Issues with McDonalds

As we were getting our bearings in Fairbanks, we discovered that the post office, where we had our PO box, was right down the hill from the university. Just in front of the post office was a McDonald’s with a drive-thru. One day, we drove through and were surprised to see Ronald McDonald hanging from a tree in a backyard just over the privacy wall. It was a bit startling.

For the entire decade we were there, so was Ronald, just hanging from that tree. We rarely went to McDonald’s, but our eyes were drawn to it every time we drove by. We later found out that this was a protest against the building of the McDonald’s in the first place. There had apparently been a zoning change which paved the way, much to the dismay of the people who lived there. They were subjected to the smells, noise, and headlights that came with the restaurant. They built the privacy wall, which would have taken care of the headlight problem, I suppose, but the issues remained and the homeowners were not happy about it. They expressed their anger in a very visible way. It has been years since we left Alaska. Whether Ronald hangs there still, I do not know.

nanwalek

Nawalek International Airport

This is Bill writing here.

This is a story of my visit to a small Native village, Nanwalek, from 1999 when I was a researcher for the Alaska Oral History Program at the University of Alaska Fairbanks.  We had a grant from the Department of Fish and Game, to conduct some interviews of Native elders.  The project’s main objective was to collect stories concerning the Alaskan Native traditional sustenance way of life.  Along with interviewing, we were going to collect some of their personal photos that illustrated their way of life.  We would scan those photos and send them back.  The village, the elders, the Dept. of Fish and Game and the university would all get copies of the project.  The final outcome would be a digital project on the University’s website, Project Jukebox, for free access to anyone who was interested.  It would be added as part of a larger project that already existed.

Flying in to Nanwalek was an adventure.  It was an hour flight from Anchorage and pretty scenic.  The plane reminded me of a small car that had wings.  It didn’t seem very sturdy as we piled in.  It was the pilot, myself and a co-worker.  I have to admit I was a little nervous.  As we headed to the village, the wind rattled the plane a bit.  I was even more amazed when I found out that we were going to land on a very small beach.  We did and the pilot just chuckled at us.  He was a bush pilot and was used to these kinds of places.  He told us that he would pick us up in a few days unless it was windy or bad weather.  As we left the plane, a few locals were putting their bags in the plane.  They were going to Anchorage.  

A few days later we were sitting in an elder's kitchen eating bear stew and listening for the plane, there was also a bunch of little kids watching cartoons on the tv and laughing.  Then we heard it, the sound of the plane.   We quickly grabbed our packs and ran to the beach, only a few minutes away but were told it was going to be full and there was no room.   A few people had medical appointments so they had preference.  A day later we left.  It was an adventure that I'll never forget. 

plane arriving at the terminal :)

plane taking off

Nanwalek  project can be seen here

pearl

One day several months after we’d moved to Fairbanks, for reasons that must forever remain a mystery to me, Bill took our daughter to the Humane Society ‘just to look around.’  This was not the first time this had happened. One of the cats that made the journey with us joined our family after such a visit. So it was no surprise that upon their return, there was discussion about the highly intelligent cat who knew a good thing when she saw it and reached out a delicate paw between the bars of her cage, to touch our daughter as she walked by. That’s all it took for Daughter to be smitten. Her birthday was coming up. Could we adopt Pearl? Please?

I am sure no one reading this will be surprised to learn that they went back, signed all the papers, and agreed to be humble servants to another feline boss. And boss is the word. Pearl made it known from the start that she was in charge and everyone else could either obey (humans) or get out of her way (canine and feline). 

She was not in a great mood by the time she entered her new home. It was standard procedure to give each adopted animal a tattoo in the ear so they could be identified if they got lost. Unfortunately, there was a mishap with the ink gun, which exploded, spewing ink over half of her face. When she was placed on the floor of her new castle, Inu, the 150-pound dog, went to say hello. Pearl greeted him with a whack in the face. When we saw the blood, we thought she had gotten him in the eye, but she made contact just next to it. The parameters of their relationship were set.

Pearl was an adult when she hired us and set in her ways. None of our other cats were outdoor cats, but there was no way to keep Pearl inside. Because we lived on three wooded acres in a place without much traffic, she was safe. She would go outside even in the extreme cold of winter.  

One thing she liked to do was sit on the stovepipe of the sauna cabin, surveying her territory. When she was ready to come in, she would sit on the outside windowsill glaring at us until someone noticed and rushed to let her in. If we did not hurry to the door quickly enough, she got down, stood on her hind legs and scratched at the window with her front paws while meowing (not that we could hear her). We started calling out, ‘Code P!’ when this would happen and we’d let Daughter take care of it. Then we got a gift that came in quite handy for such moments.

Someone gave us a torch (flashlight) that included a radio and a siren/alarm setting, complete with flashing light. Once we had that, whenever Pear was scratching at the window, one of us would yell, ‘Code P!’ and set the alarm off. ‘I know!’ Daughter would grumble as she stomped towards the door to let in she-who-must-be-obeyed.

Some years later, Daughter moved away and we moved to a cabin in a town 20 miles away, where we lived for about a year. When it was time for us to move from there, we were unsure at first about where we would go and what our situation would be, so we reluctantly placed ads looking for good homes for the three cats. The first couple to answer the ad came to see them. In addition to Pearl, we had two more rescues who had come to us as adults and who were already declawed. Pearl was not declawed. The couple had a baby. The wife insisted she wanted Pearl, even though Pearl was not friendly towards her. They took Pearl with them. A few days later, another couple came to see the other two cats, one black and one white. They also had small children. Everyone was thrilled—they wanted cats for the kids, but didn’t want kittens. The cats were friendly. They adopted both of them.

