tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75855411590195562002024-03-05T12:48:51.597-09:00Beyond EsterThe wild and domestic life at our home on the edge of the Alaska wilderness.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-71051024981121289812018-05-26T17:59:00.000-08:002018-05-26T17:59:01.738-08:00<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fuel oil in the crawlspace April 12, 2108.</td></tr>
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The winter Beyond Ester was unusually warm and snowy. In early April, Kayt and a couple of neighbors climbed up on the roof and shoveled off about eight feet of snow. We had several ice storms and freezing rain all through fall and winter, and they could not remove this ice. Then in mid April, a chunk of ice slid off the roof, and severed the heating fuel line at the tank. About 160 gallons of diesel sprayed along the house logs and flowed into the crawl space. Our beloved cabin was immediately uninhabitable.<br />
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We have the best neighbors in the world. I called Skip about midnight, which is when we discovered the spill, and he came over right away with a flashlight. Skip is a frank person, so when he said that the situation was bad, we knew that it really was. We also called our friend, Janice, who works on oil stoves like the one we have. Even though it was 1:00AM, she answered the phone and confirmed that the situation was, indeed dire. Skip advised us to abandon the house, so we did.<br />
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We spent that first night out in Stella, the loyal camper that came up the Alaska Highway with us. It was cold, and all of us--Borys and Sunny and Kayt and me--were upset and miserably cold. At first light, I called the insurance company. Couldn't reach an adjuster, but left a message. Then I called the vet to see if we could board Borys and Sunny for a couple of days. Called the adjuster again, but no message for me yet. So I took Borys and Sunny to the vet. It would be nearly three days before we would be together as a family again.<br />
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Got back home, and Janice had already arrived and was working with Kayt to try to contain the spill. They worked all morning, breathing noxious air, and crawling on their hands and knees in the crawlspace which is literally just that. Kayt took some photographs of the oil, watching in horror as the shapes on the concrete block foundation transformed and reset themselves. I stayed on the phone all morning: insurance company again, then an oil response company, then the insurance company again. Janice said that we would be required to report the spill to the state, so I did. I finally got a call back from the insurance company. And somehow--because I have lots of social capital and also because I had to get quite assertive--I managed to get the insurance company's third party adjuster, two oil spill first responders, and the state guy all out at the land at the same time. At the time, these guys felt like heroes to us.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the heroes looking down at the crawl space. </td></tr>
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They crawled around and walked around and measured and pondered for about three hours. I had to pay nearly $2000 for the oil spill responders to come out to do the "job walk." But everything looked like it was under control. The insurance company guy--he's in Washington--said that they would pay for repairs to the house, would pay for us to stay in a hotel, would pay for the boarding of the pets. So we packed up a few things and went to town to stay in a hotel.<br />
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The next day, nothing happened, so we stayed another night in the hotel. We both went to work, feeling shellshocked and with our noses still stinging from the smell.<br />
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The third day we moved out of the hotel into the little cabin in Ester. I rescued the dog and cat from the vet. We had put the cabin on the market several months beforehand, and we had a good offer on it that we had accepted. So we thought that this would be only temporary. But I couldn't find alternative rental housing in Fairbanks. We were told that we would be displaced up to three months, but it started looking like it would be six months or more. Friends shared horror stories of similar circumstances. We were miserable, but we were together.<br />
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Then, the people who planned to buy the cabin offered to rent it to us. Angels, they both are.<br />
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Then, the insurance guy said that the company would not pay for the mitigation of the spill on the land outside of the cabin. The first bid for that work came in at $89K. The insurance guy and I had words.<br />
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Then, I met with a tax accountant who told me that thanks to the Republican-led Tax Cuts and Jobs Act of December, 2017, individuals are no longer able to deduct personal casualty losses off their federal taxes.<br />
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Then, I got another bid for the outside mitigation that came in at $78K.<br />
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Then, I learned about all kinds of stuff that I never knew before: diesel will flow towards warmth, which is why it flowed into the crawl space instead of staying on top of the snow. Diesel will continue to sink into the ground for years and years. Diesel fumes will permeate anything soft, e.g. bedding, furniture, clothes, carpet. Diesel infected soil can be land-farmed, or spread out at a one feet level and rototilled every year so that it will volitalize. Diesel infected soil can be piled up on a liner and turned every year. Diesel infected soil can be seeded with a particular Alaska grass and willows and microbes will break it down. Diesel plumes travel through soil, sinking ever further unless they are removed. State law requires remediation, but the insurance company refuses to pay. The state will put a lien on our home if we do not comply. We do not have the funds to pay, and our credit union will not loan money on contaminated properties. We are still trying to figure this out. Friends and acquaintances have been great to us.<br />
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It's been six and a half weeks. We like living in Ester, and after an initial period of learning how to navigate the cabin, both Borys and Sunny have settled in well. It takes us only 15 minutes to get to work, which is a pleasant change. I hang out at the Eagle every night and watch TV with the guys and gals there. Kayt goes out to the cabin a couple of times a week to get the mail, retrieve needed items, and to meet with contractors. I talk to the insurance adjuster primarily by email. I think he's a real jerk and that he is so burned out that he no longer has any empathy at all. I am sure he thinks I'm just being difficult and expecting more customer service than is reasonable. After a particularly nasty exchange, he and I have reached some kind of compromise. He tries not to be a patronizing jerk, and I try not to be a bitchy customer. I do feel, though, that I have more of the moral high ground than he does. After all, I'm the one who has paid hundreds of thousands of dollars in insurance over nearly forty years and whose house is now a disaster.<br />
