and then at the last moment, we were like ships in the night. Something just wouldn’t line up.

With a girlfriends’ trip to Town fast approaching, I looked like mad for our little furball but the puppy shoes I tried on didn’t quite fit. I decided that it just wasn’t in the cards for us at this moment. We’d wait until after the wedding this Fall and start looking again. I gave myself plenty of reasons why this was the right thing to do and I was pretty convinced.

Almost entirely.

Two days before our ladies’ trip I decided to allow myself one more look. If the “perfect” dog was there, we’d get him.

And there he was.

 

Beneath the Borealis Post The Fluff 4-15-19 Malamute Puppy

Cuteness abounds.

 

Our “perfect” dog was not the dog in front of me. He was bigger and in completely the wrong geographic location but immediately I knew that he was our puppy.

After everything that happened in the passing of our Cinda Lou and all of the loss we’ve experienced in the last year and a half, we wanted to make as many guarantees as we could that our puppy would be healthy. This pup had everything in that realm. His Mom and Dad both had bios up with healthy hips and all that goodness. The Mom was a beauty queen and the Dad a mushing dog who could “pull all day”. After a Winter of Skijoring, we were looking for a working dog but also a family dog, a dog who wanted to be our number one. His parents looked healthy and happy as could be. It just felt right. In his picture, he was even standing on the same rug in his kitchen as we have in ours.

The Chief came home for lunch that day and I asked if he wanted to look at one last puppy. I tried to conceal my smile but it was near wrapped around my face. Without pause, his smile erupted too just upon seeing the picture.

“That’s our guy.”

He was the last boy left in the litter.

By the end of the day, I had put a PayPal deposit down on our pup (which is by far the best online purchase I’ve ever made). We were elated. I couldn’t stop looking at his picture.

Still, we had quite the journey in front of us: we were going to do the Alaska Triangle.

What is the Alaska Triangle, you ask?

Well, clearly we made it up! But I think it could have some staying power. The Alaska Triangle, framed from our neck of the woods, would be our trajectory for the week:

Our neck of the woods to Anchorage: 8 hours

Anchorage to Fairbanks: 8 hours

Fairbanks to our neck of the woods: 8 hours

Now, this may seem like an excessive amount of driving but when you’re used to driving 8 hours to get your groceries, your perspective shifts a bit. Plus, like a dog with treats, every leg of the journey held insanely wonderful incentives:

Our neck of the woods to Anchorage: Here laid the root causes of our trip: First, we would get to listen to the heartbeat of the newest addition to our girl gang! Our beautiful friend is having a baby girl and these aunties were going to get to hear her little heart beating. Second, we were also shopping for wedding and bridesmaid dresses (a task I was inclined to think of more as a chore on my own but with help, actually thoroughly enjoyed). Finally, there laid bloood draws and doctors visits and all the other delightful town duties.

Anchorage to Fairbanks: 8 hours: Puppy pickup! (‘Nuff said)

Fairbanks to our neck of the woods: 8 hours: We’d trade off between driving and puppy pets, bringing all of our precious cargo homeward. Then, introduce the Chief to our little one.

We pretty much squealed with excitement the whole first hour of the trip. Puppies, babies and wedding stuff?! This really was a trifecta of goodness.

The trip was even longer than the triangle too because the first day of the trip was actually spent driving to the end of The Road (60 miles of dirt and busted glaciers) to participate in a fishing derby. By participate, I mean show up in time for the awards and food and miss all the fishing, unfortunately, but when you’re packing for The Alaska Triangle, time gets away from you. We drove 12 miles back down The Road towards home, despite every inch of my being telling me I was going the wrong way, to spend the night at our friends’ cabin that they graciously loaned us for the night. We all felt the excitement building. Finally, the next morning we were off. Back down The Road, Round II.

 

Beneath the Borealis Post The Fluff 4-15-19 Honeybees

Keep your eye on the prize.

 

Everything went perfectly. Appointments we needed had last-minute openings, our Airbnb was cheaper than even the dead of Winter rates, everything was looking up.

The next day we got to hear the baby’s heartbeat and in true Auntie fashion, we were in tears. It was a beautiful start to the trip, full of hope and happiness.

Later that day we shopped for wedding and bridesmaid dresses and found something for everyone.

Still, just to be sure, the next day we went to another wedding dress location.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

As someone who needs to comparison shop even the smallest of items, this was helpful to me to verify that we should, in fact, get the dresses from the day before.

Everything was going so perfectly!

I called then and there to order my dress as there were only two in stock. No answer. In the growing hours of daylight, I had lost time and the dress shop had closed. I felt a little panic well up inside of me. As soon as I hung up, I noticed a text I’d missed:

“So, the pups are acting a little “off”. I don’t know if you can delay your trip or not but I am taking them to the vet tomorrow to get checked out.”

