Dear all,
It’s amazing how warm 40 degrees can feel. We’ve had a beautiful weekend: sun shining, snow (mostly) melted, soft wind blowing, bears (mostly) unseen.
A friend was preaching at a nearby (1 hour drive) church this weekend, so together with some friends we spent Sunday morning there. No liturgy, no Eucharist, no ordained minister – it was certainly unlike any church service I had as yet attended. But the families were friendly, if somewhat populous, and the sermon was impressive in the ease and familiarity of its delivery. I may have had some (ok, many) disagreements about the content, but the service itself was good to observe, and wonderful to share with friends.
After church we climbed back into the truck and ate some leftover homemade pizza as we drove to the shooting range, from whence will arrive the forthcoming “How to Shoot a Gun: A Play in Three Acts.” Suffice it to say, for now, that I did in fact learn how to shoot a .12 gauge shotgun and a .45 pistol. My skills are enough that if we’re hiking in the woods and something happens to the primary gun carrier, I will be able to load and shoot at the oncoming bear or whathaveyou -- assuming it wasn’t approaching at a dead run. I probably won’t hit it with any kind of accuracy, but I could scare it away. The point, anyway, is that I’m more comfortable around a gun than I was before.
After the shooting range, the boys stayed outside to clean the guns and we headed inside to begin prepping for today’s Seder. After so much unfamiliarity it was a welcome comfort to take a pile of apples, a handful of nuts, and a dash of red wine and produce a charoset just like the kind I’ve always known. Some friends have been kind enough to host the meal, and I’ve put together a Hagaddah and all the symbolic elements, so tonight we will be one Jew and 12 Christians around the Passover table -- the numeric symbolism of which is both unplanned, and hilarious.
It remains to be seen just how tonight will go, but it was good this weekend to find a balance between the new and the age-old, the unknown and the familiar. Paradoxical sentiments are, at least in part, what tonight’s celebration is about: freedom and slavery, journey and arrival, old and new. Ours is meant to be a living faith: rooted in the past and thus able to embrace the present. Chag sameach – happy Passover!
Much love,
Showing posts with label outdoor adventures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label outdoor adventures. Show all posts
April 18, 2011
April 6, 2011
Day 96
Dear all,
"Break-up" is Alaskan for what other people call "spring" (and New Englanders call "mud season"). I call it the “I can’t get to sleep anymore because the sun doesn’t even start to go down until 9pm and where the heck did all this daylight even come from anyway” season. The snow is still falling lightly, the boyfriend remains clean-shaven, and the (pre-Pevensie) Narnian layer of snow and ice covering everything is starting to break-up. New features of the landscape begin to emerge: people's yards, lines telling you where the road actually starts, bears ...
We think the bears are awake because a few dogs have gone missing from the neighborhood (sorry, but it’s true). If/when I actually see them, I want to know how to shoot a gun. I don’t plan on carrying it – that’s the boyfriend’s job – but I do want to know how to use it. You know, just in case the bear gets to him first. So for the moment, all outdoors adventuring has been put on hold until I can bring to you the second part of the Alaska-grams Playwriting Series, this one to be titled: “How to Shoot a Gun: A Play in (hopefully no more than) Three Acts.” In the meantime, we’ve been playing a lot of Monopoly. And while it will come as no surprise to anyone that I make a horrible capitalist, I was pleased to discover that I do sort of enjoy playing the game.
In keeping with my “A” series (Austen and Achebe already under the belt), I’m reading Jane Addams’ “Twenty Years at Hull House.” I picked it up because the blurb on the back bore a strong resemblance to “The Long Loneliness,” an autobiography by Dorothy Day that I have read many, many times. I haven’t actually gotten to the part yet where she moves to Chicago, founds Hull House, and changes the pattern of American engagement with the working class, but I have been struck by her discussion of the “snare of preparation” that Tolstoy claimed both engaged and ruined our young adulthood. In the very years when we are best suited to go out and actually do, we find ourselves caught instead in “curious inactivity.” (And let’s not pretend that playing Monopoly counts, either.)
