lutrian dreams

Winter solstice occurred tonight, 21 December 2007, at 9:08 pm Alaska Time (22 December 2007, 06:08 UST). We celebrated at a bonfire hosted by our friends Bob and Patricia, with all guests invited to sacrifice something to the fire at the exact moment that solstice took place (as noted by our official timekeeper).

It was an eventful night, one that made me thankful for the soon-to-be lengthening days and reminded me to enjoy even the little light we have right now. I'll elaborate tomorrow.

I hope you all relish tomorrow's sunshine and the promise of a few extra minutes, wherever you may be (at least in the northern hemisphere).

The ice fog lifted from downtown Fairbanks at about 11:30 this morning. So nice to be able to see more than twenty feet in front of me.

When I walked out to start my car this morning, the air was so crisp it hurt to breathe. For the first time this winter, I had to cover my nose and face with a gloved hand to make sure I didn't burn my lungs. Despite the frigid, bitter conditions, I took a minute to look up and enjoy the sky. The stars were out in full force, looming a little larger than they usually do in such thin, clear air. I knew I had to take in as much of the sky as I could before I left the hills of Ester.

We quickly descend a hill on our drive into Fairbanks. The ice fog settles in a pocket around the highway, and Fairbanks itself sits in a bowl. The mornings when ice fog visits, the inversion also sets up very low in the sky. It's a bit eerie driving around in the dark, with wisps of fog and smoke drifting through the air at eye level. All of the street lights, building lights, car lights are pulled and distorted by the heavy air. It feels a bit like a post-apocalypse universe. It is an interesting experience, and it makes me thankful that I live above the inversion.

The ravens have been playing in the parking lot around my downtown office. Such intelligent birds, I can see why they're a totem animal for so many people. I love that they're bad- always into things. I think perhaps they have a sense of humor, which one would have to have to be such a big bird in such a frozen place. Ravens are such a big part of our world in Fairbanks. Sometimes I don't notice them in the warmer months; but in the winter, they're omnipresent. Perhaps it's how starkly they stand out against the snow. Perhaps it is that they are one of the few living things moving around on days like today.

Living in Fairbanks is hard sometimes, sometimes it reminds me what it is just to survive. I like that I understand the essence of survival. I like that I am reminded at this time of year what determination is, what grit is, that the simple act of being is not always an easy thing. I like that I am reminded how fleeting life can be, without having to learn that through death. Everything is very delicate in the winter, everything has a fragility. Yet underneath the fragility is this amazing strength. Winter in Fairbanks reminds me of this, and I think that is a really amazing thing to have the opportunity to know. That is one of the reasons I am still in Fairbanks.

A sun- and snow-filled trip. Wonderful.

I'm heading out into the field until December 15th. If you're a Fairbanks person, please call Ken and get him out of the house once in a while (and more importantly, out of the office). I'll see you when I get back. Wish for some sunshine and some days without wind!

A praying mantis.

Ken and I attended a most unusual and wonderful wedding this past June. Lars and Sharon thanked their guests for sharing in the joyful occasion with the offer of praying mantis nymphs. I happily accepted, and we brought two praying mantids home in the Chinese food takeout container Lars provided.

I left for the field, with Ken agreeing to undertake the task of setting up a small terrarium for the mantids (we knew they would die outside in just two short months, if we released them to the wilderness of our flower and herb pots). After a bit of research, I discovered that more than likely these mantids would not live together in happy harmony. It was a nice thought, to send each guest (or couple of guests) home with a Lars and a Sharon mantis, but mantids are carnivorous and cannibalistic in tight quarters. We can only hope that Lars and Sharon are not.

Ken set up two terrariums and dutifully caught bugs on the front porch, turning on the porch light in the middle of June in the hopes of enticing a variety. When I arrived home from the field, my mantids were healthy in their terrariums. I gave one away to my field partner. Soon we discovered they had voracious appetites and amused our coworkers with lunchtime runs to the pet store and chirruping plastic bags of crickets stowed in our offices.

I made somewhat infrequent runs to the pet store for ten crickets at a time, and my mantis would hungrily eat each one (except for those that drowned themselves in the water bottle cap that provided the mantis with water for any of its potential needs). Recently I purchased a plant to replace the withering sticks that we had kept in the mantis habitat. I knew that she (or he, as Ken always thought of the mantis) was probably nearing the end of her short life. Mantids really aren't supposed to live very long, and I wanted her to enjoy some green.

This morning I left home planning a run to the pet store in between work and a CSA meeting, knowing my mantis was probably ready for a feast. She hasn't been very lively in a while; but sometimes she would get this way before molting, which usually resulted in a noticeable growth spurt. However, Ken called me later in the morning to let me know the mantis had died in the corner of her terrarium that she had occupied since the previous day.

I know she was alive last night, and I hope she died of a happy old age and not a lack of crickets. Lars informed us that this is the oldest mantis he knows of from the wedding favor bunch. Ken put her in the freezer to take back to Lars and Sharon. Lars apparently has grand plans to cast her in metal.