goals

Living in Rural Alaska: The Library (or Lack Thereof)

As a child, my mother always referred to me as a “voracious reader”.

I relished the title.

Voracious.

It felt energetic, powerful, and important.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Living in Rural Alaska, The Library, or Lack Thereof, 05:18:20, Anenome flower

Like the first blooms of Spring. Hello, Anenomes!

 

I consumed books like I consumed pancakes: hungrily and with a happy heart.

As the second child of my family, born nearly a decade after my brother, I often felt more like an only child as I spent a great deal of time alone. Yet alone I never really was, not when in the company of the most steadfast of buddies: my books.

The local library was where all of these buddies lived and thankfully, by the time I was old enough to take myself on outings, we lived a mere 5-minute walk from this literary haven. It was a place of absolute wonder for me. I can still remember the room’s intoxicating symphony of smells all those books created together; pages worn by time, lovingly thumbed through over and over.

Walking into the library felt like a warm embrace, which I needed at the end of each school day. Life at a new school where I was the youngest student in my 3rd, 4th, 5th combination class, was inhospitable, to say the least. I was teased and taunted and spent most of my time in the nurse’s office pretending to be sick in order to be rid of my classmates.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Living in Rural Alaska, The Library, or Lack Thereof, 05:18:20, Alaskan Malamute

Leto, you captured the look perfectly! Let’s get this pup an ice cream.

 

The library was my respite, my reprieve, the place where I could be nameless and safe as I jumped into the lives of the characters I read about. I spent most days picking up or dropping off books on the way home from school. My only deviation in between the library and my bedroom was a quick stop for ice cream. It was a routine I loved and figured I’d always have.

Then, we moved.

I realize now, more than ever, that ease of acquisition makes all the difference. Not being able to simply pop-in to check on my book besties as I was beholden to the schedules of others in my very young, very driver’s license-less state was devastating. Over night, the library was no longer a part of my day-to-day. With our move so too came a change of schools (and finally, the addition of friends!) as well as the addition of homework.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Living in Rural Alaska, The Library, or Lack Thereof, 05:18:20, Best friends, 5th grade

Don’t be jealous of our outfits. Best friends still today.

 

Suddenly, reading was not solely for fun, it was also for work. As a slower reader, in order to get my homework done on time, the books of my choice were no longer front and center but cast aside, waiting in the wings.

As it does, the increase in schoolwork continued exponentially. By my last stint in college, I was reading (read: skimming in a panic) hundreds of pages every day. My late teens and early twenties found me reading less and less for pleasure and more and more for grades. That is until, schooling Gods sufficiently satisfied for the time being, I found myself a graduate. The passing of that diploma into my hand meant suddenly, I was free to read anything I liked.

The voracity returned.

Bookstores and the library became places I could actually utilize again, not just browse for “when I had time in the future”. The future had come. I made time for reading and my appetite returned, strong as ever. I’d spend whole weekends in bed with my newest book, lost in the tale, entranced by the intrigue of what would happen next. I even found myself a member of a book club, which was a truly sweet full circle: friends and books (and ice cream)?! Oh my!

 

Beneath the Borealis, Living in Rural Alaska, The Library, or Lack Thereof, 05:18:20, California

Double scoop.

 

All was well.

Then, I moved here, to rural Alaska where the nearest library is 4 hours away, at best.

Luckily, the books here are bountiful. It seems I have found myself amongst a whole town of voracious readers. A book is always being borrowed or recommended or returned. I love thumbing through the pages, knowing a friend has also has sat up at night, unable to sleep for the curiousity of what lies ahead on the next page.

At first, the books seemed endless. The Chief very proudly introduced me to our own neighborhood library, also known as the old outhouse. Yup. You read that right.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Living in Rural Alaska, The Library, or Lack Thereof, 05:18:20, Alaskan outhouse

Pretty cute, ain’t it?

