Day 60

Dear all,

March is not exactly my favorite time of year. The weather is not great, for one thing; and when teaching, it is an interminably long month with no regular vacation and, in Massachusetts, the questionably welcome intrusion of MCAS week. Both Easter and Passover usually fall in April and so, with my only claim to Irish descent being via my step-mother, there’s not much for me to celebrate – though I do like the tradition of Pancake Tuesday that my friend K brought back from her year abroad in England.


[Come on, Alaska - really?]

But in all honesty, one real reason I try to avoid March is other people’s gardens. Now is the time when those lucky enough to call themselves gardeners, having spent all winter flipping through seed catalogs and plotting perfect layouts in their heads, actually sit down and order the packets of seeds they will begin to sow as the ground thaws. And I’m jealous. I simply have not had the energy – mental or physical – to plant myself a garden during the past three years of living in as many different houses. All I know for certain is that I’m good at killing houseplants.


[Well, I'm never eating out again.]

What seeds can I plant? As a kid I used to look ahead to the future of adulthood with eager anticipation for the freedom of stability – 25 being the number I haphazardly (and, in hindsight, regretfully) chose as the mark of true adulthood. By 25, I thought, I would have figured out enough in my life to be able to finally, and firmly, begin setting down roots.


[But it can be transmitted through your tears.]

The planting I’ve been doing these days doesn’t feel much like gardening. Much less digging rows and setting stakes, watering and weeding, tending and fertilizing. More throwing handfuls of seeds into the wind, hoping against hope that they’ll land on fertile soil instead of a rocky mountain or a cracked pavement sidewalk. The writing I had promised myself January to attend to doesn’t look, in the end, like it will come to much of anything. My ability to search for teaching jobs is at a standstill as I wait for paperwork to clear and Praxis test dates to approach. I’ve got my Alaska Food Workers Card (and I’ve shared some of the delightfully amusing online test questions with you here), but baking at minimum wage is not going to cut it for long. Even moving to Alaska hasn’t felt quite like the settling of a new life that I was hoping for. I’m eager for the chance to dig in the solidity of dirt, but these days I seem to be simply waiting for the wind to die down.


[Well, at least now you've put as much effort into the question as you're expecting me to supply for the response.]

This is the kind of planting one often does in the unfettered and unsettled youth of one’s twenties (ok, fine, late twenties). And as surely as March gives way to April, there’s always the promise of next season to keep me going. (Though around here, planting season doesn’t actually come until June.)

Much love,

Day 53

Day 53

Dear all,

Still working on the computer back-up, so better photos will come next week. In the meantime, I’ll just fill you in on the boring, indoor stuff. Like the fact that after this weekend I can supplant REI from the top of my “most dangerous places in Alaska” list (a book fell on my head). No, it wasn’t the “Xtreme Tubing” or “icy mountain hiking” or “Liz learns to chop wood with an axe”– though I promise photos of all that soon enough.



Yes, that’s right, second-hand stores in Alaska are as-of-yet unmined sources for two of my most favorite things on which to spend money: old records and old sewing patterns. Unlike the East Coast, where these things have become hip, here they seem to be still sitting, unnoticed, unappreciated, unloved. Just waiting for me to take them home.



Actually, the records were somewhat appreciated because they ran about $2 each. The patterns, however, were 25 cents. I don’t even know how to do the “cents” sign on the keyboard, that’s how infrequently we ever see anything that costs that little anymore. Anyway, the downside of this price is that I can afford to indulge my love for the ridiculous:


[I thought the sailor outfit was my favorite of the bunch, until I saw the one marked "wrong." Would that we were all as discerning, and succinct, with our fashion.]

In keeping with last week’s missive on communication, I’d just like to leave you with two different conversations I had this week (plus some photos of the ongoing Great Chicken Endeavor of 2011 – a Martha Stewart recipe for rosemary chicken with roasted potatoes). The first conversation demonstrates my sense of alienation in being here. The second demonstrates a sense of isolated alienation that comes with living here. Overall, it's a sense of (at best) floating between two different worlds or (at worst) being caught in the middle. In writing down neither conversation do I intend to pass judgment on the people who said these things. It’s just to demonstrate that it’s never so easy as I fit in or I don’t. It would be easier, perhaps, if cultures, identities, and communication were as cut and dry as that, but they aren’t – they’re more like magnets, I think. Sometimes we pull someone or something in, and sometimes we push them away. Hence the need for communication – and our willingness to engage in it even when it is difficult, discouraging, or dismissive.


[Dance, chicken, dance! Show me that breast!]

Conversation One: at work
Girl: Oh, so you’re Jewish?
Me: Yep.
Girl: So, where do you go to church on Sundays?
Me: Well, I don’t. There’s a synagogue in Anchorage that I could go to but it’s too far to drive on Friday nights, so … right now I don’t go to services anywhere.
Girl: Oh. So … you don’t have a church that you can go to at all, huh?