#

A couple of weeks later, I was sitting in my usual chair reading the newspaper. On Saturdays, they published the ‘pet of the week’ at the Humane Society. I called up to Bill, who was upstairs, that there was a cat that looked like Pearl in the paper and I started reading the accompanying story. ‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘This doesn’t just LOOK like Pearl! It IS Pearl,’ I exclaimed. Bill came rushing down the ladder-like ‘stairs’ to have a look. Then we called the Humane Society and talked to someone there, saying we’d be there soon to pick her up. We found out that the people who took her brought her there the very next day because she’d scratched the baby. Why they didn’t call us and say it wasn’t going to work out, I don’t know. We would have taken her back.

We got in our truck and made the drive to Fairbanks. Our first stop was Fred Meyer, so we could pick up cat food, another litter box, and some cat litter, since we’d given those things to the family who adopted the other cats. Then we went to the Humane Society, where they brought us to Pearl. She gave us a look and started meowing. We paid the fees, filled out paperwork and waited while they looked for her tattoo. The women at the Humane Society were happy Pearl was going home, but they also said they’d miss her. ‘She has such a personality. She’s like, like, a Queen!’ And so she became from that moment onward. I started calling her Queen. She seemed to be fine with that.

milepost

one of the popular places tourists like to have their photo taken. 

a cold day on the river

One day, my Inupiaq Eskimo language teacher asked me if I had a parka. I said I didn’t. She said she’d make me one. When she gave it to me, I was stunned. It was beautiful. Purple is my favourite colour, so she used purple velveteen for the outer layer, with a trim that went well with the deep colour. There was a layer in the middle and a lavender fleece fabric layer inside. It had a hood with a ruff made of wolf fur and it could be tied in such a way that there was just enough space for me to see out of, with the rest of my face protected from the extreme cold. The sleeves were tight at the wrists and lined with wolverine fur, to keep out the cold. The bottom edge tapered in for the same reason. She’d asked me if I wanted a ruffle at the bottom or not and I chose to not have one—either way was common for Inupiaq-style parkas.

One day we were visiting her. I wore the parka, of course. She commented that she should have made it warmer, but I assured her that it was perfect just as it was. The truth was, if she’d made it warmer, I would not have been able to wear it. If it was -30 or -35 (F), I could wear it unzipped, otherwise I would overheat. If it was colder than that, I could wear it as it was meant to be worn, as in the photo. On that day, it was very cold (-45 or below)--perfect for the start of the Yukon Quest sled dog race, which is what we were in town to watch.

The Yukon Quest is a sled dog race run between Fairbanks and Whitehorse in the Yukon Territory. They alternate directions each year—so it starts in Fairbanks on the frozen Chena River every other year. That year, I was glad to have my parka, my handmade mukluks, and my heavy mittens—and the latte I got from the coffee shop!

Bill on his way to the start of the race after parking the truck

spectators lining up on the bridge over the Chena River to watch the start of the Yukon Quest 1000 mile race.  It ends in Whitehouse, Yukon Territory.

The statue is Malcolm Alexander's “Unknown First Family,” which in his words is “Portraying the family of all mankind, the family of Fairbanks, and the nuclear family, let this statue symbolize, for families present and future, the pride and dignity of this great land.”

seasonal round

 

What Goes Around Comes Around

June, month of light; it never gets dark

I am up early and go to bed late.

I watch the sun move in a circle around the sky,

Changing the color of the birch leaves

Who knew there were so many shades of green?

July, endless summer and it’s getting old.

The days never end, 

The mosquitoes have gone.

I am tired of the sun.

I am tired of green.

I am tired.

August.  

Here comes the rain again bringing the colors with it.

Mushrooms poke their yellow and red heads from the brown earth,

While high bush cranberry leaves blush crimson red.

Every morning I go outside and breathe in deeply,

Hoping to feel the first bite of fall filling my lungs,

As a golden birch leaf falls silently to my feet.

September’s golden hills surround me.

I walk on a carpet of yellow leaves

That have let go of summer and have fallen like the sun

Finally we have night again.

October and the world is transformed from dead brown

To crystal white as the snow falls magically from a gray sky.

It is time to hibernate with my candles,

And my Christmas lights,

And my books and yarn,

And myself.

November, December—darker and darker,

 I feel more and more joyful with each passing day.

The peace and tranquility of the dark mornings

Fill me with gratitude for all I have,

And all that I am.

I sit and enjoy the silence and give thanks.

January and the light returns,

Six more minutes each day.

Outside in my purple parka on a clear –40 degree day,

Even my breath is brittle.

It feels like it will shatter and crash to the ground in tiny pieces

To blend with the snow that crunches under my feet 

Sparkling like a carpet of diamonds.

April and May and winter gives way.

The white melts into brown, as my mood turns black.

Piles of filthy snow sit in parking lots and along roadways.

Driveways and dirt roads become lakes of mud.

I can hear the mosquitoes breeding.

Turning my face to the sky,

I desperately search,

Hoping to see a faint wash of green against the blue,

That tells me the birch leaves are budding

And will soon be back.

Are there really that many shades of green?

being peace

BEING PEACE

Thanksgiving decorations

seem strangely

out of place

here

where the harvest has been

over for months and

the red and gold

leaves

have been smothered by the snow

that will be here until

April

overstaying its welcome.

The morning is cold, dark, and still

except for the manic chickadees

swooping to the feeder,

grabbing a seed and

flying away.

Wrapping myself in a shawl

I take my seat by

the window.

Cradling my cup of tea

I hold the mug to

my face

Letting my breath mingle with

the wispy tendrils of heat

escaping from the mug

into the air.

I feel the peace wrapping itself

around me 

and

flowing into me.

I watch the candle flames dance

to the peaceful sounds

of the chants that

flow from the 

stereo

no other light but that of my own

contentment.