 

Yet, after a few years, the pages of books I intended to read have already been turned. Thankfully, yet another resource lay at our fingertips: the local library, The Tony Zak.

A local resident (you guessed it! Tony Zak) left his house to the community upon passing and since then, it has been filled to the brim with community gatherings. We have held events for everything from community yard sales to the annual Naked Lady party (an amazing clothing swap) to Christmas dinner. It also is chockfull of books, floor to ceiling.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Living in Rural Alaska, The Library, or Lack Thereof, 05:18:20, Rural Alaskan Christmas

First Christmas at Tony’s (circus games included).

 

Still, I’ll admit, there was a part of me that missed a library like the one of my childhood. The smell of it, the sheer possibility of it, perhaps most of all, the knowing look of a librarian about to unearth in you a world unknown. Here, the selections have already been made by others, like rooting around in a friend’s closet. It’s delightful, but it doesn’t always fit. Sometimes, you need picked especially for you.

Aren’t there libraries in Alaska?

Certainly. Yet every time we go to Town, a leisurely stroll through the library is the last thing on our mind, despite both of our deep love of books (I’ve married a man who consumes books at a rate greater than anyone I’ve ever known. If my voracity is a 5-course meal, his is a non-stop Las Vegas all you can eat buffet. Get after it, babe). Amidst the hustle and bustle of non-stop chores, time to read feels very far away and a stop at the library would expel luxurious time we often simply can’t afford. Plus, then there’s the whole issue of actually returning the books. There was nothing worse to me than the disappointed look accompanying the phrase “Would you like to pay your late fee now?”.

So, I set to rest the idea of libraries for the time being.

Until one day.

“Oh, these? I got them from the library.”

“The outhouse?”

“No, the library.”

“The Tony Zak?”

“No, Julia, the library.”

Say what?!

It seems, my girlfriend had discovered an unknown magic portal to the library!

 

Beneath the Borealis, Living in Rural Alaska, The Library, or Lack Thereof, 05:18:20, Alaskan Buddha

Lead the way, Buddha!

 

As you may well already understand, though I certainly didn’t before moving here, Alaska is massive. Utterly massive. Yet this mass is inhabited by endlessly curious souls, industrious to the bone and so, they deciphered a way to satiate the need for knowledge: the mail.

Duh!

I don’t know why, but I had never thought of it as an option for borrowing before, just buying.

I got online and registered and immediately, it was better than I had hoped.

“Would you like us to curate a collection for your first order or order on your own?”

A curated collection? Yeeesssss, puhhhlease!

While I was able to request certain books, the librarian also handpicked books he thought I might like after personally calling me to discuss my interests. I felt like I was back in my childhood library, looking up into the librarian’s bespectacled eyes with admiration as she inquired to my interests: “Hmm…so you loved A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, have you read The Diary of Anne Frank?”. How special.

A few weeks later, a beautiful red package arrived with my name on it (for freeeee – insert Oprah’s intonation here – faaaarrrreeeee, people!). It felt like Santa’s giant red gift bag had been flown in by plane versus reindeer and they were all for us.

While the excitement was a little stalled by the Don’t Touch Your Mail for Three Days fun, once I eventually opened it, I was amazed.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Living in Rural Alaska, The Library, or Lack Thereof, 05:18:20, Library books, Alaska

All dem books, plus a new rug from an oh so special friend! Love you, D!

 

Amongst the goodness was a letter to us from the librarian who had curated our shipment, a Mr. Giant (best name ever).

 

Beneath the Borealis, Living in Rural Alaska, The Library, or Lack Thereof, 05:18:20, Library in Alaska

Greetings, SeƱor Giant!

 

As fate would have it, I had also just received a shipment of books from my new job and those, like homework of the past, required my attention first (though they are much less like homework and much more like reading I would have picked for myself, luckily). Still, in the nights, I dove in. Building and gardening and fiction, oh my! My 8-year old self beamed with happiness.

