relationships

Snapshot

Five or so years ago now I said something I’ve always looked back on:

“I mop my floor every day.”

Wow, profound, right?

Maybe not exactly but…the reason it’s resonated in my head for years is that it’s not true. Well, not now it isn’t. At the time I said it (thankfully, lest I be a liar), it certainly was. Back then, I had one tiny little haven of flooring in my house, a sweet, easily cleanable relief from the shredding OSB and crumbling concrete board that dressed the rest of the house. That little part of flooring was the area I knew I could keep clean, the one area of control I could find amongst dog hair, dirty paws, and boots filled with project remnants (hello, sawdust!) and so when a friend came over one day and admired my sparkling clean floor I noted with pride that I mopped it.

Every

single

day.

*And twice a day in moments like this…No idea what that spill was but it was noteworthy enough to forever memorialize, apparently.*

Every single day? Yep. Which, I’d bet was true for about another month or so. After that, I think we started to stop dirt before it entered the house (genius! How had no one ever thought of this?! Oh wait..) via no-shoe policies and a quick paw scrub down and also, ignore dirt by following the saying of my favorite pin: “Let that shit go”. Nowadays, my floor is cleaned about ten times a day as Leto and I tag team chasing down bits and pieces of catapulted carrots and missile-like melon bits but it’s properly mopped maybe once a week.

Maaaaayyyyybe.

Let

That

Shit

Go.

Right?

Yet I often think back to where I was then, mopping daily, a snapshot in time and wonder if that friend, who I haven’t discussed the pros and cons of a daily mop with since, still sees me in that Suzy Homemaker-esque snapshot. Did she even remember it? And if she did, did she feel that she too should be mopping her floors daily? Did I unknowingly plant a bullsh*t seed in her brain?

The other night, I left another snapshot that again had me thinking about what we plant, what we put out into the world, and how I often see others as a steady state since our last interaction despite knowing that our natural state is one of constant flux. In a gathering of women, I shared an at times teary, at times comical commentary on where I was at. There’s a lot going on for us right now: moving, school, new job, new neighborhood, new schedules…and if there’s one thing I know about myself it’s that I am amazing at change (cue the laughter sign for the audience, please).

It’s not that the changes are bad. I’m truly excited, it’s amazing, and still, it’s a lot. The Chief and I felt that a lot-ness this weekend and tensions built and then boiled over. And so, there it lay, our snapshot for the group to see. ‘Twas neither our prettiest nor our worst, nor our forever snapshot but if I had to give it a representation, it probably looked a little something like this:

I know it wasn’t our forever snapshot but…will it be in the minds of those I presented it to until I see each person again? And will I too hold them to each of the snapshots they gave to me that night?

Slowly, as the days passed, our snapshots brightened. The stress lifted. Suddenly, there we were a few days later, motivated and team-like enough to start packing up after dinner and chores (this is not an easy thing to motivate to do for us) for our move with smiles on our faces. And then finally settling in a few hours later as the summer sun began to fade, reading and cuddling ourselves to sleep.

Another snapshot.

Snapshots in time. Life is chock full of them. Some last just a moment, and some last a lot longer. If anyone has taught me to savor my way through a good snap and know we’ll pass through a rough one, it’s Ollie. Everything changes from one day to the next, a shifting tide tied to no moon. Example? At six months old, Ollie decided that he wasn’t going to take diaper changes lying down.

Literally.

For the last 8 months, I have had to wrangle him into diapers and clothing for every diaper change. People are constantly remarking “Oh! I’ve never seen someone change a babe’s diaper while they are standing up!”. At a minimum, I’m chasing this little one around 6 (often 8) times a day to do a standing, knee, or in-flight diaper change (plus cleaning up more accidents than I ever imagined when I haven’t been able to keep up). It became our new normal, our perma-snapshot. In my mind, there he was: the kiddo who wouldn’t lie down for diaper changes. And then…yesterday, I thought I’d see if I could set that snapshot in a frame, hang it up as a memory, try something new, and…

Just like that, the snapshot changed. He let me lay him down to change his diaper. I’ve even reproduced the miracle multiple times now. He stares up at me as I stare back in disbelief, my hands moving through the motions with gratitude for the ease of a lie-down diaper change.

*It’s a tough life for a pirate.* *Thanks, L&J for the endless tissue box entertainment*!

Everything changes (even your face, but that’s another story).

Being a mom to a wild one has undoubtedly taught me that. One week he wakes every day at 4 am for the day and a month later, he sleeps till a blessed 5:15 (cue the “Hallelujah!”). Ups and downs and in-betweens come so fast there’s barely a signal before we are changing lanes yet again and still, sometimes I forget in the hard that the easy/ier is coming. Sometimes, I forget another snapshot is on the way.

The other night, made me again think back to my mopping declaration mishap, to the reality that who we say we are and the circumstances we find ourselves in may change as fast as the words come out of our mouths. I realized that I forget to apply that same knowing to those around me. I know I change but I forget others do too, especially when the snapshot is good. A mom friend will send me a picture of her family and an update that’s happiness embodied one day and I assume it’s allllllllllll sunshine and allllllllllll roses allllllllllll the time.

*I can hardly handle how gorgeous these Glories are.*

Then, a month later, the update will be harder, with less sun, a little more rain.

Oh, right. Duh.

Seeing all the women gathered together this past weekend, I realized I’d snapped them all the last time I’d seen them and held that past freeze frame as their current truth. Their shared stories showed me that good or bad or in between, they too were fluid beings, shifted and shaped since our last interactions.

It’s obvious, right? Yet I think in our age of shiny selfies and made-for-TV moments, it’s really easy to forget. We are ever-changing, we are movement and stagnation and everything in between. We are exactly as we are at this moment, and nothing more.

