Rainy Reflections

I'm writing this in the thin autumn sunshine above Cook Inlet, at a small campground called Stariski State Recreation Area. There's nobody else here except flocks of chickadees and a woodpecker and some ravens that fly through, as do some tourists or fisherfolk with trailered boats. I should head into Homer to get ice, but... I can't leave. The sun, the view, the sun, the lack of annoying insects, the sun, the light breeze are just perfect, so I'm taking the chance to write and reflect, while the weather and sun last. The solar charger seems to be just keeping up with my use, so I'll write as long as it allows. I'm using my phone's hotspot to connect to the internet. This is the way the trip was supposed to be!

Aptly named "Reflection Lake"

Sunday morning in Palmer was lazy. It started to rain early, and I was glad I hadn't stayed in Denali, expecting to see the mountain again. It would have been wet and rainy and something of a letdown.

Instead, I was treated to three sandhill cranes wheeling in the sky above the hayfield. Their croaking cries alerted me to their presence, and they turned gracefully above, circling and gently lowering altitude until they finally landed in the field. They never seemed to be still, but started walking across, never separated from each other by much distance.

They must have been the vanguard, because about 20 minutes later a large flock of more than 100 birds announced their presence by raucous squawking. Like the previous birds, they circled the field, and finally landed in the morning mist.

This land is magical. I am so glad that so much of it is preserved so that people in the future can be treated to sights such as this.

It was a lazy, rainy day.  I really didn't feel like doing all that much, so did a bit of food shopping, got more ice, did some reading and knitting, and only moved on at the end of the day.

It was a terrible drive. The storm came in earnest, with high winds and driving rain. I gave up earlyl and only made it to Wasilla. I stayed in the parking lot of a Best Western on Lake Lucille, and had a momentary worry in the morning when a police vehicle drove into the parking lot. Fortunately, he didn't give N0MAD a second glance, but was after two other guys in a dirty blue sedan. Not sure what their transgression was, but, after a lengthy discussion, it looked like they were written up for something, as one of the guys was presented with an official-looking, very clean piece of paper.

I left quickly, following the police car out of the parking lot.

There is a fine line between homelessness and my present situation. It's one that I thought about after the sale of the house two years ago, and that I think about still.   

What is the difference between living in an RV as a "full-timer," which is accepted by society and even evokes something of adventure and romance, and being homeless, which evokes feelings of pity and desperation? 

The easy answer is that full-time RVers (and me, a nomad who is living in my car without the niceties of an RV or trailer), is that we are doing this by CHOICE, whereas "the homeless" are homeless out of necessity. However, I suspect that even might not be true. Some homeless in cities choose to remain in that state. They drift in an out of shelters, preferring life on the streets to the rigors of "normal" society.  Who are we to try to herd them into shelters and make them adapt to our ways of thinking? 

Alaska, truly the last frontier, as it says on their license plates, seems to attract people who live on the fringes of society, whether because of their background    

It's complicated. There's an essay to write here, or maybe the bones of a story.

At any rate, we'll leave that discussion for another time. But, my situation — as wonderful as it is right now — does still make me squirm at times. It's so far from the way I've been brought up and so far from my vision of my own future, that I'm still adjusting to it.

But on a day like this Sunday, as I write this in the calm sun of an autumn afternoon, overlooking the spectacular snow-covered peaks of Alaska's Ring of Fire volcanoes, it just doesn't get any better.

Two moose in the garden.

Lake Lucille

Having only glimpsed at Lake Lucille (the hotel obscured the view), and having read about it yesterday and picked up a trail guide, I figured the misty rain wouldn't keep me from exploring. Lake Lucille is in Wasilla, the home of Sarah Palin, and it has lots of nice houses. It's basically a bedroom suburb of Anchorage, with its fair share of strip malls, fast food joints, bars, shopping centers, potholes and other trappings of civilization.

And police.

And moose.

Two moose turned into three: two cows and a young bull, intent on assembling his first harem. 

I finally found the well-disguised entrance to the park. Turns out it's probably easier to get here by plane than it is by car! While there, I saw at least one float plane landing on the lake and taxiing up to a home on the lake.

Rustic breakfast cooking class, with birch leaves.

This large park has soccer fields, a camp ground, playgrounds for kids, a swimming/canoe dock and loads of hiking trails. I made breakfast under one of the covered pavilions, and was entertained by a couple of guys on the honeypot patrol. Took them about 45 minutes to do their thing and manage their hoses, winding and re-winding them; about the same amount of time it took me to make breakfast!

They nodded somewhat apologetically to me as they left in the drizzling rain.

There was no one else here except one dog walker.

Stairway of birch roots

I took off on the perimeter trail, which went through the forest and would eventually take me back to the lake. I didn't worry about bears so close to civilization. They don't even bear-proof the garbage cans! I could have worried about moose, but fortunately the forest floor was relatively open, and I hoped I'd be able to see any animals before they saw me and became alarmed and angry.

There was a confusing tracery of trails, and after awhile I gave up trying to figure out the "right" way to go, and just followed my nose.

Even with the absence of sunlight, the trees above blazed with yellow, and the understory was resplendent with the deep red of dwarf dogwood and fireweed, the brighter red of highbush cranberry leaves, and the green of leaves that had not yet turned.

The forest floor was littered with fallen birch leaf stratigraphy, the latest crop of which were golden, the older ones underfoot turning brown.

Mysterious miniature railroad tracks and town.

One of the surprises on this hike was a miniature train track! It was on the other side of a serious-looking barbed wire fence at the perimeter of the park, but it was evident that a lot of work had gone into laying the track and building the miniature structures along it. No signs or anything else; perhaps it was someone's hobby.

In my wanderings on these unmarked trails, I did unintentionally walk into someone's backyard, but fortunately there were prominent "No Trespassing" signs, so I beat a hasty retreat and went a different way.

Dwarf dogwood showing off its fall colors

The line between "park," "wilderness" and "civilization" is sometime difficult to tell here. 

I eventually figured out where I was when I crossed a linear trail, which was a good landmark. The lake itself wasn't too much farther, and the rain was (mostly) holding off, so I kept going rather than returning on the wide fast-track direct trail.

Lake Lucille may be natural, but isn't really a wild lake. There are high-end (and some not-so-high) houses around most of it.

Current prices? $140,000 will get you a one-acre lakeside lot on the south side; $159,000 will also get you a .64 acre lot on the north side of the lake.  I'm not sure about the price difference, but beaver-knowledge says to always build your lodge on the NORTH side of the pond so that you maximize sunlight on your abode... makes sense to me, and might account for the difference. $590,000 will get you a very nice 4-bedroom lakeside home.

View of Lake Lucille, looking south.