In a while I will pick up some

reading

or some

knitting

but for now

I will just sit here

being peace

and radiating joy.

moose crossing

When we went to Fairbanks to find a place to live, one thing we noticed right away was the many moose crossing signs. They were everywhere. We eagerly awaited our first moose sighting. Alas, we did not see one moose on that trip, nor did we see one during the first few months after we’d moved there. We had met our neighbours, who lived down the road a bit, and mentioned our eagerness to see some moose. One night, they called to tell us that a moose was headed our way. We went directly to the large windows and waited. Then, all of a sudden, there it was! The tall, gangly being, slowly walking among the trees looking for something to munch on. We watched with rapt attention. I am not sure how long we stood there.

After living there for a while, moose sightings became commonplace and it was kind of sad to realise that. We just took them for granted We still enjoyed watching them, and we knew to respect them, because you don’t want to get between a mama moose and her offspring. She has a mean kick that can do serious damage and has killed small dogs. Our neighbours had a garden and they had to try to make a moose-proof fence. I chuckled, remembering my Nana, who used to see the deer in her large garden and would keep a pot and wooden spoon by the back door for just such moments. I vividly remember her storming out the door, banging on the pot and yelling, ‘You deer get out of my garden!’ I’m not sure how she would have dealt with moose munching on her veggies!

We had large windows in our round house and we had our dining table next to one of them. One morning, I turned around with my coffee and saw a moose on the porch looking in the window at my breakfast.

I loved winter mornings in that house. I would sit by one of the windows that looked out down the driveway, a curved path cut through the trees. It would not get light until 10:30 or 11, depending on the month, and I would sit drinking tea, listening to quiet music, and stitching or reading, stopping frequently to just look out the window. I had icicle lights hanging down in the windows, which were double-paned, so the lights were reflected in them, providing enough light, but not too much. I had candles burning. 

The cats would sleep in their improvised cat cabins, made out of boxes and set in front of the heater. The dogs napped on the floor in front of the heater. It was quiet. As sunrise slowly approached, the birds would come to the feeder, the squirrels would attempt to steal some seed (but never succeeded) and the moose would come. It was so blissfully peaceful.

Our dog, Inu, also liked the moose, but in a different way. One day, our Inupiaq Eskimo friends came to visit, bringing him the gift of a moose bone. He was thrilled and strutted around the house. But we apparently did not make enough enthusiastic noises to suit him, and he started whining as he marched around the house with the giant bone hanging from his mouth. We started making exclamations of delight in our high pitched voices. ‘Oh, what do you have there?’ ‘What a big bone!’ ‘What an excellent bone!’ After a minute or two of this, he was satisfied and settled down with his treat.

Sadly, it was pretty common for moose to get hit by cars and killed. When this happened, the list was consulted. I am not sure who kept this list, but it consisted of people and groups that signed up to come to the scene when a moose was killed by a vehicle. They butchered the moose and kept or distributed the meat, so it did not go to waste.

They are definitely magnificent creatures! 

water 4

After about a year of this, it got old, and we decided to start going to the laundromat and to get water from a place closer to town.  It cost two cents a gallon there, where the other place was free, but it was closer so we used less gas, and it was easier.  You could pull right up and they had hoses, like at the gas station.  It was right near where Bill worked, so it was convenient—and it meant no more getting up early on Sunday morning!

    About nine months later, Bill tried again to get someone to go into the tank and fix the hole.  He had tried when the hole was first discovered and no one would do it.  I can’t say I blame them—the only way into the tank was through a small opening about 18 inches across.  Then the person would have to stand in there with a torch and weld a new piece of metal over the hole!  The thought of being in that tank, with such a tiny opening with flame and smoke makes me queasy!  But this time, he found someone who would do it. Of course, by this time, the pump was frozen, as was the line to the house.  And the water heater was shot, so we had to get those things fixed.  Finally, one day, we turned on the faucet, and out came water!  It was weird.  So we tried to get used to having water once again.  It didn’t last long.  By this time we were selling the house and the new one we bought had a septic system, but no running water.  We knew how to live like that—we’d had lots of practice.  So we were back to hauling water.  We knew though, that we had it easier than people who don’t have septic systems.  We had an indoor bathroom and drains and things like that.  

We could take something like a shower in our own house, and we could stay inside to go to the bathroom, instead of trudging through the snow at –45 degrees to use the outhouse.  Because of that, it really wasn’t that bad to be without running water.  In some ways, it was easier.  We never had to worry about running out of water because we could always see how much we had and go get it ourselves when we needed more.  It was much cheaper to get it ourselves than to have it delivered.  And our electric bill plummeted.  It is amazing how much electricity we had used in our first years there simply for water!  We never had to worry about pipes freezing or plugging in the heat tape.  It was annoying at times, but it was satisfying in a way too.  I felt that I was living in a more basic way somehow.  The water wasn’t the only reason for that—I had gotten to a place where I was eliminating lots of extraneous stuff from my life, and running water became one more thing that was eliminated.  And I suppose I felt somewhat virtuous—I was conserving, and conserving a lot!  As a family of three, we used less than 100 gallons of water per week in the house, plus whatever we used to do our one load of laundry at the laundromat.  It was a real learning experience, and one I am rather glad I had!  It helped me to understand that what we commonly think of as “necessary” can usually be revised!

water 3

Things went along like that for several years.  Again we thought we were doing such a good job using water wisely.  Then we got to go to the next level.  One day I was doing dishes when there was a drop in water pressure.  From past experience, I knew that this meant the pump was not pumping water into the house.  Bill went to investigate and what he found was a flood!  The underground room was knee deep in water!  That meant the tank had sprung a leak.  It was December 30 and cold, but thankfully, not as cold as it could have been!  He called a rental place to try and rent a pump.  He explained the situation and the guy took pity on him, I guess.  He said they don’t usually rent out pumps in the winter because people bring them back frozen, but since technically we would not be using it outside, he would make an exception.  By the time we got the pump home and started pumping, it was 3 p.m.  We finished at midnight.  By the time the water was pumped out of the room, there was still some left in the tank, so I filled as many containers as I could find to get us through the next few days.  This began the next stage in our water adventure!

