Life in This Great State

A drop of blood clings to the off-white border on my flannel mittens, and I realize at that moment my face must be bleeding. Seconds prior, I had hastily reached for the lower, snow-laden branch of our backyard spruce tree, trying to assist Penny, our puppy, in locating the stick I accidentally tossed into the tree. She leapt forward, thrusting all her weight into increasing her elevation. She wanted that stick and was determined. In a flash, she locked her teeth onto the stick and fell back.

Snap, cracked the branch, as snow careened through the space surrounding us. At that same moment, I felt sharp needles hit my face and mouth.

“I’m hit!” I cry out. “The branch hit me.”

I look down at my gloves and realize I’m bleeding. My face is bleeding. Darn. I run inside and tell Penny that we will pick up our game of fetch later. She chases me to the door, assuming that we are playing a new game now.

Once inside, I assess my face and clean the slight scratches.  What a morning it’s been, and it’s only slightly after 10 a.m.

Originally, I took Penny to a nearby park to get some exercise. As we ventured deeper into the park, she started jumping incessantly and fighting the leash. Betwixt by sights and sounds – none of which seemed alarming to me, she wanted to explore the north end of the park, without anyone holding her back. I couldn’t control her easily, so I told her that we were leaving. Turning toward the west park entrance, we trudged through the snow, stopping only to gather little sticks for Penny.

The swooshing sound of hundreds of birds flying overhead caught my attention and I veered back around, enjoying their airborne dance. At that same moment, I noticed a large, dark creature take shape near the playground, where we had just been.

A young moose emerged from the forest. Trotting along, it stopped to lock its gaze on us, as if to say, I’ve been watching you.

“Thanks Penny,” I motion to her with pat. “You were looking out for us. As a reward, we can play more in the backyard when we get home.”

Temperatures near our home in Anchorage, Alaska, are hovering around zero degrees this week, with an occasional spike of 8 or 10 degrees at mid-day. Most days, I keep our fireplace burning with the spruce logs we purchased last spring. I can start a fire going myself, and feel accomplished by this newfound skill. In addition to heating our home and saving on gas costs, our fireplace is cozy. It provides a charming backdrop for reading a good book while cuddling with the dog.

Life in Alaska, aptly named “The Last Frontier,” is just that. A wild, untamed land holding great promise for explorers, dreamers, and adventure seekers. There are mountains for miles, large beasts that roam the state, and dramatic changes in light and dark and temperature, depending on the time of year and proximity to the coast. To survive the elements, one must be prepared.

I suppose living in Alaska has been such a shift for me in that way. Growing up on the island on Maui, I was privileged to live without much need for surviving the elements. My girl friends and I would throw together our swimsuits, towels, water, sometimes sunblock, and a snack and head to the beach for the day. Oftentimes, I would forget one or more of these items. Without a swimsuit, I’d jump in the water in all my clothes. Lacking snacks, or water, we’d find a public fountain to drink from or purchase ice cream at a local shop. Likewise, beach towels are nonessential. You can sunbathe and dry off pretty fast under the tropical sun.

Alaska is a stark contrast from the balmy beaches of my home state and yet, there is incredible beauty here as well – a fierce beauty that demands respect and forethought. Rather than passively enjoying Alaska, it must be experienced through preparation and reverence. Realizing that the weather can change drastically and moose or bears can cross your path.

As a child, I vividly recall telling my family that I would never live in Alaska nor did I ever want to visit. “Why would anyone want to be cold?” I’d curiously ask. In my mind, Alaska equaled death. Frostbite seemed like a horrible evil to me, one that could easily be avoided. Ironically, I married a man from Alaska who loves this state dearly, which in turn, helped me reconsider my preconceptions about this place. In coming here, I wanted to gain a deeper awareness of where my husband is from – what his childhood was like and how the place he grew up in has shaped him.

I’m thankful for this season of living in Alaska, where I’m learning how to better prepare for the elements. I think in many ways I’m becoming a stronger and more confident woman, wife, and mother. I am also growing in my ability to cherish the things that I must work for, and focusing on stewarding resources well.