Last weekend we did go out – way out – to the northern end of the peninsula where friends’ family has a homestead, and a sauna. This was not a “sahna,” fyi. That’s the sissy kind of steam bath. This was the Finnish word, which I can’t reproduce for you here because I honestly wasn’t too preoccupied with pronunciation while I was sitting in the 200 degree temperature. The family chose and settled on this homestead a long while ago – long for Alaska being anytime fifty years ago, of course – and now much of the family has portioned off land and built their own houses around the lake. The main road out holds their last name – for privacy’s sake, let’s call it “Doe Trail.” The smaller roads carry first names: Sue’s Lane, Jack’s Drive. So Mary Doe lives, basically, at the intersection of Mary and Doe. There’s only one sauna, though – and that’s where everyone congregated at noon on Sunday, to sit and sweat and catch up. Being half-naked and sweaty is the best way to really bond with your family, I think. And it was fun, even if I skipped the part where you emerge from the sauna, skin steaming and face red, and walk through the snow down to the lake where a garden hose neatly transfers water through a hole in the ice and onto you. I opted for the slightly less abrupt “sit outside in your bathing suit and slowly lose all your body heat until you are cold and want to go back into the sauna.” Maybe next time.
In the meantime, I continue to search for a job that doesn’t involve making other people coffee, to contemplate both the strength of the familial unit and the snare of preparation, and to look around -- very carefully -- before I walk out of the house.
Much love to you all,
"Break-up" is Alaskan for what other people call "spring" (and New Englanders call "mud season"). I call it the “I can’t get to sleep anymore because the sun doesn’t even start to go down until 9pm and where the heck did all this daylight even come from anyway” season. The snow is still falling lightly, the boyfriend remains clean-shaven, and the (pre-Pevensie) Narnian layer of snow and ice covering everything is starting to break-up. New features of the landscape begin to emerge: people's yards, lines telling you where the road actually starts, bears ...
We think the bears are awake because a few dogs have gone missing from the neighborhood (sorry, but it’s true). If/when I actually see them, I want to know how to shoot a gun. I don’t plan on carrying it – that’s the boyfriend’s job – but I do want to know how to use it. You know, just in case the bear gets to him first. So for the moment, all outdoors adventuring has been put on hold until I can bring to you the second part of the Alaska-grams Playwriting Series, this one to be titled: “How to Shoot a Gun: A Play in (hopefully no more than) Three Acts.” In the meantime, we’ve been playing a lot of Monopoly. And while it will come as no surprise to anyone that I make a horrible capitalist, I was pleased to discover that I do sort of enjoy playing the game.
In keeping with my “A” series (Austen and Achebe already under the belt), I’m reading Jane Addams’ “Twenty Years at Hull House.” I picked it up because the blurb on the back bore a strong resemblance to “The Long Loneliness,” an autobiography by Dorothy Day that I have read many, many times. I haven’t actually gotten to the part yet where she moves to Chicago, founds Hull House, and changes the pattern of American engagement with the working class, but I have been struck by her discussion of the “snare of preparation” that Tolstoy claimed both engaged and ruined our young adulthood. In the very years when we are best suited to go out and actually do, we find ourselves caught instead in “curious inactivity.” (And let’s not pretend that playing Monopoly counts, either.)
Last weekend we did go out – way out – to the northern end of the peninsula where friends’ family has a homestead, and a sauna. This was not a “sahna,” fyi. That’s the sissy kind of steam bath. This was the Finnish word, which I can’t reproduce for you here because I honestly wasn’t too preoccupied with pronunciation while I was sitting in the 200 degree temperature. The family chose and settled on this homestead a long while ago – long for Alaska being anytime fifty years ago, of course – and now much of the family has portioned off land and built their own houses around the lake. The main road out holds their last name – for privacy’s sake, let’s call it “Doe Trail.” The smaller roads carry first names: Sue’s Lane, Jack’s Drive. So Mary Doe lives, basically, at the intersection of Mary and Doe. There’s only one sauna, though – and that’s where everyone congregated at noon on Sunday, to sit and sweat and catch up. Being half-naked and sweaty is the best way to really bond with your family, I think. And it was fun, even if I skipped the part where you emerge from the sauna, skin steaming and face red, and walk through the snow down to the lake where a garden hose neatly transfers water through a hole in the ice and onto you. I opted for the slightly less abrupt “sit outside in your bathing suit and slowly lose all your body heat until you are cold and want to go back into the sauna.” Maybe next time.