The next day we returned the pump and then went to buy some water containers.  We found seven, six, and five gallon jugs.  Then we went to find the spring that we had heard people talking about.  We discovered that we had driven by it without knowing what it was on several occasions.  

We pulled up, parked and brought our jugs up to the spigots.  There were two of them on a little platform over the spring.  We pressed a metal button and water came out of the spigot—sometimes fast and sometimes slow—it depended on the water level and whether both spigots were in use.  Once it was full, I went to pick up the six-gallon jug and almost fell down!  It was so heavy!  I had no idea water weighed so much!  And, to make matters worse, the place was a sheet of ice—all uneven and bumpy, with no traction at all.  Under the spigots was a metal grate so ice wouldn’t build up so fast, but around that was like this hill of ice and you had to kind of brace yourself against that to get the water.  It was always a nerve-wracking time, trying to get those full containers back to the truck.  And if people came up after you, instead of waiting by their vehicles, they had to line up their containers right behind you, so there was no room to move.  I grew to hate going there.  The water was really good, but the experience was tedious—at least in the winter.  

The metal button was cold, though someone showed us how to shove a penny in there to keep it depressed—that was good for my frozen fingers!  It was icy and sometimes crowded, and people were inconsiderate.  It was treacherous to try to get from the truck to the water and back to the truck.  And in order to beat the crowds, we got up very early on Sunday morning to get there.  It took an hour altogether from the time we left to the time we got back.    If, for some reason, we used more water than usual, we had to make an extra trip.  We were very careful with water.  We heated a kettle of water for dishes and for “showers.”  We learned to wash with even less water.  We used about a gallon to “shower.”  It took a long time to do things now that you had to wait for the water to heat up.  Instead of jumping in the shower, we had to heat up the water and mix it with colder water to get the right temperature.  Then we had to be very careful once we were in there washing up, because once that hot water was gone, there wasn’t any more.  To do dishes we filled a dishpan with hot water washed them all, then rinsed from the beverage cooler thing we had on the counter by the sink.  It had a little spigot, and that served as our “running water” for the sink.  Cooking changed because we never wanted to produce large amounts of dirty dishes—they were a pain to clean.  For a while, I even was doing the laundry by hand.  That was quite something in the winter—hanging dripping wet clothes outside on the clothesline and watching them steam until they froze, leaving icicles hanging from them.

water 2

So began our experience with water in Fairbanks.  We became very aware of every single drop we used.  It is one thing to pay your city water and sewer bill every three months and not pay much attention to it.  But when you have to constantly keep an eye on the water level in your tank and pay 6 cents per gallon (now currently 9 cents per gallon) when it gets too low, you have a different perspective!  As it turns out, our well produced a lot sometimes and very little at other times, so we never knew when we would need a delivery.  Bill would go down every couple of days and check the level in the tank.  In time, he was able to recognize the level at which an order for 1000 gallons of water should be called in for the next day.  In the winter, we usually went a few months between deliveries; at other times of the year it was more like three weeks.  One summer we went only nine days between deliveries.  That was expensive!     

 

Some people in town put tanks of 300-500 gallons in the back of their pick-up trucks or on trailers and they hauled water themselves.  They would go to the water station and pay two cents a gallon to fill their tank and then bring it home and fill the holding tank in their house.  We didn’t have the equipment for that, so we paid the extra to have it delivered to our house—and it certainly was convenient to have them do that when it was –40 outside.  We had one mishap when we ordered 1000 gallons (as we always did) and for some unknown reason, they pumped 1300 gallons into the tank—and all over the floor of the underground room.  We had to rent a pump to clean up the mess.  Still, we got used to things.

  We learned to take fast showers and to get wet, turn off the water, soap up, turn the water back on, rinse, and get out.  This was not as bad as you might think when taking a shower in the morning.  The bathroom was cold and standing there wet was not something I cared to spend lots of time doing!  It became second nature to us to turn off the water when brushing teeth, or washing dishes, and to simply be mindful when we were using water for any purpose.  It was a somewhat difficult transition for the Norwegian exchange student we had one year, who was used to 20-minute (literally) showers at home where there is water everywhere.  She also had to learn to turn off the lights when she left the room, which annoyed her mother to no end when she returned home.  Since they use water to produce their electricity, they pay virtually nothing for it, so they leave lights on all the time.  Even she got used to it, though I am sure she was happy to get back to her long, steamy showers when she returned home!

water 1

this is the water wagon station where you can fill up your containers.  A delivery truck can be seen on the side of the station filling up so he can go out and deliver water to their customers.

Water—we tend to take it for granted.  Turn on the faucet and out it flows.  Oh, sure, while we lived in Portland, we had drought warnings in the summer sometimes and being a person who believes in conservation, I was always happy to try to cut back on my usage.  And I thought I was doing a pretty good job!  It didn’t take very long in Fairbanks, though, for me to learn that there was more to be done.

    Fairbanks is very dry.  There are also permafrost areas.  So ground water is not abundant.  Building a house off the city water system means making choices.  You can try to dig a well, but it will probably have to be very deep and expensive.  The quality of the water may be questionable.  You can go without running water altogether—many people do this.  There are cabins all over the area with outhouses and no water.  