Cheers to the snapshots, the beautiful and the broken hearted, the shiny and the sullen. May we meet one another as we are. Right now.

With love,

From Alaska (and floors in need of a good mopping)

**Update: What’s “hilarious” I kept telling myself over and over again as I scrubbed away last night (which now was one week ago) was just that: I was scrubbing my floors. At 10 pm. You must be thinking: “Why, Julia, would you even be up at 10 pm when your child awakes a mere 6-7 hours later?! And scrubbing your floors, no less?!” Because, dear friend, I didn’t mop my floors after finishing this post, despite their being in dire need of such a show of affection, and so, my floors insisted, nay, commanded that I do so.

As I was emptying the last bit of a massive container of dish soap into the dish soap dispenser, both fell onto the floor and oozed out of their containers faster than you can say:

“Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! That’s all we had left for the next two weeks until we move!”.

Our kitchen became a skating rink. As I slip/slid my way to clean floors 40 minutes later (it turns out that soap, when applied like a frosting rather than a whisper on your floors, is incredibly hard to get off in one fell swoop), suds finally tucked in for the eve, I laughed over and over again. “I just wrote a post ALL about mopping my floors. Today!” I laughed to The Chief.

Instead of a Slip-A-Thon/Mop-A-Thon (where my Walk-A-Thon/Jog-A-Thon peeps at?!) I had planned to tidy up the blog that night and send it on its way to you but alas, other plans had already been destined for the night. And so, ~~today~~, (nope, two days later, and then three days later than hoped and then, after a 3:45 am curtain call from Ollie and a publishing snafu where this post didn’t save, a whole week later) it’s making its way to you.

I hope you’re in a happy snap and if not, just know one’s coming soon.

One

One.

Our baby is one.

Well, actually, our baby is 1 and 1/6 years old now because one came and went and off we were running towards what feels like two, three, or four some days. “Littlest” as one of his uncles calls him, isn’t the littlest bean anymore. He’s a whole year old (and then some).

I spent the week prior to his birthday remembering the week, days, and hours prior to his birth. What a whirlwind it has been. From moving just two days before he was born to nearly delivering in the bathroom of the new house to welcoming him in the birthing suite’s tub. The first two weeks felt like heaven and even after the hormonal plunge at two weeks (how rude!) I think I still somehow was getting more oxytocin than your average bear because I was (and still am) so high on life and while my tasks were new to me, they were simple: care for your babe, care for yourself, care for your family.

In doing just that in the last year, we’ve adventured from the wilds of Alaska to the warmth of Hawaii and back. We’ve trekked up mountains and waded in waved waters.

We’ve flown on airplanes big and small (update on the small to come). Ollie has donned swimsuits to snowsuits (and birthday suits, of course). He’s gone from a little “squish” as a friend lovingly calls the infant stage to “potted plant phase” (another friend’s title), to crawling and walking and now running (oh lawwwwd, it’s on!). I’ve chased after him and been chased by him and chased that initial high that may have lowered from its seemingly illegal initial levels but has never worn off.

What a year it has been.

Happiest of belated birthdays to you, sweet Ollie who eats every lick of frosting before touching the cake and every raisin out of his oatmeal first too. I love you, sweet, sweet tooth.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

Years ago now, I wrote a post called Home is Where the Hard Is. In it, I wrote about the hard that is our home, about the struggle it takes to do even the simplest home project, and about how that hard is what made it all the more worthwhile.

I was new to our house and we were in the honeymoon mood of making it our home.

*My favorite addition: ceiling storage jars*

The hard thrilled me, it revived me. It held up a mirror to life as I’d known it and asked if what I knew was what I wanted or, if instead, I wanted something different.

I was deeply in love, not just with The Chief but with all that he and this new life embodied. Yet as I was falling in love with my new home, a new friend who has now become a dear friend confessed to me that she was falling out. Reading my post, however, set to the tone of a starry-eyed, love-drunk newbie, a bit of the romance returned for her. She looked a little more fondly at the hard, she’d just needed a break At the time I remember being shocked that anyone could possibly fall out of love with the beauty of all that is our tiny hamlet in Alaska. She pulls you in, how could you ever let go?

The romance of the hard held me close for years. The thrill of an unexpected storm, the creative meals due to dwindling supplies, the discomfort of far beyond freezing temps truly testing my abilities to survive. All of it, every day of it felt like an adventure until…

We spent two years in the hard and a fissure formed. Timing isn’t everything but it can sure make a difference and after spending the entire year before COVID at home in order to finally settle after years of constant packing and unpacking, the non-stop hard started to chip away at the joy. No worries, we’d take a trip and all would be rosy again. Except, we couldn’t. Two years after our intended year-long staycation we went on our first vacation since our honeymoon and for the first time ever we both weren’t ready to come home. I’m fact, had Leto been with us, we might not have.

Where were we?

Hawaii.

For the first time ever, The Chief said to me “I don’t want to leave. I could even see living here.”

And so, we have.

The little crack those two years formed has grown since it’s inception but when Ollie came, the crack gave way to a rushing tide of wonderings.

Would the hard work with him?

More bluntly: Would the hard with him work for me? Was I up for the challenge?

There are countless women who have raised their babes in the wild and I was certain for years I’d be among them. It felt like a badge of honor and I hoped it’d be bestowed upon me but that’s not how badges work. Truth be told, I know my ego played a part in hoping I could live this life and ride the homestead-ish mountain mama wave all the way in.

The truth?

Maybe I could, maybe we will, but right now, I’m just not up for it. This summer, with a new babe in the woods where systems constantly break down and medical care 8 hours away, where there’s one road in and one road out and sometimes no road at all, I finally admitted to myself that I am not up for this year-round anymore. OK, I had done it. I had said the scary thing to myself but the scariest part of that admission was what would happen when I uttered it aloud.