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So we live day by day. Somehow, both Kayt and I got our spring grades in on time, even though we both were feeling traumatized at the time. That feeling is disappearing little by little each day. Kayt plays music three times a week, goes to yoga and tai chi classes at the local Senior Center, and teaches a SOC 101X section online. I'm writing another research article on sexism as an ideology, work on Wikipedia for the Wikipedia Fellows Pilot Project, and teach two online classes. Next week, I will start work on my NSF grant on working class men's friendship patterns.<br />
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Earlier this week, I met yet another contractor out at the land. He is a friend and former student. He was so kind and so empathetic. I started crying and could not stop. Maybe the insurance adjuster uses a non-empathetic and patronizing interaction style with me so that I would not become emotional like that. I can imagine that being an insurance adjuster, and dealing with traumatized people would not be a fun job.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-50943339891976324312016-12-21T18:28:00.001-09:002016-12-21T18:28:50.292-09:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Seven years. That's how long it has been since I posted to this blog. So much has happened. All of the cats but Sunny have left the planet. Our beloved dog, Ursa, is gone. Kayt was forced to retire from the University, and they closed the Women's Center. We got married the week before the US Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage and now I have free health insurance as her spouse. Borealys went blind, and now walks only on a leash. My department is in shambles, with me as the only survivor. The state's budget crisis has trashed the university's budget, and all of us are living in chronic anxiety about whether we will survive. I sold the little cabin next door, and we bought a cabin in downtown Ester. Alaska legalized recreational marijuana. And Trump was elected president.<br />
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We continue to have amazing wildlife sightings here Beyond Ester. A few weeks ago, a Great Grey Owl swooped right in front of us while we were driving to work. How they can navigate so swiftly through the trees is nothing short of a miracle. We haven't had moose sightings in a few weeks, but Borealys knows they are out there. A flock of Spruce Grouse wanders through the yard every few days, and Borys gets a huge kick out of chasing them into the trees. She can't see them, but she can sure smell and hear them! They crack me up. Once they get into the trees, they chirp and call to each other, which will surely notify any winged predators about their location.<br />
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I rarely play the fiddle anymore. But I took up the banjo and have been writing some pretty good songs. My latest is Budget Knives. I wrote this song the week after finding out that UAF Sociology is on the chopping block. You can hear it here: https://soundcloud.com/sine_anahita/budget-knives<br />
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Today is the Winter Solstice, 2016. Kayt flew home to hang with family, and it's just me, Sunny, and Borys here Beyond Ester. The neighborhood is rapidly changing with people moving in and out, couples splitting up, and long-time homesteaders putting their beloved homes on the market. The tough economic times are taking their toll. Some folks are digging in with plans to tough it out until the economy improves. Others are packing up and heading Outside. For awhile, we thought we were headed to Minnesota. And perhaps we will, but for now, we're hunkered down, finding joy in playing music on Sundays at the Eagle, and appreciating every day for the possibilities each brings.<br />
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Happy Solstice to you and yours.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-15949413936781137542012-02-26T10:49:00.002-09:002012-02-26T10:59:09.467-09:00ShruggersBelonging lies on a continuum. For those of us who exist outside of the binaries, belonging is difficult to obtain. On one end of the continuum lies the hostiles--these are the people who march against civil rights, who slam their minds against people they consider gay or lesbian or trans. They may explain their political activism against same-sex marriage as protecting the failing heterosexual marriage system, but in reality they are simply afraid of losing their privileged status in the binaries. The hostiles slash tires, give us bad student evaluations, report us to our supervisors, harass us, gossip about us, murder us. The hostiles have been around since the late-1800s when sexologists invented homosexuality and heterosexuality as core identities, and then began to purge us from their midst. <br />
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The LGBT movement has worked hard for over 100 years to cultivate tolerators, achieving that goal somewhat by the 1970s when the APA stopped forcing queers into mental hospitals, shock treatment, and/or lithium treatments and instead allowed us a measure of tolerance. Surely tolerance is better than hostility, but most of us want something more out of life than mere tolerance from others. Tolerators feel compulsion to continually reaffirm their tolerance when they interact with queers, which is just another way of reaffirming their difference from us and their security within the binary system. Tolerators are a chore to hang out with, as they need constant assurance from us that we know that they tolerate us. Yawn.<br />
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Accepters comprise the next step along the continuum. Within urban gay ghettoes, there are lots of accepters, especially as capitalists have discovered there is profit to be made from LGBTs. There may be whispers and raised eyebrows, and initial "ohs!" from binary-mired bystanders who suddenly realize that they are interacting with a non-binary person, but accepters are most definitely a better group for LGBT folks to hang out with than tolerators or hostiles. The one thing that continues to plague me about acceptors is that many of them continue to harbor some measure of anxiety about their place in the binaries, and so have to go overboard to assure us that we are accepted (and that their binary position is not threatened.) <br />
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And then there's what I have come to define as shruggers. Shruggers find out that the person they are interacting with is lesbian, gay, bisexual, and/or trans, and shrugs, changing the subject to one that is more interesting. Shruggers are more interested in the fact that I'm a fiddler than I'm a lesbian. Shruggers may still zing me on student evaluations, but because I teach a hated required course, not because of hostility towards LGBTQ folks. Shruggers find the topic of sexual identity unremarkable and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. <br />