A sinking feeling in my chest forced me to sit down amidst the fluffy white gowns. I took a deep breath and called the breeder.

“It’s probably nothing” he assured me “but Parvo is rampant here so I wanted to be sure. He’s still eating and drinking so he should be fine. But if he does have Parvo he could die within a few days.”

As a vet tech, he had mountains of information he delivered matter of factly that I needed to hear but in that sea of white, what I needed more was to get off the phone so I could cry. I fell into the arms of my girlfriends outside.

I couldn’t believe it.

 

Beneath the Borealis Post The Fluff 4-15-19 Anchorage Alaska

Reflective weather.

 

We spent the night talking about and distracting from the subject but it hung close. This puppy felt like the new start we had hoped for and again, here we were faced with possible death.

Still, maybe it wasn’t Parvo.

We had planned to make our next leg of The Triangle in the morning but without information as to the pup’s health, we figured it best to stay put. We unloaded once again into a new Airbnb. It was beautiful and colorful and felt like home. It also felt like sadness, like there had been a loss but in some ways, that felt comforting because amidst the loss, there was so much love and happiness. After I got this feeling, I went into the bathroom where there was a painting of a woman kneeling over a dog, the dog’s paws were holding onto her legs in a gentle embrace and blood was pooled around the dog. Yet, the dog’s spirit came up from him and turned into a raven. The painting was titled “Grief and Healing”, two things we’ve done a lot of in these past years.

A sort of calm came over me as I realized that I had grieved before, I could do it again but what was most important at that moment wasn’t me, it was him. This little fluff of a pup was fighting for his life. I wanted him to live for him.

The next day, we didn’t have to rush out of the house first thing. For the first time in the trip, we got to just sit for a few hours. We all ended up working, I had a huge project due by week’s end and since the drives I had been planning to work during suddenly weren’t happening I had to squeeze every moment in that I could. After we checked out, we set to do the chores that we never do in Town, the ones deep down on the long list of To Dos which always end up in the “Screw It” pile after chore fatigue sets in. On the way, I got a text:

“He has Parvo.”

 

Beneath the Borealis Post The Fluff 4-15-19 Alaskan Winter

 

I am not a fainter. I am not a damsel in distress. Yet, this news took me over. My chest started radiating in a tingling sensation that only got worse with each breath I took in. I was sobbing as my arms started to go numb and my vision tunneled. I pulled over and just cried until I couldn’t cry any longer while my girlfriends stood guard and rubbed my back. I felt numb.

A few minutes later I got another text:

“We are going to treat him for it. Vet says his chances are good because we caught it early.”

The girls did chores, some of them mine (I love you ladies) the rest of the day and let me dig into work. The deadline was fast approaching and the distraction helped. I broke the bad news to The Chief (just as he had told me that he had cleaned up all the poop in the yard to prevent any Parvo issues) and almost simultaneously heard his heart break for the millionth time. We’ve done so much crying together these past years. Here we were again. Our little beacon of hope might not make it.

The girls and I reconvened again in the evening to do our final chore run: Costco.

We were leaving Town the next morning and going home with almost everything.

The trip had been such a success in so many ways. The baby was healthy, we all would be showing up to the wedding with clothes on (yahoo!), we had done chores we hadn’t even dreamed of getting done and stayed in beautiful homes. We had bonded and eaten delicious food and seen good friends and…we wouldn’t be returning with our puppy.

Still, fingers permanently crossed, I was hopeful.

Yesterday, as The Chief and I prepared to take our annual Pack Test I suddenly felt like we had news. I checked my phone:

“I don’t want to get your hopes up too high, but I am optimistic about your pup. Part of the treatment is that I force feed them Nutri-Cal every 2 hours. I just went out to do that and he greeted me with tail wagging. First time his tail has wagged in almost a week. I take that as a positive sign. Once he starts eating without being forced we will know that we are in the clear. Should be within 48 hours or so.”

The Chief and I just held one another. It was a good sign. Finally. Our little fluffball was fighting.

Later on that night, exhausted from 4 hours of driving in order to go carry 45 lbs. 3 miles (are we just gluttons for punishment?) we got this:

“He is eating cooked Salmon on his own. Yeah!!!”

“He is eating a lot of it too. I am going to watch him. If he keeps it down that’s an awesome sign.”

Included was a picture of him and his sister:

 

Beneath the Borealis Post The Fluff 4-15-19 Malamute Puppies of Alaska

The fluff is strong with these ones.

 

Still, we weren’t certain. He wasn’t giving us the green light but things were looking up.

This morning, as I sat down to write that I had jumped the gun, I had no sooner gotten that sentence down than I received the following text:

“He has eaten several times now and is running around like a puppy again. I would say that he has it beat.”

The Chief and I cried happy tears for the first time in a long time.

