Wild Fruits - planting season at the urban homestead

It is a grand fact that you cannot make the fairer fruits or parts of fruits matters of commerce; that is, you cannot buy the highest use and enjoyment of them.

You cannot buy that pleasure which it yields to him who truly plucks it.

Thoreau, Wild Fruits

our prized brown hog

the trees are blooming

veggies and flowers in Bruce's raised beds

Recycled fence post planters

Bird Brains

Arctic terns

This weekend I had the chance to attend a presentation by Badger alumnus, former Kodiak resident, and "twitcher" (Australian parlance for birder) Richard Nelson. Nelson, a cultural anthropologist, is the mastermind behind the uniquely entertaining Encounters radio program. Aired primarily on Alaskan public radio stations, Encounters features 30 minutes of uninterrupted recordings of the natural world. The show will focus on an ecosystem, a specific animal, or phenomena like snow or rain. The first time that I heard the show Nelson was quietly watching a herd of muskox. When the oxen approached Nelson, you could hear their snorts - I was hooked. Nelson also narrates the natural history of the sounds during each show. It really brings Alaska's wilderness to life when sitting in the office or riding in the car.

Semipalmated plover doin' the macarena

During Nelson's presentation he played several of his recordings, many of which were birds. He also told the audience that he would be recording urban wildlife in Anchorage sometime during his visit. I left the talk excited to get into the field and listen. Saturday morning I walked Reb to a pond near our house to spot a few feathered friends. From shore, I was able to add northern shovelers, and a yellowleg to the life list. Later at Potters Marsh near Turnagain Arm I spotted arctic terns and a canvasback. The pictures featured here are courtesy of our Kodiak friend Raymond who has a really nice camera.

Short-billed dowitcher

Whale-less

Looking into Resurrection Bay from Seward Harbor

We've been away from the blog and our readers (i.e., Moms) have voiced discontent. Job hunting, projects at work and travel plans have squeezed out bloggin' time. This here post is a belated entry from our Seward whale getaway last month. We left Rebel the weinerdog with some friends in Anchorage and drove over Turnagain Pass late Friday night after work. After driving through heavy snow and grabbing a quick sleep in the Holiday Inn Express, we caught the first boat out of the Harbor Saturday morning for a glimpse of migrating grey whale.

Aboard the Kenai Star

Before boarding the Kenai Star on Saturday morning we were excited to hear a few people say that they had seen "killers" and "greys" at the mouth of the Bay the day before. We popped in our whale eyeballs and donned raingear (temp: 41, winds: 40 mph, rain). On the way out of Resurrection Bay our captian pointed out a couple otters, several pods of Dall's porpoise, "bald-headed eagles," and a mountain goat with her kid on the shore.

Kittiwake rookery and sea lion haul-out

After passing a kittiwake rookery and a sea lion haul-out we "trawled" the mouth of the Bay for about 40 minutes hoping for spouts or a fluke. Although it felt great to get a face-full of seasalt air, we had to steam back to port with nary a whale in our scopes. The trip refreshed our sealegs and gave us a taste of our all-to-brief year on the water.

Almost Kodiak, but not quite

Know Your Whales

"These go to eleven"

Meghan and I have reservations this weekend to take a whale-watching tour from Seward, AK. Although we have eight inches of fresh snow on the ground this morning and several more inches in the forecast, we're hoping for clear skies on Saturday when we steam out of Resurrection Bay to catch a glimpse of migrating gray whales on their way to the Bering Sea for the summer. The migration route is long and treacherous. Grays are a common sight from the surf beach in Kodiak, where many stay during the entire summer. At times, one could look out on the horizon and see an uncountable number of the gray's low bushy white spouts.

The gray's route north to the summer

along the Seward Highway

Deb slaying the pow' at Alyeska

Jellies at the Sealife Center in Seward

giant squid!

walking the docks...in the rain

eyeing sea otter and surf scoters in Seward

exploring the urban wilderness

skiing along the coastal trail

a little short for a storm trooper?

mmm, Mom's homemade pizza

turning in for the night

wierdness in Whittier

someone was up and about in Whittier...

Bruce spits in Whittier

interesting sights as we wait for the tunnel

gliding amidst glaciers

Kevin laying low at Byron Glacier

Visiting the Begich Boggs Visitor Center at the Portage Glacier.

Skiing to Byron Glacier...

hikin' with the family

Hiking around Flattop, the most visited peak in Anchorage, enjoying the sun and views of Mt. Everest, err...Denali.

Little Deb and Baby Kevin headed home yesterday morning after spending their spring break with us here on the Last Frontier. We skied, hiked, went antiquing, saw wildlife, visited Hoth and its wampa, spit in Whittier, got wet in Seward, went to the movies and

ate lots of delicious food.

Mom thought that she was going home with less than she came with in her giant duffle,

but as we checked her in for her flight we learned that the bag was overweight...

too much frozen fish, I suppose.

We miss you two already! Come back soon!