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I like shruggers best. I like hanging out with shruggers, working with shruggers, teaching shruggers, playing music with shruggers, engaging in political activism with shruggers. <br />
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Last night, Kayt and I worked the Miners Masquerade Ball, a fundraiser for the Ester Republic. We were, in fact, co-organizers, and so the evening was fraught with both fun and hard work. We had scads of fun, and chattered all the way home about the sense of community we felt there. This morning we rose early, even though we were out late, and we started the chatter again. About mid-morning, I realized I was experiencing something I have not experienced since 2003, the year we moved to Alaska. It was a foreign feeling, and I could not at first remember what it was because it's been so long since I have felt it.<br />
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It was joy in belonging. We have finally found shruggers among our midst. We have found a site where we belong. Joy thrives here Beyond Ester today, and we are thriving in its glow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-31936575626885425982012-02-05T02:11:00.000-09:002012-02-05T02:11:02.637-09:00Elusive MooseShe's lurking out there in the dark. Somewhere. I can't see her, but our two dogs know she is there. Kayt glimpsed her this morning, just for a second or two before she melted back into the woods. Her tracks are all over the yard and up and down our road. It is our Elusive Moose. All winter she has eluded us, tempting the dogs with fresh tracks in the snow to snuffle, but staying just out of view. Once she walked across the front porch just minutes between two dog potty breaks. <br />
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Tonight, the moon is nearly full, and we have six inches of fresh snow. The dogs ask to be let out, but when we go outside, they huddle next to each other, taking turns to pee. Both lift their heads and sniff the air deeply. What does a lurking moose smell like, I wonder? Borealys, more daring now than Ursa, pulls on her leash, snuffling the path leading up the hill towards the road. Suddenly I see what she does: fresh tracks, just seconds old, the edges still sharp and distinct. I hold my breath, listening as intently as I can, watching Borealys as she sniffs the air, centers and triangulates, and then raises her right foot in a point. I still can't spot the Elusive Moose, but I know she is there.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-71952717470666696852012-01-07T15:46:00.000-09:002012-01-07T15:46:15.870-09:00Visitors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cmoZtYhI7nvoQ-HpU78DxDVBeDvXKJjdKRmNy_57aIYBnKXDK1UqN0ilFhCLCvWg51T8mZekxeOuZgfKKiVocsCG-86LdhXRgLcOWnMSg0Rzhd_PfCC9ez5mIwSsKn3ixvi0yo49Nb0/s1600/black+capped+chickadee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cmoZtYhI7nvoQ-HpU78DxDVBeDvXKJjdKRmNy_57aIYBnKXDK1UqN0ilFhCLCvWg51T8mZekxeOuZgfKKiVocsCG-86LdhXRgLcOWnMSg0Rzhd_PfCC9ez5mIwSsKn3ixvi0yo49Nb0/s200/black+capped+chickadee.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Five or six Pine Grosbeaks have graced the feeder during the last week or two. The males' bright crimson feathers provide just about the only color outside these days. The trees are draped with white, all of them drooping with the weight of the snow. The sky is a light grey, nearly white. Other visitors include a flock of 10 or more Redpolls, three Grey Jays, a single male Downy Woodpecker, a Hairy Woodpecker pair, a half dozen Boreal Chickadees, and ten or so Black Capped Chickadees. A raven swooped through the feeder area this morning, uninterested in what we have to offer, its mind on other opportunities.<br />
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I've been sleeping off a cold, sleeping 12 to 14 hours a day. I dream of flowing water, verdant green fields and woods, and warmth. Obviously not Alaska. People and animal companions long gone from my life visit me in my dreams, proving to me once again that there is a spirit world. That fact continues to elude my acceptance, although I have had so many spirit-visitors, particularly since 1990. Just this past fall, in my temporary office in the windowless sub-basement of Gruening, a spirit shared space with me. I experienced it as small, cat-size or maybe smaller. It would sprint past my right ankle, always the right ankle, just barely brushing my pants. The visits became so routine that the sensation no longer startled me. Months later I mentioned the experiences to a work colleague, who affirmed that she had once kept lab rats in that office, and that the spirit surely was that of a rat. I don't know whether to feel pity for the spirit, thinking that its life was one of torture and pain and even in death can find no release. Or perhaps I should feel elated, believing that the rat-spirit now runs its own mazes, for its own purposes, free from human intervention.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-88689485515326585442011-12-22T01:53:00.002-09:002012-01-07T15:03:50.633-09:00Winter Solstice 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5Fc9YSU5OkZru2ufZ_lSfKu3KBcYdkE2aj3PbsJ-scSDIWwp0X-BH8391KeKUpdA3xebmRFy45RGWf_8ny8_ZkPVKoAxT4s99BkhuVx8LeX-WyT3WeiGCVL9MMmCmCbHwRx7e8OEABY/s1600/blue+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5Fc9YSU5OkZru2ufZ_lSfKu3KBcYdkE2aj3PbsJ-scSDIWwp0X-BH8391KeKUpdA3xebmRFy45RGWf_8ny8_ZkPVKoAxT4s99BkhuVx8LeX-WyT3WeiGCVL9MMmCmCbHwRx7e8OEABY/s320/blue+day.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Borealys is stretched out on my bed, gladly sharing space with one of our elder kitties, Otto. In the past few months, Borealys has become wise. She is now the guardian of the household, the First Moose Spotter, the one who notices the slightest changes in her environment. Otto befriends anyone in the house who needs love, and recently, all of us do, so he is kept busy snuggling with first one, then the other. Ursa, old dog, beloved eldest august dog, snoozes on the horsey bed on the floor. Her bones creak, and her back legs often collapse underneath her when she is outside in the snowy cold. Still, she grins and wags, showing her yellow worn teeth, simply delighted to be on this planet with her family. Kali, oldest kitty, and Sadie, youngest kitty, sleep on opposite ends of the rug in front of the heater, their detente years old, yet still uneasy. Sunny is perched on the bathrug on the tub, his fur eternally unruly. Kayt is washing dishes, her favorite chore. She hums quietly to some tune playing in her head. From the corner desk, I survey my family on this Winter Solstice night. Everything shifts on this night. Just a few weeks ago, we were gaining seven minutes of dark every day. Now the earth stops its plunge towards the dark, hesitates. And tomorrow, we turn back towards the sun, add a few precious seconds to day. <br />
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Nearly two years stretch between tonight and my last post on Beyond Ester. So much water has passed beneath this bridge. The water sometimes roils dark and murky. Since I've last written, two old friends died by their own hand. Both our work situations are plagued with uncertainty. America's economy lurches, and our financial situation seems wedged between car repair bills and doctor bills. Our beloved truck has been parked for months, the years and miles having finally caught up with us. The heater--the new heater--is in the shop again, after three emergency repair calls in just a month. <br />
