It's The Little Things....

There are so many things that one becomes accustomed to in their home town/region that you wouldn't even imagine it could be different.  We've experienced so many different parts of life out here on a grand scale, that sometimes the little differences get overlooked.  So let me share with you something little that is different about living in Alaska.  It's something I don't understand and haven't yet figured out how to manage with ease.

It's the butter.  Butter here is sold in sticks.  But not long skinny sticks, like back home in New England.  No, the sticks are short and fat.  Now, you might not think this is a big deal, but it really is because the stick of butter doesn't fit in the butter dish.  It is too fat and the butter dish lid gets suspended in the air.  So when I add butter to the butter dish, I must cut it into pieces and turn it on its side so that the lid of the butter dish fits.

What I don't understand is, don't people in Alaska use butter dishes?  I actually suspect that this is a west coast thing, as the butter we buy comes from California or Oregon.  So the real question is, don't people on the west coast use butter dishes?  There seems to be a flaw in the manufacturing of west coast butter.  Are there special west coast sized butter dishes that I haven't discovered yet?  Seriously.  It's the little things that throw me for a loop.

Happy Mother's Day

Me and my Momma on my wedding day. (Photo by Rick Kloeppel)

Yesterday was Mother's Day, and I spent the day wishing I was with her.  Alaska has been an amazing adventure, but I miss my mom so much.  Being far away has been hard.  We still talk on the phone all the time, but it's not quite the same.  Yesterday, I called my mom multiple times to chat.  I wished I had been able to be there in person to give her a great big hug and thank her for being the best Momma a girl could ask for.   I love you, Mom!  Sending hugs across the miles.

Fairbanks Clean-Up Day

Across the city on Saturday, Fairbanksans pitched in to clean-up.  Now that the snow has melted (that's right, folks!!) the multitudes of Carl's Jr. bags, Taco Bell wrappers, and cigarette packs littered on the side of the road have been revealed.  So there is lots of cleaning to do!  Lee and I pitched in.  We cleaned up a strip of roadside on Farmer's Loop.  It took 2 hours to fill three big garbage bags and drag up two tires.  It felt good.  Lee was feeling stressed as this is finals week.  But he was a good sport and did it anyway.  Gotta love my husband.  While I know he thought it was important to do for our new community, I think he really did it because it was important to me.  Feeling pretty lucky (and really excited for the semester to be over!).  Here he is.  Isn't he handsome?



And here I am.  Notice the awkward bending?



Yeah, that's because of my choice of clean-up pants.  I guess I didn't think it through very clearly.  Every time I bent over, I crescent-mooned the passing cars.  Note to all you would-be trash picker uppers - wear elastic waisted pants!

Making New Friends

Boy, do I have a story for you!  Three nights ago, I was lying on the couch reading and dozed off.  Lee had taken the car out to take some pictures, so I was home alone.  Suddenly, I was awakened by a rapping at the window.  I opened my eyes, a bit confused, to see our neighbor standing at the kitchen window, knocking.  Our neighbor is very nice, but she never comes over.  So I walk (read, stumble - I don't wake up well) to the door and open, at which point Patricia says, "There's a Buffalo in your yard."

Now, I was still groggy from my nap at 9:30 at night, and was confused.  What day was it?  More concerning, what time was it?  (Still light out) And we don't have Buffalo (Bison) around here.  The nearest herd is 100 miles southeast in Delta.

Patricia, her friend, and her father were all there on the deck and the stairs, peering around the side.  So I peered too.

And there she was.  A real Bison.  Standing next to the bikes.  I, of course, let out a few expletives.

As the scene unfolded, Patricia called Animal Control, who directed her to Fish and Game.  Neither organization was concerned.  "Is he attacking anyone or damaging anything?"  "No."  "Then there isn't anything we can do."

It turns out the buffalo wasn't alone.  Joining her in our back yard was a big black bull.  (Of the Moooo variety, not moose.)  And then we saw the tag on the Bison's ear, and realized she wasn't in the least bit concerned with our presence.  We deduced that she must belong to the family up the road with many acres, 30 dogs, a couple of horses, and multiple "KEEP OUT" and "No Trespassing" signs.  The dogs had all escaped a few days prior,  so perhaps this pair had as well.

I got Lee on the phone, who promptly laughed when I told him there was a buffalo in the yard.  I had to really convince him it was true.  He raced home, and as he turned down the street, as if on cue, the Bison and the Bull turned and walked back into the woods in the direction of the home we think they escaped from.  Lee went running after them into the woods with the camera, but didn't have any luck.

Don't you worry, though.  Because the pair apparently liked their visit to our little patch of grass so much that, Friday night, they returned.  And we got some excellent pictures.











I've made a friend!  She really liked me.  I've named her Cindy Lou.  

An Ode to Grass

Ah, grass.  I was beginning to think you never existed here in Alaska.  I thought it was all a dream, a hope perched high on the shelf to help me survive the arctic winter.  But alas, you are real. You have been revealed beneath almost completely melted snow after seven months of harsh winter.  And though your shoots only flicker a hint of green from years past, soon you will be green and full of wonderful grassy smells.  Even now, I can smell the soil that holds your roots in the warm sun.  Yes, my friend, once the sogginess subsides, I will be able to lie on you, and picnic, and squeeze you between my toes.  Your fortitude and will to survive inspire the poet within me. Thank you, dear friend, for returning.