In the meantime, I continue to search for a job that doesn’t involve making other people coffee, to contemplate both the strength of the familial unit and the snare of preparation, and to look around -- very carefully -- before I walk out of the house.
Much love to you all,
March 30, 2011
Day 89
Dear all,
A few weekends ago I went fishing for the first time: I caught my first fish, reeled in my first fish, brought home my first fish, cleaned and gutted my first fish, chopped up and breaded my first fish, fried my first fish, and ate my first fish. (There's one crucial step missing here - did you spot it?) I have summarized the experience as ...
How to Catch a Fish: A Play in 3 Acts.
Act I
Scene 1:
Interior. Apartment. (Boy) and (Girl) putting on several layers of woolen clothes.
Girl: I’ve never been fishing before.
Boy: You’re going to like it.
Girl: You do remember my fear of dying on open water?
Boy: This water is frozen.
Girl: Even better. How many inches thick does it have to be so we don’t fall in again?
Scene 2:
Exterior. Side of Lake.
Girl: That sign says “Thin Ice.”
Boy: Did you notice it’s bolted down? That sign is always there. Right next to the “No Swimming” one.
Girl: So if we fall through, we could get arrested for swimming?
Boy: I’m walking out on the lake now. Join me when you’re ready.
Act II: Exterior. On the Lake.
Scene 1:
Girl: I’m mildly reassured by the tire tracks out here.
Boy: Those are airplane tracks.
Girl: Even better.
Scene 2:
Girl: Can I take a turn drilling?
Boy: Sure.
Girl: How many inches did it say we needed before it was safe to walk on?
Boy: Three.
Girl: How far down have you gone so far?
Boy: About eighteen.
Scene 3:
Boy: Hold the line steady and I’ll put the bait on.
Girl: What is the bait?
Boy: Salmon eggs. Painted in glitter.
Girl: If we wanted salmon, would we use trout eggs?
Boy: Lower the line down into the water.
Girl: Here, fishy fishy fishy …
Scene 4:
Girl: Now what?
Boy: You wait for a nibble.
Girl: What does that feel like?
Boy: Like something is pulling slightly at the line.
Girl: Oh. (pause) That’s already happened a few times.
Scene 5:
Boy: Ok, hold the line steady. I’m putting the bait on again.
Girl: Here, fishy fishy fishy.
Scene 6:
Girl: Ooh! A nibble!
Boy: Ok, set the line.
Girl: What’s that mean?
Boy: Jerk your arm upward slightly and quickly to set the hook in the fish’s mouth.
Girl: (throws arm over head) Like this?
Boy: I think that might have overdone it.
Scene 7:
Boy: Reel it in! Reel it in!
Girl: How? What? Where?
Boy: (grabs line at end of pole and pulls fish up hand over hand)
Girl: I think the line is frozen in the reel.
Scene 8:
Girl: It’s a fish! And it’s … flopping madly on the ice. Now what?
Boy: Now you bonk it.
Girl: Oh. With what?
Boy: With … oh, we forgot to bring a bonker.
Scene 9:
Boy: Wow … you really got this hook caught in his mouth.
Scene 10:
Girl: Now what?
Boy: Just lay the fish over there. No, lay it flat.
Girl: Ok. Now what?
Boy: Now we do it again.
Girl: I think it’s your turn. (pause) I'll do the singing part. Here, fishy fishy fishy …
Act III: Interior. Apartment.
Scene 1
Boy: Take one of the fish out of the sink.
Girl: They’re so slippery … and slimy … how are you supposed to hold them?
Boy: And insert the knife at the anus, and slit upwards.
Girl: Why does eating meat always require some kind of involvement with animal butts?
Scene 2:
Girl: Akh!
Boy: What?
Girl: It jumped when I started cutting it up.
Boy: It’s just spinal reflex. Cut off the head.