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And then there are times when the water flows clear, transparent, and oh so sweet. The unseasonably warm weather so far this winter has been a blessing for the old dog, Ursa, and me. The warm friendliness of the other musicians at the Ester Jelly Jam, the community we have helped to create sustain me from week to week. The steadiness of the music, the predictability of old time music, orders my Sundays for a sweet three hours. A baby came this fall. Holding him, feeling life surge beneath my hands refreshes my spirit. The blessing of our old dog, loyal and unswerving in her devotion to family, reaffirms my commitment to life. Otto caterwauls about a dirty catbox, and the loaner heater switches on at exactly the right moment. A neighbor stops by to chat about chickens and dogs, and gives us eggs in exchange for old fencing we no longer use. A student stops by the office to say "you changed my life." The ordinary and mundane and extraordinary and rare are equally welcome.<br />
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And so this Winter Solstice arrives and finds me both grateful for the return of the light, and yet nostalgic for the dark. I find peace, somehow, in the inherent contradictions. Blessings to all of you, blessings on your house and your families.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-35513925177190479812010-01-08T00:12:00.002-09:002010-01-08T00:26:10.591-09:00Arc<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVNR9F7BpfLmk7xNOBANAa1MtV_xRkBHCNyM__9VUeC11Ufi9sA0_ucQF3Ob8dRKWmUfDMzMn4ph4vnvcCiZtWOZ4yQTy6RbYcOoa8_xcFrZ3kYLmSs4hjkWpKHDOCEiXDEI3rG6Y8dQg/s1600-h/The_Belt_of_Orion_Small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVNR9F7BpfLmk7xNOBANAa1MtV_xRkBHCNyM__9VUeC11Ufi9sA0_ucQF3Ob8dRKWmUfDMzMn4ph4vnvcCiZtWOZ4yQTy6RbYcOoa8_xcFrZ3kYLmSs4hjkWpKHDOCEiXDEI3rG6Y8dQg/s200/The_Belt_of_Orion_Small.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Like any good pagan confronted with the velvety blackness of an Alaska night, I focused on the Three Sisters, the Belt of Orion. The Sisters settle themselves just to the east of the roof of our house in the early evening. I was appreciating the stark brilliance of the Sisters when a meteorite streaked across them in a short arc before flaming out into oblivion. At the time, I was thanking Goddess for my life in Alaska the day before the day before I set off to the Folk School back east. Will the people I meet there have preconceptions about my Alaska? Will they expect me to be a Palin fan, or foe? Will they understand the depth of despair I continue to feel about losing my beloved Toklas? Will other the other musicians feel moved to share their losses and joys with me, enough so that we can work with music together? More mundane questions: will I be able to keep up with the others? Am I "good" enough to play with Alan Jabbour? Will the classes be paced so that I can learn at my late middle life speed? So many questions left unanswered on this night before the night before I leave. And so the meteor is a gift, its brevity a reminder that over-thinking leaves one tired, burned out, and ultimately no further along The Path than before.<br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-52513698863138588732009-12-06T22:34:00.003-09:002009-12-11T23:36:42.968-09:00DrippingAn extremely unseasonable warm spell swept over Interior Alaska these last couple of days. It's just above freezing now, and the snow is melting and sliding out of the trees and off the roof. Kayt reports that a Big Car (read: American make) was unable to make it up the hill at the top of our road. Paths, parking lots, roads, and sidewalks are slippery. We've only had one spot of extreme cold, two weeks ago, when it was 35 below. So this warm spell seems strange, out of place, and not entirely welcome. In a few weeks, we would bless this kind of warmth, but we are not yet cold weary. In fact, the warm seems a bit ominous. Especially with the Copenhagen climate summit focusing global attention on the problematics of climate change...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-84174028289476205342009-12-03T23:29:00.007-09:002009-12-04T00:06:50.341-09:00Tangled<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-nhv6DA9GfKOBgct3f0unm9kxgeKrLeUdcJU7uxDuvmlu0crtBfXJOzEujwuuEegxOSuboHQtG0nUv9b0qe_KXVvSMkpYyDgwY2pYxDE4hUgECterXTlsuCBoh1bCbSsXIXPnRouDKEA/s1600-h/tangles.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-nhv6DA9GfKOBgct3f0unm9kxgeKrLeUdcJU7uxDuvmlu0crtBfXJOzEujwuuEegxOSuboHQtG0nUv9b0qe_KXVvSMkpYyDgwY2pYxDE4hUgECterXTlsuCBoh1bCbSsXIXPnRouDKEA/s200/tangles.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411304858114721346" /></a><br />I am tangled by despair. Toklas has been gone for six weeks four days, and I am cast adrift. Tomorrows come and go. The sun rises for its brief sojourn across the southern horizon and then disappears, swallowed by the dark. Students complain of depression, anxiety, and I think what can you know of grief? I am swallowed by it. You, you count deaths on one hand, one finger even. Me, I count in dozens. I don't have enough fingers and toes to keep track of the beloveds who have moved beyond my reach. <a href="http://mattiespillow.wordpress.com/2009/10/19/poetry-challenge-30-2/">Mattie's Pillow </a>offers reprieve. But playing fiddle no longer soothes. The ache is too great, the gap too wide for music to fill. Tonight, I would gladly follow Toklas, eagerly go to a place where we could sit together once more, humming together in the dark.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-25002215186308990852009-11-28T23:53:00.006-09:002009-12-03T23:00:08.484-09:00Owl Waltz<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbKcABp6MZ6TCsbEz3o38MXIkdYa4Oapy-U-ajsBuAC8Gvb_wZ34_z1mRzUtj2CnrGpKL9016sdCF0Rz2kzuLS_KiMPC6j2x3Ww-rkokc6mYpolxqWCICP_Cqb-6KjO2JP4gLEZgWCKI/s1600-h/owl+at+BM.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 166px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbKcABp6MZ6TCsbEz3o38MXIkdYa4Oapy-U-ajsBuAC8Gvb_wZ34_z1mRzUtj2CnrGpKL9016sdCF0Rz2kzuLS_KiMPC6j2x3Ww-rkokc6mYpolxqWCICP_Cqb-6KjO2JP4gLEZgWCKI/s200/owl+at+BM.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411287663820415778" /></a><br />Kayt heard the first Great Horned Owl hoot of the season this evening as she took the dogs out for a potty trip. The arrival of the first owl hoots are always a sure sign of winter here Beyond Ester. Kayt went out with me so I could hear it, and together we reveled in the sound. A friend turned me on to Shostakovich's Waltz No. 2 a couple of days ago, and even brought me sheet music. I've been learning it on the fiddle, and listened to dozens of versions on youtube today. Do you know the tune? It starts out with four oom-pahs and then a solo violin plays a plaintive, simple line for a few bars. The music suddenly bursts into a festival of harmony, then reverts back to the solo string again. As I listened to the owl hoot, plaintive and simple, I thought how perfect its call would fit into the Waltz.