As part of an Eagle project, a local scout troop had built a narrow boardwalk along the lake; a newer project was a broad boardwalk and swimming dock. I'm sure it gets a lot of use on the long summer days.

It began to drizzle more in earnest, so I headed back to the car.

Itidarod Headquarters

A letterbox was supposedly hidden here, but the directions were somewhat obtuse, and the place was a bit on the busy side, with a team of dogs running around an oval track with tourists on the wheeled cart. When they know they are going to get to run, the dogs express their excitement by barking and lunging, showing that they just cannot wait to get going! Would that everyone enjoyed their work so much!

One is supposed to be "stealthy" when finding letterboxes, so I abandoned this one.

Reflection Lake is aptly named

Reflections Lake at Palmer Hay Flats State Wildlife Refuge    

I hadn't really planned on it, but I'd been past this turnoff several times now as a result of missing the turnoff north (due to road construction and murky signage). 

The rain was holding off, so I decided to just go with the flow and take another walk. Besides, I hadn't really been seeing much wildlife, so thought visiting a wildlife refuge might remedy the lack. 

Like Wander Lake, Reflections Lake isn't a "natural" lake, but it's perfectly situated and honestly, who cares? The "hay flats" to the east used to be where the Palmer settlers grew hay (duh), but the land sank by more than seven feet during the 1964 Anchorage earthquake, with the result that water invaded and the land became too marshy to farm. Now it's the home to beaver, muskrats, and migratory birds, of which I saw none. Zero. Zilch. 

Palmer Hay Flats (now a marsh)

I saw one dragonfly, which I expect was not long for this world, as it was particularly lethargic, posing nicely on the rusty railing of one of the bridges. And I did see my first true squirrel midden: a large pile of spruce cones. Perhaps the relative rarity of spruce here convinced the squirrel it had better stockpile those available cones for the coming winter!

Dragonfly

Apparently the lake has had a hard life, being "vandalized" by disrespectful people. (Not sure what that means, but possibly littering and woodcutting and illegal hunting). "Concerned citizens" banded together to urge state wildlife refuge protection for the area, and it's quite a lovely place to visit now, with boardwalks protecting some of the more fragile and accessible spots (thanks to Conoco). There is a lakeside viewing platform, and a new sturdy metal observation tower that was just built in 2015. 

However, despite the apparent lack of birds or other animals (and I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record), even in the soft gray misty light, the fall foliage around the lake was spectacular. The birch trees here were joined by cottonwoods, and they are in full, glorious color right now. These trees are huge. Some of the leaves that had fallen were bigger than my stretched-out hand. 

Rose leaf colors

Trails circle the lake, but also go out onto the marsh. Unfortunately the signs warned of "high water during rains," and this was true... I didn't get more than a few hundred feet when the trail went underwater, so I gave up and kept going around the lake.

More forest color: are you bored yet? I'm not!

At the other side of the lake was the Knik River, another broad, rushing river. No birds there, either, but it was a pretty view point, although by this time the clouds were lowering and the colors were muted.

Knik River

A breeze had also sprung up; you know that breeze that often portends the beginning of rain? Well that was the end of the reflections on the lake, but it had been a beautiful walk.

Last view looks like a painting!

It was time to make tracks and get going toward Anchorage proper, and thence to the Kenai Peninsula.

I ended up in Eagle River for the night; first trying the library to see if I could possibly get some work done there, but it wasn't open and there was no wifi. By this time the rain commenced in earnest, a repeat of the heavy rain and wind from the previous evening, so it was time to hole up for the night and see what the next day would bring.

---

At this point, I'm alternating between euphoria and emptiness. I once read an article by a travel writer who said that every trip has an apogee: that point at which you begin looking forward to going home more than you look forward to the trip ahead. The writer went on to say that this could happen at any point during a trip, but most often happened towards the end, when you start thinking about all the things you have to do at home. This has always resonated with me. I know it's been true on some of my hikes, when it just seems like, hey, you're done. It's a slog to continue, and you're happy when you're done.

Now, I'm not sure. It was hard to leave Fairbanks and head south. It felt like giving up. I have done so much on this trip: seen the northern lights, glaciers and volcanoes, high mountains and broad rivers; moose and bears and caribou and eagles. It seems hard to contemplate that anything can cap the experiences I've had to date.

But... I'm not ready to come home, even if I had a home to come to. Perhaps, if it were freezing cold and rainy again, I'd have a different viewpoint, but I'm not ready to give in and stay in one place, no matter how comfortable. 

I'm finding that there are still awesome places to visit, and I want to keep going as long as I'm able and happy to travel.

The dust (or mud) isn't going to settle on my Pikahiker boots.

The wind came up, and no more reflections. I was lucky to see what I did.

Denali morning to Palmer afternoon

Sometimes you just luck out. It's one of the reasons I wanted to do a long trip, with no reservations, so that I could take advantage of whatever came along. This was one of those days.

Morning dawned. It was definitely chilly. I am now using the down Superlight bag that Fran used when she was here. The polyester bag just wasn't cutting it anymore. I'm good down to about 30° F (freezing), but if it gets any colder, I am going to have to think about breaking out the winter bag.

Most mornings are as lazy as I'd like them to be, but when I realized that it was as clear as it had been last night, and that the sunrise was illuminating Denali, I threw the Superlight off, wriggled into my boots, and ran out to take the sunrise picture. 

Sunrise over Denali, from Denali View North.

It was one of those days... the scenery was magnificent. I knew that I had to get moving in order to make it to Palmer before the post office closed at noon, but it was a bit tough to tear myself away from the spectacular sight of Denali in glorious, clear view.

View of Denali from Denali View South.

At Denali View South, I met Axel again.

Leaving Fairbanks

It was hard to leave Fairbanks, but I've done it. The increasing bite of cold convinced me that it really, truly, was time to follow the cranes south.

Last looks at the Alaska Range and the Fairbanks valley

Frost on rose leaves

Of course deciding to leave and actually leaving are two different things.

There was a final flurry of things to do before leaving; a number of letterboxes to make a last stab at finding (several successful) and some last-minute shopping.

By the shores of Wander Lake

One of the letterboxes was supposed to be near the Antique Car Museum, but I couldn't find it (the letterbox, not the museum). But, as with other letterbox adventures, it took me out to an interesting wildlife refuge with lovely Wander Lake at its center. The lake is home to the Alaska blackfish, a fish well adapted to the frigid waters of the far north.

There are supposed to be other birds and mammals here, but they proved to be as elusive as the letterbox!

I think this is a larch!

I did, however, find a larch tree (or what I think is a larch tree). The needles of this tree were quite different from those of either white or black spruce (which I still have some trouble telling apart). Spruce needles come out as just one needle along a stem or branch. These needles came out as a spray of 20 or more and are quite distinctive, if you look closely.