I hope with all my might that I have not jumped the gun again but there was nothing else that I could write about this week and so write about it I did. This is real life. This is what’s happening. It’s the only thing on my mind, the last thing I think of as I go to bed and the first thing I think of in the morning.

Thankfully, this morning, it was with a bit of peace in my heart for our little fluffball fighter.

We love you so much already.

Please send your good thoughts his way. Happy, healthy thoughts sent out to all of you and yours.

With love,

from Alaska.

 

Beneath the Borealis Post The Fluff 4-15-19 Poppies of rebirth

 

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-01-19 The Disconnect, Alaskan wilderness

The Disconnect

The relatively recent access this town has gained to the technological pleasures of the “real world” has always been for me a double-edged sword, a sort of high-tech thorn in my side.

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-01-19 The Disconnect, Alaskan wilderness

Nature, captured by tech

 

When I first met The Chief he had a “dumb phone”, as they are called these days. I loved it. Instead of vying for his attention over some device, there it was, stable and pure. In all reality, it was he who had to fight for mine at times. He would marvel at my texting dexterity and volume at which I transacted such “conversation”. His phone required each letter’s input until I showed him Predictive Text. You guys remember that one, right? Suddenly, a text merely caused him half the frustration it once had. Still, his texting didn’t increase.

The Chief would question the benefits of such a fancy device as mine (an iPhone). What was the purpose? I would espouse the wonders of having directions to anywhere, anytime and the sheer possibilities of the world of the internet at my fingertips to which he would reply: “That’s what a map, a dictionary, other people and then, last and least, a computer are for.”

In all honesty, I remember defending the phone lightly. I wasn’t sure if I really liked its bells and whistles but I did know that I had grown accustomed to it. When I learned that only a few years earlier, our town had conversed to the world only via one pay phone and to one another via CB radio, I felt like I had missed the boat. I had arrived when technology had fully nestled herself in (again).

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-01-19 The Disconnect, Historic Alaska

The historic town which was more technologically advanced then than we are now.

 

Still, I was used to her, simultaneously comforted and duped by her.

I remember pondering the meaning of a word together once our first Summer together and as I reached for my phone, The Chief reached for his dictionary.

This moment struck me and I promised myself that I would be better at reaching for books than reaching for my phone.

That Fall we headed to California for our first annual family visit and The Chief started to understand the supposed benefits of the iPhone. Lost as could be, we would suddenly be found. Wanting to see a movie, we could know the schedule at the typing of a few words. Hungry, we could decipher where to eat with a quick search. Yet, the retrieval of such information didn’t always make things easier or more fun or more quickly expedited. The plethora of information sometimes made it harder. Which route to take? There were so many options. Which movie or restaurant to go to? Everyone had an opinion and an experience and after wading through a few reviews they all melded together.

Still, in the return to our cabin that Winter, the phone stayed and the computer did too and now, a few years later, they’ve started to multiply.

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-01-19 The Disconnect Mason Jar

Big mouth, wide mouth, espousing the benefits of smartphones…

 

These devices do bring “us” together. They have made it easier for me to keep in touch with friends and family, they’ve made writing and publishing this blog a possibility and they’ve connected me to people and ideas I perhaps wouldn’t have otherwise experienced. Yet does it bring us closer? The “us” that is right in front of us, right next to us?

The other day, I was in a conference call in which the attendees joined from all over the Western edge of the US. We were in offices and homes, in business suits and extreme business casual. We were a mix of people, all working together to one goal and I thought to myself how crazy that we can all be in one “place” together despite our distances apart.

Yet, were we? Did the “us” we created by attending actually come together? Technology has this way of bringing together while simultaneously dividing. During the call, I received multiple texts from co-workers about the meeting. We were finishing the last bits of a presentation and I was getting last-minute updates on how to proceed, what to share, what to present. I was there, in those texts, in those directions, not in the meeting and I could tell that I was not alone. Minutes later, another attendee mentioned that he had just acquired some new information. Not meaning before the meeting, meaning during the meeting. He too was off in his own technological bubble, checking email while others spoke and debated and brainstormed. We were all tapping in and out of the meeting. Together or alone we retreated and reappeared, never announcing our coming or going, everyone under the assumption that everyone else was participating. Assuming that we, in our importance, could check out to do something more important, or something far less important. Take a break to check our email, disconnect for a moment.

The meeting was an hour-long.

One hour.

One hour for which I would bet none of us were completely present. My job, which required me to be there, also required me elsewhere, to be simultaneously mentally present in two places at once.