Girl: Akh! It jumped again.
Boy: Did you get the head off?
Girl: Now I have, yes. (keeps cutting) Akh! (pause) You can finish this one up.
Scene 3:
Boy: How does it taste?
Girl: Delicious. And a little fishy.
[first bite]
The end.
ps - The missing step? I was not the one who actually KILLED my first fish. Next time.
A few weekends ago I went fishing for the first time: I caught my first fish, reeled in my first fish, brought home my first fish, cleaned and gutted my first fish, chopped up and breaded my first fish, fried my first fish, and ate my first fish. (There's one crucial step missing here - did you spot it?) I have summarized the experience as ...
How to Catch a Fish: A Play in 3 Acts.
Act I
Scene 1:
Interior. Apartment. (Boy) and (Girl) putting on several layers of woolen clothes.
Girl: I’ve never been fishing before.
Boy: You’re going to like it.
Girl: You do remember my fear of dying on open water?
Boy: This water is frozen.
Girl: Even better. How many inches thick does it have to be so we don’t fall in again?
Scene 2:
Exterior. Side of Lake.
Girl: That sign says “Thin Ice.”
Boy: Did you notice it’s bolted down? That sign is always there. Right next to the “No Swimming” one.
Girl: So if we fall through, we could get arrested for swimming?
Boy: I’m walking out on the lake now. Join me when you’re ready.
Act II: Exterior. On the Lake.
Scene 1:
Girl: I’m mildly reassured by the tire tracks out here.
Boy: Those are airplane tracks.
Girl: Even better.
Scene 2:
Girl: Can I take a turn drilling?
Boy: Sure.
Girl: How many inches did it say we needed before it was safe to walk on?
Boy: Three.
Girl: How far down have you gone so far?
Boy: About eighteen.
Scene 3:
Boy: Hold the line steady and I’ll put the bait on.
Girl: What is the bait?
Boy: Salmon eggs. Painted in glitter.
Girl: If we wanted salmon, would we use trout eggs?
Boy: Lower the line down into the water.
Girl: Here, fishy fishy fishy …
Scene 4:
Girl: Now what?
Boy: You wait for a nibble.
Girl: What does that feel like?
Boy: Like something is pulling slightly at the line.
Girl: Oh. (pause) That’s already happened a few times.
Scene 5:
Boy: Ok, hold the line steady. I’m putting the bait on again.
Girl: Here, fishy fishy fishy.
Scene 6:
Girl: Ooh! A nibble!
Boy: Ok, set the line.
Girl: What’s that mean?
Boy: Jerk your arm upward slightly and quickly to set the hook in the fish’s mouth.
Girl: (throws arm over head) Like this?
Boy: I think that might have overdone it.
Scene 7:
Boy: Reel it in! Reel it in!
Girl: How? What? Where?
Boy: (grabs line at end of pole and pulls fish up hand over hand)
Girl: I think the line is frozen in the reel.
Scene 8:
Girl: It’s a fish! And it’s … flopping madly on the ice. Now what?
Boy: Now you bonk it.
Girl: Oh. With what?
Boy: With … oh, we forgot to bring a bonker.
Scene 9:
Boy: Wow … you really got this hook caught in his mouth.
Scene 10:
Girl: Now what?
Boy: Just lay the fish over there. No, lay it flat.
Girl: Ok. Now what?
Boy: Now we do it again.
Girl: I think it’s your turn. (pause) I'll do the singing part. Here, fishy fishy fishy …
Act III: Interior. Apartment.
Scene 1
Boy: Take one of the fish out of the sink.
Girl: They’re so slippery … and slimy … how are you supposed to hold them?
Boy: And insert the knife at the anus, and slit upwards.
Girl: Why does eating meat always require some kind of involvement with animal butts?
Scene 2:
Girl: Akh!
Boy: What?
Girl: It jumped when I started cutting it up.
Boy: It’s just spinal reflex. Cut off the head.
Girl: Akh! It jumped again.
Boy: Did you get the head off?
Girl: Now I have, yes. (keeps cutting) Akh! (pause) You can finish this one up.
Scene 3:
Boy: How does it taste?