Either I haven't been looking closely, or they don't grow around here, as this was the only larch tree that I've seen on the trip.

Larch trees may be important for helping to maintain permafrost. Recent scientific research shows that a thick mat of larch roots can protect permafrost from melting, which is beneficial to both the tree and the underlying layer of frozen earth. I wish I could have seen this one when it turned golden!

It may interesting to note that Wander Lake is actually a reclaimed gravel pit. I've noticed others in many places, especially along the highways where "borrow pits" are now filled with water and stocked with fish. They are totally not "natural" but it seems to work for everyone, fishermen, birds and other animals, too. (Although Wander Lake, being a refuge, does not allow fishing.)

A 1917 Mack dump truck at the Antique Car Museum.

Ordinarily, I would not have stopped at the car museum, but they had several old vehicles outside, and I found myself intrigued by the old cars and trucks, and specifically their histories in Alaska.

The Mack dump truck from 1917 was one of the first trucks produced. Note the spokes of the wheels are wood, as are the steering wheel and the dump bed; it's sort of a glorified wagon. Fascinating to see the evolution of the trucks. They also had some early snow machines, designed to travel in the white stuff. Early versions were so slow that dog sleds went faster, so production was put on hold until technology improved.

Shopping

There were two stops I wanted to do before leaving: one at the Alaska Raw Fur Company and the other at Judie Gumm's studio in Ester, just south of Fairbanks.

Malemute Saloon in Ester. The sign may say it's open, but it's not.

The Alaska Raw Fur Company turned out to be a nexus for all sorts of crafts, not just fur. They have musk ox qiviut (raw fleece, spun yarn and knitted garments), leather of all sorts, and quilting supplies.

Qiviut items were pretty expensive: a qiviut sweater was $3,000; a hat was $600. Knitted qiviut smoke rings were $300; even kits were over $200. I'm kind of kicking myself now that I hadn't bought yarn at LARS for $85 per skein. It's now seeming like a bargain! I'll check in Anchorage at the collective for spun yarn; the other source for qiviut is in Canada.

I didn't see any moosehide, which, because of its toughness, is the preferred leather for moccasins and mukluks. I suppose I could have asked. The last smoked, tanned moosehide I saw for sale was at the trading post in Dawson City, and I didn't want to spend $600 on a moosehide at that time.

Lest people get in a snit about fur, there is a different sensibility about fur and living off the land here. Hunting and trapping are part of life, and by buying fur products, one contributes to the economy of people who have few other ways of earning money in the bush. That's all I'm going to say about it.

I cruised into Ester, where Judie Gumm's studio/home/store is located. Turns out it was a bit of a challenge to find. Luckily there were signs, until they petered out, and the road was closed by construction. I parked at the local "library" (there were two dirt "spaces" in front of a very funky hippie house that would have looked at home in Bolinas or Fairfax in the 1960s), and decided to venture forth on foot. I was glad I persevered!

Her home was a former mining cabin, although it has been extensively remodeled.

Judie Gumm's studio (easy to miss)!

Judie Gumm has been making jewelry, inspired by the natural world of Alaska, for the past 40 years. Her designs have a clean, spare look that is quite distinctive. I came away with several gifts for some lucky friends.

Ester feels like the "real" Alaska. Homes there look like they were built or are being remodeled by the homeowners themselves or their friends, who probably aren't licensed contractors. One house was being raised on piles/platforms (I'm sure there is a name for them); it looked like the project had been underway for years. It just has the look of people living a bit on the edge, and with a bit of whimsey. I should have asked the staff in Judie's studio what the meaning of the red wooden model of the Eiffel Tower was doing in the yard next door. Or the building in someone else's backyard that looked like a wooden fire lookout...

Then it was back on the road again.

Autumn colors

Although there had been some subtle changes in color in Fairbanks, most of the trees there are either birch or spruce. The spruce don't change at all, and the birch trees seem to drop their leaves the moment they turn yellow. So while the ground is littered with freshly-fallen yellow leaves that rapidly turn brown, the leaves that end up staying on the trees seem to just turn brown and stay there. The "fall color" there was a bit subtle — a gentle change from green to brownish-yellow.

Fall color on the way to Denali

However, the valleys south of Fairbanks were resplendent with intense gold. Aspens, cottonwood, and maybe some birch were blazing with color. With the low sun angle on them, it was a spectacular drive.

I got to back to Denali Park near sunset (now about 9pm), and the wind was blowing hard. To be frank, I was glad to get off the road.

In the morning, I went to see if any of the bus tours were available. The weather looked good, at least until until Sunday, when clouds were supposed to come in again. I was hoping that with the legendary drop-off of tourists after Labor Day, there would be some openings. Unfortunately, all were full on both Friday and Saturday, with only openings on Sunday.

I decided not to stay through Sunday since the weather was supposed to be iffy, but to do some hiking in the "front country" and take advantage of the good weather. Denali is easy enough to get back to, and it's easy to navigate here without a car.

I'll be back. I'll save Kantishna and Wonder Lake for another trip, and hope that my luck in seeing the mountain lasts.

Horseshoe Lake

I took a nice hike out to Horseshoe Lake, and it was a beautiful choice. Lots of people enjoying the good weather, so I didn't worry about bears. And more spectacular fall colors!

Fall colors on the Nenana River

Ptarmigan on the trail.

The longer trail option went out to the Nenana River, which I took. While the rivers in general are down from the flooding that was happening a month ago, they are still rushing, fed by the glaciers that are melting in the relatively warm temperatures (30s at night, 70s during the day). Of course this will change when the

I didn't see a lot of animals on this trek, although I did nearly walk into a pair of women who where "resting" by the side of the trail.

Turns out they were watching a ptarmigan pecking at some invisible tasty tidbits on the trail. When I came up, it strutted back into the brush, but I waited and it came back out again. I guess there was something really good on the pathway that it couldn't get anywhere else. I kept trying to herd it into the sun, but it wanted no part of that. You could just see that its feathers were starting to turn from their summer brown to winter white.

Red squirrel eating spruce seeds on a favorite log

There were some shadow birds flitting in the underbrush, and one squirrel nibbling on a spruce cone.

Although I only saw one, there was evidence of them all over: piles of spruce cone debris atop stumps, fallen logs, and at the base of trees.

Spruce trees generate an enormous number of cones, and I think this must be a one of the fabled "bumper mast" years.

Apparently, about every five to seven years, spruce trees (and other evergreens) produce an overabundance of cones. They are sort of like the plankton of the oceans at the base of the boreal food chain.

Squirrels busily snip the cones from the tops of the trees, gathering them in middens that they can access during the winter. Many other birds also eat the spruce seeds, and of course predators eat the squirrels and birds.