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-01-19 The Disconnect, Women

No one’s legs are long enough to be two places at once. Not even Fall time shadow legs

 

As a society, we talk about the pros and cons of technology, about the coexistent togetherness and the isolation we feel from being so “connected”. Yet, steadily we continue. We slowly accept what should be rudeness as commonplace. Accepting that the person you’re speaking to will be scrolling on their phone, half-listening. Accepting that we text someone and two minutes later can’t remember what we said. I saw a meme the other day that said: “If I respond to your text with ‘Oh, cool’, that means I’m over the conversation”. We accept sub-par communication and call it connection because we’ve agreed to those standards. We accept them for one another and for ourselves. We accept when we look up from our screens and realize an hour of “relaxation” has passed after which we feel neither relaxed nor refreshed.

I know, for me, I’m a sensitive little beast. I need structure and continuity, ceremony and rhythm. My body now (and always has, though I neglected it) requires 8 hours of sleep and if I don’t get outside, even for a short moment every day, I feel unsettled. I can’t be too social or I will feel depleted and although certain foods are my heart’s desire, when I abstain, my whole self feels better. Candid conversations with my girlfriends and guy friends are essential to my happiness and I know I need quality time with The Chief, just the two of us, cuddled up on the couch reading or watching a movie.

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-01-19 The Disconnect, Friendship in Alaska

The necessary walk n’ talk n’ sunsets with the girls and the pups.

 

All of these things I’ve known and aimed for and missed and tried again and sometimes failed twice, yet I’ve always reached for them. Yet until that conference call, I didn’t realize how badly a break with technology also needs to be on that list of Self-Love Daily To Dos.

Boundaries.

The Chief and I have been taking nights off lately, turning off our devices in tandem and spending the evening together, devoid of personal technology (we will still watch a movie if that’s what we are in the mood for) and it’s funny in a nervous laugh kind of funny how often I feel myself think to reach for my phone. Just to look at it. Just to check. Distract instead of being present. After that call, I realize that these nights can’t just be here or there. The feeling I got when I walked into the living room to ask The Chief a question and didn’t see him looking at a screen is one I didn’t realize I’d needed so badly. One I had missed. A feeling of importance and togetherness and presence.

I’m not saying that we are tossing out our phones (though I have thought about it) nor am I saying that technology is bad. It’s beautiful in so many ways. Yet, just like my inclination to eat chocolate chips every night en masse, I too need to curb the technology addiction that so sneakily wormed its way into my life. We are here, surrounded in beauty, but I know that sometimes I’m missing it.

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-01-19 The Disconnect Work from Home Outside

Yes, I have to be on a computer all day…but with layers, I can also be outside.

 

I don’t know exactly what it looks like to not miss what’s in front of me, I’ve gotten farther away from the shore than I thought. Perhaps it’s turning off the phone every evening at 6 pm. Perhaps, it’s buying a real alarm clock so that I don’t wake to the news of “my world”. Perhaps it’s using the phone only as a phone and the computer for everything else. Separation. Perhaps it’s mailing more letters instead of sending more texts. I’m not totally sure yet what it means, but I do know that it’s necessary for me and mine and the little boundaries we’ve set so far have made a world of difference.

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-01-19 The Disconnect, Write a Letter

Thank you, Miss O! This gal loves letters.

 

Here’s to you and yours. May you be present and feel important to those you surround yourself with.

How do you deal with technology? I’m all ears.

With love,

From Alaska.

 

Beneath the Borealis 04-01-19 The Disconnect, Wildlife of Alaska

Don’t forget to look up…up to a high-perched owl.

Beneath the Borealis POST Baby You Can Drive My Car Alaskans in Summer

Baby, You Can Drive My Car (…And My Snowmachine…and Use My Generator…)

Nearly four years ago now, I arrived in Alaska and within a few weeks, I found myself dropped into a whole new house, a new partner, a new life. It was like a ready-made, one-stop shop and I had scored quite the bargain.

 

Beneath the Borealis POST Baby You Can Drive My Car Alaskans in Summer

One of our first pictures together.

 

Most people who have settled in our wee hamlet have had to build from the ground up, while I on the other hand simply had to move in and put a good old-fashioned scrubbing into it.

I arrived into the arms of the man I love and into his home, already fully built. Most start with a plot of land, uncleared and camp on their property as they slowly and steadily begin the building process or leave to gain the funds to build it in chunks. In truth, I wish  I could have been there for all of this but had I shown up in our town ten years earlier, our life wouldn’t be what it is now. The camping and clearing and building on our plot had begun 10 years earlier and while it might still not be totally finished, the house I arrived into was indeed on its way to becoming a home.

 

 

 

 

The Chief had amassed everything he needed and in I walked, welcome to it all. From generators, gas barrels to snowmachines and chainsaws, a whole world of things I’d never known use for opened in front of me. And so I used his things and they soon became ours, with little more than a shift in words from “mine” to “ours”. The Chief, despite his many solo years, quite gracefully shifted his verbiage to double and opened his arsenal of things for my use.