<br /><br />In one version of the Waltz on youtube, the orchestra plays on raised stages arranged in a pinwheel into the audience. Many folks are dancing, non-dancers have linked arms and are swaying in massive waving lines. Everyone is singing dah dah dah dah, because they are part of the melody. The composer intended his audience to be participants, to be part of the music. Listening to the Great Horned Owl is like that. The owl is part of the melody of impending winter. I'm a small part, singing my line, dah dah dah dah, as the earth spins through the Long Dark towards the longest night of the year. <br /><br />Our beloved 17-year old cat, Toklas, left us six weeks ago. I enter this first winter without him with sadness tinged with despair. We were each other's anchor for nearly two decades. I saved him from a nasty death when he was a baby, and he returned the favor with gracious, intelligent, vociferous affection. I find it difficult to imagine a future without him. I played the Westphalia Waltz for him over and over on his last day on the earth, and we sent him onto the next stage of his journey while singing his theme song, the Tokey Pokey. <br /><br />Music soothes, music opens aches. Music sears, eases, fixes memory. Tonight, I sing my small part of the music of the universe--dah dah dah dah--knowing that the owl and Toklas sing with me. Goddess bless us all as we hum our way through the dark.<br /><br /><em>The stone owl above is one of many that lurk in a stone arch at Bryn Mawr College.</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-78911574865494827862009-11-26T22:24:00.001-09:002009-11-26T22:25:39.085-09:00Best Cranberry Sauce Ever!Sine made the best cranberry sauce EVER for Thanksgiving dinner today! These were the last of the cranberries I had picked in September. We'd saved them for a special sauce on Thanksgiving. This sauce was certainly worth the wait! Sweet, tart, and so flavorful. Nothing is as good as Alaska cranberries saved for a special treat with Thanksgiving dinner. Wish ya'll could have been here to share in the feast, especially the wild Alaska cranberry sauce!Dr. Kaythttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11663647016107718539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-26952846802595172242009-10-18T23:02:00.002-08:002009-12-03T23:16:12.838-09:00Toklas 1992-2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWBFORCNs9eR5pt2Ysq1rnqNQN0K5TbxMrEjKngFPYKqqa__Ty_r3mEW4kWXMp6ngQiqCfzxp-I4MGqHCIh8BzC6spj8xWRWQU0CnoEhzwdYbpSr2MGouqomyc6erQUZ_8xOeC3gSBGE/s1600-h/Toklas.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 161px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWBFORCNs9eR5pt2Ysq1rnqNQN0K5TbxMrEjKngFPYKqqa__Ty_r3mEW4kWXMp6ngQiqCfzxp-I4MGqHCIh8BzC6spj8xWRWQU0CnoEhzwdYbpSr2MGouqomyc6erQUZ_8xOeC3gSBGE/s200/Toklas.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411290237538414402" /></a><br />Toklas, beloved kitty, left the planet this day. He was the center of our household, the heartbeat of our hearth. He was intelligent, loving, talkative, and a bit of a bed hog. His six-year experience with diabetes meant that we structured our daily lives around him. I cannot envision a tomorrow without him. I'm sure that the sun will rise tomorrow, but I can't imagine it now. Toklas--we sang you out with your theme song. I can hardly wait until we meet again at the Rainbow Bridge. Thank you, my little orange and white furry companion, for 17 good years together.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-43574059809688452882009-09-06T01:13:00.002-08:002009-09-06T01:27:58.124-08:00Red ruby berries<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilpSDeKCtnkrE8q3DBPRdPTPYZFrOnu_3oqwgj1xtH8MDOLG05vZvi595Tg5f49W6gwVvet7poXLLpS3J2VWO7cIc4wlw-cDYKptHXjW4RLOmGBFFePQpsfHjJbvGHG0lONsEaD7QusLw/s1600-h/cranberries+09.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 194px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilpSDeKCtnkrE8q3DBPRdPTPYZFrOnu_3oqwgj1xtH8MDOLG05vZvi595Tg5f49W6gwVvet7poXLLpS3J2VWO7cIc4wlw-cDYKptHXjW4RLOmGBFFePQpsfHjJbvGHG0lONsEaD7QusLw/s200/cranberries+09.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378283576411887154" /></a><br />Hmmmmmm.... cannot resist those little rubies nestled among the tiny bright green leaves. They are sour, bitter, tough, and seedy. And in November, after stewing in their juices with just the right amount of raw sugar, they transform into the most delicious sauce on the planet. I am, of course, talking about Alaska homegrown wild lowbush and highbush cranberries. The season is NOW. Don't believe those who claim the berries are better after the first frost. They are just trying to get you to wait to go picking until after they have snagged all of the berries.<br /><br />We went picking today. My role was to keep the dogs out of trouble, as they've been eating grass and berries and generally annoying Kayt while she picks. Kayt's role was to bring back a few berries for us. She picked over a pound of delicious, tiny little ruby fruits!! The dogs and I skipped down the path to the bottom of our property and Ursa found a wet pond puddle. Borealys was shocked to see Ursa dripping and promptly went scouting to find where she had gotten wet. She came back grinning from ear to ear and running figure eights around us in and out of the pondlet. We finished off our evening with dinner on the porch while the dogs tried to stay awake enough to pretend they were watch dogs. At the last night night potty we heard a fox sing/bark in the southwest corner of our land where it turns to tundra. The full moon has a tiny slice from its side. Still lovely and silvery white with dimples. Happy fall, everyone.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-60184185791023657382009-09-04T23:57:00.003-08:002009-09-05T00:08:51.102-08:00Moon hooting<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0sM3p5_VAIbZEPgKE0vlryvhh6NAsCe4G8OLgOZO631Ck0Ujz_E8R1LG_PMVlYmL49v1Maz97UNNgxSeQk7d14dkXX-qQw75IRfoC_I8wolspGYxT5tLMG5C1_lQyZA0qXElkCifEA0/s1600-h/moon.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 147px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0sM3p5_VAIbZEPgKE0vlryvhh6NAsCe4G8OLgOZO631Ck0Ujz_E8R1LG_PMVlYmL49v1Maz97UNNgxSeQk7d14dkXX-qQw75IRfoC_I8wolspGYxT5tLMG5C1_lQyZA0qXElkCifEA0/s200/moon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377892225433915010" /></a><br />I know it's embarrassing, but I can't stop. I'm a moon hooter. I grew up hooting at the full moon in rural North Carolina. Hooting surges through my blood. It's in my genes. Built into my DNA. I'm a sociologist, so I don't really think these things, but I really did, honestly, grow up hooting at the moon. It's something I can't really control. When I see the full moon, especially after months of infernal light when there are no moon sightings at all, joy wells up, surges past my sense of propriety, and spurts out my throat. Really, I can't help it. It's a southern thing. My friends BeJae and Jackie admit to moon hooting. Kayt claims it scares the dogs and cats, and perhaps it does. But mostly I think she's ashamed of me, worried that the neighbors will think they let a bunch of country hick ruffian pagan moon hooters move into the neighborhood. Well, and they would be right. Early early this morning, about 4:00 AM, the puppy and I were outside for her early potty. A fox was barking from way down on the tundra below our land. Now why would a fox be barking at that time of night? The answer seems obvious to me--she was hooting at the moon. Moon hooters unite!