Masses of spruce cones at the top of a tree

While most of the time I've been looking at the gorgeous scenery, I haven't forgotten about the rocks!

There was one outcrop at the far side of Horseshoe Lake that was particularly impressive because of the intense folding and shearing of the rocks.

It's been a long time since I've seen such a faulty outcrop!

In reading online about this, it's probably part of the Hines Creek Fault system, which in turn is part of the McKinley (aka Denali) Fault zone, which is responsible for pushing Mt. Denali a half a millimeter per year. (Nothing in comparison to the two inches per year slippage that is happening along the San Andreas Fault in California, but still measurable and impressive; in one's lifespan, Denali will rise four to five inches!)

Folded and fault-deformed rocks along the trail.

If you want to know more, a fantastic geology road log is available online; it's better than the book I bought because it has both background information, references and a roadcut log. I wish I had a printer, and Fran along to read it aloud to me as we travel!

So it was with some regret that I left Denali, vowing again to return soon.

Pressing onward meant that I might be able to make Palmer and my next mail drop tomorrow (Saturday), so that I wouldn't have to wait until next week to get it. I was a little worried that it was still going to be there, because I'd dallied so long in Fairbanks.

Parks Highway, heading south

Of course, I had been over this section of highway twice before: once on my headlong dash up to Fairbanks six weeks ago, and again with Fran a month before.

The differences in scenery were remarkable, and I'm so glad that I waited to come through at this time of the year. Although every season certainly has it's advantages, autumn is just glorious!

Scenery along the Nenana River, south of Denali NP

I kept stopping, captivated by the intense golden yellow of the aspens and cottonwoods, in stark contrast to the dark green spruce trees.

Not only were the valleys resplendent with gold and green, but the color extended along the sides of the roads and rivers, with willows turning bright yellow and fireweed earning its name by turning orange, red and maroon. Further up the mountains above treeline, shrubs like dwarf birch gave bright spots of red. Groundcovers like dwarf dogwood also turn red, and the lichens and mosses seem to go chartreuse.

Fireweed earns its name in the fall.

Fireweed stalk, with seeds all gone

It's hard to imagine, now, what this scene would look like in the beginning of summer, with snow still on the mountains and the fireweed in all it's magenta glory!

Now the flower stalks have gone to seed, and the seed pods have burst open, releasing fluffy white seeds. Sometimes the seeds don't fly off, but remain sticking to the flower stalk, making the plants looking like they are topped by fluffy candle plumes.

Sometimes the wind does strip away all of the seeds, leaving a dry, delicate tracery of exploded seed pods.

They're beautiful, no matter what stage.

And come winter, not far off now, they will wither and dry and become brittle. Then the heavy snow and winds of winter will come, loading the delicate stalks with cold, white snow. The stalks will break and return to the earth, so the cycle can start all over again.

I'm sorry I won't be here to see that!

Because winter is not far off! The first snows have fallen on the high peaks!

First snows on the mountains!

The ATV boys

I stopped at Hurricane Gulch, in the hopes that I might find another letterbox that was supposed to be hidden there.

Alas, I did not find it, and the view itself wasn't up to my expectations. My last views of this site were from crossing the bridge at 50 miles per hour in a driving rain, gripping the steering wheel with Fran in the car. My glimpses had been of a mysterious deep canyon with pali-like incised cliffs.

Now, in clear weather, it was still an impressive sight, but sometimes the mystery of a scene, enshrouded in mist, turns out to be more memorable than reality!

Hunting season

So... it's hunting season. There are guys with hunting toys everywhere. They have ATVs on flatbed trailers, hidden away in toy hauler trailers, or just driven into the back of pickup trucks.

Honestly, I don't know what hunters did before ATVs became widely available. Large game is heavy. I suppose they had to be real men and dismember the meat, divide it up and drag or pack it out in parts to a place where it could be picked up by plane or truck. ATVs have made hunting much easier.

Getting ready to fly a drone

And much to my surprise, another guy was getting ready to fly a drone! I didn't quite know what to make of this, but he turned out to be the first of two drone operators that I saw in as many days.

He had a posse of interested bystanders or friends who arrived in another vehicle. They flew the thing in the gulch, being gone for maybe 15 minutes or so. Then they came back to the car, got out the computer and reviewed the Flight of the Drone to much exclamation.

I know that drones are prohibited in National Parks. I just sincerely hope that they are not going to be used to spot game, but I already know that some hunters use airplanes to spot animals.

Technology is having wide-reaching consequences.

The bridge over Hurricane Gulch

 I left, with thoughts mulling over in my mind.

I camped that night at the Denali View North campground. With the weather so clear, I was hoping to see what I'd not been able to see before. And what a view it was.

Sunset, with Denali in the background

There were a few other people there, mostly in RVs. One couple from Pennsylvania was in a behemoth of a motor home ("Phaeton") the size of a Greyhound bus. They had two dogs, of whom one was a five-year-old German shepherd named Axel. I ran into them a few more times, going south.

The next day was equally spectacular.

I'm sorry this is taking so long to post. I've been taking advantage of the good weather to sight-see and the bad weather to travel. Wifi has been hard to find; libraries out here have limited hours and shut their computers down at night. Plus, it's really, really slow, and upload times are woeful and frustrating. I may be checking into a motel, just to get caught up. It's been a month, anyway, so maybe I'm entitled!

The Northern Lights

This is going to conclude my catch up. 

I'm going to be regretfully leaving Fairbanks, possibly even tomorrow. Rain has returned the last few days, but is supposed to be sunny or partly cloudy this week, with rain coming in again next weekend. I really do need to move on. The weather really is cooling rapidly; they are predicting "rain mixed with snow" for tonight, and temperatures down into the 30s. It's time to move south.

Aurora borealis

The high point of my stay here in Fairbanks has to be seeing the Northern Lights. I'd missed them the night that we were in Denali. Renée and Cho had seen them, and I was so envious! Cho had an app that he used on his phone to alert him to aurora forecasts, so I downloaded that, and have been checking it religiously.

Unfortunately, good aurora sightings weren't until the end of the month. There were one or two nights where there was supposed to be "moderate" activity, but those nights were overcast. I was beginning to despair that I'd be able to see this phenomenon.

However, it DID clear, and I was treated to some amazing sights.

It's like nothing I've experienced.

The green color is completely silent. If you didn't look up, you'd never know it was there. It's like green mist high in the sky: shifting, streaming, disappearing.

It's eerie and magical.

The displays that I've seen stretch across the sky in broad bands. They are huge — impossible to get in one frame of the camera. Occasionally there have been more curtain-like forms, but I haven't seen the rippling color that I've seen in some videos. 

I'm totally not complaining. I just need more experience!