Last night, while ladling steaming hot bowls of homemade moose chili and portioning out triangles of skillet bacon cornbread for dinner, I thought back over my day. I feel like a real pioneer woman – cooking, cleaning, avoiding moose, and fighting the elements (or really, that one spruce tree.)

What an adventure.
A snapshot of life in this Great State.

The Value of Penny, and Patience

"A Penny saved is a Penny earned." 

-- 17th century quote

As I walked along the dusty, trash-lined, makeshift parking lot only yards from oncoming traffic and a bustling state highway, I glanced at the bright red lettering lining the tall wooden fence; its fiery hue set against a stark white placard: "Boarding Grooming & Training." The direct language implying, Let's cut to the chase: this is what we do. If you're looking for something else, go somewhere else. At least, that's how I felt upon reading their sign and observing the not-so-prime location. 

Ken and I were on a mission late yesterday afternoon, and this was a key part of it: securing, through cash payment, our new pup. And regardless of the physical location of the dog compound, we wanted this little lady so badly, and were willing to do anything to bring her home. 

Only four days earlier, Ken and I first heard about this sweet border collie mix brought to an animal rescue shelter in south Anchorage from a remote Alaskan village outside of Barrow. The puppy's family could no longer care for her and decided that instead of euthanizing her, they'd send her to the shelter. It was Tuesday during my work shift, when I first heard about her. My coworker, who had graciously been on the lookout for a border collie for me, called over to me: "Did you see the photos I sent you? There's a border collie up for adoption. You'll need to act quick because they go fast." At her prompting, I immediately emailed the rescue shelter and asked for information on the pup. They responded curtly to fill out an application and send it back. Apparently, this dog was in high demand already. I found out from a shelter volunteer that nearly eight families were vying for her affection. The weight of my expectations started to sink deep. All week, my mind vasillated between my hopes and fears: What if we couldn't get her? But I really want this dog. How will the shelter pick who they want to be her owner? What if it's not us? I decided to start praying for her by name. Penny. I wanted to name her Penny. My prayers went something like this: "Lord, please help us to get Penny if it's your will. Please show us if this is the dog you want us to have, and give us the grace we need to be good owners."

As the work week wrapped up, I couldn't get over my excitement and anticipation about seeing Penny and hearing if we'd get to have her. Disappointedly, Ken and I found out that the animal clinic was scheduled from 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. on Saturday--the exact time that we had scheduled our Housewarming Party with family and friends. We were both discouraged about the time conflict, and felt it was important to continue with our current plan of having all our guests over for the party that we had planned weeks in advance. Unfortunately, the clinic supervisor informed us that only those applicants who attended the clinic and met with the puppy would be considered in her adoption. So with more than a bit of uncertainty, we decided that Ken would drive to the animal clinic and visit with Penny at 1 p.m. and then come right back to the party, as soon as he could. 

The day of the clinic arrived, along with our Housewarming Party, and while I finished icing my homemade molten-chocolate-cream-cheese cupcakes, Ken showered and got ready to drive south to the animal shelter. Before he left, we said a quick prayer of hopeful expectation, trusting God for the outcome of this decision. 

As guests arrived and food was dished out, I glanced at my phone to see if Ken had any updates on the dog. He sent me one text with a picture of a fluffy Karelian bear dog; the caption read, "Eh?" I quickly called Ken in response, to find out if Penny had been adopted, assuming that perhaps Ken was moving on to 'Plan B' options in hopes of curbing my disappointment. "Is she there? Did you get to see her?" I asked inquisitively. "Nope, not yet," Ken responded. "They are still bringing all the dogs out. I'll let you know what happens." At that point, I decided to just enjoy our party and focus on spending time with our friends and relatives who had come out to see our new place. I placed my phone in a corner, and proceeded to make a pulled chicken sandwich, which I enjoyed while watching my friends' kids run around our spacious new backyard. The sounds of children screaming happily, as they played outdoors, coupled with the conversations and connections taking place around me, were encouraging. Finally, Ken and I have a place of our own, where we can spread out and enjoy good company, I thought to myself. A few minutes later, Ken walked in the front door, empty-handed but with a smile on his face. "Welcome home," I said, as I built him a plate of baked brie with Grandma Dorothy's crab apple jam, alongside a pulled chicken sandwich with bacon potato salad. 