Why?

The Chief.

Since our start we’ve always spent some time apart but it’s gotten smaller in quantity every year. We love being together. He also loves being in Alaska. The two years had cracked him but not in the same chasm-creating way it had me. I wanted to be near healthcare and grocery stores, and activities and opportunities for Ollie and, truth be told, for myself. Yet I wanted to be with my husband. I wanted our family together.

So, what’s a family in transition to do?

Move to Hawaii, of course.

Ever since that first trip, Hawaii had been our starting point for hard conversations. Did we want to live in Alaska year round? If we didn’t, where would we live? In a time where some of our dearest friends have been gone from Alaska, it’s been both harder and easier to think outside of the AK box. Our base has shifted. So, we returned to the place where that shift began, this time with our Leto and our Ollie, never to return.

Just kidding.

In the past few months, the hard conversations have continued. We spent Thanksgiving morning in tears when we came to the realization that things would indeed be changing but the questions of “How? To where? When?” were still unanswered. That doesn’t rest easy on the soul.

Since then, some big plans have evolved and come this fall, The Chief, Ollie, Leto, and I are doing the last thing we ever thought we would: we are moving away from the woods for more than just a season and heading to Anchorage because…

The Chief is going back to school!

I can’t express the happiness I feel in typing those last three words. I am so incredibly proud of him for choosing a path he desperately wanted but was unsure he’d ever see. I am completely aware that Anchorage is still Alaska, where the grey skies have been getting me down but, that’s the beauty of years of debate: compromise. We’ve agreed I’ll spend some time away every few months to up my vitamin D intake and we will both spend time out in the woods, just not all of our time. It’s the best (that we could come up with anyways) of all worlds. Time in the wilderness and time away and overall, most of our time together.

Almost eight years later, I completely understand where my friend was coming from. I love our home and I also needed a break from the hard. A real break. These past few months have been just what we needed: time in the sun, time with ease, and time to think.

Have I missed the 14-hour shopping days followed by the late-night 8-hour drives home? The unpacking of the truck in waist-deep snow at 3am? Honestly, in some ways, yes. The old me does st least. The mom me? In some ways still yes but in the ways that are a no, I’ve been grateful to be here, at home wherever my heart is.

In just a little over a month we fly home and for the first time ever, we won’t be rushing back out to the woods. Will we be there again? Certainly, but not immediately. Does this new norm feel weird? Indeed. Yet I know it’s right because when I remove what I feel I should do, coupled with what I said I’d do and look at what I feel I need to do for us, this is the answer.

With love,

From our hearts to yours (via Hawaii and a half n’ half sunset)

**Where is your heart taking you these days? Are you branching out from your idea of home or rooting down? Let us know in the comments below**

The recap

It’s been a while.

I’ve written to you in my head countless times, crafting paragraphs of prose I promptly forgot. So lest I lapse again, here’s where we left off:

Sick.

When Ollie was born and we were learning together how to nurse, our doula remarked how we always expect babies to just eat straight through until finish, forgetting that we too pause during meals. We put down our utensils. We take a beat. This simple reality that “babies, they’re just like us” hit home in that moment and I’ve thought back to it ever since.

They’re constantly learning, constantly changing. Yet still, when Ollie got his first fever, it felt terrifying, like I’d never see a fever before. Certainly the stakes are higher for babes, certainly it’s something to watch, but overall? Babies, they’re just like us. They get colds and coughs and just when you think the last sniffle has rung out, just when we think we’ve got a handle on it, something new comes up.

Just

Us.

And you can’t study your way out of the unknowns (trust me, I’ve tried).

Ollie sailed through his first fever with his warm cheeks pressed to my chest and straight out of that he went into another new: crawling.

Or sometimes just planking. The kid has better abs than I do though he really needs to work on his form!

Well, more like an army crawl that now has progressed into a true crawl that I’m sure will soon progress into even more mayhem. The new and the firsts just keep coming with our tenacious little man.

Another first followed: solids!

And yet another first arrived about a week later: his first time meeting his Grandma and Grandpa.

There’s something so special about seeing your parent do the things you loved with your kiddo. For us, reading was my favorite pastime and here it was, recreated in the next generation.

After the dust had settled from meeting the grandparents, up it went again in the form of a work opportunity for me and a new path for The Chief. Big decisions loomed and some still do. The dust up started to feel more like a whirlwind. Yet another first came as we got to talk about these new moves over drinks and appetizers on our first date night!

Still, the holidays stood before us as did time off to think and recoup and…sleep train.

How many years I’ve waited to write those words. They stopped me right in my tracks. I am so incredibly grateful.

We had plans, y’all.

Apparently we forgot that plans in parenthood (and in life) are laughable, at best.

Two teeth made their debut on Christmas Eve and while it’s been mellower than I anticipated, schedules have gone out the window along with our plans.

What’s a gal to do?

Roll with it.

As we welcome this new year, I welcome (albeit, sometimes begrudgingly) letting go. There are so very many uncertainties in our life right now that the only way forward is just that: forward. So cheers to the unplanned, the unstoppable, the unexpected. I hope it treats you well.

Here’s to a beautiful year.

With love,

From Hawaii

P.S. What is you resolution or your word for 2023? Leave a comment below!

Look Ma, No Hands (and Other Learnings from Month One)

As I type this, I have one hand holding our babe and one hunting and pecking her way through the QWERTY-verse. Coming from a Mavis Beacon graduate (where my elder Millennials at?!) this is a sorry excuse for the flying fingers I’d unleash upon the keyboard just 30 days ago. Still, it’s a drastic improvement from my previous postpartum post. In this last month, I’ve come to learn about this little human I’ve spent the better part of a year growing as well as a few other lessons like…

(more…)

Home(r)ward Bound

Finally, after months away and a month and a half apart, I flew home to reunite with my boys. As I stepped into the welcome area, there they were, my furry dudes with flowers in tow.