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-41800673044035429472009-09-04T23:23:00.003-08:002009-09-04T23:46:04.083-08:00Farewell<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitcezpyX2pu8oxBcHmoXWfVbrNEvtIfqG5-6bz3AO_PIaz04RJiCNBbd3avAB_h19xlvMXj6sFKgX9R18saJgAWjzHMfuJpDeyqOA2EXMp59q1VzQOeW79BMoBPd5AmudTkPMJ7auvPOA/s1600-h/Sandhill+cranes+09.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 172px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitcezpyX2pu8oxBcHmoXWfVbrNEvtIfqG5-6bz3AO_PIaz04RJiCNBbd3avAB_h19xlvMXj6sFKgX9R18saJgAWjzHMfuJpDeyqOA2EXMp59q1VzQOeW79BMoBPd5AmudTkPMJ7auvPOA/s200/Sandhill+cranes+09.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377886370069287554" /></a><br />On Wednesday, the sandhill cranes and the Canada geese left Interior Alaska. For weeks, the fields around Fairbanks had been filled with tall, lanky cranes and squat geese gorging on greens, grain, and bugs. Creamers Field swarmed with birds--ducks, geese, swans, cranes. We humans watched as entire fields of birds wheeled overhead, circling and calling, exercising their wings.<br /><br />MP at <a href="http://mattiespillow.wordpress.com/">Mattie's Pillow </a>speculated that the birds were calling to each other in confusion--"which way? I thought you knew!" But I think the birds are saying something different: "Hey, this feels great! You're doing good! That's the way to do it! It's a long way South! Let's get going!" The skies have been filled with cacophony for days--sqawks, honks, calls, trumpets. Dozens of clumps of birds, heavy and awkward on the ground, but graceful in flight. And then, suddenly, sometime around noon on Wednesday, the skies fell silent. We went outside to notice the quiet. Nothing on the horizon but blue skies and lumpy clouds. Farewell, birds! See you this spring! Fly safe, be well, and come back to us.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-41842959861989444012009-08-29T23:11:00.002-08:002009-08-29T23:22:22.313-08:00Just passing through<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhelat-eKZkVJvGSYsuLUjRzxQzDIX-e2CWBut7YH0XMF7zhD65kv3OS9ugpqaVn78BZsvnaWgs-ELMx9ctT_7nKVuz6_xcwr6NrvdNe6tkOwrAWEJAlBnCwAsFgRgQB4t1keptv0eR6J8/s1600-h/Wilsons+Warbler+09sm.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 196px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhelat-eKZkVJvGSYsuLUjRzxQzDIX-e2CWBut7YH0XMF7zhD65kv3OS9ugpqaVn78BZsvnaWgs-ELMx9ctT_7nKVuz6_xcwr6NrvdNe6tkOwrAWEJAlBnCwAsFgRgQB4t1keptv0eR6J8/s200/Wilsons+Warbler+09sm.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375653707547339842" /></a><br />A handful of Wilson's Warblers visited Beyond Ester last weekend. They were only here for a day, apparently just passing through on their way south. We read in one of our bird books that they often flock by the dozens with other migrating birds. We first noticed that we had new visitors when one by one, the raspberries in the yard waved furiously. Then we saw the brilliant flash of yellow and realized that we had never seen these birds before! The WWs were busy snatching bites of the raspberries, which have dried on the stalks. The bird book says they also enjoy insects, so perhaps our strikingly yellow visitors were grabbing some protein along with their fruit. We spotted both males and females--the males with their perky black cap, and the females more subtle with their streaked olive feathers.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-66342037772293061602009-08-18T23:24:00.002-08:002009-08-29T23:57:50.208-08:00Foxtail warning<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdBeBZhfJ39OxxjEJIZ4frnt6TmXxAcrISUvE5OecCYCQKwIMKg1P9Vf-IBuCI6eWy41M4b34Ju97AvZeau-uMkwPKj6s2pMhBXH7aa1DtIV9-P4CwG2RbeJU3EgalvQa42sjyVNA8mM/s1600-h/foxtail.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 173px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdBeBZhfJ39OxxjEJIZ4frnt6TmXxAcrISUvE5OecCYCQKwIMKg1P9Vf-IBuCI6eWy41M4b34Ju97AvZeau-uMkwPKj6s2pMhBXH7aa1DtIV9-P4CwG2RbeJU3EgalvQa42sjyVNA8mM/s200/foxtail.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375662191048863698" /></a><br />Dog lovers, beware!! It's foxtail season. A beautiful grass, foxtails are extremely dangerous to dogs and other animals. Our beloved elder dog, Ursa, occasionally has a bad habit of eating grass. While Kayt was in Madison, WI, for the Rural Sociological Society, Ursa started coughing and gagging. She drank bowl after bowl of water, seemingly trying to dislodge something from her throat. After watching her struggle, I took her to the emergency vet in town. I was so relieved to see Dr. Pinto, one of our most trusted docs, was on duty that night. The emergency vet often seems like rolling chaos to me, and this night was no different. Dr. Pinto, though, like the other vets and techs who work at the clinic, is always calm and steadfast in the face of the revolving crises, deaths, and high emotion. After she examined Ursa, Dr. Pinto suspected foxtails. She sedated Ursa and removed about a dozen pieces of foxtails that had lodged in her tonsils. About two hours later, the tech helped me load a heavily sedated and woozy Ursa into the car and I drove home. Somewhere along the way home, I passed a porcupine and the feeling of panic and disorientation overwhelmed me. How was I going to manage Ursa alone?? She weighs 76 pounds, and I felt every ounce as I picked her up from the car seat and set her on the ground at home. Her legs immediately went limp and she fell to the ground. But she's very brave, and with me holding her up, she peed and let me carry her into the house. She slept through the night, but I don't think I slept a wink. The next morning she was woozy and exhausted, but hungry for her breakfast. A week later, most of the inflammation appeared to be gone and she was back to normal. But please--let our horrible experience prevent your own dog from exposure to foxtails! Cut them down in the spring as soon as you recognize them. Ruthlessly exterminate them from your yard. Pull them, mow them, dig them up. Whatever you have to do to eliminate them from your environment, do it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-46765566979392370332009-06-04T00:59:00.003-08:002009-06-04T01:10:26.539-08:00Boring<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy2elq3SqeVnMfK096rh4-YcYrbszxvG7892wJR-KgQq3wQSGBNe5sKhmxp7NIbgihqCDUULFiC92YopnHhB1hSfby_0kpOEQ_Fd1zdobhaawnhsfKjUtbrAkf13VFYncAyBqgrgiC-9E/s1600-h/globalquake.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 199px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy2elq3SqeVnMfK096rh4-YcYrbszxvG7892wJR-KgQq3wQSGBNe5sKhmxp7NIbgihqCDUULFiC92YopnHhB1hSfby_0kpOEQ_Fd1zdobhaawnhsfKjUtbrAkf13VFYncAyBqgrgiC-9E/s200/globalquake.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343397001610687602" /></a><br />Yawn.<br /><br />Another earthquake. Part of the continuing Ester Swarm. I'm over it. Time to move on, Mama Nature. I don't recall the name of the Earthquake Goddess, and maybe that's part of the problem. Maybe we need to make some kind of pact with Her, like remembering Her Name and placating Her with wine or berries or blood sacrifices or something. I'll say it here: Hey, Earthquake Goddess! Name Your terms. What will it take to get You to stop rattling us here Beyond Ester?<br /><br />The graphic above places the latest Ester earthquake on the world map. Note the red blocks are earthquakes that happened within the last hour. Note also how they cluster in Alaska, and tumble on top of each other in the area Beyond Ester.