 

Beneath the Borealis POST Baby You Can Drive My Car Alaskan Homestead

Like the outdoors laundry machine…bathing suit required.

 

As time wore on and things broke down, as they often do out here, I would contribute to replace them and as the years have gone on, that which was solely his to begin with truly has melted into ours via the road of shared dollars and labor.

The thing is, his things that are now our things, weren’t originally bought with me in mind (since to him, I didn’t exist). The chainsaw that his Popeye forearms can navigate with ease left me barely able to lift my arms for a day after using it and the fancy snowmachine he bought was, for me, a few sizes too big.

Still, my chainsawing days were infrequent and we had another snowmachine, a quirkier one (read: relatively brakeless), but a machine nonetheless that I could use.

 

Beneath the Borealis POST Baby You Can Drive My Car Stihl in Love with You

My forearm yelps just looking at the beast!

 

I could make do.

Which was fine.

Or so I thought.

Until I got my own.

My own snowmachine.

The Chief and I have spent the last almost four years in and out of the good graces of the snowmachine gods. Our first Winter together, we started with two machines. By midway through the second Winter, the pace of my skis was as fast as I was going anywhere. Both machines were down. Last year, on a good day we had about 1.5 machines running.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis POST Baby You Can Drive My Car Backcountry Snowmachine

When a machine was down, we rocked the human backpack look.

 

This year was going to be different. We still had a quirky machine for me, though it was now a different iteration in the many generations of quirky machines, and The Chief had finally been able to get his new machine up and running. Two people, two running machines.

Sort of.

Within a month, my quirky machine went down.

 

Beneath the Borealis POST Baby You Can Drive My Car German Shortaired Pointer

Thankfully, not before I got this shot (last year)

 

The Chief set in to fix it for the millionth time and it dawned on me: I’ve been working. A lot. I can buy my own machine.

And so I did.

After announcing my plans, which is rarely a good idea, they came to fruition. It turned out that a girlfriend of mine was selling her machine. It was just what I needed and just my size and suddenly, it was all mine.

Scratch that, we can’t fast forward that quickly.

The Chief had (much to my working girl’s stuck in the office chagrin) gone up to look at the machine during the week for me and to shovel it out while I was working. He retrieved the battery and brought it home to charge. Come the weekend, we took the hour-long drive up to the Historic Town to retrieve it home for a test drive.

We finished unsticking her from her snowy resting place and tucked in her partner in crime under their original shared tarp. We placed the now charged battery back in its home and…she fired right up.

It was time to go. I donned my parka and hat and goggles and gloves and watched The Chief navigate the quite lightly packed 90 degrees turn uphill.

I followed him with gusto.

I didn’t make it.

Within the first three seconds of riding my potential new machine, I got stuck.

Yay!

I hadn’t even gotten up to the road yet.

 

Beneath the Borealis POST Baby You Can Drive My Car Husies of Alaska

Relaxed, goofy, happy. Exactly the opposite of how I was feeling.

 

The trail going up from her storage location was steep and unpacked snow and I slid off track without enough gas and crashed into hip deep snow.

It was so buried that we could see soil beneath the track as I tried, to no avail to get myself unstuck. Within seconds of meeting my potential new machine, my own independence, I was asking The Chief for help.

The thing is, it’s not so much that I was always using his things that bothered me, but that all of those things were part of an experience in which he was well seasoned and I was just coming out of the thaw. We were at different phases and despite my being four years in, I’m still very much a newbie in most cases. I felt that my know-how would never catch up to his 10-year head start and thus I’d always be asking for help. If you know me, you know that this is one of my least favorite asks to ask. “May I have a cookie?” Easy. “Can you help me do this thing I’m embarrassed to admit I can’t do alone?” A little harder (read: scaling a mountain of ice). This is definitely a mental hiccup that I need to work on but, one that gives me pause nonetheless. Even this new machine I had just bought, he knew more about than me, simply by having ridden other machines for a decade longer than me.

Together, we worked the machine out of its snowy entrapment, packing the snow down around its skis and me tugging on them with all my might as The Chief gunned it and gained traction as I jumped out of the way.

The rest of the ride home was, thankfully, uneventful but the rocky start had made me less than certain.

Making big purchases has never been my thing. I had the money, I could spare the change but I hemmed and hawed my way all through the transaction. The Chief had to talk and walk me through why again I needed such an “extravagance”. An extravagance that is our main mode of transportation, one that can help us haul logs and goods, one that opens up a world of travel for me into this vast country. I was right, I could forego the machine, we could continue fixing the whack-a-mole of a problem snowmachine we currently had and I could continually be limited by the machine’s engine…

Or, I could buy the machine.

Finally, I conceded to myself.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis POST Baby You Can Drive My Car Polaris Snowmachine

My baby’s on the left. Working on our Primary colors. Action shots to come.