One time, it seemed like the whole horizon glowed with green, like after the sunset of a green sun. The band slowly lifted and expanded, like rising mist. I imagined the night sky above the Emerald City of Oz would look like that!

Some of the vaguely curtain-like displays. NOTE the Big Dipper just behind (thanks, Renée for pointing this out — I was concentrating so much on the Lights I didn't see that at first!)

I've seen the Lights now on a string of clear nights, and they have not lost their appeal (although getting up and out of the warm sleeping bag at midnight is harder, as it is getting colder at that hour!)

Every time is different.

Sometimes they're more active: the patterns change rapidly, so that by the time you point the camera at one place in the sky, they're glowing elsewhere. Sometimes they seem to just hang there. Sometimes they seem blown by an invisible wind.

They are eerie and deeply memorable.

I am so glad I have been able to see them; impressions I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

First frost on dandelion leaves

Final thoughts

I know that I have to leave. Winter is coming. Earlier this week when I took my morning walk, there was frost on the grass (at 9:30am!). This nip in the air will only get more severe. Here in the Interior, the temperature can get down to -70°F.

It's the only place I've ever been where the weather report gives the temperature as "In downtown Fairbanks, the temperature is 50° ABOVE" (like clarification is needed)!

I don't want to leave, though. I'd like to experience the winter here.

I've looked at real estate. $179,000 will get a 1/3-acre lot on the Chena River, not far out of downtown. That's prime property right on the river. Haven't looked into what building costs are here, or what building codes or regulations are, but there are shipping containers for sale or lease... I've seen some very interesting homes made from shipping containers!

I've also investigated at rental property. I could get a cabin here for $450/month (6-month lease from October 1 – April 30). Or a furnished room for $800/month, all utilities including high-speed internet included. It's an intriguing thought.

I'm so tempted, but I've committed to house-sitting in February, and it doesn't seem to be quite worth it to do it this year. It would also mean getting the car "winterized" — it's more than just getting an engine block heater...
http://www.city-data.com/forum/alaska/775829-winterizing-our-vehicles.html

I will have to think on this and see what my options are in the future. In exploring property options up here, one of the biggest realizations is that the nomad lifestyle has taken hold. I don't want to settle down anywhere right now. I'm sure this will change, but for now, I love the ability to stay where I want for as long as I like, then be able to leave and go somewhere else.

That said, I cannot explain the hold this place has on me.
It feels more comfortable, more "home" than any other place I've been.

I realize there is a trade-off between settling in one place and having the freedom to move around, but for now the ability to move is paramount. I can only hope that the friendships I've developed over the past years will outlast my wandering foot.

What's next?

I'm a little at odds. Having spent the last 18 months (and before that 35 years) thinking and dreaming of Alaska, now I have to start thinking, "What's next?"

I should see some other parts of Alaska. People keep asking me if I've been to Haines, or Homer, or Southeast Alaska. I'll be through some new Alaskan and Canadian territory on the way back to California.

I'm not sure of my schedule. It's dependent on weather, on how fast I travel and what there is to see.

I have options: I can continue with the original plan, which was to head to Anchorage, spend some time on the Kenai Peninsula, then head back to Glennallen on the Copper River, back up to Tok, Tetlin Junction and Whitehorse, then cut down on the Cassiar Highway to Prince George and Vancouver. I suppose I could easily spend a month there!

The other option is to go ahead and take the ferry (Marine Highway) south, but my preference is to leave this for another trip when traveling a bit lighter (summer backpack, and more pre-planned).

(Anchorage is a bit of a priority. After upgrading my Dropbox account, something happened with my laptop. I can't navigate in the "Finder" anymore; the windows freeze up. Everything is backed up, and I've made do with workarounds, but I'm nervous about correcting this without some hand-holding, so going to the Apple store in Anchorage — the only one in Alaska — is a priority stop.)

I'm feeling a bit of a letdown right now. When you've looked forward to something for so long, and then achieve it, there's an initial period of elation, followed by a warm glow. I've been enjoying that for the last six weeks, but now I need to leave. I don't want to, but I have to, so it's emotionally messy.

I need to do some long-range planning.

The best thing about this trip is that I do have such freedom. If the weather is too cold, on a whim I could head to New Mexico, or southern California. I can go to New York or New Jersey or Maryland and do the family history research I've always wanted to do. I can visit cousins in Massachusetts, Nashville and the Carolinas. I can head to Iceland, Greenland, Finland or New Zealand.

It's an exciting time, but NOTHING will compare with this trip.
It's been perfect, and I'm not done yet. I'm so glad I did not cut it short when the house burned.

And I'm glad I'm still on the road.

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The House

For those of you who want to know... we're in a waiting period right now. The downstairs is gutted; the charred decking is gone. Upstairs, the damaged asbestos-ridden drywall and kitchen cabinets have been removed. Presumably, it is drying out in the hot weather.

We went with the insurance company architect/engineer for the structural plans. Contractor Steve didn't like the first draft of the plans that came through, so he kicked them back for revisions (two more weeks). The plans for re-framing and roofing are now complete, but it looks like it will be the end of September before the permit can be issued by the county. So we are in a bit of a waiting period. Steve is lining up people to work on the place, but there is a delicate dance with the insurance company, which seems to have different ideas about how much things cost. He has a meeting on Friday (9/9) with the insurance adjuster to negotiate on this issue and get the names of some subcontractors who are supposed to be able to get things done for the "approved" price. 

It will be a balancing act between scheduling/availability, cost and quality of work.

The plan is to have everything ready to go when the permit comes through. It's hard to wait, but this is the nature of the game.

Stay tuned.

The next post will be from somewhere else!

Maple leaves

Fairbanks Interlude

Since Fran left, I've been alternating my time between hunkering down in the library and getting to know Fairbanks. I'm not going to give a day-by-day accounting, but will give some highlights. 

Current thoughts, which are kind of all over the map at this point, will be in the next post. The last before leaving the Far North.

Rainbow from the Fairbanks library

Gorgeous flowers outside the library

Writing at the library

A good portion of my days have been spent at the public library in Fairbanks. I love libraries, so this hasn't been a hardship. This one is well-used, but not crowded; there's a big room for the children's library, and lots of public-use computers. I'm glad I have my own laptop, though, as the internet stations are NEVER free. Wifi is fairly decent, and available 24/7, so if I don't finish, I can sit out in the car after closing and keep working.

One does not want to just sit outside as the mosquitoes are pesky, especially around nightfall.

Definitely "dinner plate" dahlias

Nightfall is definitely coming noticeably earlier in the two weeks I've spent here. The sun is lower in the sky, even at noon. The sun sets around 9pm, although twilight remains until about 10pm. And the weather is getting just a little cooler. In the days that I've been writing this, it's gotten quite a bit cooler; first frost was last night. Of course "real" Alaskans are still in shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops.

