missy and the pups

One day, I looked out the window and saw a dog standing in the driveway looking towards the house. I didn’t think anything of it that day, but when she kept coming back, I knew something was wrong and that she didn’t just stray out of a neighborhood property. She was skittish, so we would not try to get too close at first. We walked slowly towards her with a bowl of food, speaking in quiet, soothing tones. We’d put the food down and walk back into the house, watching from there as she ate it. Eventually, she grew to trust us and would let us pet her. Then she felt comfortable enough to come into the house. She seemed healthy and was not injured. No one was looking for her and we assumed someone just dumped her.

At this time, I was on a dean search committee at the university. The College of Liberal Arts was looking for a new dean, so the committee members had to go throw a very strict process to get to the point of a job offer for someone. First we had to go through every application and assign a number for evaluation purposes. Then we got together to discuss our rankings and the field was narrowed down based on the final numbers. Then we did phone interviews, again giving numerical rankings. This narrowed things down further. Finally, there were five finalists who would be brought to campus, each for a few days, to give presentations, have in-person interviews, do some socializing, and those sorts of things. We were in this latter stage when the dog, named Missy by Daughter, came to live with us.

A few weeks after she showed up, it was my turn to take the lead with a dean candidate from New York. I invited her and the other committee members to our home for supper, making a huge pan of lasagna, salad, garlic bread, and some sort of dessert. As I was setting the table in anticipation of everyone’s arrival, I stopped to pet Missy, who had rolled over on her back, waiting for a belly rub. ‘Hmmm,’ I said to Bill, ‘Maybe she isn’t just gaining weight because she is getting more to eat since we started feeding her. I wonder if she’s pregnant.’ We didn’t have time to think about this, because soon our guests started arriving and we were occupied with the 7 or 8 of them. When they left, I made plans to meet the candidate early the next morning, so we could begin the day. I was to escort her around to various places and presentations. The next day started far earlier than I’d expected it to!

In the middle of the night, Missy insisted on going outside. Just before 4 a.m. I woke up to a weird noise and went to check. When I turned on the light, I saw her standing next to the porch. She was agitated. Then I saw a tiny little creature.  Missy was having puppies! We brought her and the puppy inside. She was distressed and the other dogs and the cats were curious. We knew we had to get her somewhere quiet and where the other animals would not pester her or the pups. The only option was the small utility room out back. In order to get there, one had to enter a hallway that wrapped round part of the round house. At the end of that was the door to the utility room.There was not much free space back there. It was a small room anyway and we had our washing machine and an extra fridge freezer back there. We didn’t know there would be one in the house when we moved there, so we’d brought the one we had and ended up putting it back there when we found out we wouldn’t need it. 

We put down a pile of blankets and brought Missy and the puppy back there, going back and forth to check on things. Once we heard a sort of mewling sound and realized one puppy was missing. We worried that it had fallen down through the hole for the dryer vent (we didn’t have a dryer) or had somehow gotten through the opening that served as a handle to lift up the board providing access to the crawl space underneath the house. Bill went down there and saw nothing. When I moved the fridge-freezer to get at the dryer vent, I saw a poor wee pup stuck in the coils. We puppy-proofed the room as best as we could. 

We called the Humane Society for advice. They told us they couldn’t take the five puppies until they were at least 8 weeks old, so we wondered what the next 8 weeks would be like with 9 dogs and 4 cats! In the short term, I had to go escort a dean candidate around campus, so I left to do that. At least we had something non-academic to talk about!

We eventually got into a routine. It was still winter when the puppies arrived, but late winter, so by the time they were too big to stay in the utility room, we were able to put them outside. Someone who had lived in the house before us repaired snow machines and once got paid for a job with a pig. He’d built an elevated pen for this pig, complete with a pig house built up against the house. There was still straw there too, so it was perfect for the puppies. 

When they were big enough to run around, we’d let them out of the pen and they would scamper about, much to the annoyance of Pearl, who took herself off to a neighbor’s house, where she would rest on their quiet porch. Inu, the 150-pound dog who had made the journey to Alaska with us, was an elder by then and was quite alarmed at the tiny creatures running around his feet. He tried to stay away from them.

I fell in love with the smallest pup, calling him Little Runt. Every time I would come home and they would all run to greet me, I’d call out, ‘Hello, Little Runt!’ and he would jump on my legs. The day we had to gather them up and bring them to the Humane Society was a very painful one. I cried and cried. I considered keeping Little Runt, but we already had 4 dogs and I knew Little Runt would not stay little for very long. Being a puppy, he had an excellent chance of finding a happy and loving home. So we gathered all 5 puppies up and put them in the truck. Missy was upset as we started to drive away with them, which was hard to watch. But she was OK by the time we got home.

I went to check on the puppies a week or so later. They’d all been adopted.

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?