lutrian dreams - Alaska Saga

The sun is beginning to warm our surface

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 11:01:20 +0100

We're gaining over six minutes of daylight every day; our total is nearing seven hours in Fairbanks today. The sun is shining brightly, the sunrises and sunsets are gorgeous and have a noticeable beginning and end. In other words, they no longer blend together into a day-long phenomenon, which sounds amazing but means that the sun never rises fully above the horizon. As the sun rises and shines down on my cabin, I watch my thermometer creep up a couple of degrees. Soon the sun will be strong enough to warm life on the surface of this earth, here in Fairbanks. It's that time of year when we all start to feel spring fever. We have to remind each other that it's only nearly February, that cold snaps are likely right around the corner yet, that coats are still a necessity when walking farther than the outhouse. Still, it feels good, sun breathing life back into everything.

Feminine despite our woolies (of saunas and showers)

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 14:13:18 +0100

This past spring I moved into a cabin, in the sense of the term as it is used in Fairbanks. In other words, I moved into a house without running water and joined the community of cabin dwellers scattered throughout the larger Fairbanks populace. Being that this is my first winter in a dry cabin, I'm still largely getting my feet under me when it comes to the niceties that make daily life more efficient and more pleasant. I've been in my current dwelling for a little over a month, so I am also getting my feet under me in this locale during a time of year when everything is that much more difficult because of the extreme cold and the limited hours of daylight. Life in a dry cabin is so far from the suburban and urban life in which I grew up, the life I led before moving to Alaska. And it is so far from the lives of my friends Outside (and even some here in Alaska), I've been feeling inspired to document the interesting, the mundane, the difficult, and the surprisingly not-so-difficult aspects of my days.

I fired up my sauna for the first time two weeks ago, when a friend came over for some wine and a steam. At -10 Fahrenheit, it takes about two hours for the sauna to reach 130 degrees, perfect for a mid-length steam. The sauna is good sized, and the people who built this house and the sauna knew what they were doing. There is a drain in the floor, right next to the wood stove, and a bucket up above. A hose hangs down from the bucket, with a valve that turns the flow of water on and off, allowing for a gravity-fed shower of sorts. The heat from the stove is enough to keep one from feeling the chill of the winter air, despite the cool water trickling down from above. After my friend left, my first steam in my new sauna turned into my first sauna shower. I managed to wash and condition my hair and thoroughly soap up and wash off, using perhaps two gallons of water. It is surprising how clean I felt after the sauna shower, and I was impressed with how little water I had used. I have since fired up the sauna several times. It feels so cleansing to sweat out all of the toxins of the week; and combined with the good conversation of friends, a sauna during the Fairbanks winter can't be beat. I've steamed with friends to bring in Solstice and the New Year and enjoyed a rejuvenating sleep both nights.

I am finding that dry cabin life makes one part of a community to which locals living with running water don't have access. My gravity-fed sauna shower is a big perk of the cabin I live in, but sometimes I don't have two hours to stoke and tend the woodstove and get the sauna warm enough to stand wet and naked while I wash my hair and body. And sometimes, I desire the slightly higher water pressure that plumbing affords. I have joined the gym at the University, which gives me access to two locker rooms and the hot showers that go along with them. My morning routine, perhaps twice a week, includes getting ready for work in the company of perhaps a half-dozen other women. Is this what the great bath houses of ancient Greece and Rome must have been like? Like women in gym locker rooms anywhere, I am sure, we are careful to allow one another a sense of privacy. However one can still get a sense of the collective energy and attitude of the day, before people drink their coffee and put on their public face (and I don't mean in the sense of putting on make up). I've been realising with great interest that there is indeed a collective mood in this town. I wonder is it dictated by how cold the day is and whether the sun is out, whether it is slightly cloudy or Monday?

It is interesting to observe other women's morning routines. On particularly cold days, and perhaps some not-so-particularly-cold days, you can bet that several of the women you see running errands around town or sitting behind computers in their professional office buildings are wearing long underwear beneath their smart (and not-so-smart) business attire. There is something comforting in knowing that I am not the only one who feels like my pants are a little tighter when the thermometer reads -30F in town, that I am not the only one wearing lingerie that makes me feel extra feminine under my distinctly un-sexy woolies.