4.40 for a 10min shower

Laundromats have shower rooms to accommodate people who live in these places. Water is available at pumping stations and at a spring north of town.  If neither of those options appeals to you, you can install a holding tank and have water delivered.  Our house had a well that pumped water into a holding tank that was in a subterranean room that you could climb down into.  We were told that the well pumped 200 gallons of water a day.  This would be no problem, we figured, since we were pretty good at not using large amounts of water—or so we thought!

    A few days after our arrival in Fairbanks, someone flushed.  It was pretty clear from the resulting noises that we were not getting any water coming into the house.  Bill and Rick climbed underground to have a look.  Yup, the tank was dry.  They tried the button for the well pump.  Nothing happened.  Figuring that there was a problem with the pump, we looked up the number of the company that had recently installed the pump, though since it was Independence Day, we knew we wouldn’t be talking to them until the following day.

   Someone came out in the morning, tested it and said everything was fine.  We just had a well that was producing variably, we were told, and to test exactly how much would be an expensive proposition.  We were advised to just have water delivered.  Back to the phone book we went.  Rick called around town and discovered that everyone’s prices were the same—six cents per gallon with a $50 minimum.  They kept asking how big the tank was and Rick kept guessing 500 gallons.  We picked a company and they came over.  The guy went to look at the tank and informed us it was 1500 gallons.  Then he began pumping the water through the black pipe sticking up from the ground (so that’s what that was for!).  It was just like an oil delivery that you might get to heat your house.  It took several minutes and that was it!  We paid the bill and the guy left.

house to house

 When I got my acceptance letter from the PhD program at the university in Fairbanks, it was March. I still had a term to go in my MA program, a thesis to defend, and a job as a teaching assistant to complete. Our daughter was finishing her time in middle school. Bill was working graveyard shift. So we couldn’t move right away, but we could slowly start the transition.

One thing we had to do was sell our house. We had a small house on a corner double lot that had two large maple trees on the side and a couple of tall birch trees plus three large plum trees out front. It was a great little house, but it was dated (built around 1900) and would have had code issues. For example, it still had fuses instead of circuit breakers. When we bought it, it was an owner finance situation. We had a 10-year contract and had lived there for 7 years. It’s amazing to think we only paid $30,000 for it—people spend more than that on cars these days! During the time we lived there, the area was becoming desirable and we had regular cold calls from strangers asking if we would be interested in selling. 

Because we had a double lot, there was a bit of space between us and our next door neighbour. On the other side of his very small house was one that was like the others in the neighbourhood—two floors. The same people we bought from had owned all three houses. The neighbour (I’ll call him Grouchy) had bought his from them and the people on his other side were renting. We avoided Grouchy, but were friends with the people on his other side.  Grouchy used to complain about many things, both real and imagined. He once knocked on our door and yelled at me because he heard our dog barking when we locked him up in the garage. I informed him that we never put our dog in the garage and he sputtered that he heard a dog barking. Not my dog, dude. He complained to our friends that he could hear the kids when they went up and down the stairs and the water going through their pipes. Grouchy had some issues.

One day, he bumped into Bill outside. When Bill mentioned that we were going to move, Grouchy told him he was interested in buying our house on a contract and he was ready to talk about it when Bill was. When Bill said we weren’t in a position to do owner-financing, Grouchy got testy and told Bill to come back and talk to him when we couldn’t sell it any other way. 

Bill dealt with the selling of the house, because he was home during the day. He called a realtor and set up an appointment. The guy came and said that because of the code issues, he couldn’t sell it, but knew someone who would probably be interested. The guy came to look at it. He told Bill an involved story about how he wanted to buy the house for his daughter, who was newly remarried after an abusive relationship and he wanted to give her and his grandson a new start and blah, blah, blah. He gave us what we wanted for the house, paid us in cash in early May, and then let us stay there rent-free until the end of June. Because of the term times at my university, I would not be done with my final term until early June. Grouchy was disappointed.

Selling our house in the way we did made it easier to go to Fairbanks and find a place to live there, so in mid-May, we went there and talked to a realtor. When he heard our story, he said he thought he had the right place for us and brought us to a funky house three miles up the hill from the university. It was a round house on 3 acres in the woods. The owner wanted to do a contract. The terms of this were favourable, so we bought the house. Since this all happened on the first business day we were there, we still had most of the week to explore the area a little bit. It was exciting.

When we moved into the house, we found some slides showing the process of building it. It wasn’t a ‘regular’ house. The guy we bought it from had been a math teacher and this was a kind of experiment, we were told.  He had had a totem pole carved in Ketchikan and transported to Fairbanks, where it was painted then erected in a cleared area of the woods. The rest of the house was built around it. Metal girdles were strapped around the top and the bottom and then wooden beams places at specific intervals coming out from the totem pole. The house was round and the outside walls sloped inward from top to bottom. Inside there was a large living room/dining area/kitchen that took up a bit more than half of the circle, with the totem pole in the center. There were two bedrooms and a bathroom along the edge of the other semi-circle and a utility room in back. Outside, there was a porch that wrapped around part of the house, with doors on either side that led to arctic entries from which one could enter either the living room or kitchen. It was a fun house in a great location.

We did a bit of research and discovered that the totem pole was a replica of the Chief Johnson pole in southeast Alaska. It depicted the story of Fog Woman and Raven. In short, the story goes that Fog Woman knew how to call the salmon to her and Raven liked this, so cozied up to her. Eventually, they got married and Raven’s greed got the best of him. He started to berate her for not bringing enough salmon and once, in a rage, he hit her. She told him off and left. He chased her, but she slipped away, like fog, into the ocean. The salmon followed her and Raven was left to be lonely and hungry. Serves him right!