I wrote an email thanking Mr. Giant for the bounty of goodness and, star lender that I am, asked for an extension ahead of time, realizing the work/life book balance would need more time.

 

Beneath the Borealis, Living in Rural Alaska, The Library, or Lack Thereof, 05:18:20, Rural Alaska

Grandma, Mom, Julia, Frida, the radio, and books? Pretty good combo for this lass.

 

Soon thereafter, the books were mine for a month longer. Oh, happy days.

Who would have thought that in the middle of nowhere I would land, lucky enough to be surrounded by beauty everywhere and…

books.

Yet another return to childhood goodness, in the wilds of Alaska.

Happy reading, all!

With love,

from Alaska

 

P.S. What are you reading these days? Comment below to let me know!

 

Beneath the Borealis, Living in Rural Alaska, The Library, or Lack Thereof, 05:18:20, Life in Rural Alaska

My latest nighttime adventure. Loving it.

 

P.P.S. Follow BTB on Facebook (you’ll see the “Like” button at the top of this page) for weekly goodies and up-to-date details.

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

Under Pressure

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

 

 

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

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

Never fear, Alaska is here.

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

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

 

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

Fennel salt?

Sure!

Chive salt?

Bring it on.

 

 

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

Hello, gorgeous.

 

 

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

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

 

 

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

 

 

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

I spilled the salt.

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

So is life.

 

 

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

Herb castings.

 

 

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

I needed that fire.

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

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

From Alaska.

 

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

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

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

Mix or layer to your preferred ratios.

Enjoy!

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

 

 

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

The loverly Lavaterra, greeting the day.

 

 

 

Beneath the Borealis 09-24-18 100 Alaska Winter

100

Well, I doggone done it…two posts ago.

I watched for it.

Waited for it.

Planned for it.

And then…

I plumb forgot.

100 posts.

Celebrated at 102.

 

Beneath the Borealis 09-24-18 100 Cocktails.jpg

Icicle cocktail, anyone?

 

As someone who is always ready to celebrate a milestone, even those that aren’t my own (Happy anniversary to you! Happy birthday to your dog! It’s Tuesday! Let’s celebrate!) it would be truly out of character to let this one go by (any further) without at least a virtual toast and a little reminiscing.

Shall we?

The first post was born with me cuddled up on the couch in a cabin belonging to a love I barely knew in a season like nothing I’d never experienced. It was born from a place where the best things grow: intuition. Intuition told me I was missing something, something that had been a part of me, something I had lost. And so, I sat down to write, and in the process, I found what I had forgotten.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis 09-24-18 100 CindaLou Huskies of Alaska

My intuition incarnate. I’ve never been set as straight by anyone as I was by my Lou.

 

 

As we all grew to know one another and this cabin became our home, I also found a home in myself. Writing this blog has brought me back to my basics and forward into who I want to be.

 

 

Beneath the Borealis 09-24-18 100 Self-Portrait

Self-portrait.

 

I never dreamed that day, sitting on the couch that I sit upon now to celebrate 100 postings, that I would reach this milestone. I never really gave it any thought back then. I only followed what my body asked and that was to write.

Within this 102, I’ve found myself, my person and my home. We’ve met utter despair and undeniable elation together and through this medium, I’ve recanted our stories. It has been a way to move through pain, relish in joy and discover a life anew. As life goes, so this story will read, the beautiful, the beastly, the sometimes buried beneath waiting for the light, telling of a life in the woods.

And so, I thank you, with all the warmth of sweet sunshine on a biting Winter’s day for coming along with me.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for participating. Thank you.

 

A toast to you.

A toast to 100 (and two).

 

Cheers!

With love,

from Alaska.

 

Beneath the Borealis 09-24-18 100 Winter in Alaska

Winter…it’s coming.

 

P.S. Did you miss the 100th post? Me too! Here it is: Follow me, I’ll take you there