 

I’m so glad I did.

It was my first large-scale purchase of something just for me, just in Alaska.

A month later I’m unsure how I kept this from you for so long! I grin from ear to ear every time I ride it. Sometimes I’ll fire it up just because I can. It has an electric start, people! No more pulling and pulling and pulling and pulling and pulling and pulling and pulling to turn the engine over. The pop of a button and the turn of a key and whoooom. Purr goes the engine (and a world of stinky 2-stroke smoke). Pitter patter goes my heart.

It even has reverse.

It’s a game changer.

The not so perfect start that day up the hill to take my potential new baby home was, in the end, a perfect start because it helped me start to accept our reality. The Chief has lived here longer and he lived here alone, which meant that when something went wrong, it was up to him to figure out how to fix it. I, living in the lap of luxury that I do (where’s a winking emoji when you need one?!) have not had that experience. When something breaks or goes wrong, I often have The Chief nearby to help and more often than not, he knows how to.

This life is not full of things I immediately excelled in. The learning curve was steep and I’m pretty sure it’s unending. Yet we all have to start somewhere if that’s the curve we want to climb, and I do. From where I stand in the journey, I can see below me. I can see when I didn’t know what a generator or an inverter was. I can see how little I grasped how much water I used daily. I can see how I problem solved less and called others for help more.

I’m still calling for help and still often ungraciously accepting it but we must remember from where we’ve come.

Four years ago I didn’t know how to ride a snowmachine and four years later, I’ve purchased one of my own. The Chief, from his experience, may know better how to operate her, but I will be her owner. I will know her ticks and purrs and with a little practice, I too will know her just as well.

This ready-made life is something I’ll always consider myself lucky to have walked into. Life here would have been a very different story or perhaps not happened at all had I had to start on my own from scratch. And just like our house has become a reflection of us, so too is our arsenal, slowly but surely, as I take the agency to make it my own. Sharing is beautiful and all, but sometimes, a walk in another person’s shoes just makes you realize you need to get your own pair.

Thank you, Alaska, for plopping me here where most of my skills aren’t applicable, where necessity made me gain new ones. Thank you to The Chief for so graciously welcoming me to this new world and for reminding me constantly that I can do it by myself, but I don’t have to.

 

Beneath the Borealis POST Baby You Can Drive My Car Ecuador

LIke scaling these slippery, mountain high bridges…together, please.

 

And thank you, to The Musher who, strangely enough, as I wrote this post, came over with an early wedding gift: a chainsaw, in just my size.

The tides they are turning.

With love,

 

From Alaska.

 

Beneath the Borealis POST Baby You Can Drive My Car With Love from Alaska

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Winter Camping The Confluence

In Celebration of Women

Friday before last, I awoke to the day with a sturdy mix of excitement and nervousness.

Today was the day.

What day, you ask?

A day of firsts.

A few weeks ago, about halfway into our puppy sitting the cutest little dude I know (who goes by the name of Kvichak. Pronounced like “Quee-Jack”), a plan started brewing. It all began with crossed fingers and a lot of treats: we were going to skijor. Until a few years ago, I’d never even heard of skijoring and I’ve only tried it once before and that was a year ago. Yet there I was, locking myself into a physical agreement with a pooch I’d only heard knew what he was doing. Apparently, that clout was good enough for me.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Huskies in Alaska

That arm…hardcore chillin’.

 

Skijoring is like dog sledding in the sense that the dog wears a harness and pulls the rider. Yet with skijoring, there’s no sled in between. The skier too wears a harness and a mere bungee rope connects the pooch to the skier, entering them into a serious game of trust (hint: the pooch has the upper hand).

After that first squeals of excitement filled run, I was hooked and on the mission to find a setup of our own (as we had borrowed my girlfriend’s and thus couldn’t both go at the same time). In the lovely land that we live, a message board post I put up had us outfitted in no time, thanks to the kindness of our not so nearby neighbors (thanks again, M & P). And so it was that my girlfriend and I could skijor together and hatch our plan:

An overnight.

In the snow.

At a destination attained via skijor.

The plan hatched quickly and then went through iterations too many to count. There was the issue of houses freezing, as my girlfriend’s husband would be out of town on the chosen date and unable to man the house. There was the issue of location and distance and weather and details too many to count but all of those could be navigated.

In truth, the greatest hurdle for me was that of motivation.

The comfort of home can be hard for me to leave and trying new things, especially things that might prove me less than savvy, is hard for this recovering perfectionist. Yet the discomfort I felt around the adventure, before even its realization, was a familiar feeling that told me I had to go.

Mid-week, the plan still relatively unrealized, our momentum sagged. There was a lot to prep, a lot to plan and being that I had never camped in the snow (honestly, I didn’t realize that was even a thing people would opt to do), a lot to learn. The -20 nights had me shaking in my snowboots and so, any easy out started looking nicer and nicer.