Ted Stevens International Airport — *C’mon Mom, this way!*

We all ran together and hugged, Leto wrapping his paws around us both. Not even my swollen sausage toes (compression socks be damned! Pregnancy is running this show) could keep me down. I felt like my half became a whole. Our family was reunited and it truly did feel so good. Ok, let’s listen to it, shall we?

**Sidenote: If you knew that the singers of this song were called Peaches & Herb you are a winner! I can’t believe I’ve known this song FOREVER and have never known that Trivia Night gem of an answer. Amazing.

After a long flight it was straight to an appointment and then our first ever together birthing class. While Zoom is amazing for connecting in a lot of ways, watching the partners together while I looked at my husband in his little bubble and me in mine, thousands of miles apart was a bit of a bummer. So, finally, we got to be in the same room and I got to experience the joys of a birthing partner. Our teacher gets an A+ ranking in my book as a good portion of the class is all about helping the birthing person to feel good and after nearly two months without someone to rub swollen feet or help me out of bed, I was feelin’ good. Uh oh, here it goes again…

The weekend zoomed along and despite our elation to be back together, there were also a bunch of loose ends to tie up. So, we got to tying. Job applications, doctors appointments, grant applications, more doctors appointments, and a few walks on the lagoon. Finally, though, it was time to have a little bit of fun with a mini BabyMoon in Homer. Despite living in Alaska for nearly 7 (!?!) years, there are SO many places I haven’t visited and so many places that The Chief has visited but not for a decade or more. Time to explore together.

Westchester Lagoon, Anchorage AK — *Mom, you’re slow.* Waddlefest 2022.

For two days we walked and talked our way through Homer, catching up with a dear friend and seeing her gorgeous property, checking out the famous Spit, and taking the shortest walk known to man in diagonal wind and rain. While the weather wasn’t perfect, it was a perfect location overlooking the Kachemak Bay and the mountains. Still, it wasn’t home and after nearly a week in Alaska without crossing our home’s threshold, I was over-ready to get back. It’s a good feeling to miss home. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that jazz and after leaving with a bit of a panic from grey skies, it was good to be ready to return.

We returned from Homer and went straight into chore-mode (relaxing, huh?), hitting all the usual haunts (hello, Costco!) and getting home with just a few minutes to spare before our next birthing class.

Third trimester — *I caught myself in the security cam looking as if I was trying to steal a basketball…*

A week later and things were a little different. The glow of our reunion was still present but the two days of grey had gotten to me and I was suddenly a teary mess as panic set in. But you know what’s really good for anxiety? Breathing. And you know what you do a lot of in birthing classes? Breathe! The Chief and I laughed as this perfect medicine filled my cup up little by little. We looked into one another’s eyes and the connection held me to the present. Our kiddo kicking me and our Leto “helping” along the way too let me know we were all in this together and…luckily for us, the next day held sunshine.

We awoke early and started the packing process. Since we’d be returning just a few weeks later for another appointment with our midwives, our food haul wasn’t an epic one but since I’d been gone for 6 months, the stuff haul certainly was. Finally, tucked in tight, we made one last stop before hitting the road so Leto could stretch his little legs. As we pulled into the parking lot at the lagoon, the tiny car behind us did too and…boom! Landed straight in a puddle up over the tires. The Chief and I looked at one another knowingly and divided and conquered: I’d walk the dog, he’d get out the tow rope. 10 minutes later, the dog was walked and the people were back on solid ground.

Alaska Spring 2022 — *Cloudy with a chance of…what?*

Would it be one of those Alaskan days, where everything takes 10x longer because of the most Alaskan things ever happening to you? We would see…

Luckily for us, it was smooth sailing. We made it home with plenty of light on easy roads (“easy” is of course relative. Our kiddo and my bladder would argue otherwise as we all bumped around in the cab but overall, it was pretty mellow) and only once we made it to our driveway did the chains come out. 30 minutes later, chained up and in 4 Low, we plowed and slid and skid our way home sweet home. Walking into our bright, light addition felt so amazing.

The light in the sky was dimming but the room felt luminous. Our dear friend had spent our days away finishing the drywall and painting the room and it was such an incredible joy to return to a project so close to the finish line. I gazed in at my bathtub, soon to be functional and whispered “See you soon”. I can’t wait.

Home(r)ward bound. One week and one day after landing, finally, we are home, and boy oh boy don’t it feel good.

Again, 1,000,000 points to you if you could have named this band. What?!?!

Am I a little nervous for the grey days after living in the land of sun for the last…forever? You betcha. Does the feeling of being with my family, in our own bed, of listening to the sounds of silence and looking at the stars without hearing sirens fill my cup? It sure does. And while the grey malaise came on strong, I have to remember that the last time it hit hard, we were in such a different place: newly pregnant, fearful of experiencing another loss, weary from years in the same place, missing adventure. We return and reunite with a belly that bounces with our beautiful babe, adventure itch scratched (for the time being) and, with a new addition in which to build new memories. We are in a different place and I am so grateful for this next chapter.

Wishing you bright chapters ahead in this time of renewal. Happy Spring!

With love (and sunshine),

From Alaska

Living In Alaska (Sometimes Means Living Apart)

6 plus years ago, I waved goodbye to The Chief as I drove away with our friend, Anchorage-bound. 5 minutes in, I was laughing through my bon voyage boo hoo. Fifteen minutes later, we were grounded with a wonky wheel that wouldn’t stay put and a need for a Plan B.