I've enjoyed the flowers around town so much. In an earlier post, I commented on the flowers at the botanical garden — one might expect perfection there, but here in Alaska even street flowers do well. The dahlias grow exuberantly; there are sunflowers and marigolds; salvia, snapdragons and sweet william, pansies and mallows; every size and color and form.

And there are happy bees! European honeybees, which I have seen here, do not usually survive over the winter; beekeepers here usually kill them off (how sad is that?) and order new ones in the spring, although with rising cost of bees and colony collapse disorder, there is more interest in over-wintering bees, with beekeepers in cold climates from Maine to Canada to Alaska contributing their knowledge of what works to help the hives survive the long, cold, dark winter. It's quite complicated, and success is not guaranteed.
Overwintering bees in Fairbanks

Arctic bee on fireweed (taken in Yukon)

The arctic bee, Bombus polaris, manages to hibernate during the long cold winter. These big, fuzzy bees emerge early in the spring.
The Alaska Dept. of Fish & Game has an interesting article on B. polaris. 

University of Fairbanks (UAF)

I visited the University (UAF) up on the hill on a few occasions. Once, as a change, I thought I might try the university library, but that turned out to be a big bust in every which way. This is kind of a funny comedy of errors...

Even though it was inter-session (no school), parking restrictions were in effect. Which was fine. I went to pay my parking fees (all of a dollar for four hours) and I found out from talking with the people that the machines are new. Instead of individual parking meters, you can either pay through an app on your smartphone, or you can pay through a centralized machine. Well, my phone is too old for the app to work, so I tried to pay through the centralized machine, along with everyone else. There was quite a lineup of us, and everyone was grousing about the "new system."

In the library, which is a big, multi-floor building, I found a nice space to work next to an electric outlet. I got the computer out and tried to log on. No luck. None of my devices, phone, computer or tablet were finding the wifi server. In some frustration, I went up to the help desk and asked how to get online. Seems like I wasn't the only person who'd had trouble, as the nice gentleman who helped me knew all the tricks, and I was soon on the system.

HOWEVER, since I was a guest and not affiliated with the university, wifi was agonizingly slow, like being back on a 256k modem. Much as I liked the longer open hours, it just wasn't worth it. So I left after 3-1/2 hours in order to leave the parking lot before my time was up.

Only to find a ticket on my car. This was getting to be ridiculous. I took off for the campus police station to complain, putting in another 25 cents into that parking meter (there were parking meters in front of the police building) so that I wouldn't get ticketed again! The handsome police officer there said they didn't have anything to do with parking fines, that I'd have to go to the bursar's office to get it cleared up.

Fine.

Since I still had ample time on my 25-cent parking meter fee, I walked back down the hill to the bursar's office. And stood in line. I was the only person there, with two people "helping" at the window. The first person was busy with something, the other person couldn't see me in line because of a big wooden post that obstructed her view from seeing anyone in line, which was a pretty effective barrier to any customer service. I finally walked back and forth, making harrumphing noises and eventually got her attention.

I had the parking receipt which showed that my time was good until 2:11pm. The parking ticket had been issued at 12:53pm, over an HOUR before my time was up. I presented my clear evidence, and she pounded the two pieces of paper together and said she'd take care of it.

I guess it isn't the first time that the new "system" hasn't worked. I hope they get the bugs worked out before school starts in the fall!

Fairbikes at UAF

On the way back to the car, I calmed down and was happy to see that it's a really bike-friendly campus, with bike-only lanes and plenty of bike parking.

There is a "Fairbikes" station (turns out the bikes are NOT free), but it's still cool that they are here. Turns out there are currently 50 bikes around town that can be rented for $5 per hour ride, and returned to the same or a different station. The program opened to much fanfare last year; I'm not sure how it's working.

I also saw a "bike repair station" — sort of a tall umbrella-looking thing with bike tools (wrenches, etc) attached with rubber hose, so that if you needed something to fix your bike, you could use it.

The bus system is also pretty good, and FREE for seniors! Awesome!

Errands

I had a number of errands to do: N0MAD needed her 20,000-mile servicing, so I got that taken care of at the Kendall Toyota dealer (had to take the bike off the car so it would fit in the service bay), and got to know the north side of Fairbanks a bit.

I wanted a kuspuk pattern, so that led to a happy treasure hunt to local fabric stores. Material Girls was a place that I'd heard of at the Fair, since the store sponsored one of the award-winning quilts. Their building was an attractive classic log cabin with wide porches designed to resemble the 1906 Fairbanks borough library. Their fabric stock was pretty much limited to cottons for quilters. It is expensive ($13/yard), and nothing was on sale. I beat a hasty retreat.

Northern Threads was a gold mine not only for quilters, but for textile artists of all kinds. A VERY dangerous place, since they had fabric, yarn, embroidery and art supplies. Turns out that $13/yard IS the going price for good quality cotton here in Alaska. Yikes. Quilting can be an expensive hobby here. They did have the pattern I was after, so I did get it, along with some Alaskan trim for the kuspuk, and a "fat quarter" of some fabric printed with fireweed. I have no idea what I will do with it, but I'll think of an Alaskan something.

A "Peeps" great horned owl

This store features Alaskan/Northern goods, so if you want moose anything, this is your go-to place, but I resisted getting anything else. They also are an outlet for artists to sell their wares, including knitted, quilted, appliqued, stamped, dyed or stuffed items.  One of the most adorable items (that I did see in some other places) were "Peeps," which are handmade stuffed birds, suitable for ornaments or other decorations. The woman who designs them, Stephanie Rudig, pays particular attention to the fabric she uses for each bird, and the care that she puts into each one is quite evident.

They also sell kits. And qiviut. Like I said, a dangerous place.

You can tell that the people in Fairbanks are creative folks, because the city also supports a Joann store and a Michael's. Prices are higher here, too, but since there is no sales tax, actual out-of-pocket expenses might be about the same. At least it helps. I could tell myself that, as I spent some time in each.

I can't help it, I'm a craft junkie, and love doing projects. It is one of the things I miss when traveling. Drawing has been fun, but there are times when it's difficult to find something to draw that won't wilt. Getting consistent light has been another problem. Although I've taken photos (and indeed have a backlog of things I'd like to draw from those photos), I will have to wait until I either have good electricity to draw them from the computer, or a printer to print a reference photo.

Kettle pond on UAF trail

Things to do

Letterboxing and hiking did get me out to some interesting places.

There is an extensive trail system that's maintained by the UAF. Dog-walkers, runners, and just folks out for a walk use these trails. After the continuous rains, they tended to be a bit muddy. Water-logged might be more descriptive. Swampy might be even better.

