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.