60 minutes after that, after The Chief raced to come get me and deliver me to the mail plane, my mighty steed for the day, where I bid adieu to my newfound love for the second time that day.

Backcountry flights Alaska — *Not a bad view for boo hoo #2*

I was off to California for two weddings of four dear friends and five weeks later, The Chief would join me.

A mere five weeks. We’d spent our entire lives without one another, certainly a mere handful of weeks was manageable, right?

Certainly.

Was it fun?

Certainly not.

While it was lovely to return to California to see friends and family and excitedly tell them about our new love, it was hard to part ways. I felt like I had found my magnet match, my opposite pole and now that we were separated, the pull of that other half was constant. I missed the balance, the feeling of home and the feeling of whole. Nevertheless, five weeks eventually flew by and once we reconnected, we resolved the five weeks had been about three weeks too long.

Getting married in Alaska — *Reunited.* *Don’t it feel good.*

Something we conveniently forgot a few months ago when we made plans for this weekend. And now, it’s here. The weekend of shift, the winds of change, the time for The Chief to depart and for us to spend the next 6+ weeks apart.

Have I mentioned that I can be a little clunky with change?

While we’ve managed over the years to push the 5-week fact out of our minds long enough to plan a 4 week trip for me to visit family and a few one week stints here or there without one another, the windows of our timeframes apart have slowly been narrowing over the years, with our latest longest stint being just under a week.

So, why the sudden decision to go throwback status and spend a month and a half apart? Well, you see, there’s a secret recipe to pregnancy in Alaska. It’s a sort of Build It and They Will Come approach. First, you must buy a Subaru.

Rhianna Desperado — *Turn it up, Rhi Rhi!*

Secondly, you must START an addition to your house.

Alaskan Malamute puppy — *Leto’s Lair, slowly growing*…

Why the unnecessarily aggressive all caps? Well, the key to this preggo plan is to start the addition. The second key is to race the baby to the finish line. Two of my best friends before me have cooked up this recipe in their own abodes and each time, we professed it would be the last time. And then laughed when it wasn’t.

Quick sidenote: I do NOT mean to be flippant about the difficulty of getting pregnant. For us, it took two years and it still doesn’t feel real. I know how hard it is to try and to be utterly grounded each month the potential passes. I did however see a pattern here that I couldn’t help but poke fun at. If you’re in the trying mode, I give you my sincerest wishes that you and yours welcome a babe to your bunch very, very soon. Hang in there, you’re doing great.

Start the addition we did. Now, the race is on. At nearly 6 months pregnant, I’m neither up for a 3,000+ mile roadtrip, nor do we want me plopped in the middle of a fume-filled construction zone. The solution? A division of labor and a division (momentarily) of our family.

“It’s fine.
We’re fine.
Everything is fine.”
Trina’s amazing Covid holiday card

This is a quote I’ve replayed in my head dozens of times. It originates from a holiday card during OG Covid from a dear friend that just cracked me up. We’re all doing totally fine, right?!?!

Truth be told, I have ridden a mere handful of emotional roller coasters while pregnant. The dreaded pregnancy hormone monsters have been quite kind to The Chief and I. That is, until now, when the reality that my little fambam is about to split two and two, thousands of miles apart, has started to sink in. In the last week, someone turned on the waterworks and they have been plentiful. When The Chief realized he could leave a day earlier because we switched our midwife appointment, I teared up. When I looked at my two furry boys the other morning, cuddled up nose to nose fast asleep, I teared up. When I did my first full load of baby laundry, I teared up.

When the wind shifted, I teared up. It’s tear time.

So, where do we go from here? Well, there’s nothing to distract from tears like work to be done and so far, it’s gone about as smoothly as most of our journeys. Thankfully, we’ve been able to laugh through the hiccups – like having to drive two hours out of our way to pickup our Uhaul that someone decided to drop off at the wrong location to my pregoo brain driving it almost all the way home before we realized we hadn’t stopped at the storage unit on the way home (the whole reason for the Uhaul to begin with). Long hours, long days, swollen feet but still, two near-failed dinners and somehow…still fun.

Maybe because it’s the last few days together, or maybe becasue we are finally getting better at going with the natural flow of the best laid plans falling by the wayside.

Baby girl with Malamute — *Just saddle up and hang on for the ride*

On one of our last nights, after a big day and a wonderful last evening of drinks in the backyard with our landlords, I was beyond tuckered. I awoke to The Chief gently removing my book from my lap. I was still seated fully upright. He laughed as my post-deep sleep confusion muddled my words. He slowly removed the pillows from behind me and laid me down, tucking my enormous pregnancy pillow around me in all the right spots. “Goodnight, my love” he whispered as he shut off my bedside lamp.

I don’t want to go 6 weeks without that but I know time will only make returning to his comfort that much sweeter.

See you in 6 weeks, my loves.
See you in 2, sweet reader.

With love,

From California

weather in california — *When the sky reflects all the feels*

P.S. Do you and your spouse spend much time apart? How is it for you? Let us know in the comment section below!

Cars for Sale Facebook (How I Googled My Way to Freedom)

Do you ever look back on your younger self and think “Oh, honey…what were you thinking?!” This past winter, as The Chief pulled out of our driveway on his now annual January trip to Town for supplies, I had a sudden feeling of panic.

Was it because I was all alone in the wilderness with nary a neighbor nearby?
Nope.

Was it because the winter before the temps had dropped to 50 below the second he left?
Nope.

Was it because I suddenly felt the paralyzing reality of our distance from help, if need be?
Yep. And as I watched our only vehicle roar away, I realized our one ticket out had just been cashed.

living in the alaskan wilderness — Beautiful isolation

Cars.