Girl: Delicious. And a little fishy.
[first bite]
The end.
ps - The missing step? I was not the one who actually KILLED my first fish. Next time.
March 8, 2011
Day 67
Dear all,
Rewind. Backtrack. Undo. March has overnight, and to no one’s greater surprise than my own, become one of my favorite times of the year. Why, you might (rightly) ask? Two words: I. ditarod.
But before I get into that, I have to share just a few other things. First, to thank everyone who responded so kindly and supportively to what I did not realize was quite the downer email/blogpost last week. I had actually meant to end on something of a note of hope, but … perhaps I was too immersed in my own self-pity to achieve anything close to it.
If I had thought 25 to be a somewhat randomly-chosen number, now I offer you the different-but-probably-no-less-arbritrary age division of 40. From my under-forty friends I received more than a few notes of empathy – that they too feel unsatisfied at this stage in their life, or that they too wish for more concreteness in their transitory world, or that they too are inordinately jealous of people who receive seed catalogs in the mail. And from the over-forties, even more empathy: that they have been there and that, as we are often promised, this too shall pass.
Until it does, it is nice to know I’m in such good company. (And, though wary of both easy over-generalizing and guilt-induced-responding, I only heard back from the women for this missive. Men of both the below-forty or over-forty categories, do such quandaries and concerns not apply to you? Or was it the gardening metaphor that didn’t strike home?)
I have to play catch up now before I can immerse you all in the love of my new-found obsession, the “Last Great Race” that is the Iditarod. I had hoped to show you video of the next few events, but even in Anchorage the internet was not working fast enough. So here are some stills instead:
Here I am making my angry face, and I am aiming through the piece of wood to the chopping block beyond. And I am probably about to miss. Again.
Road stop on the way to Homer. I didn’t actually take any pictures of Homer, partially because “the spit” is a quick drive and all boarded up during the winter (think the charm of Provincetown combined with the width of the Atlantic City boardwalk during the abandonment of Woods Hole in the winter). Also because I was too busy staring at the waves on the ocean and thinking of home. Home, not Homer. Get it? Nevermind – moving on.
To … Xtreme Tubing!
It’s like skiing, only the hills are all bunny slopes, and there’s only four of them. And, you know, you get to sit down the whole time.
Even during the “tow rope” that takes you back up to the top.
That’s the catch-up … now here’s a preview for what’s coming next:
Much love,
Rewind. Backtrack. Undo. March has overnight, and to no one’s greater surprise than my own, become one of my favorite times of the year. Why, you might (rightly) ask? Two words: I. ditarod.
But before I get into that, I have to share just a few other things. First, to thank everyone who responded so kindly and supportively to what I did not realize was quite the downer email/blogpost last week. I had actually meant to end on something of a note of hope, but … perhaps I was too immersed in my own self-pity to achieve anything close to it.
If I had thought 25 to be a somewhat randomly-chosen number, now I offer you the different-but-probably-no-less-arbritrary age division of 40. From my under-forty friends I received more than a few notes of empathy – that they too feel unsatisfied at this stage in their life, or that they too wish for more concreteness in their transitory world, or that they too are inordinately jealous of people who receive seed catalogs in the mail. And from the over-forties, even more empathy: that they have been there and that, as we are often promised, this too shall pass.
Until it does, it is nice to know I’m in such good company. (And, though wary of both easy over-generalizing and guilt-induced-responding, I only heard back from the women for this missive. Men of both the below-forty or over-forty categories, do such quandaries and concerns not apply to you? Or was it the gardening metaphor that didn’t strike home?)
I have to play catch up now before I can immerse you all in the love of my new-found obsession, the “Last Great Race” that is the Iditarod. I had hoped to show you video of the next few events, but even in Anchorage the internet was not working fast enough. So here are some stills instead:
Here I am making my angry face, and I am aiming through the piece of wood to the chopping block beyond. And I am probably about to miss. Again.
Road stop on the way to Homer. I didn’t actually take any pictures of Homer, partially because “the spit” is a quick drive and all boarded up during the winter (think the charm of Provincetown combined with the width of the Atlantic City boardwalk during the abandonment of Woods Hole in the winter). Also because I was too busy staring at the waves on the ocean and thinking of home. Home, not Homer. Get it? Nevermind – moving on.
