Before moving to Alaska, I was a bit of a grasshopper in the summer: too busy enjoying the sun in mostly lazy ways to prepare for fall and winter. I think there were probably two reasons for this, both weather related. First, it was really too hot and humid to enjoy the summer in any way but a lazy way. And just as the summer on the East Coast is perhaps more severe than here in Fairbanks, the winters are more mild. What kind of preparation did a suburban/metropolitan girl really need to do? My winter preparation consisted generally of putting away the hammock, pulling out the hiking boots (as opposed to sandals), unpacking the sweaters, and finding a not-too-crowded leaf viewing spot.
Grasshopper I am not, here in Interior Alaska.
It is only July; and the temperatures have been so hot, I remember why I was so skinny before moving up here. In this kind of heat, who wants to eat? It's hot enough that I am hesitant to bike ride except in the evening, hot enough that I consider leaving my cardigan behind for outdoor shows at the Blue Loon, hot enough that stir fries and salads are the cuisine du jour rather than cheese-slathered casseroles... Yet I have begun to think of the imminent onset of darker days and cooler (understating it) temperatures.
It's nearly berry season, and perhaps this has prompted my slowly changing mind set. Summer solstice has long since passed, and this has certainly heightened my sense of the changing season. I find that in addition to enjoying a fresh pak choi and young onion stir fry, I am blanching extra turnip greens to freeze them for winter. I know I will appreciate the fresh, Vitamin C-packed, dark greens in a soup later on. I have scheduled an afternoon of canning with friends of an earlier generation, to learn a long-time Alaskan zucchini relish recipe that will be fabulous months after the last zucchini has been plucked from its vine. I am stockpiling recipes for good winter soups that will take advantage of my Calypso Farm share; and I am planning a soup-making weekend with my friend Katie, so that we can enjoy the bounty of the harvest on dark nights, when we only want to curl up on our couches and read with furry companions lounging nearby. Even as I buy fans to move around the hot air that is thick with wildfire smoke, I am thinking about lamps and lights for a new cabin, in a season when I rarely turn on a light even in the wee hours of the night.
Summer is on display in all her glory on my walks in the woods and the bogs nearby, and I have not given up on her. The blueberries are pale blue and soon-to-be-ripe, the cloudberries are just peaking, and orchids are peering shyly from beneath moss and shrubs. Low bush cranberries are just barely a thought. There are berry picking adventures yet to be planned, much local produce yet to enjoy, summer trips full of adventure yet to be taken, and my flowers are still blooming on the porch. Although this is a land of extremes- I find that I am always either recovering from winter or busily preparing for winter, like the fabeled ant- I am just as busy having fun as working hard.
Now I'm off to finish baking my cinnamon basil cookies, full of flavor from the cinnamon basil harvested from my porch. And I fully plan to enjoy them hot, rather than frozen.
Perhaps grasshopper, I still am.