Rebel and Lily at the dog park

Fields

by Faith Shearin
For Henry and Irene Spruill

My great grandfather had some fields in North Carolina

and he willed those fields to his sons and his sons

willed them to their sons so there is a two-hundred-year-old

farm house on that land where several generations

of my family fried chicken and laughed and hung

their laundry beneath the trees. There are things you

know when your family has lived close to the earth:

things that make magic seem likely. Dig a hole on the new

of the moon and you will have dirt to throw away

but dig one on the old of the moon and you won't have

enough to fill it back up again: I learned this trick

in the backyard of childhood with my hands. If you know

the way the moon pulls at everything then you can feel

it on the streets of a city where you cannot see the sky.

My mother says the moon is like a man: it changes

its mind every eight days and you plant nothing

until its risen full and high. If you plant corn when

the signs are in the heart you will get black spots

in your grain and if you meet a lover when the

signs are in the feet he will never take you dancing.

When the signs are in the bowels you must not plant

or your seed will rot and if you want to make a baby

you must undress under earth or water. I am the one

in the post office who buys stamps when the signs

are in the air so my mail will learn to fly. I stand in my

front yard, in the suburbs, and wish for luck and

money on the new of the moon when there

are many black nights. I may walk the streets

of this century and make my living in an office

but my blood is old farming blood and my true

self is underground like a potato. At the opera

I will think of rainfall and vines. In my dreams

all my corn may grow short but the ears will be

full. If you kiss my forehead on a dark moon

in March I may disappear—but do not be afraid—

I have taken root in my grandfather's

fields: I am hanging my laundry beneath his trees.

from The Owl Question. © Utah State University Press, 2002.

Elegy for the Personal Letter

by Allison Joseph


I miss the rumpled corners of correspondence,
the ink blots and crossouts that show
someone lives on the other end, a person
whose hands make errors, leave traces.
I miss fine stationary, its raised elegant
lettering prominent on creamy shades of ivory
or pearl grey. I even miss hasty notes
dashed off on notebook paper, edges ragged as their scribbled messages—
can't much write now—thinking of you.
When letters come now, they are formatted
by some distant computer, addressed
to Occupant or To the family living at—
meager greetings at best,
salutations made by committee.
Among the glossy catalogs
and one time only offers
the bills and invoices,
letters arrive so rarely now that I drop
all other mail to the floor when
an envelope arrives and the handwriting
is actual handwriting, the return address
somewhere I can locate on any map.
So seldom is it that letters come
That I stop everything else
to identify the scrawl that has come this far—
the twist and the whirl of the letters,
the loops of the numerals. I open
those envelopes first, forgetting
the claim of any other mail,
hoping for news I could not read
in any other way but this.

Race Day aka Nordi-madness

Lined up next to Tony Knowles (no. 685) at the start

Although originally signed up for the 25k Tour of Anchorage, I decided to try the longer 40k leg of the race. I had yet to ever ski 40k. Conditions the day before the race were marginal - 40 mph winds and blowing snow. On Sunday, however, the sky cleared and winds calmed. Temperatures were in the upper teens, but rising with the morning sun. The snow was firm. Great conditions for racing. As Meghan and I hurried to the start (a tad later than I would have liked) we avoided a bull moose crossing the highway. We made it to the start with little time to spare. I quickly took a warm up lap around the starting area and lined up with my wave. Soon after the start of the race I found myself all alone at the front of the wave. I then realized that with little to no experience in longer races I had not considered a strategy at all. I got nervous. My skis felt fast, however, so I decided to continue with a brisk pace. I soon caught the wave in front of me and within 10k had made it to the front of that wave. I was able to ski several kms alone moving from one group of skiers to the next. As the course wound its way through Anchorage I soon found myself on familiar terrain - the 8 kms that I ski to and from work - and skied past Meghan and friends cheering from the park in front of our house. With 10 km to go I decided that I had enough in the tank to make a sprint to the finish. I knew that 4 kms of hills guarded the finish line at Kincaid Park so bonking was a very real concern. The hills were a challenge, but I felt strong through the end of the race. Forgetting to start my stopwatch I only had an estimate of my time. Only later, via a text message form Eric G., did I learn that I had won my age group and received a medal (race results). The experience was fantastic and I am now hungry for more. Alas, the 50k course will give me all that I can handle if I ski it next year.

Nerdic skiing?

Iditarod Ceremonial Start

Meghan cheers as a Scottish team heads down the Cordova St. hill

On Saturday morning Meghan and I walked a few blocks from our house to the watch the Iditarod Ceremonial Start slide through town. The Ceremonial Start is a chance for people in Anchorage to see the all of the mushers and dog teams before they head out on the trail for the 1,000 mile race to Nome. The actual race starts several miles north of Anchorage in Willow. We chose to watch the start from a spot where mushers must control their teams as they descend a steep hill. With one hand on the sled and one hand waving to the crowd, the first 35 teams had no trouble navigating the hill. As the morning progressed minor adjustments were made to the course. Volunteers added snow to bare spots on at the top of the hill. Suddenly a dog team jumped out of the snowy course and onto the city street, barreling toward crowds of people lining the course to watch the teams from what they thought was a safe distance. As the team continued to race down the hill fans scurried out of the way. With a loud "haw" the musher was able to command his team back on course at the bottom of the hill avoiding a serious incident. To add to the excitement, a second team jumped the course and soon righted itself -- it was defending champion Lance Mackey.

Do you need a better reason to follow the Last Great Race?