<br /><br />Thanks, as always, to the <a href="http://www.aeic.alaska.edu/Seis/recent/sub/global.html">Alaska Earthquake Information Center</a>. You guys rock. Sorry, I couldn't help it :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-83327178425032485652009-05-31T22:22:00.002-08:002009-05-31T22:31:29.231-08:00Thrill<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnh3oWuG6v8rQwu9-4aLp01MkJhTZKw_n_BRtcTli_N2_mCidUzAsykzumLRCAECi5oarRRQvtsC3OsLJRJZCvBimMcnjji7UJ_una5Q9gf8kUWjDbF4JZGTO5gL_-EKYCMMkaYkNYm0/s1600-h/5-31-09+quake.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 189px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnh3oWuG6v8rQwu9-4aLp01MkJhTZKw_n_BRtcTli_N2_mCidUzAsykzumLRCAECi5oarRRQvtsC3OsLJRJZCvBimMcnjji7UJ_una5Q9gf8kUWjDbF4JZGTO5gL_-EKYCMMkaYkNYm0/s200/5-31-09+quake.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342242963904484866" /></a><br />"The thrill is gone, baby. The thrill is gone away. Oh yeah, the thrill is gone, baby."<br /><br />Another earthquake. This one is the largest yet. I was actually online reading about yesterday's earthquake when this one hit. Kayt was out walking the dogs and said that she felt like she was being shaken from above. Like the others, this one is centered only a couple of miles from our house. Three of the cats scrambled and stumbled over each other trying to run upstairs to hide. Sadie is still missing, but Kayt reports a pair of wide eyes under the bed that might belong to her. The thrill is definitely over, and the tremors can stop now.<br /><br />Read about the latest on the Fairbanks News-Miner here: <br /><a href="http://newsminer.com/news/2009/jun/01/another-earthquake-rocks-fairbanks/">http://newsminer.com/news/2009/jun/01/another-earthquake-rocks-fairbanks/</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-75438229890481791382009-05-30T11:52:00.004-08:002009-05-30T12:22:54.407-08:00She's got personality<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6IcshYrjNURtDOisSyMakugWxPB0TZ4-AazcnwtWNYXBJ3eahUMpHkZxmaKu1JQu5AbcpltiSJyz8gDTHUlNNSokLqnVL1Jc4ILKdRrTrEO5JwPrjE_dKyc3B2dLtkPrNGaxuEizjIbs/s1600-h/quakesoverall5-30-09.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6IcshYrjNURtDOisSyMakugWxPB0TZ4-AazcnwtWNYXBJ3eahUMpHkZxmaKu1JQu5AbcpltiSJyz8gDTHUlNNSokLqnVL1Jc4ILKdRrTrEO5JwPrjE_dKyc3B2dLtkPrNGaxuEizjIbs/s200/quakesoverall5-30-09.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341710692292227026" /></a><br />A swarm of earthquakes have rattled us here Beyond Ester. On the map, you can see the dozens that have hit Alaska in the last 24 hours. The red ones are less than an hour old, the orange ones are 1-12 hours old, the yellow ones are up to 23 hours old, and the white ones occurred within the last day. You will note the cluster of red and orange in the middle, which is approximately where Beyond Ester is located. Two in the 3.5+ range last night, two more at 6:00AM this morning, several small ones since then. Kayt suggested that the one last night at 9:00PM felt like someone shaking the house from the top. The one at 6:00 AM creaked the logs, but the ones at 7:30AM just felt like we were swaying. Each quake has its own personality. All of these recent ones are centered near Ester.<br /><a href="http://newsminer.com/news/2009/may/29/light-earthquake-hits-fairbanks/">Here's a Fairbanks News-Miner article about the quakes.</a> Like some of the posters on this article, these quakes are getting a bit freaky in their frequency. I told Kayt last night that I've had my big earthquake adventure in Alaska and that I don't need to experience any more.<br /><a href="http://www.aeic.alaska.edu/">Here is a link to the Alaska Earthquake Information Center (AEIC)</a>--one day when you're looking for something to jiggle you out of complacency, do some serious cruising of their site. <br />Thanks to the <a href="http://www.aeic.alaska.edu/recent/sub/index.html">AEIC</a> for their constant monitoring and automatic data generation, as well as for the map above.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-43181660624969676462009-05-23T12:18:00.004-08:002009-05-23T12:34:39.450-08:00I feel the earth move under my feet<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQtlmIVlYEKC3hElnN419bbq8j7Fwdwrf-jIouHMaihpS8VmJacOPR9ZSNt2zWZYGX2VQld0rv9Ye_PROlwD6uU9ike8YCnoAdm2KsOm-fOi9SANvLudRpj0Sd9srPhdD8qAB3AaNz_f0/s1600-h/5-21-09+quake.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQtlmIVlYEKC3hElnN419bbq8j7Fwdwrf-jIouHMaihpS8VmJacOPR9ZSNt2zWZYGX2VQld0rv9Ye_PROlwD6uU9ike8YCnoAdm2KsOm-fOi9SANvLudRpj0Sd9srPhdD8qAB3AaNz_f0/s200/5-21-09+quake.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339117550351432210" /></a><br />Wow. Not the Big One, but the Close One! An 3.8 earthquake woke us all up here Beyond Ester in the middle of the night. The Alaska Earthquake Information Center notes that the quake's epicenter is 4 miles south of Ester. (Click on the map for an enlarged version) That's where we live. Everyone at our house woke up. The dogs barked their furious moose alert bark, thinking that there was a moose stomping on the deck. Kayt said she thought the cats were shaking the bed. I thought a grader had taken a wrong turn and was in our driveway headed for the house. We also heard it--a rumbly buzzy sound. Always interesting, living in Alaska!<br /><a href="http://www.aeic.alaska.edu/Seis/recent/sub/quakes/2009143_evid106087/evid106087.html"><em>Thanks to the UAF Geophysical Institute for the map.</em></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-84865908083729514662009-05-02T22:09:00.003-08:002009-05-29T21:38:47.075-08:00Bird tragedy?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8PihYjs_1DcQJySm-zh8pC02k0uFOtl01RJnH-MtD_B_aXl-pkESczToQkFF69bn7og2WAqBuw40IWxtRcY14SYCvQEgxYags10VxWtvSdwifK93329kPeabhZbJ_l4sD9GfDduF4Fw/s1600-h/birdgoddess3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332174042093494210" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 175px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8PihYjs_1DcQJySm-zh8pC02k0uFOtl01RJnH-MtD_B_aXl-pkESczToQkFF69bn7og2WAqBuw40IWxtRcY14SYCvQEgxYags10VxWtvSdwifK93329kPeabhZbJ_l4sD9GfDduF4Fw/s200/birdgoddess3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Thunk!!<br /><br />I knew what had happened without even rising from the couch. A large bird had crashed into our window. Kayt looked out, and spotted a male Hairy Woodpecker on a tree near the window. She heaved a sigh of relief. "It's alright," she said. I got up from the couch. "No, it's not," I responded, looking at the ground just under the window. "Oh no," Kayt breathed with alarm. There lay a dazed female Hairy Woodpecker, her neck stretched out in the wet, melting, icy grass. She breathed heavily and unevenly, her head askew, eyes closed. Her breathing turned to shudders that made her feathers twitch. I turned away, couldn't watch the inevitable end, though I prayed to the Goddess for mercy for the suffering bird.<br /><br />Kayt went out, against my vociferous objections, and moved the bird out from under the dripping roofline. She reported that the bird looked up at her, and attempted to move away from her as she approached. The bird's mate, she said, was very upset, and remained vigilantly on the tree nearby chirping its fear and alarm incessantly. I could not watch nor listen, but instead retreated under my covers on the couch to cry for the pretty bird whose life was seeping into the snow melt under our window.