To … Xtreme Tubing!
It’s like skiing, only the hills are all bunny slopes, and there’s only four of them. And, you know, you get to sit down the whole time.
Even during the “tow rope” that takes you back up to the top.
That’s the catch-up … now here’s a preview for what’s coming next:
Much love,
February 7, 2011
Day 38
Dear all,
Chester came down to the Peninsula this weekend and we sat by the fire and read for a while. That’s what Friday nights are for, right? (What’s that? Some people go out partying on Friday night? Ok, but how do you get to sit by a fireplace with your boyfriend and read Jane Austen and drink tea if you are out of the house? I don’t understand.)
Also this weekend we hiked Skyline, a trail leading up a smallish mountain in part of the National Wildlife Refuge. (Though really, what isn’t part of the wildlife refuge around here?) I’m going to be honest and admit that the first 15 minutes were fun, the next hour and change were not as much fun, and the 45 minutes heading down were fun again.
[The first fifteen minutes.]
I was prepared for the cold this time: I knew that my fingers especially would tingle a bit at the beginning but once I got moving I would warm up. I started out the trail wearing boots, a long sleeve thermal shirt and wool sweater, and snow pants. Part way up I took the sweater off (and sometimes I was wishing I could remove the pants, too).
[I think what’s happening here is Chester doing a flip – back down the way we came. I, however, was not about to sacrifice any of my hard-earned gain just to have to repeat it.]
The path wasn’t straight up all the way, but there were parts where I needed all four feet (you know, the two under my hips and the two coming out of my shoulders) in order to keep going. Usually this was just from the ice – where the snow was deep I could kick my feet in and get a good grip. (Or I could let Chester go first, and use his footsteps as a kind of ladder. You know.)
[About half-way up, I start contemplating what would happen if I just rolled all the way back down.]
“It isn’t that hard a hike,” says Chester. “Easier than the Precipice one we did in Acadia.”
Me: “The sign says ‘Very Strenuous.’ Isn’t that the most difficult rating?”
Chester: “That’s just for tourists.”
Me: “I think that in situations like this, you should consider me still a tourist.”
We didn’t make it all the way up, only ¾ of the way. Let’s pretend this was only because we were having friends over for dinner and needed to get home to start cooking (which was true) and not because I was too tired to keep going (which was also true).
[This is as far as we got. It was beautiful. I’m sorry you still can’t see my face – I was not exactly up for smiling.]
So, we had friends over for Beef Wellington. One of the girls brought the ingredients, but instead of beef she had Caribou Wellington (from a recent hunt) and Moose Wellington (from a recent road kill) – all deliciously wrapped in mushrooms and bacon and puff pastry. Well, the wrapping looked delicious – I only ate the meat inside. (I am consistent if not stringent in my kosher-keeping.) To round it out I made steak fries, garlic bread, and chocolate chip cookies. There was lots of music playing, a little bit of crocheting and knitting, and a good fire going – and let me tell you, there’s nothing like a mountain hike, a belly full of Caribou, a chocolate chip cookie shared with the boyfriend, and a warm fire to give one a good night’s sleep. Oh, and friends. Friends are good too.
Much love,
Chester came down to the Peninsula this weekend and we sat by the fire and read for a while. That’s what Friday nights are for, right? (What’s that? Some people go out partying on Friday night? Ok, but how do you get to sit by a fireplace with your boyfriend and read Jane Austen and drink tea if you are out of the house? I don’t understand.)
Also this weekend we hiked Skyline, a trail leading up a smallish mountain in part of the National Wildlife Refuge. (Though really, what isn’t part of the wildlife refuge around here?) I’m going to be honest and admit that the first 15 minutes were fun, the next hour and change were not as much fun, and the 45 minutes heading down were fun again.
[The first fifteen minutes.]
I was prepared for the cold this time: I knew that my fingers especially would tingle a bit at the beginning but once I got moving I would warm up. I started out the trail wearing boots, a long sleeve thermal shirt and wool sweater, and snow pants. Part way up I took the sweater off (and sometimes I was wishing I could remove the pants, too).