Out here, cars are a different breed. There are Town Cars and Beaters and the two don’t travel the same trail. A Town Car is one that is reliable enough to get you to Town (aka Anchorage). A Beater is a car that often is not even road-worthy. Registration? Naw. All lights working? Maybe. It’s a car that you hope will get you to work each day. Sometimes it will, sometimes it won’t. Breakdowns are constant, repairs as well and we all shift and shimmy our ways through the various modes of transportation we have, ranging from cars to four-wheelers, bikes, our feet and beyond.

cars for sale on facebook — Bluebell. My first Alaskan vehicle.

When I moved here, the mode of transportation I employed the most was hitching a ride or walking. The Chief was always driving the fire truck, as the State had hired our VFD (Volunteer Fire Department) to Firewise and patrol the area so I thought little about our reality: we had no car. No Town Car, not even a Beater.

Growing up in Sonoma County, a car was the ultimate freedom. We always lived outside of town, miles and miles away from the nearest friend, leaving me locked into home. By the time I was 14, I was working near full-time in order to save for my freedom ticket: my first car. I absolutely adored driving. I’d head out to the beach for sunrise and sunset every day, just to feel that expansive feeling of independence.

Still, when I moved here, I thought little of leaving. Getting around our town was an adventure, a constant shifting of moving parts. Logistics, logistics, logistics. It wasn’t until we got home that first winter that it hit me: I was stuck. We had arrived home in a fire truck that had been in Town for some engine work but once it was safely back at the VFD, I took stock of our inventory at home:

Two snowmachines
One non-road-worthy car that wasn’t currently in operation.

Hmmm…

As The Chief took his snowmachine for a test run and I watched him disappear down the driveway I felt panic rush over me. I started crying. What in the hell did I just do?! The only mode of transportation I had was something I didn’t even know how to start and if I didn’t like the incredibly huge life change I had just made (moving to Alaska), I was going to what? Ride a snowmachine to Anchorage? Suddenly, catching a ride everywhere didn’t feel so footloose and fancy free. While The Chief promised me that if I ever wanted to leave, he would always find me a way, I still felt myself in a precarious situation.

Thankfully, I didn’t want to leave and we did finally get the one Beater working. I learned to drive a stick and when that broke down on my way to work one morning, we realized the obvious: we needed a car. That endeavor was interesting, to say the least and is still one of the most Alaskan things I’ve ever been a part of (other than this). We bought a truck and within a few months, the transmission went out. Thankfully, we were able to finally find our Golden Girl and things seemed to settle.

We had transportation, freedom. All was well. Until…

This last winter, watching The Chief drive away.

Living here, this far out has its joys and its curses. Being so far from medical care is one of the less amazing parts and as I watched The Chief leave this year, I realized that I couldn’t push the worry out of my mind any longer. With him gone, I was stranded. Normally, there’s a neighbor nearby who I know would help me in any situation but this year, the nearest neighbor was 30 minutes away. Something in me just broke. I felt trapped and, in all reality, I was. I needed freedom.

Enter: freedom.

Subaru Crosstrek Anchorage Alaska — Wrong way, Leto.

This past weekend, in our true Road Warrior style, The Chief and I found freedom in the shape of a brand new car. A new car?! What are you crazy or sumthin’, Juju? Well, not in this scenario, no. It turns out that due to, you know that thing that shall not be mentioned that happened last year, buying a new car and a used car is about the same price. We looked for months and after tons of research, I realized that our best option might actually be a new car. It was and it is. This past Friday, after a long week at work, The Chief came home at 7 pm and by 8:30 we were fed, packed and on the road to Anchorage. Thoroughly no longer in our 20’s we agreed to camp halfway. As the sun did her dance of short slumber, we pulled into our home for the night.

It’s amazing how even a gravel pit in Alaska can have stunning views, and it did, but at 1 am, we were almost too tired to appreciate them. Almost. What we appreciated even more was our little snuggle bug, Leto, who promptly placed himself between the two of us, got into my sleeping bed and conked out. The road sounds nearby were putting him in a panic but it was nothing a Leto Sandwich couldn’t cure.

The next morning we were up at 6:30, shivering as we packed up camp and made coffee. By 7:30 we were on the road again and three hours later, we were swinging into Anchorage for a quick change of clothes and a “hello” to our gracious hosts. Then it was straight to the car dealer where we stayed until 5 pm that evening. Leto was a true champ, charming all of the car buyers as he sauntered about the showroom (a showroom completely devoid of cars as there are almost zero to be had). After a hefty amount of paperwork and coffee, it was done. We were car owners, again! Freedom! I smiled ear to ear as I drove our little babe home.

Home.

Even an 8-hour drive, again on very little sleep, couldn’t dampen my spirits. We were headed home, caravan style with two vehicles! We wouldn’t have to constantly do the transportation shuffle. If our truck wasn’t working, we wouldn’t be stranded. We had options. I felt an ease come over me as we pulled into our driveway at 8:30 pm. Full circle.

So, am I extremely grateful for our new rig?!
You betcha.

Do I wish we would have done this years ago?
Uh huh! Yet the reality is, we weren’t in a place financially to make that happen. I’ve long enjoyed the comfort of a friend’s fancy car but never thought we’d be able to pull it off (and take it as no small blessing that we are finally able to). So…we lived in uncertainty and did our best to handle all that life threw our way, as we all do.

And finally, freedom.

With love,

from Alaska

P.S. What are your car conundrums? Do you live footloose and fancy free or prefer a rig that will get you from A to B? Let me know

DIY Cabins: Life, Alaska Style

I love the allure of DIY, don’t you? Do It Yourself. Hell yea! I’m going to…probably.