[Bake, chicken, bake!]

Conversation Two: when I accidentally answered the phone as a CDC worker called, then thought the ensuing survey so funny that I actually answered the whole thing. Here’s just the end of it:
Worker: Ok, so we’re down to the last few questions. I have here a long list of physical activities. Can you tell me what physical activity, outside of work, you engage in the most in your daily life?
Me: Hiking, probably.
Worker: Okay, so … is that like “walking?”
Me: No. It’s more like “climbing a mountain.”
Worker: (pause) “Cross-country?”
Me: Sure.
Worker: And, the second most frequent activity?
Me: (after assuming they won’t have “wood chopping” on the list) … ice-skating.
Worker: Do you mean “skating – ice?”
Me: Yes.
Worker: Ok, now the last question. How safe do you feel in your neighborhood?
Me: In what sense?
Worker: I guess, would you feel safe going for a walk?
Me: What, besides it being negative 5 degrees today?
Worker: Um, yes. I think we’re asking about your neighbors, the other people in your neighborhood.
Me: It’s not really the people I’m worried about. More the moose and the bears.
Worker: (pause) Would you say, “extremely safe,” “very safe,” “somewhat safe,” or “not safe at all” then?


[Still need to buy baker's twine and decrease giblet-disturbance, but one goal was met – shared with boyfriend and boyfriend’s mother on Friday night.]

Much love,

Day 25

Hi everyone,

First of all, I know I promised to send these out more frequently than every 10 days. If you count my failed attempt two days ago, then I succeeded. If you don't count that, then I'm sorry, I lied.

Secondly, sometimes I'm bad about being in touch with the people I care about. I was hearing from family members that they were forwarding on my messages to friends and others asking how I was doing, so partly by request and partly by arrogance (I'm vain enough to assume you'll want to receive updates on how I'm doing) I've added a lot more family and friends to these emails. If you don't want to receive them, I won't be offended - just let me know. If you want to order any back issues (Alaska-gram Days 1, 5, and 16) just give me an email. They cost 3 cookies apiece (I accept chocolate-chip or oatmeal, no raisins).

So, to answer the question "what exactly are you doing up there?" here's what my week often looks like:

Monday: Cooking/Baking. I've made a lot of soup, a little bit of meatballs (which, surprisingly, turned out ok) and a lot of bread. I also tried to make croissants, which was a disastrous failure, but oh well - it just means I can only improve next time.

Sometimes the three-year-old at the house helps me cook. Here was our conversation while counting the butter sticks needed for the croissant dough.

Me: One stick of butter ...
E: One ...
Me: What comes after one?
E: Um... Not-one!
Me: Well, true. Also - two. Two sticks of butter.
E: Two!
Me: What comes after two?
E: Um ... one!

Tuesday: Continuing Attempts to Learn the Guitar. No photos of this one, sorry. Tuesday night is "Bluegrass Night" at Guido's Pizza. (You can't make this stuff up, people.) It's a motley collection of people in their 40s and 50s learning to play guitar, fiddle, banjo, and one guy with what looks to me only like a stick, washtub, and a big string. Well, some people are learning to play, and some already know how. (And some who apparently already know how still appear, to me, to be learning.) Chester plays fiddle there and I knit. I'm working up the courage to bring along his guitar. After all, I already know the three chords they play.

Wednesday: Bible Study. Chester gets together with a bunch of his friends from high school and I contribute in the best way I know, namely, food. Last week I made a big stir fry and, that's right, Bible verse fortune cookies.



Thursday: Miscellany Night! Sometimes we go to movies at the Bear's Tooth, which is a local restaurant that also happens to have a movie screen. They took out every other row of seats and replaced them with tables, so you can order your pizza or burrito and then eat it while you watch the movie. Here's my advice: if you are going to see an action movie with lots of killings (RED), don't order something with lots of tomato sauce (chicken and mushroom pizza). Both would probably be pretty good, if separate from each other.

Sometimes we hit up thrift stores to buy things like wool pants for hiking and ice skates for, well, ice skating. So far I'm sticking to things that require a level surface - hiking, snow shoeing, ice skating, and hopefully soon cross country skiing. Maybe soon we'll up the stakes, so to speak, with something more downhill. But first I'm still getting used to the cold -- I only lasted 10 minutes when we tried ice skating, but I'm hoping to try again this weekend. As long as it above 20 degrees.

Last week on Thursday Chester and I went to the local Brewer's warehouse and picked up the supplies for beer. I tried to take pictures of the process, but it basically just looks like a giant pot of really gross tea boiling on the stove, so it wasn't too picturesque. The beer is currently sitting in the bucket, doing its fermenting thing, but I think there'll be some bottling this weekend so stay tuned for updates.
(Side note: we picked the combination of malts by taste, but if I had the choice I would have picked the recipe for "You're-A-Peein' Altbeer" or "Stinky Hermit Stout" just for name alone.)