Christmas Bird Count on Goldhill Road

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 12:30:00 +0100

It's been a relatively mild winter in Fairbanks so far; but the day of the Fairbanks Christmas Bird Count was one of the coldest of the year at -38F. It seems that the coldest day almost always falls on the appointed CBC weekend. It takes dedication or a certain level of hardiness- both I think- to drag oneself out of bed on such a cold dark morning; dress in enough layers that you start to, at least mentally, resemble Randy Parker from A Christmas Story; and trundle out into air so frigid that exposed skin feels plasticized and breathing is painful. That or the promise of a thermos full of delicious hot toddy-like beverage and some very good company during the survey hours.

I cannot claim that dedication and hardiness were my main motivators, since I believe it was the warming company and rum mixed with ginger, nutmeg, honey, and lemon juice that drew me out of my warm cabin for the 49th Fairbanks CBC. I joined Brook and River for a very slow car-based survey of all of the side roads on Goldhill Road. It was a chilly drive indeed; this is one of the colder spots in town, and we had our windows rolled down for most of the drive so as to better see and hear our feathered friends. We started the count out with a hairy woodpecker, quickly followed by a small group of pine grosbeaks. We saw ravens and redpolls, and forty-five minutes into the count our first black-capped chickadees (one of the most common birds in Fairbanks). We totaled five species in the Goldhill area, and the reception that followed count day revealed twenty-four (I believe) for the Fairbanks area overall. Bird numbers in general were slightly down this year; the birds, perhaps displaying more sense than the counters, were laying low this chilly day.

Grasshopper makes like Ant

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 20:30:39 +0200

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.

Big hair, gin and tonic

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 15:24:14 +0200

I had lunch with Melissa today. We met on the corner by the bridge, as we often do spur-of-the-moment now that we both work downtown. After our standard greetings and pleasantries, Melissa said, "Did you cut your hair again?" I replied in the negative, and Melissa noted that it had a lot of body, more flounce than usual. It's the humidity. My usually fine, straight hair takes on a life of its own in the humidity. I'd forgotten.

Photos of me from the summer my family moved to Northern Virginia sport a distinctly different 'do than previous or later photos. I had long chalked it up to my hair being quite a bit shorter than normal and having quite a bit more volume to go with the loss of length. But my hair was still below my shoulders; and the truth of the matter is that having newly encountered NoVa humidity in the range of 80 percent, my hair reacted in a BIG WAY. After a month or so, my hair adjusted. Such hair volume without the help of curlers and hair spray (for strictly theatrical purposes) I did not again encounter until Lauren's wedding in Montgomery, Alabama. Dealing with super-saturated air for over a week, my hair took on a life of its own. Each successive picture from the week I spent down there shows more hair, less Megan.

This week in Fairbanks, our temperatures have been hovering around 85 degrees Fahrenheit, give or take a few degrees. Humidity has been climbing as high pressure and wildlfire smoke seem to have combined forces to keep moisture trapped low. Humidity currently sits around 33 percent. I feel like I am melting or wilting or some combination of both. I think most Fairbanksans feel much the same way. Temperatures right now are a full 135 degrees (F) higher than they were for chunks of the winter. As a former East Coaster, I tend to scoff at calling anything less than 80 percent humid; but as a Fairbanksan, my hair is betraying me! We're used to percentages closer to 3 or 7 most of the year.

I do declare that it's humid and hot; and since there isn't air conditioning to be found in the majority of Fairbanks, I'm using this as an excuse to drink gin and tonic or mint juleps or some other ice-cold summertime drink. Cheers!

5:00 update... 91 degrees. I think this may be the first time we broke 90 in Fairbanks since I moved here...

Nights like this are why I love Alaska...

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sat, 14 Mar 2009 17:24:29 +0100

... and Interior Alaska in particular. How many places are there in the world where you can enjoy good friends, pudgie pie pizzas, beer and vodka tonics, and the warmth of a bonfire underneath the watchful aurora?