In my life in California, my DIY consisted sometimes of actually DIYing and most often of scrolling through countless projects on Pinterest until I felt like I had actually accomplished something. Similar to scrolling through to select an exercise video and then feeling so accomplished having just looked at others exercising that you head to the kitchen for a snack. What a workout! DIY was something novel to me. Something I would (occasionally) choose to do. I’d research my project of choice, head to the craft or hardware store, and come evening, I’d have something somewhat resembling the project I’d endeavored to complete.

Fast forward to Alaska and DIY has taken on a whole new meaning. I realized the shift immediately from the moment I wanted to camp out at a friend’s house and spent the day pick-axing through rocks to make a level area.

Nothing here is hand-delivered unless it’s delivered by your hands. For this little lady, who was used to small-scale projects being completed in one day, I didn’t quite understand bigger projects or why they took so damn long.

Proximity to supplies
Timing
Weather
Money
Supplies
Time
Resources
Did I say the weather?

All of this and more impact our lives out here far more than I ever could realize immediately. I looked at projects to be done, planned with The Chief and couldn’t understand why we were still in the gathering of materials stage months later. Still, even as I came to understand that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, that things would simply take more time, I didn’t want to click my heels to leave. So, I started with what we had and settled into where I was.

Hiking in Alaska — Deep down the wormhole…

I liked the hard life, I knew that for sure, but damned if it didn’t drive me crazy sometimes. Slow and steady is less my speed. I prefer one and done and move onto the next.

So, when we started our living room project LAST fall…

Building in Alaska — Phase I: Painted + New Flooring

I was impatient for it to be done. But guess what? It finally (almost) is!

Yes, we need to clean up the battery box and yes we need to re-hang our art and yes, we need to build the shelves we’ve been talking about for a year but I’d be a liar if I said I couldn’t see the finish line for the first time ever. It’s there.

The truth is, as I sat back and admired our hard work, I realized that this wasn’t just the end of a 6-month long project, it was the end of a 6-year project. We had started our living room project 6 years ago when I first arrived. We started here, with dueling couches, an OSB (read: similar to plywood) floor covered in a rug permanently covered in dog hair. Here, with single-pane windows that sometimes opened, a cloth ceiling, and more guns than I’d ever seen in my life (but at least now we were off the floor). We started here, with a place we both felt immediately at home in, with a person we both felt we’d found our soul in, with a ready canvas and slowly, the picture began to come to life.

Since then, we’ve made constant upgrades, changes, arrangements, and re-arrangements, trying to finally settle into our space.

Like this Christmas edition:

and this Summer edition:

and this Fall corner:

and this Winter coziness:

From here:

To here:

And you know what? We are finally there. Well, near there, but let’s call it good. The end is truly in sight.

Sure, there’s much more to do the moment you step out of the living room but for the first time ever, two-thirds of our house is complete. Our bedroom feels like a little sanctuary and our living room finally feels complete and it brings me a deep sense of satisfaction. Yes, it took forever. Yes, it meant individual trips over months on end to finally get all of the materials here. Yes, it meant working in the cold, working on the weekends and countless hours checking the fire in the shop to make sure the temp hadn’t dropped and our stain wouldn’t freeze on the boards. Yes, it meant arguments and resolutions and the constant moving of things in and out, back and forth, up and down the Ramp of Doom in the slick Spring days and cold Winter nights.

Yes, it was a long endeavor but despite all of it, looking at the boards, each of which I bought, hauled, cut, stained, and installed with my husband brings me an immense sense of joy.

This morning as I sit in our cozy home, there’s a deep feeling of contentment. Not from DIYing but from DITing. Doing It Together. I didn’t always feel motivated to do the work, sometimes The Chief didn’t either, yet together, we made it happen. I think more than anything, what I wanted most in life (even more than nailing a Pinterest-worthy creation) was a partner to do things with. I certainly didn’t anticipate finding this partnership in the Alaskan wilderness, off-the-grid and far away from everything I’d ever known but I am so glad to have stumbled upon it.

It’s not always easy, but it’s exactly what I needed.

With love,

from Alaska

P.S. What are you DIY/DIT-ing these days? How are your projects slowed or sped up based on your lifestyle?

Building Off Grid in Alaska: The Driveway Edition

Last fall, when I went to Town, The Chief painted our living room. Prior to leaving, I boxed up as much as I could to help him prep but on the day of, there were inevitably things to move and if you’ve ever moved things in a rush, you know what happened.

“Babe, have you seen my notebook?” I asked a week or so after I had returned and the dust had settled.
“The black one?”
“Yep.”
“The one you draw in every day?”
“Yep.”
“The one that’s always sitting right here?” Director’s Note: The Chief points to the side table in The Chester Family living room. All eyes are drawn to the location, hope and anticipation on their faces.
“Yep!”
“No, I haven’t seen that.”

Velvet pillow — Bare walls. The book always sat just to the right…

The hunt began. I can’t tell you how many times I looked for that damn book but my art stopped then and there until I found it. “Start in a new book!” you might be thinking to yourself and I agree, but my doggedly insistent side disagreed. That book or bust. I looked in every nook and cranny our house has and at 200 odd square feet (maybe), there aren’t that many places it could be. Still, I could not find it.

Until this weekend when I looked up and there it was.

Truth be told, I am certain to the center of my being that I scoured over that bookshelf time and time again but somehow, my Elf on the Shelf of a book found its way back and there she was. It felt a little witchy, like the time I had a dream in college that my rings were gone. I’d gotten them from a man in Berkeley who, upon meeting me, somehow knew I was wearing men’s socks even though my socks (indeed, men’s socks) were completely covered. He told me the rings were powerful. After the dream, I woke up and they were indeed gone. I tore my apartment apart. I’d been wearing them when I went to bed. No luck. The following weekend, I went to my boyfriend’s house. Freshly out of the shower, I lotioned up but the product was almost gone. I put my finger into the bottle to search for every last bit and what came out? My rings. Spooky.