[I think what’s happening here is Chester doing a flip – back down the way we came. I, however, was not about to sacrifice any of my hard-earned gain just to have to repeat it.]
The path wasn’t straight up all the way, but there were parts where I needed all four feet (you know, the two under my hips and the two coming out of my shoulders) in order to keep going. Usually this was just from the ice – where the snow was deep I could kick my feet in and get a good grip. (Or I could let Chester go first, and use his footsteps as a kind of ladder. You know.)
[About half-way up, I start contemplating what would happen if I just rolled all the way back down.]
“It isn’t that hard a hike,” says Chester. “Easier than the Precipice one we did in Acadia.”
Me: “The sign says ‘Very Strenuous.’ Isn’t that the most difficult rating?”
Chester: “That’s just for tourists.”
Me: “I think that in situations like this, you should consider me still a tourist.”
We didn’t make it all the way up, only ¾ of the way. Let’s pretend this was only because we were having friends over for dinner and needed to get home to start cooking (which was true) and not because I was too tired to keep going (which was also true).
[This is as far as we got. It was beautiful. I’m sorry you still can’t see my face – I was not exactly up for smiling.]
So, we had friends over for Beef Wellington. One of the girls brought the ingredients, but instead of beef she had Caribou Wellington (from a recent hunt) and Moose Wellington (from a recent road kill) – all deliciously wrapped in mushrooms and bacon and puff pastry. Well, the wrapping looked delicious – I only ate the meat inside. (I am consistent if not stringent in my kosher-keeping.) To round it out I made steak fries, garlic bread, and chocolate chip cookies. There was lots of music playing, a little bit of crocheting and knitting, and a good fire going – and let me tell you, there’s nothing like a mountain hike, a belly full of Caribou, a chocolate chip cookie shared with the boyfriend, and a warm fire to give one a good night’s sleep. Oh, and friends. Friends are good too.
Much love,
January 28, 2011
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 --
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 --
Day 5
Dear family,
The nice thing about moving to a new place on the first day of the year is that someone else is always doing the counting for you. Today is January 5th, so I have been here 5 days. Here is what I have accomplished so far:
Sunday was Chester’s birthday. Because it's so warm the snow is melting and then freezing into ice, so it wasn't safe to climb any mountains. (Though when we eventually do, I will be singing Rodgers and Hammerstein's "Climb every mountain," but probably only in my head.) We drove to the "outskirts" of Anchorage and took a tourist-y trail that basically just wound around one side of Turnagain Arm, a stretch of water that Captain Cook explored while looking for that elusive Northwest Passage. Not finding it here he, appropriately, "turned around again" and went back out to sea. (Hm. Come to think of it, maybe the body of water was named after him and not the other way around.) It was windy, wet, and cloudy - felt like Cape Cod weather and made me feel right at home. We left the path for a minute and went up on a ridge so I could see it all spread out -- Anchorage at one distance and the mountains in the other (that's the Kenai Peninsula where Chester grew up - about 15 minutes by boat or plane, but 2.5 hours by car on account of the mountains and the snow). The picture here shows me facing the direction of Anchorage with the mountains behind me and the water and the Kenai peninsula to my right. Since the tide was out there were also huge stretches of mud flats, not to be confused with beaches because you can't walk on a mudflat -- you'll get sucked down and die. "Not a very nice way to die, suffocated by mud," I said. "Oh no, you don't get pulled all the way under, you just get stuck," Chester replied. "But, then you die from hypothermia." So, I guess I'll stick to icy mountain paths when I want to take a walk outside.
Since we were hungry, had only Christmas cookies in the car, and hadn't been food shopping, we went to another local restaurant for garlic/cilantro fries, which are pretty much every bit of good as they sound. Chester’s mom came up for his birthday so we went over to his sister's house for cake and to watch his absolutely adorable 2 year-old nephew explain the world to us. The child does not stop making noise, ever, but unfortunately he has a speech delay (he was born preemie) so he's completely unintelligible most of the time. That doesn't stop him from narrating everything to you, though. Except to me - also unfortunately, he appears to be absolutely petrified of me. At one point he tripped, face planted on the floor right next to me, and was so scared of me that he forgot to be scared of the fact that he'd slammed his face against the floor. He just got up and backed away, watching me warily. Oh well - so far his mom, sister, and sister's boyfriend seem to like me. You can't win 'em all.