It was a chilly night, with temperatures dropping to -10F in the hills. Our beers froze solid, and our vodka tonics turned to vodka tonic slushies. Despite cold noses and the need to act like rotisserie hot dogs to keep our backsides from freezing solid, there was no denying that this was a spring night in Fairbanks!

The aurora danced across the expanse of starry sky, bending and spiraling in vivid green. Red tinged the bottom edge. This was the best display I've seen in a couple of years.

Thanks, Tom and Melissa, for hosting a wonderful night! Kelly, Jonathan, and Kristen, it was wonderful to catch up! And Ken, thanks for driving me home so I could enjoy my slushy!

Snuffling in snow

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 13:07:13 +0100

We had an amazing amount of snow on Thursday. Twelve inches, the most snow in a single day since 1970. Driving was treacherous, between the unplowed roads; flat light that would not allow road features to be distinguished from one another readily (think: is that the road, or the snow bank on the side, or the ditch?); falling snow; swirling snow; and sticky suck-your-tires into the ditch soft, wet snow at the road's edge. I drove up the hill to my house in first and second, every muscle in my body paying attention to my tires moving on the road. Made if safely.

This twelve inches fell after a very recent six inches, which at the time it fell was the most snow in a single day in Fairbanks in over a decade. I hear snow totals had been slightly below normal, but we caught up all at once! Twelve and six inches might not sound like a lot of snow for someone living in the humid midwest or upstate New York areas, but... It's a heck of a lot of snow in the dry climate of Fairbanks. And it WILL get a car stuck. The neighbors were all out with plows and snow blowers. I took to the driveway with my shovel, and with my dog for entertainment.

Kaia is so much my Alaskan snow baby. She snuffled in the snow, covering her face, with frost building up around her lips and on her eye lashes. She belly slid, dove, bounded, rolled. She jumped into the piles building up on either side of my shoveled drive and tunneled through. Tossed snow over her back. Snuffled again, snorted snow into her nose, coughed, and started all over again. She made shoveling a great deal of fun (I normally don't mind it anyway).

Anyone getting tired of winter should get themselves a dog that adores it. Life is better this way!

Sounding her Yawp

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 22:13:57 +0100

Lest one forgets that Alaska is no ordinary place to call home, she reminds us by sounding her barbaric yawp to the world. Temperatures hovering near the 50 below zero mark for over two weeks in January, twenty to thirty degrees below normal and -40F in the hills; a volcano threatening eruption continuously for over a month; the aurora visible in a crisp, starry sky from my bed, as I snuggle into my wool comforter... It has been an interesting year already. It's time to share the Alaskan yawp again... and mine.

Happy Solstice, 9:08 pm Alaska Time

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sat, 22 Dec 2007 00:43:18 +0100

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).

Fairbanks in winter

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 18:50:24 +0100

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.

Life gets in the way

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 15:02:46 +0100

It's been a busy summer/fall/winter.

My parents came to visit for two weeks in August, and I've been meaning to post photos and stories from their trip since the day they headed back east. The Monday I went back to work after my vacation, I was laid off from my new job. No work to sustain the four environmental scientists on staff. Ouch. So began a flurry of ré sumé submittals and interviews, as well as part-time work at a local retailer. Somehow, I had neither the will nor the time to blog. In mid October I accepted a position with another consulting firm, and I've been productively busy in the office and the field since. With new-found time to catch up with friends and housework and the pets, somehow I found neither the will nor the time to blog.

Now it's almost December, and I realise it's time to catch up on all of those posts I've been meaning to write. Almost time to start the Christmas letter, finish (or start) a few home-made gifts, play in the snow (what little we have), and make time for cooking some yummy soups for chilly evenings. But I swear I'll try really hard to find the will- and the time- to blog.