"Kitchen Garden" at the Princess Lodge

It's always interesting when you get out for a hike. You just never know what you're going to find. For instance, on one of these walks, I found the UAF archery range!

Some letterboxes I still haven't found, but even if I haven't been successful at finding them, it's still a fine excuse to get out and go somewhere you might not go ordinarily.

For instance, I would never in a million years would have gone to the pricey Fairbanks Princess Lodge, but they did have beautiful grounds right on the Chena River. They had well-kept gardens, including a wonderful "Chef's Garden" with vegetables and herbs that it looked like were actually USED, since some were ready for picking, and new plants were being put in place. It was lovely.

Also on these excursions, it's evident that the weather is changing.

Blueberries and cloudberries are finished and hard to find. Other berries — bunchberries, crowberries and high- and low-bush cranberries — are ripening fast, and getting fat and juicy. Chokecherries are also getting big and shiny.

Rose leaves turning brilliant colors

In the city, birch leaves aren't turning color so much as just shriveling and turning brown; I'm just a little bit disappointed in the lack of color, but rose, fireweed and high-bush cranberry leaves are turning scarlet and gold.

It seems all the natural world is in a mighty rush to finish with the business of growing, fruiting or otherwise going to seed before winter sets in.

Sandhill cranes again

I stopped by Creamer's Field several times during these past couple of weeks. For awhile, I didn't see any more birds except the ever-present Canada geese, and counted Fran and myself lucky that we had seen them when we stopped by here earlier in the month.

But on one mid-day morning when I stopped to see if anything was happening, I was treated to the sight of HUNDREDS of cranes. There were so many birds there, it was amazing that they could even find a place to land!

Hundreds of cranes (this was only a small portion of the field)

It was wonderful to take the time to watch their behavior. They were feeding, preening and just looking around (above). They were walking, strutting, and stretching their necks up and calling. Some would occasionally leap up and down and flap their wings. And sometimes there were discussions between birds that didn't look quite friendly.

It's thrilling to see these large birds flying so gracefully, although they aren't quite as graceful when they land!

Sometimes they just look silly!

There was one fabulous day where I did a hike up on one of the UAF trails, and could hear the croaking of the sandhill cranes as they were flying by.

It was kind of an unworldly, prehistoric sound. The next Jurassic Park foley artists should take note!

Since UAF is on a hill, you actually can look down on the birds flying. It's magical to see their broad wings above their rounded bodies, long necks and feet stretched out in flight.

They take off  in pairs or groups, croaking constantly to each other. They wheel around, settle down onto a field, then all take off again. They seem to be everywhere, not just at the wildlife refuge.

It used to be that I couldn't tell the difference between cranes calling and geese honking, but now I can readily tell them apart.

I will long remember that day, hearing the cranes calling.

I did take some video of the cranes. I'll give the links here; I'm not sure that I want to embed the YouTube videos. I would appreciate some feedback on how best to offer these (embedded YouTube videos, embedded Blogger videos, or YouTube video links).
- Sandhill cranes walking
- Sandhill cranes pecking
- Geese and cranes flying in
There are some other videos there, but //disclaimer// nothing is edited for sound or anything else. Video editing is a whole other arena I don't have the time to get into, now, but it's fun having the footage for the future.

Birch Hill ski trail

Dragonfly on high-bush cranberry leaf

Birch Hill

I spent one spectacular Sunday up at the Birch Hill Recreation Area. I was actually trying to find a letterbox and missed the turn; it turned out to be a fortuitous mistake!

Because it is so close to the city center (less than five miles away), it's used a lot: in the summer by bicyclists, hikers, dog walkers and "disc golfers." Despite being popular, it doesn't feel overused: the trails don't have ruts, the vegetation underfoot remains springy.

In the winter, it's a nordic ski area. The summer trails are cleared ski trails, so they are broad, grassy and not too steep, which makes them perfect for bikers and hikers.

Of course, the hills around Fairbanks are not steep anyway!

It was one of those days that I never wanted to end. The sky was crystal blue, it was warm in the sun and cool in the shade, with just a light breeze to keep things interesting.

 It was quiet and peaceful.

There were joggers and a few walkers, some with dogs, but most without. Just enough people that it didn't feel spooky to be out in the woods.

Birch Hill not a place to get spectacular views — or any far-off views, for that matter, since the only thing you can see is trees.

And mosses.

And lichens.

And mushrooms.

And ripening berries.

Poor attempts at birch-bark and grass weaving

And all the little things that make up a forest.

There were leaves turning gold and falling to the earth in the occasional breeze.

I walked, sat in the sun, tried weaving some birch bark and grasses.

I now know why woven birch bark has never been used much for clothing or even mats.

Although it looks like it would be an appropriate material for weaving, the stuff I'd gathered was actually quite frustrating to work with. It doesn't tear in smooth, even strips, but in smooth, long flags that decrease in width. That issue can be accommodated (by alternating strips), but it's not very flexible, and the flaky bark keeps shedding.

Much as I love the look and feel of birch bark, I'll try using it for something else!

Weaving grass

Grass was more successful, but is not very strong, either. I did like the decorative seed heads (panicles?), although I recognize that it's not very practical!

I'd be curious to try other natural materials — spruce roots are reputed to be strong and supple — and could see getting into basket making. There is something that is very satisfying about gathering natural materials and making something with them.

I have since found that the part of "birchbark" used in most work is not the outer papery part, but the strong, soft inner part — one craftsperson likens it to leather. But what's missing from these instructions is how to get the bark off the tree in the first place! I've found some oblique references to harvesting in the spring or from cut trees. I'd like to know more.

Slate rocks and birch leaves — a drawing to finish!

Links for future research:
- Tlingit basket making
- A UAF video from 1959 on making a container. Amazing what you can learn from YouTube!
- How to build a canoe

I started a drawing here, too, but the afternoon was light was changing too fast, and I'd neglected to bring my small black pencil, so I couldn't get the rich contrasts between the shadows and the shiny slate highlights.  I'm just including the photo so I can try to finish the drawing sometime. Aren't the leaves beautiful?

People & Activities

I haven't been going out of my way to meet folks. I'm not a bar-hopping gal; don't like beer and don't need the company. I've just been so happy to be able to do things that haven't been a priority in the past: 

- Reading has always been a leisure activity for me. I've kept reading as a special treat for myself — in fact, I confess that one Mother's Day, when asked what I'd most like, I said I'd like a few hours to myself to curl up in my favorite armchair in the sun and read a book (no kids)! Disappearing into a book or listening to a story brings me back to the escapist literature of my teen years, and the options available now for reading are impressive and wonderful. You can download almost any book you can think of. I've even found the "Lensman" series by E.E. "Doc" Smith that I so enjoyed when I was young. 

