It's a bit surreal. September 2010, I mean. This time last year I had the garden put to bed, scarecrows hammered firmly into the ground in anticipation of the first wind storm, and wood safely tucked into the shed, ready for a hard frost that signals the beginning of six months of Ice Age temperatures.
This year, I have not only passed by the date of my usual "wintertime prep" activities, I have ignored it, as sunflowers are ready to bloom, brussel sprouts have yet to brussel, and my firewood; well, let's just say that today was the day to finally take care of that chore. It's nutty, it's delightful, and it's just a bit nervewracking, to be perfectly honest.
One year ago, we were taking bets in the Kirkland Family Snow Date wager, and snow indeed fell the first week of October. Heck, I think it reached 65 today and Bear was clad only in his Carhartt overalls and hiking boots for most of our trek to the Ft. Richardson Woodlot for some hunting and gathering with our friends. I think the word "hot" passed more than one set of lips during the job, and my evening Jubelale tasted mighty fine with my grilled salmon out on the deck.
What the heck? Eating outside in September, in Alaska? I tell you, I'd make a killing as an end-of-season tour operator this year if I had the chance. Brilliant yellow colors mixed with bright sunshine and balmy temperatures make for a pretty fancy trip. Throw in a couple of rack-laden, rut-infused moose and this could be the trip of a lifetime for some Lower 48'er.