A Dog Day Afternoon and a Bluegrass Kinda Weekend

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Thu, 02 Aug 2007 20:15:34 +0200

Ken and I spent last weekend in Anderson with Melissa and Tom, several of their friends from home (who are becoming our summertime friends here in Fairbanks), and Kaley and her brother. Anderson Bluegrass Festival is one of the highlights of our summer, and this is the second year Ken and I have gone. (I've been once more than that, eight years ago. Not much has changed.) This is also the second year our dogs have enjoyed the festival with us; and since Kaia is no longer a tiny puppy, her company at the festival was much more pleasurable. We didn't worry nearly as much about her wandering off in the direction of any outstretched hands or toys being tossed. She could actually stand near us and play with other dogs; and as long as she had our constant attention, she didn't go anywhere. She's still a social slut... So we do still have to watch her. This was the first year Tom and Melissa had puppies to bring along: Elka and Sweeper, the beautiful pointer-husky mixes in the pictures below. It was great to have them along; these once terribly timid former sled dogs are really coming out of their shells, with lots of love from Melissa and Tom. This was also Kaley's first year at Anderson, and consequently the first time we had her dogs- Crimson and Tilly- along. And finally, we were joined by Echo, Sally and Eric's beautiful shepherd-beagle mix (I kid you not). We had quite a motley crew.

We took the dogs wading / swimming in the Nenana River, at the very end of the gravel bar, where Kaley and Ryan camped out. It was a beautiful spot on such a hot day. Our retrievers and Echo enjoyed swimming after a bumper that everyone took turns throwing (except for me... I snapped photographs and shirked my turn). Elka and Sweeper splashed around in the water, which was perhaps the first time they've done this (aside from the time Melissa threw them into a kiddy pool... it didn't go over well). And Kaia proved to Ken that she is a water-liking Elkhound mix, which is almost unheard of. (I always knew she had it in her.)

Musical highlights of the festival included Redhead Express, Hoe Slinger, Steve Brown and the Bailers, Northern River, the Joe Paige Band, and the conglomerate of musicians we found down by the river.

Eating highlights included Southern Macaroni and Cheese (with potato chips on top! who woulda thunk it!), limeade, and pudgy pies. Yum.

I could go on, but instead I'll post a few pictures. This entry is already taking too much time away from cleaning. My parents arrive on Friday, and we have much to do!

2008 Women of Ester calendar is out!

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Thu, 19 Jul 2007 20:58:07 +0200

This may be the last time Monique produces this calendar... I think she's out of women, or at least she's out of women willing to pose semi-nude for the calendar. Get your copy now! Calendar signing is August 5th in Ester.

I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out, although the size is shockingly large. I'm not so happy with the land management biologist aspect of the description (huh? what's that?). I think that's what happens when you don't let your models have a final edit opportunity. I believe the information provided something along the lines of, "Megan is a trained biologist working in land and natural resource management north of the Alaska Range." I can see how the mistake was made. I also like to pick blueberries by the bucketful... not by the bucket. On the other hand, the artist was on vacation in Sweden immediately prior to this going to print; and who can blame her for being a little too busy for high maintenance models?

Monique and I took approximately 120 photos on the Steese Highway and on Ester Dome. I love the scarf shot, and I had several other photos I would have been happy with as well. These are the only photos I'm going to post, though. I think I am about as famous nude as I want to be... Especially after having one of them hung up in the Annex in large format for the month of April. At least it was an abstract...

Glass half...?

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Tue, 26 Jun 2007 19:20:14 +0200

Solstice technically marks the first day of summer. In more southern latitudes, it is really just another day. Now that I'm living in Alaska, I'm never sure whether to celebrate or mourn the day. Solstice in Fairbanks means the beginning of the end of summer, which is all too fleeting. From now on, our days are getting shorter. Time really flew by in the field. It's hard to believe that July is almost here, and we only have about a month and a half left before the seasons change again. I feel fortunate to have spent so much time soaking up the sun this June. I have one week left in the field, and then I have many projects to tackle before August. Mom and Dad arrive, and summer's end will arrive with their departure.

Here's a photograph of Alpenglow on the mountains southeast of camp.

Approaching Solstice

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Tue, 19 Jun 2007 21:12:00 +0200

Solstice is coming up, and the sun hardly sets. This picture was taken at 4:15 in the morning, after a day and night of heavy rain. I'm thankful for the full cup of tea I drank the previous night, or I would have missed it. I'll be remote camping on Solstice, so I'm posting this early on one of my trips in to the mine office.

Happy Solstice! I hope everyone takes some time to celebrate the sunshine and embrace the joys of summer.