Thankfully, after a few more hems and haws, we voted away the easy out.

We were in.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Winter Camping

Packing quickly took over the house…

 

It was time to get things in order. The night before the big adventure, The Chief and I made some modifications to my sled via a drill gun, paracord and a lighter. Everything we’d need from firewood to sleeping bags was going on our backs or in our sleds. At the night’s end on the eve of our great adventure, weighted down by a few rounds of logs, the pup and I took the sled for a test run. For the first time I too was pulling weight and the short loop around the neighborhood had me winded.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Skijor Sled

 

Gulp.

The morning came and with it my nerves. The weather had warmed but still, we were sleeping outside! Utter badass that she is, my gal pal, a backcountry ranger, (I mean, how cool of a title is that?!) who has logged days on end backpacking convinced me that we didn’t need tents. We would instead be using the burrito method.

Now, I know my food references but this one I’d never heard. Still, the trust of my dear friend intact, I packed a tarp and did not pack a tent.

Gulp.

The morning nerves were soon accompanied by news. As I logged into work, a headline came up on my computer: today was International Women’s Day.

Today?!

My nerves melted away. I felt blanketed in power. Today was a day to celebrate women and I could think of no better way than adventuring out of my comfort zone in the comfort of my girlfriend’s (and two adorable pups’) presence. As soon as I heard the news Beyonce’s “Run the World (Girls)” was playing through my head (and soon through the speakers). Today was a good day already. The half-day workday flew by and in no time…

It was time.

Despite the sleepover being for merely one night, the multitude of necessities was startling. I stuffed extra layers of all types into a stuff sack and packed a parka, bibs, gloves, scarf, extra socks and a hat for the evening. I donned my ski outfit, composed of much lighter fare due to the suddenly warm weather of 30 odd degrees outside, a swift shift from the day before. After bungy-ing and re-bungy-ing my sled and its contents, we were finally off (only an hour later than our planned departure time)!

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Skijor Alaska

 

No turning back now.

 

 

Kvichak and I breezed along, the weight only seemed to encourage him rather than slow him down. We dropped down out of the woods onto the river trail and promptly…

Threw up.

In his wanderings of the neighborhood, the little dude has earned the nickname Kvichak the Kleptomaniac. He’s returned home with everything from a frozen zucchini to compost filters to an empty milk jug and full on logs, not sticks, from neighboring woodpiles. So, I can only assume he found something that was not quite his but quite delicious nonetheless that perhaps hit back when it hit his tummy.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Winter Camping Husky

Showing off his compost filter steal…

 

He barfed twice and then looked at me as if I was crazy to be concerned and started to pull again. Apparently, all was well. Less than 10 minutes in, one barf session down and miles more to go. What could go wrong?

Thankfully, not that much. There were some epic falls for us both, on all sort of terrain including flat, up and downhill. Sometimes the dog feels resistance and stops. Sometimes, unfortunately, that’s right at the apex of a hill and you have to fight with all your might to pole yourself up that incline. Or slide down backward and have to try again. Other times, you fall. Hard. Aside from falling, a lot of skijoring when you first are training is spent untangling. While Kvichak has an uncanny propensity for not getting stuck despite stopping often to make puppy snow angels, the eventual snag or two (or twenty) are inevitable and you hobble along trying to untangle the pooch back to his perfect puppy pulling potential.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Skijoring in Alaska

Skijoring into the sunset (plus a rainbow).

 

Snags and snafus aside, we made it to camp in about three hours. Wolf tracks graced the latter half of the trail and the dogs perked up to follow them across the frozen river we skijored upon. The sun was setting and the moon was rising as we found our home for the night. The place which had been our goal.

The Confluence.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Winter Camping The Confluence

Mid-bunny hop (Icefall behind)

 

Where two rivers meet and an icefall marks the spot, we found an area nestled between the river and a higher bank that we thought might provide cover from the potential wind tunnel we were in. Running water could be heard nearby and icefall looked down on us in all her glory. We packed down the snow in our home sweet home as best we could, using the sled as a flattening tool though still punching through. Walking about camp we looked a bit like toddling babies, doing our best to stay afloat amongst the uneven terrain.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Backcountry Winter Camping

Breaking trail to camp.

 

As soon as we had regrouped via a complete change of clothes (Naked in the middle of a frozen river, eh? Never thought I’d cross that one off the list) it was time to build a fire and make dinner. The warming fire kicked right up in my expert gal pal’s, despite the fact that it was built in snow. The light of the flames warmed the dark new moon night. We got out our heating implements and drank tea to warm ourselves as we warmed our dinners. The setting of the sun had brought on a quick chill but still, the night gave no promise of the 20 below nights we’d been having.