We were not yet done with Grouchy, though. Shortly after we moved in, we got a phone call from him

—pretty much the last person in the world I would have expected to her from. He complained about the guy who bought our house, saying that he had gotten permits to trim the beautiful plum trees and had ‘trimmed’ them down to stumps. He was fined and prevented from doing anything to the maple trees. Grouchy was threatening to sue. I told him to take it up with the person who now owned the property, since there was nothing I could do about it. He ranted for a while, told me I hadn’t heard the last of him, and hung up. I never heard from him again. 

Turns out the guy had lied to us about why he wanted to buy the house. His real plan was to knock down our house and build two houses on the double lot. I could see why Grouchy was upset. Now there would be two new tall houses on the lot, one of which would be right next to his bedroom window, not to mention all of the noise of construction. Still, it seemed a bit strange when he painted the word ‘CRY’ on the side of his wee house in protest. 

A few years later, we were in Portland on our way to a university further south, where we’d been invited to give presentations, and we decided to drive by and look at the houses that had been built. They were so ugly, with pale yellow aluminum siding and black shutters—they looked so out of place in that old neighborhood. I don’t know whether Grouchy still lived in the little house that was still there, dwarfed by the tall homes that surrounded it. It was kind of sad, but we had good memories of life in the house that used to be.

crossing the border

Pulling up to the window, we were hopeful that leaving Canada would prove to be less bizarre than entering was.  At first, we had reason for optimism.  Again we showed our IDs and told them about Rick driving our truck with the animals.  With a big smile on his face and without any questions about pepper spray, he told us, “No problem! Welcome to Alaska!” and we were waved through.  We pulled forward and waited for Rick to be waved on.  We waited and watched in the rear view mirrors.  We waited some more.  Then we saw Rick emerging from the truck.  Parking the U-Haul, we began to walk back toward the truck to see what was going on.  “Step away from the vehicle!!” barked the customs guy.  Oh great, here we go again.  Mr. Customs walked around the truck and made a move to go in the back—a move Inu, the 130 pound sled dog didn’t take kindly to.  He made his displeasure known in a series of loud and rather unpleasant sounding barks.  Mr. Customs jumped away from the vehicle and decided that showing how tough he was wasn’t that important after all.  He decided that Rick was free to go.  He drove over to where we had the U-Haul parked and told us that the guy was all smiles until Rick actually pulled up to the window.  When he actually saw Rick, who is of Mexican descent, the smiles evaporated.  He demanded to see his license so he could run a check on him.  He accused him of kidnapping his son (the letter from Kevin’s mother was rapidly produced).  He wanted to search Rick’s suitcase, though he was uninterested in Kevin’s.  Later, Kevin observed that, “He treated my dad like that because he has dark skin.”  Welcome to the United States.

Now we were all feeling angry and depressed, but we got back into the trucks and proceeded northwest.  We came upon Northway—a little town with a garage that fixes U-Hauls.  We decided to stop there and have the tire looked at. While we waited, we had lunch in the adjoining restaurant, saving our bread for another time.  After about an hour and a half, we got the verdict on the tire—ignore it and keep driving.  The truck would have to be taken to Fairbanks to be fixed anyway, as it had a bent axle.  The guy said he saw them all the time and there would be no problem.  Hoping the guy was right, we got back on the Alaska Highway.  Fairbanks seemed within reach now.  It was getting closer.

    We had one more incident to remember on our last day on the road—or at least Rick did!  We were driving through a stretch of road that was all torn up and covered in gravel.  there was no pilot car, though there were plenty of “no passing” signs.  We learned quickly that many Alaskans feel that any sort of rule does not apply to them, as some clown decided to pass Rick.  He was kicking up lots of dust and Rick went to roll up his window.  No sooner was the window up than a rock flew up and shattered it!  If he had been a little slower, it would have hit him in the head!  He was not hurt, however, so on we drove.

We finally limped into town on a bent axle and a tire that was so bald in some spots that wire was showing through.  Our truck had no driver’s side window and a cracked windshield.  But we had made it.  The realtor had left a bunch of keys and as Bill tried each one, Inu barked furiously at his own reflection in the double-paned windows.  He finally found the right key and we were in!!  What a relief!  There was still a U-Haul to be unloaded and many boxes to unpack.  There were truck windows to be fixed and furniture had to be moved around.  But all of that could wait for another day.  Just then it was enough to revel in the fact that we were home! 

rest time

Inu taking a rest from being in the truck

As it turned out, our hard-found loaf of bread was unnecessary.  Our first clue that we were not out of the woods came at a stop for road construction where we were first in line.  The girl holding the stop sign came up to the window to tell us how long we’d have to wait for the pilot car.  Then she saw the tire.  “Ooooh, that doesn’t look good,” she informed us, “I’d get that fixed in Tok if I were you.  I don’t even think you’ll make it over the big rocks ahead.”  Unsure how we were supposed to get the tire fixed in Tok when we were not even going to make it out of the construction zone, my response was to put my head against the seat back and begin to cry.  Meanwhile, the cheerful stop sign girl had gone back to warn Rick that he should stay well behind us because clearly that tire was going to explode and send us careening off the road.  If he didn’t want to go with us, he should keep his distance!

  The pilot car came; we drove through the construction zone; and we were soon back on paved road.  The tire did not explode and we did not go flying over the embankment.  Maybe we’d make it to Tok after all!  Before we could get there, of course, we’d have to endure another border crossing, though.

The text is written by Shari and the photos were taken by me

on the road

stuck behind the truck on the road leading to Alaska

Sign Post Forest is a collection of signs at Watson Lake, Yukon and is one of the most famous of the landmarks along the Alaska Highway. It was started by a homesick GI in 1942. He was assigned light duty while recovering from an injury and erected the signpost for his hometown: Danville, Ill. 2835 miles. Visitors may add their own signs to the over 80,000 already present.