We also met up with some of Chester’s friends for drinks, which was both fun and exhausting since my time-zone-change still hadn't adjusted. So far his friends seem to like me too - so I guess it's just the two-year-olds I have to watch out for.
Chester’s been at work 8-5 this week so I've gotten some good downtime around the house now. I've been reading and working on writing, and I even did some unpacking, so I guess I'll stay for a while. In other good news, yesterday I had lunch with a new friend (Chester’s cousin's girlfriend) and she also really, really, really wants a dog. I'm going to work on my Chester Tree-Hopper and she's going to work on her Chester Tree-Hopper and between the two of us, somebody will have a dog before too long.
Love to you all --
The nice thing about moving to a new place on the first day of the year is that someone else is always doing the counting for you. Today is January 5th, so I have been here 5 days. Here is what I have accomplished so far:
Sunday was Chester’s birthday. Because it's so warm the snow is melting and then freezing into ice, so it wasn't safe to climb any mountains. (Though when we eventually do, I will be singing Rodgers and Hammerstein's "Climb every mountain," but probably only in my head.) We drove to the "outskirts" of Anchorage and took a tourist-y trail that basically just wound around one side of Turnagain Arm, a stretch of water that Captain Cook explored while looking for that elusive Northwest Passage. Not finding it here he, appropriately, "turned around again" and went back out to sea. (Hm. Come to think of it, maybe the body of water was named after him and not the other way around.) It was windy, wet, and cloudy - felt like Cape Cod weather and made me feel right at home. We left the path for a minute and went up on a ridge so I could see it all spread out -- Anchorage at one distance and the mountains in the other (that's the Kenai Peninsula where Chester grew up - about 15 minutes by boat or plane, but 2.5 hours by car on account of the mountains and the snow). The picture here shows me facing the direction of Anchorage with the mountains behind me and the water and the Kenai peninsula to my right. Since the tide was out there were also huge stretches of mud flats, not to be confused with beaches because you can't walk on a mudflat -- you'll get sucked down and die. "Not a very nice way to die, suffocated by mud," I said. "Oh no, you don't get pulled all the way under, you just get stuck," Chester replied. "But, then you die from hypothermia." So, I guess I'll stick to icy mountain paths when I want to take a walk outside.
Since we were hungry, had only Christmas cookies in the car, and hadn't been food shopping, we went to another local restaurant for garlic/cilantro fries, which are pretty much every bit of good as they sound. Chester’s mom came up for his birthday so we went over to his sister's house for cake and to watch his absolutely adorable 2 year-old nephew explain the world to us. The child does not stop making noise, ever, but unfortunately he has a speech delay (he was born preemie) so he's completely unintelligible most of the time. That doesn't stop him from narrating everything to you, though. Except to me - also unfortunately, he appears to be absolutely petrified of me. At one point he tripped, face planted on the floor right next to me, and was so scared of me that he forgot to be scared of the fact that he'd slammed his face against the floor. He just got up and backed away, watching me warily. Oh well - so far his mom, sister, and sister's boyfriend seem to like me. You can't win 'em all.
We also met up with some of Chester’s friends for drinks, which was both fun and exhausting since my time-zone-change still hadn't adjusted. So far his friends seem to like me too - so I guess it's just the two-year-olds I have to watch out for.
Chester’s been at work 8-5 this week so I've gotten some good downtime around the house now. I've been reading and working on writing, and I even did some unpacking, so I guess I'll stay for a while. In other good news, yesterday I had lunch with a new friend (Chester’s cousin's girlfriend) and she also really, really, really wants a dog. I'm going to work on my Chester Tree-Hopper and she's going to work on her Chester Tree-Hopper and between the two of us, somebody will have a dog before too long.
Love to you all --
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