Already cold fingers crossed.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Backcountry Winter Camping Alaska

Hello, moon.

 

The pups too ate their dinner which was accompanied by water in order to get them to drink (a common difficulty in the snow). Kvichak looked at me as if I didn’t know who I was dealing with as he expertly chased down the bits of food, avoiding the water like a bobbing for kibble expert. At first, I was worried he wouldn’t drink. Then, he slurped it down. A purist, I see. He left just enough water to show his rebellion which promptly froze in the bowl.

Finally, it was time to see what this burrito sleeping situation was all about. I heated more snow for drinking water as I watched my girlfriend lay on the snowy surface the tarp we had burrito-wrapped (so many burritos!) around our sleds to keep our goods intact on our journey out. She expertly laid both sleeping pads beneath her two sleeping bags and then cocooned herself and her pooch inside. Then, she wrapped the tarp around them. The burrito. 

My burrito ended up more like a taco. As claustrophobia is one of my less-favorable traits, I couldn’t quite get down with the wrapping action and, with a Husky as my companion, he too needed his space. Husky’s are notoriously independent but this cuddlebug did sleep next to me the whole night through.

My girlfriend and I, perfectly packed into our respective Mexican dishes hooted and hollered “Goodnight! Happy International Women’s Day! I love you!” to one another over the fire. I patted the pup and bid us both a good night and good luck. I fell asleep cozy as could be, though about 60% certain I was about to die of cold in my sleep.

An hour or so later I woke up in an overheated claustrophobic panic. Losing layers in a hurry as if digging myself out from below ground, my temperature and panic dropped. Well, I guess I wasn’t dying of cold. I fell back into a cooler, calmer sleep. An hour or so later, I awoke again, this time cold, as the taco ruffled in the windy night. I zipped down tighter as I gazed at the stars before pulling the tarp overhead. Claustrophobia plays second fiddle to cold.

We awoke in tandem, my girlfriend, the pups and I and I let out a hoot and a holler.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Winter Camping in AK

Morning, sunshine!

 

We had done it! We had camped in the snow, in tarps! Seasoned as she is at such feats, I had known my gal pal would make it, but me, I wasn’t so sure.

Yet I had.

I had slept overnight in the middle of a river in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness on the shoulders of Winter.

Just a few years ago, I’d never heard of skijoing and certainly hadn’t considered camping in the snow in a tarp. Even if I had, the hurdles I would have had to jump in order to make such a thing happen would have stalled me in my thoughts. That morning, as I looked around at the greatness of nature and the ease with which we could access it, I thanked my lucky stars.

After an exceptional oatmeal breakfast, we slowly packed away the camp. I, upon my girlfriend’s suggestion, had slept with my sweaty clothes from our ski in. Why, oh, why you ask?! Same here. Apparently, this will help them to dry. I’d heard this before and met it with the look of a single cocked eyebrow but trusting her as I do, I tried it and…it worked! Sure, they were still a little wet but nothing like the night before when they had frozen to the tarp within minutes of taking them off. I donned the slightly damp clothes, naked again in the middle of Winter in Alaska, and danced about the still uneven terrain to warm from the self-imposed chill.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Huskies of Alaska

Returning from the expanse, looking very tough.

 

Soon, with nothing left to pack but ourselves, I showed Kvichak his harness and his tail began to wag. We skied from one river to the next watching the stories of the wolf tracks dance out in front of us and listening to the river flow beneath. About halfway home, the tired set in. I hadn’t felt all that worked over by the day before’s activities but suddenly they caught up. My pack somehow felt heavier, my legs felt like logs but home was in sight.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Winter Camping GSP of Skijoring

Homeways is rightways now.

 

I returned home to water easily accessed, not made via my melting of snow and veggies not frozen from exposure. The comforts of home wrapped their sometimes excessively enveloping arms around me but that day they felt just perfect. I fell into bed that night, grateful for the warmth of a non-burrito blanket though missing the stargazing and whispered goodnight to my girlfriend, grateful as ever for her.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Ladies of Alaska

Sunset snowmachine

 

Without her, I wouldn’t have known about skijoring and I certainly wouldn’t have ventured out snow camping. It’s funny how one person can open your eyes, not just to new ideas but to new realities and expanded views of yourself. I know that to some, snow camping is a no brainer, but to me, it was truly daunting and I thank my friend for her guidance into what turns out to be not so scary.

Here’s to the ladies in all of our lives. The ladies who love us, who awaken us to the unknown and who push us just enough to see that our comfort zone is wider than we think.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Winter Camping Libations

Cheers to you, boo!

 

Happy belated International Women’s Day to all of us, for we all get to experience the wonder that comes from women.

With love,

from Alaska.

 

Beneath the Borealis In Celebration of Women Winter Camping Women of Alaska

Until next time…