<br /><br />An hour later, the injured bird was gone. Vanished. Kayt understood the vanishing as the bird getting its head together and flying off into the sunset with its obviously upset mate. I understood the disappearance as a fox sent by The Divine to end the woodpecker's misery.<br /><br />As it turns out, Kayt was right. Or maybe I was, too, at least in my pleading for Divine Intervention. In any case, the next day, we saw both Hairy Woodpeckers feeding on the suet. We only had one pair of Hairys, so we are certain that the female is the same individual who had seemed to be so critically injured.<br /><br />Our wilderness and wild creatures are resilient. But to prevent future incidents, we installed fake spiderwebs on the windows near the bird feeders. The spiderwebs have stabilia--those solid parts of the web in the center. Some scientists think that stabilia have evolved over the millenia to prevent birds from crashing into spider webs. We'll see if the static cling variety works. Meanwhile, I sent a prayer of thanks to the Bird Goddess who intervened for our lovely female Hairy Woodpecker.<br /><br /><em>Image above: Neolithic Bird Goddess, 5900-5800 BCE</em> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/eclipse.rutgers.edu/goose/about/appendix_b.aspx">eclipse.rutgers.edu/goose/about/appendix_b.aspx</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-80520822806628121442009-04-23T23:24:00.003-08:002009-04-23T23:54:05.679-08:00Melting<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqq5bZYH4xwfHBdQN3AXHPARV9HgG5R0Woj3-w_N8Lwe0cnMz4bEwzA8RapOddKhcFh4Wkb2VgeonzSx72mhjTZhcR1j8eaVx6JGLqakcSOz8GRZZ3dfhwK4xXFPngmmYUT3UHMmCpXjQ/s1600-h/kayt+digs+greenhs+06.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 162px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqq5bZYH4xwfHBdQN3AXHPARV9HgG5R0Woj3-w_N8Lwe0cnMz4bEwzA8RapOddKhcFh4Wkb2VgeonzSx72mhjTZhcR1j8eaVx6JGLqakcSOz8GRZZ3dfhwK4xXFPngmmYUT3UHMmCpXjQ/s200/kayt+digs+greenhs+06.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328162694618536194" /></a><br />The land has turned into a giant sponge. We still have about two feet of snow, but it's melting quickly and the ice trails are collapsing. The greenhouse is flooded with four inches of water that is seeping in as the snow outside melts. We have tiny lettuces in the beds, and flats full of broccoli, cabbages, cauliflower, all the usual cole crop suspects. Creasy greens about to come up. I wonder if we are the first to grow creasies in Alaska. Ever had creasies? They grew wild at Bold Moon in North Carolina. We'd mow the patch every fall, and the seeds would lay dormant all winter under their nice warm mulch. Early spring, those beautiful heart-shaped leaves would form in rosettes and we'd pick tendrils. Even now, my mouth waters for a good mess of creasies. Steamed just lightly with a splash of vinegar and a dash of pepper. Yum. <br /><br />But this is Alaska, and even things like creasies must be grown inside, with special insulation, heat, and beds raised from the snow melt. >sigh< Soon we will be feasting on the six kinds of lettuce planted in the greenhouse, and musing about this past winter, swapping "it was so cold that..." stories. <br /><br />At least one more major earthquake this April--in this one, the floor rumbled, but Kali didn't awaken. Kayt was gone again--down to San Diego for a conference. She has missed both of the good earthquakes this year! Doh!<br /><br />Only a handful of redpolls left at the feeder. A mated pair of Hairy Woodpeckers, and also a pair of Downy Woodpeckers. Yesterday, a job candidate and I spotted what I think was a Sharp-Shinned Hawk wheeling over the baby reindeer patch at the U. And, of course, the Canada Geese arrived last week at Creamer's Field. I was there the first day, and saw eight. This weekend Kayt counted several dozen. Life is good, spring is here.<br /><br /><em>In the pix above, Kayt, with Ursa's help, dug out the snow where she built our greenhouse in April 2006.</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-60512825019146874492009-03-28T15:23:00.002-08:002009-03-28T15:31:28.039-08:00Redpoll migrationYesterday, there were 100+/- redpolls in our yard feasting on seeds. The trees were full of trills and chirps, and the air swarmed with birds dashing to and from the feeders to the ground to the trees to the feeders again. We have had to fill the bird feeders twice a day for about two weeks. Every day we seem to have had more redpolls. Now, the feeder is empty except for a couple of chickadees and less than a dozen redpolls. There are about 40 redpolls that have been hanging out at various times today, but the huge flock that was here yesterday has vanished. Could it really be time for them to leave?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7585541159019556200.post-38806752140804216822009-03-17T19:20:00.004-08:002009-03-17T22:04:58.613-08:00Rumble Creak<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYO0sMZhKB0_S7Mfb2mCq5NgeKkrxmJXsF6p5e6Lvk81jKYlbmioGcTwsDj398UBCASj8Q900r5Qjq3g4LPImymh7XL_Oxq8Q4H_oPZs-WWyQ6otjJ_nQyhJ8ExVq3jWQGBd8ylg-9Pc/s1600-h/rumble.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYO0sMZhKB0_S7Mfb2mCq5NgeKkrxmJXsF6p5e6Lvk81jKYlbmioGcTwsDj398UBCASj8Q900r5Qjq3g4LPImymh7XL_Oxq8Q4H_oPZs-WWyQ6otjJ_nQyhJ8ExVq3jWQGBd8ylg-9Pc/s200/rumble.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314365479840935618" /></a><br />Last night we had an earthquake somewhere beyond Beyond Ester. In the past, I have experienced earthquakes as the ground or building swaying, sometimes a shudder that seems to emanate from underneath. But last night, the symptom was a sudden craaaccckk from the logs in the house. Earlier, it had been very windy, so when I heard the logs cracking and creaking, I took the dogs out to determine if we needed to evacuate the house, gather kitties, and head to a storm shelter. After eight years in Iowa, one of my first reactions to strange surging sounds is to find a solid shelter. But when the dogs and I opened the door to the outside, all was silent. No fiercely clanging windchimes, no madly swaying birch trees. We came back into the house, and I noticed that my alarm clock had tipped over. Some of the dishes had slid in the cabinets. Kali, the complacent and usually oblivious elder cat, was sitting up, her eyes wide. Ahhhhh... an earthquake, I thought. This morning, I mentioned my experience to my co-worker, who directed me to UAF's Geophysical Institute earthquakes info page. What a wealth of information! It looks like the earthquake we experienced was about 150 miles south of Beyond Ester. I'm curious about how the shock waves travel... do they emanate through rock like water waves? Or more like sound waves traveling through the air? Regardless, it was an interesting experience, but not one that I need to replay. Visit the Geophysical Institute to read stats on the Beyond Beyond Ester Earthquake here: <a href="http://www.aeic.alaska.edu/Seis/recent/sub/quakes/2009076_evid96061/evid96061.html">http://www.aeic.alaska.edu/Seis/recent/sub/quakes/2009076_evid96061/evid96061.html</a> This is also the site where I got the cool map, above. Thanks, GI!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4