So, spells, witchery or the truth that I am a terrible looker of things aside, the book was back. Oh, the simple joy of finding something once lost. I sat down with my old friend and stumbled upon an entry from exactly one year ago to the day:

“We went to Long Lake to look at property and we fell in love. The Chief looked at me as we approached the Lake and said ‘You just feel better out here, don’t you?’ I do. Once we’d snowshoed our way to the top of our favorite lot, a Bald Eagle flew overhead. The Chief took my hands in his and said ‘This is it.’ It was. It is.”

Love in Alaska — First picture on the property

Six weeks after that entry, after endless phone calls, emails, forms and signatures, hiccups and happenstance and help from our family, we closed on our property. Over 20 acres of raw land in the Alaskan wilderness were ours. We couldn’t believe it. After growing up in California where a small house on a tiny plot could cost upwards of $500k, my dreams of owning a house felt more like pipe dreams. Yet, it had happened. We were landowners, The Chief and I.

Make a wish — Send it off…see what happens

The daydreaming began. The first goal? Access. Oh, you thought the property came with a road on it? One can dream, but this dream of a deal didn’t include any of the niceties I’d always assumed property would (when I let myself have those wild pipe dreams). As the snow melted and the summer came full force, we started making trails. Machetes come in super handy for such tasks and whack away we did. By the fall, we’d had our first fire, a true Alaskan milestone.

We celebrated! We were getting closer to our goal. Still, after all that work, there was no way even a 4-wheeler was getting up there, much less our behemoth of a truck. So, we continued to work and this winter, we got our first vehicle up: the snowmachine. After building a ramp, cutting brush, stomping trail and crossing our fingers, The Chief made it up onto the land. As the winter wore on, The Chief would steal away in between work days to work on the property and finally, he got the trail all the way up to the ridge. Success! Access granted.

Still, true access, at this rate, would be years and years off and if we wanted to build a road, due to permafrost, it would have to be in winter and if we didn’t do it this winter that meant another year of hacking and sawing our way, little by little. Which is fine (and definitely the norm) but if we could, we wanted to speed things up. Thankfully (thanks, Pops!) my Pops was able to expand on his loan and thus, we were able to expand on our loan and so, we planned the fast track: a driveway. Like all things in Alaska, a decision didn’t necessarily mean action. We made the necessary calls, The Chief walked the land with the builders and then, we set a date.

And another date.

And another date.

And another.

Time and time again I forget: Mother Nature makes no promises. The first few setbacks were due to weather as the builder had a cutoff of 0 degrees (mainly for his machines. I’m sure he would have been out there at -20 if it wouldn’t have affected the equipment). Then, the equipment had a hiccup, needed a trip to town for the doc and then an inspection. Finally, months after our first call, all lights were green.

And then the weather took a turn again. -20 to -30 for a week straight. Hello late winter wonders!

Finally, the cold spell broke and it began. Breaking ground.

For the first few days, The Chief was at the property to help and trouble shoot but a few days in, they were cruising and he could leave to come grab me in Anchorage. On our way home we got the call: “You can drive up your road tonight, if you want.”

Yes, please.

The moonlit drive became that much more magical, the snow all lit up and sparkling mimicked our excitement. As we pulled up, we let out hoots and hollers. I couldn’t believe it. It was a real driveway. We ran to the top and hugged and kissed. It was in.

The next day, after a few finishing touches, the road was completely done and despite feeling absolutely terrible from his second shot, The Chief rallied. “We have to go see it in the daylight.” Snow was forecast for the next day and we’d already gotten a foot or more in the past week. After that, we probably wouldn’t be able to drive it for the rest of the Winter. So, off we went.

It was glorious.

This weekend, we headed out again, this time to put in a snowshoe trail up to the second ridge from the top of the driveway, the place we think we will eventually build. Why didn’t we get the road all the way up to it? Right now, even though we are in a long-term relationship, we are still getting to know the land. We want to spend time there, feel the breeze, watch the earth as it shifts in seasons to be sure before we build. We assumed we’d never make it up the driveway with the fresh snow we’d gotten on it but I knew once I saw that look in The Chief’s eyes that we were going to try. Some expert driving and a few attempts and there we were again, up on top, greeted by this:

Leto was certain this being was an intruder, one not to trust. He growled his face off until we finally got him out of the truck at which point he promptly peed on the welcome guest (thanks, Long Lakers! We love you!).

After a few hours of snowshoeing, we were both beat and ready to call it a day and what did we do? We drove off of our property. Drove! We are both still getting used to that reality, still in shock that this is truly starting to happen. Long Lake.

So, what’s next?

Phase I: Find a property and go through the rigamarole of buying it: DONE
Phase II: Gain Access: DONE
Phase III: Build

Building will be a ways off at this point so our Phase IIIa will be to buy an Airstream and setup shop on the land. It’s always easier to work on a property you don’t have to commute to and this way, we can truly watch the land go through the seasons. So, we are in the market, looking for new digs for our new drive.

What a difference a year makes.

Cheers to you and yours and to new ventures, big and small.

With love,

from Alaska

P.S. Have you started a new project lately? What’s next on your list?
P.P.S. If you haven’t already, make sure to subscribe to the blog (at the top of the page) and if you have friends you think would enjoy it, please do share it!
P.P.P.S Thanks to the wonderful welcome bonfire, friends! On Sunday the skies were bright blue and we decided we needed one more trip up this weekend. I cut down my first tree on the property and we were greeted by all of our friends, our first visitors on the land. It felt amazing.