Chetwynd, British Columbia

Finally, the last day of our journey arrived!  We were all pretty excited as we got ready to leave the cabins we had stayed in.  They were really nice little places on the edge of a beautiful lake.  And we had stopped asking about the dog after Wonowon and just brought him inside, so he was well rested, too.  The one dark cloud was one of the tires on the U-Haul, which was looking pretty worn, but since there was nothing we could do about it, we just got ready to leave. 

    Our first stop was at a general store a few miles down the road.  It occupied half of a building with a truck/car/RV repair shop in the other half.  We wanted to pick up a few things, but mainly some bread for lunch.  Walking around the store, we looked in vain for the bread.  Nothing.  We tried again—a general store would surely have bread, we thought, but we weren’t seeing any.  Suddenly, Helen pointed toward the freezer case—“there’s some!”  Bill pounced on it, and searched in vain for a price tag.  He brought it up to the counter and asked how much it was.  Once again we got that wide-eyed response from this clerk, “ I can’t sell that,” he said nervously, jerking his head back toward the repair shop,  “they’ll kill me if I sell you that!”   Bill put the loaf back in the freezer case.  As he turned around, he spotted another loaf in a case across the store.  “What about that one,” he asked.  The guy behind the counter shook his head, “I can’t; they’ll kill me.”  Exasperated, Bill asked, “Is there any place between here and Fairbanks where I can buy a loaf of bread?”  The boy thought for a minute and then his face brightened“ Annie down the road bakes bread,” he said happily.  Then his face fell a little.  “I don’t know if she sells it, though.  But you could ask.”  I was dumbstruck as I stood there thinking, “Yup, that’s what we’ll do.  We’ll track Annie down and see if she’s baked any bread lately.  If she has we’ll see if she’ll sell us some.”  The whole conversation was clearly pointless, so we bought a couple of things and left.  A couple of hours down the road we stopped at another store.  Bill went in and after a few minutes he emerged victorious holding the loaf of bread high above his head!  We would be able to have lunch!

The text is written by Shari and the photos were taken by me

on the way to wonowon

 one of our stops along the way

By day three, our plan was to make it to Wonowon, British Columbia.  We drove into town and pulled into a parking lot that was one big mud puddle.  Bill went into the motel to get a couple of rooms, but none were available.  He was advised to try the new place down the road.  We walked into the office—it looked pretty nice—and inquired.  There were rooms.  We said we’d take two and asked if we could take the dog in.  The young clerk’s eyes got wide.  “Oh no,” she said, “she’d kill me if I let a dog in there.”  Well, OK, death was a pretty serious consequence and we figured Inu would probably be OK sleeping in the truck, which we were able to park right outside the room.  We had wanted a kitchenette, but they had none, so after unloading what we needed and walking the dog, we headed for the motel restaurant. 

Looking over the menu, I noticed that as a vegetarian, I was not going to have much to choose from.  As it turned out, there wasn’t much for anyone to choose from.  Someone ordered chocolate milk.  “We don’t have any,” came the reply.  Helen wanted pizza.  “We’re all out.”  “Grilled cheese?” I asked hopefully?  “We don’t have any of that, either.”  This was getting ridiculous.  “Maybe,” I suggested, “it would be easier for you to tell us what you DO have.”

  After a rather unappetizing dinner of onion rings, I went back to the room with Helen while the guys went to the grocery store across the street in an effort to find some fresh veggies for salad or some fruit or something.  They came back with some candy bars.  The fresh produce was rotten, and had those little fruit flies flying around.  YUM!

    We all met in our room for a little conference.  We agreed that Wonowon was pretty good incentive to push on and get to Alaska as soon as possible.  We decided to drive more each day in an effort to get to Alaska faster.  There would be a few long days ahead, but hopefully no more places like Wonowon!

The text is written by Shari and the photos were taken by me

border crossing

 we are now in Canada, onward toward Alaska.

As we all climbed into the trucks on that sunny afternoon, we certainly felt that the universe was with us.  Sure, we were starting out several hours later than we’d planned, but the weather was nice, the animals were safely in their spots, and we’d managed to fit all of the important things in the U-Haul—with a great deal of rearranging and creative positioning!!

  And so we pulled away from the curb and began our journey into a new life.  Bill was driving the U-Haul, which was being co-piloted by our daughter Helen and myself.  Rick and his son Kevin were in our truck.  We had all the of papers we needed to get the people and animals across the border—identification, a letter of permission from Kevin’s mother, truck registrations, house papers, proof of rabies vaccines, etc.

  We stopped at a rest area for a picnic supper and walked and watered the dog.  We tried to be patient as we sat in traffic trying to get past Seattle.  We stopped just before the border to fill the gas tanks.  Then we hit customs.

As we all climbed into the trucks on that sunny afternoon, we certainly felt that the universe was with us.  Sure, we were starting out several hours later than we’d planned, but the weather was nice, the animals were safely in their spots, and we’d managed to fit all of the important things in the U-Haul—with a great deal of rearranging and creative positioning!!

  And so we pulled away from the curb and began our journey into a new life.  Bill was driving the U-Haul, which was being co-piloted by our daughter Heather and myself.  Rick and his son Kevin were in our truck.  We had all the of papers we needed to get the people and animals across the border—identification, a letter of permission from Kevin’s mother, truck registrations, house papers, proof of rabies vaccines, etc.

We stopped at a rest area for a picnic supper and walked and watered the dogs.  We tried to be patient as we sat in traffic trying to get past Seattle.  We stopped just before the border to fill the gas tanks.  Then we hit customs.