Fridays we try to head to the Peninsula where Chester grew up, for outdoor adventuring (for me, "brief strolls" for Chester) and meeting up with friends and family. In the times between, I'm looking for work, trying to get my licensure transferred (a simply ridiculous series of red tape hurdles), and reading some books I've always meant to read. I just finished Kavalier and Clay and, for those of you who kept telling me to read it, you were right. It is simply wonderful.

As are all of you.

Love –


Addendum:
The video that failed to work in the last email -- I've put it up here. (Or I will, as soon as I can figure out how.)
This should (will) show up as little video. If so, you can click on it. If you click on the triangle symbol on the bottom left-hand, the video should start playing. If you accidentally click twice, it will start to play and then pause itself, so you'll have to try clicking again. If this doesn't work, you might need to ask a Grandchild. The video is short - 15 seconds - and the sound is mostly just the noise of the truck. AT the end you can hear me say, "I don't think I did that right" (which I hadn't), and then Chester starts laughing.

Day 16

Dear all,

I'll try to write more frequently than every 10 days; sorry. Partly the internet here has been a little spotty, partly I've been busy getting out and about, and partly I've been staying busy being inside with writing and baking. (See photos: proof - I've been writing! proof - I made bagels!)

Last weekend, being the first real weekend I was here since the first two days I was still fairly jetlagged, Chester and I went down to the Kenai peninsula. We drove down on Fri night so I couldn't see much in the dark - just some snowy roads, a huge starry sky, and one snowshoe hare that darted across the highway right in front of our car (courting death apparently being common to all rabbit/hares, not just the East Coast ones). Chester’s mom has a nice little house with a corner fireplace, a whole wall of hanging plants and assorted others scattered around - including a lime tree producing real limes, I don't know how she does it - and, my favorite part, a chicken coop outside with 5 or so chickens (and, thankfully, no roosters). When we got up in the morning it was still dark so we made coffee, collected the chicken eggs for breakfast, and then stood by the fireplace and watched the sun slowly rise over the mountains. She has a beautiful view looking East towards the chain of three mountain/volcanoes - Iliamna, Redoubt, Spurr (IRS).

She had to go to work so we went down and met her at her salon (she cut my hair, which was overdue) and then we drove around the peninsula for a while stopping in at various family houses so I could meet people. We got a chance to walk along the beach by the oil refineries for a minute, but I guess they're on heightened security these days so we weren't able to stay very long. Chester’s mom had some frozen halibut she'd got over the summer (um, a 120lb fish - she said the captain from 'Dangerous Catch' happened to be there too and complimented her on it) so we had a fish fry for dinner with some of Chester’s family. And played a fun game whose name I can't remember, but it had to do with the word "things" and you'd all really like it, so I'll try to catch it next time.


[unrelated to the story, but proof that I've been writing]


Sunday we got up early, suited up, and started to drive home on the highway that leads out of the peninsula and into Anchorage (there's only one pass through the mountains). A plane ride would take 20 minutes, maybe about the same by boat if you could get through the ice, but driving takes about 2.5 hours, winding your way around with mountains rising up on either side. It's very beautiful, even frozen in the snow, and we passed several little towns that cater mainly to tourists during fishing season. The great thing about this highway is that there are parking lots every so often and the deal is basically you stop, lock your car, and hike into the mountains. The mountains on one side are for snow machines (apparently law-enforceable) and the other side is for non-machines: hiking, skiing, etc. We had snowshoes so we just hiked out for about 30 minutes and then turned and went back to the car. Baby steps. Maybe next winter I'll try hiking UP the mountain. For now I had a really wonderful time going slowly through the woods, eating snow off the trees when thirsty, and looking up at the mountains all around. The sun was setting around 4:15 then (we're gaining 3.5 minutes of daylight each day now) so as we were trekking back the sun got very bright at the ridge of the mountains and the light in the pines shone golden. A nice introduction to the back country.


[also unrelated to the story, but proof that I made bagels]

I'll leave you with just one conversation Chester and I had on our trek:

Me: It looks like you're standing on something.
Chester: Well, the snow's several feet deep here - it's covering up all kinds of low brush and small trees.
Me: Oh, yeah, it's a tree, bent over and covered with snow.
Chester: Huh, that can actually be a little dangerous, if you loosen the snow the weight falls off and the tree snaps back up - catapult style.
Me: Well, at least it's not a bear. That's what I originally thought.
Chester: Yeah, well, we could wake one of those up too, I guess.

Better pictures next week - now that I've gotten used to having numb fingers, I should be able to work my camera outside.

Love --