I understand the irony of being in a fabulous place and just wanting to read, but there is a balance here! This is not "vacation." It's life on the road.

- Drawing enables me to see the world in a different and precise way. When drawing, I have to notice the way a plant's leaves radiate from a stem, the structure of a rock, or the way light hits an object. Colors, values and textures need to be examined before they can be put to paper. I'm fascinated with composition (photography helps with this), and the way a chosen medium is applied onto paper.

- Beading: I've been inspired by the Athabascan work that I've seen on this trip, and really, really want to try my hand at doing this again. I've done several beading projects (a silver rose for my Larkspur Centennial "Rosebowl" dress, some knitted beaded bags, and some bracelets), and I'm eager to do more. I saw a beaded eagle on a hairclip at the Tenana Valley State Fair that I really liked, but I just couldn't quite handle the $25 price tag when I think I could do it myself. I've gotten some leather scraps to work with, but need a reliable space to spread out to work. I haven't figured out how to do this in the car yet!

Aack. What was I thinking?

- Knitting: I've needed a project that I can do in the car that doesn't require a lot of setup or small parts that can easily be upset or lost, or that can be accomplished with less light, so I'm revisiting knitting. In the distant past, I've done quite a number of varied knitting projects (sweaters, children's clothes, hats) in different techniques (fair isle is a favorite) and materials (wool, acrylic and cotton) and and have liked it more than crochet, but I needed a refresher. (I'm sorry to say that I'm terribly embarrassed during my last fling with knitting, I learned I had been doing it all wrong! I'm working on a lace pattern now, which is forcing me to pay attention to which way the yarn and the needles go — there's not a lot of room for error!) I'm learning what a "lifeline" is! I'm also thinking about qiviut... and what I might do with it, if I bite the bullet and purchase some!

So doing things has been my emphasis, rather than being social. That's not to say that I haven't been friendly, I've just not gone out of my way to make friends on this trip. It's just not been important. 

But I have talked with a few people.

- There was the grizzled older guy in the parking space next to me outside Fred Meyer. I had done a bit of grocery shopping and was messing around with putting things into the icebox. 

Icebox note: This is a little bit complicated: in order to drain the water, I have to turn the icebox; in order to turn it I need to move the "ready" food bag so that it isn't in the way when rotating the icebox back into position. The water jugs (contained with bungee cords so they don't fall out when the door is opened) also have to be moved out of the way so the icebox can be tilted so the water can drain out the drain hole without flooding the inside of the car! 

He came over to put his cart away, and nodded to me. He then espied the Yeti. Now, you have to realize that men have sincere and profound Yeti envy. The few men who have seen the inside of my car have all remarked on it. "OHhh... you have a YETI!" It's universal and has gotten to be almost funny. 

He peered in the car as he relinquished his cart and as I fussed with the icebox. "Oh," he said, "You have a Yeti! That's about a $300 icebox!" I said, "Yes, I know!" and then went on to tell him that it wasn't just an icebox: it was a table, bench and step-stool all in one. That broke the ice, and we got to chatting, and he introduced himself as "Chief John." He'd been here in Alaska for 50 years. He mentioned that he had property on the Tenana ("...right on the river..."), and that he loved it here. n fact, he said, "If food didn't go bad, I'd never come to town." He'd only come this time because he had a doctor's appointment. "Fool thing, this," pointing to his foot, which was encased in a bandage. Nodding to the kayak, he asked if I'd been on the river, and when I said, no, the current was too fast, and I didn't trust myself on it alone. "Strictly a lake boater," I said. He nodded sagely, and said, "Yes, that water is really cold." After a bit more chit-chat, he asked hopefully, "No dog?" I chuckled, and said, "No, with the type of traveling I'm doing, it just wouldn't work," but that I'd had dogs in the past. He had what looked like a Boston terrier in his truck, and another at home. "Well, I'd better be going off... you don't need anything do you?" It was a lovely small conversation, and embodies the friendliness in people that I've met here.

- There was the nice lady who was in charge of the Creamer's Field Visitor Center. She actually was talking with someone else, stopped talking in mid-sentence, and said, "Oh!! I love your French braid!!" Turns out she was actually Dutch (the second person I've met up here from the Netherlands). She's been here for about seven years, but leaves during the winter; typical of the seasonal residents here. People often work two (or more) jobs to get by.

- There was the young boy (maybe 8-10 years old?) in the library. He was getting a drink of water; I was filling my water bottles (a daily ritual). He nodded to me, and said something about "...it's higher." I must have looked puzzled, because, he repeated a little more clearly this time, "This one's higher." (There are two drinking fountains in the library, I was using the lower one, which is presumably easier for little kids to reach.) 

I replied, "Yes, that's okay." 

He said, "I fill mine here, too. I'm so poor that I can't afford new bottles." He went on to say, "They say you're not supposed to refill them more than a few times, but I just keep doing it."

I said, "Me, too. I've been refilling these for a long time, and they seem to be doing just fine."

He went off into the night, leaving me to think about poverty and the strange synchronicity that poor people are those that are most likely to recycle and live frugal, environmentally-sound lives.

This brings a comment about cars and property here in Alaska. 

The Alaska economy is not doing well. The oil boom is winding down, and even though there is more oil in the North Slope oil fields, it's a diminishing resource. Opening up oil exploration in other areas of the Far North is politically difficult.
It is expensive to ship things here. It really is a frontier. There is no way around it. If something breaks, there are three options:
(1) let it be
(2) fix it creatively
(3) fix it properly (but costly)
I have seen more examples of (1) and (2) here anywhere else that I have been. Cars and trucks look like they've been through a destruction derby. They are dented and rusted, with cracked bumpers and windshields. Duct tape and cardboard keeps out the worst of the elements (I suppose in the winter, the cardboard ices up and thus creates a pretty hard covering, sort of like a portable igloo.) Sometime people want to get things fixed, and have the money to pay for it, but the proper parts just aren't available.
Read more about the Alaska economy

Cabin and cache near downtown Fairbanks

The same goes for property. There are quite a number of cabins here (lots of examples in Pioneer Park) that are over 100 years old.

Some are surrounded by "junk" — it's easier and less expensive to leave something that might not work than haul it away, and, where are you going to haul it anyway? And besides, something from that old tractor, car, or sofa might come in handy when you have to fix something else.

Of course, that's not to say that everything is a junkyard, but Fairbanks is definitely a bit rough around the edges. There are potholes in the streets, peeling paint, and abandoned buildings (some boarded up and some not).

There are also exuberant gardens, new construction (hotels) and a few big, fancy SUVs.

Definitely a land of contrasts: in weather, vehicles and economy.