 We pulled up and provided our IDs.  We told the guy in the booth that the truck behind us was ours and that our friend had permission to drive it.  He also had the papers for the animals in the back.  Mr. Customs Official didn’t seem to care much about that, though.  He seemed intently focused on whether any of us in the U-Haul had any pepper spray.  This was unexpected, but we kept a polite demeanor as we repeated our “no” answer over and over again to various forms of the question, “And you don’t have any pepper spray?”  At the point where I was starting to wonder if I had missed an important question somewhere, we were instructed to pull forward, park the U-Haul, and proceed into the customs building.  Rick, Kevin, and all of the animals seemed far less suspicious than we did, apparently, since they were waved through with barely a glance.

 The three of us marched into the building.  I was toting my soft briefcase style bag that had all of our papers.  We were directed to a window where we were asked a series of questions in rapid-fire succession: “where are you going?” “ What are you going to do there?” “You are both going to school?” “How much money do you have?” “ How long will you be in Canada?” To the last question I was tempted to respond that while I wasn’t even in Canada yet, I had high hopes that my stay would be a very short one.  I held my tongue instead.  I responded that we would be in Canada only as long as it took to get through it and into Alaska.  This was apparently a satisfactory answer, because we were directed to another window on the other side of the building where, astonishingly, we got to start all over with the same questions!  I began to consider the possibility that we had entered the twilight zone or were on Candid Camera.  When I thought I would not be able to contain my irritation any longer, our third interrogation came to an end and we were allowed to leave.  We were not quite finished yet, however.

 Outside examining the U-Haul was yet another friendly customs agent.  He instructed Bill to open the back of the truck and me to “step back on the curb, ma’am.”  As Bill slid the door up, we were hoping that our precariously piled up belongings would not come crashing down on the guy’s head.  Who knows how long we’d have to stay then!    Fortunately, things were wedged so tightly in there that no shifting had occurred and everything stayed where it was.  Mr. Customs picked up a few things and looked them over.  He turned to Bill.  “I could take this whole thing apart, you know—take everything out of here,” he said.  “I know you could,” Bill replied wearily.  I stood there silently on the curb thinking, “Aren’t you a big, tough asshole.”  Mr. Customs looked at me.  “Do you have any pepper spray?” he asked.  Not trusting myself to open my mouth, I simply shook my head, leaving Bill to answer with yet another “no.”  After peering at us for a minute and considering whether he had asserted enough authority, he said, “Welcome to Canada.  Enjoy your stay.”  Oh yeah, great to be here!

We climbed back into the U-Haul only to discover that they had searched Helen’s backpack.  We buckled up quickly and took off before they could change their minds and decide to tear everything apart in a hunt for that elusive pepper spray.     

  Thankful to be past that hurdle, we decided that since it was starting to get dark, we would look for a place to stop for the night.  We had no luck so after a couple more hours; we decided to simply stop at the next rest area.  Naturally, none of those appeared right away, either.  After what seemed like an eternity, we finally spotted a place.  We got as comfortable as we could—Bill and Inu (the dog) were on the ground behind the U-Haul, while Helen and I slept in the cab.  Rick and Kevin slept in our truck.  It wasn’t ideal, but at least we got some sleep and we were back on the road bright and early the next morning.

The text is written by Shari and the photos were taken by me

ready to go

our loaded U-haul truck  in Portland, Oregon ready to go.

People thought we were nuts.  My sister-in-law’s response upon learning that we were moving to Alaska was, “Why?”  “Why not,” my husband Bill replied.  Now that we were packed up and heading out, that “why not” attitude was stronger than ever.  And indeed, it did seem as though a force was helping us along beyond our control.  It felt right to be going to Alaska.  It was clearly what we were supposed to do.  Everything fell into place far too easily for us to think otherwise.

    We had sold our house in a matter of days to a guy who paid cash and agreed to let us stay in the house rent-free for a month and a half after the sale.  With the money from the sale of that house, we were able to take a trip to Fairbanks to look for a place to live.  We found a house within a couple of days.  The seller was willing to finance, so even though we had no jobs, we had a house, and we knew we could live off of the money from the sale of our Portland house until we had other income.

    When we got back to Portland, we needed to get a cap for the back of our truck so we could transport our animals.  A friend said her boyfriend had one he wanted to get rid of.  She called him and asked what kind of a truck it would fit.  “Ford Ranger,” he said.  In a daze, I made plans to bring the pizza and beer on an upcoming Friday night.  We had a nice visit while Bill and Randy put the cap on the back of our truck.  We had also brought some floor tiles that we had bought for our house but never used.  Randy was doing some home remodeling and they turned out to be just what he needed.  It was serendipity all around.

   Now one last task remained.  We had to find a way to get our stuff from Portland to Alaska.  Moving companies gave us an estimate of $7000!  Ouch!  We wouldn’t have much room in our truck because our three cats and 130-pound dog would take up that space.  We threw around the idea of renting a U-Haul, but I am a nervous driver and in any case, never learned to drive a stick shift, so there was no way I’d be able to drive our truck.  And frankly, the thought of sitting behind the wheel of a bigger truck terrified me—and probably Bill, too!  

    Once again, our dilemma was solved quickly and unexpectedly.  A friend came to visit and told us he’d been laid off work for the summer, but he was feeling OK about it.  Even though money would be tight, he’d get to spend the summer with his 11-year-old son.  “How would you like to take him on a trip to Alaska?” we asked.  His eyes grew wide as he asked if we were kidding.  “No,” we replied, “you can help with the driving and we’ll buy both of you a ticket to fly home from Alaska.  You can take your son on a cool trip and we can save several thousand dollars.  Everybody wins!”  The next day he called with the news that his ex-wife had given permission for the trip.  We were all set.

The text is written by Shari and the photos were taken by me.