It turned out that Ken was only the person who wanted to see Penny at the start of the clinic, so he got to spend lots of time walking her around--if walking is the right word. She was very overstimulated, Ken conveyed, as he described the tight kennels the dogs were kept in. "But I really like her," he continued. "We'll have to wait and see what they decide. It turns out that 48 people applied for Penny, so they are going to decide who is the best fit to adopt her." 

Forty-eight people. That number caught me off guard. That's so many people, I thought to myself.

At 5:35 p.m., we got the call. The animal shelter had picked us! They wanted us to come in right away to pay for the puppy. Bring cash, they said. Ken and I were overjoyed. 

As the party drew to a close, we shuffled through the house, gathering things to head out the door. Beaming with excitement and a sense of wonderment following the day's events, I asked the shelter supervisor why they picked us out of all the people interested. She, along with another volunteer seated in the waiting room, said that they were blown away by Ken's patience toward Penny. A spunky, enthusiastic dog who completely lacked any type of obedience training, Penny was misunderstood by all the other people who wanted to adopt her. In their frustration, people would jerk tightly at Penny's collar, forcing her to bend to their will, and conveyed their anger, rather than trying to understand how to better instruct the puppy through body language, incentives, and gentle force. They didn't know how to deal with a rescue pup currently struggling with unrestrained, wild energy. 

And yet, Ken did. 

He modeled patience and instruction toward the pup, and practiced commands with a spirit of love and conviction. He guided Penny by giving her space to burn off her energy and then tried to teach her. Even though her temperament was difficult to work with, Ken saw potential where others saw disappointment. The volunteer who watched Ken walking Penny around was inspired by his way with the dog--she even went back to the supervisor and asked her to make a note about Ken in his file, as he stood out as the best person for this dog. 

Forty-eight applicants. That number initially seemed daunting, as if there was little to no hope of us getting to adopt Penny. In retrospect, I feel incredibly grateful for this opportunity. On one hand, this is the start of a new relationship we get to build with a puppy we will soon welcome into our home. Penny is ours. We got her! And we get to train her and work with her and help guide her into becoming a great companion for our family. On the other hand, I caught a glimpse--a treasured reminder, that I have an amazing husband--a man of patience and virtue, who lovingly walks alongside me in marriage and practices healthy standards of communication and expectation. He stood out among the crowd, which in this case was 48 other applicants vying for a five and a half month old puppy. In reality, though, he stands out among a much wider audience. 

I'm praising God for the immeasurable value of my husband, and the joy of our newest family member, Penny. 

+++

Here are some photos of Penny! Stay tuned for more...

Official Homeowners! {Photos of UnderSpruce}

It's official! Ken and I are homeowners in this beautiful, snowy city of Anchorage, Alaska! From our new home, we can see the towering mountain peaks and watch the sun rise in all its glory. Our backyard will be great for a summer vegetable garden and also comfortably house the sweet pup we're hoping to get in the next couple months. (Side note: I've already picked a name for her!) 

Ken and I -- after excruciating hours of intense deliberation -- have decided to name our house UnderSpruce in honor of the giant Spruce trees in front of our home and those out back. The three trees next to our entry way provide a sheltered cove of sorts and therefore, the name "UnderSpruce" felt most fitting, as our new home will be a cove and a shelter of warmth, safety, food, and fellowship for all those who enter. I look forward to carving a wooden sign to place out front with our house name on it!

A little something off the record: I really wanted to name our home "The Shire" or "Bag-End" or "Inn at the Prancing Pony," however, Ken felt that it was going overboard or too obvious that I was copying Lord of the Rings. I beg to differ. Yet in every great marriage, there has to be lots of compromise and working things out and so with excitement (and a slight tinge of disappointment--lol), we agreed on "UnderSpruce," although secretly I will always be thinking of that reference to 'Mr. Underhill'...

We hope to host many dear friends and family members in the weeks and years to come!

Here are some photos: