I'm Making You What??!!

Last week, on the way home from only five errands instead of the usual ten, Bear let loose a heavy sigh from the back seat. Glancing back, I asked what was troubling. After a moment of speculation, he said "Mommy, you make me nervous."

I make him nervous? How the heck could I possibly make a three-year old nervous, and where did he learn that word, anyway?! Perhaps he has heard us use it as we refer to new dog Jasper, but who knows. Bear is a very keen observer of his surroundings and the people in them, so it could have been the person in front of us at Fred Meyer for all I know.

At any rate, the remaining drive home gave me pause to reflect upon 1) whether or not I indeed make him and anyone else in the family nervous, and 2) if I do, how to change. I decided that afternoons definitely lend themselves to nervousness. Trying to make it to Wolf's school on time to collect him and his homework, nagivating traffic through still-icy streets, starting dinner before Taekwondo, interviewing people for upcoming articles, fighting of the PW (still); all potentially create a nervous mommy, in my way of thinking.

How to mitigate? Yoga, perhaps, but that would just be another thing I would have to commit to attending. Turning off the cell phone? Certainly. It drives Yukon nuts when he can't find me, but truly, he and anybody else can leave me a message.

I asked Bear yesterday if I still made him nervous. He told me "Yes, you do." I decided to probe a little further and asked "Why?" Maybe I would learn something more I could be doing for my poor little waif and his potentially shattered psyche.

"Because you don't give me cookies."

Fancy Running Into You

I took the plunge this week and took Jasper running. With the boundless energy his breed is known for, I knew that it was only a matter of time before the heebeejeebees took over. Besides, being chained to him for four days gave me enough perspective to understand his little psyche needed to get outside and do something. So, we dressed in the running clothes, got out the memorial moose lead that belonged to Pepper, and trotted off down the street.

Immediately differences between running with an Old Yellow Dog and a young German Bird Dog became apparant. Whereas the Yellow Dog would run five steps behind me, hoping to get me to stop eventually so she could grumble at every passing yard dog, Bird Dog popped his stubby tail into the air and stepped lively in concert with me. A good feeling.

The further we went the calmer he became, coming to understand his purpose; to just run with Person and not stop to sniff, pee, bark, or otherwise detract from the outing's mission. We jogged this way for almost 45 minutes and circled back to see if any moose could be found along the treeline of the nearby park, just to see what, if anything, Jasper would do upon smelling one. None were visible or within smelling range (this dog has a nose!) so homeward bound we went.

I don't think Bird Dog has had much exercise in the past few months, as he headed straight for his bed after a drink, turned around three times and began snoring. Sleeping seems to be a favorite activity of his, we have noticed.

This weekend we are going to try a short trip to the park, walking on trails outside of our normal route. Jasper is bonding well to us and is trusting that we are okay people to be around.

Oh yes, and I have a writing dog again, too. He is sleeping at my feet, right where Pepper used to sit. A mere arm reach away.

Fishin' Dreams

When the snow begins to melt, the days become longer, and the birds begin their twittering, an Alaskan man's fancy turns to.....Fish.

This is our third spring in Alaska, and, like clockwork, we have joined other Alaskan minds as they wander towards the upcoming summer fish catch. For us, it all began Easter Sunday as we sat around the table with our good friends, feasting on smoked salmon spread made by T & J.

March is the time of year when the newspapers begin publishing specials on guided fishing trips, new gear, and big boats. It is also when homeowners fortunate to have an extra freezer (almost a necessity) start digging into its depths to see what, if any, fish products are left from last season. Cleaning out the freezer is mandatory to make room for the 2008 cache. Depending upon the level of freezer burn, which may or may not make the product dog food, a schedule of weekly fish consumption is created, and our family has reaped the benefits. Besides the salmon spread, we will be dining on clam strips, halibut on the grill, salmon patties, and some scallops a friend sent us. As we sit down to the table to eat what we caught, dug, or netted ourselves, I can now fully appreciate the feeling of self-satisfaction as I feed my children food they helped procure.

I mentioned salmon as dog food. Yes, some types of salmon are used to feed the dogs. Usually pinks, the lowest on the chain of tastiness, but still pretty good when smoked. Dogs enjoy salmon as much as we do, in fact, many sled dog mushers feed the fish to their teams to get the full benefit of the omega-3's. Mixed with kibble and cooked into a soupy gruel, dogs slurp it up with relish.

This summer we will be dipnetting for salmon, fishing for halibut in Haines on a vacation with the above friends, digging clams in Ninilchik and Clam Gulch, and picking blueberries, crowberries, and cranberries on the hillsides near our home.

We will feel rich.

A Family of Five

Our little Alaskan family of four has become a pack of five; Jasper Kirkland arrived on Alaska Airlines Flight #101 with Yukon early Easter morning. Though inititally (and still a bit) shellshocked at his new people and surroundings, he is adjusting well.

Yukon and I owe great gratitude to his sister, a German Shorthair afficianado, who has provided us with endless knowledge and tips for making the most of this potentially difficult transition.

One of her most valued pointers was to keep Jasper on a short leash 24/7 for this first week in order to allow him to bond with us, whether he likes it or not (fortunately he does). I must say, however, that holding an active dog on the business end of a lead all the time is proving to be a bit of a challenge. Ever try to put contact lenses in one-handed? Make a piece of toast and jam? Fortunately, Jasper is also crate-trained, and that gives us all some respite occasionally, and at night.

I liken this to adopting not a dog, but a toddler, and now we have two. Bear and Jasper seem to be kindred spirits. In fact, Jasper walked right up to him upon introduction, tail wagging. Whew.

Wolf has been a trooper, learning how to manage commands and taking short turns with the leash.

Yukon comes home in a few hours and will do his fatherly duty of the afternoon/evening walk around the neighborhood. I will get dinner ready with the full use of all my appendages (right now I am typing w/ the leash around my foot; Jasper is napping on the floor!).

A good boy coming into our lives at a good time. I will try a run later this week and see how he does. With the bears waking up, I will feel better running on the trails. At least in a general sense. I have NO idea how Jasper will react to the local wildlife.

Breaking Up

The boys and I arrived home late last night to dry pavement and brown grass instead of snow. The term for this annual arrival of Spring (a loosely used concept) is "Break Up". And boy, does it break up.

In areas where rivers, lakes, and other open water predominates, the melting of a winter's worth of ice is an important date, indeed. Ice means another way of traveling through the remote wilderness, i.e. with your snogo (snowmobile) dogsled, or even your pickup truck, should the mood strike you. Not only a way to pass the time in areas where entertainment is sparse (Nenana, a town on the way to Denali NP, has a big pool of people who win a ton of money for guessing when the ice will break), the "break up" of the ice is also a safety issue. Nope, don't want to be out there when it starts to go. People, dogs, sleds, and even a few moose have perished due to thin ice conditions.

In our neighborhood, we don't have to worry about much danger from melting ice, if you don't count what lies in our backyard.

Due to either my denial, or the snowpack (or both), I have until today neglected to pick up the residual effects of a dog living in our house this past year. Crap. So, this afternoon, with a brisk breeze coming from the North and sun shining brightly, Bear and I pulled on our "break up boots" and went to clear the poop deck.

In a burst of intelligence, little Bear promptly went to the swingset where his little legs dangled as I struggled to maneuver the shovel, plastic garbage bag, and pile after pile of what my less-than-delicate neighbor calls "dog poop soup". Adding to the mechanics of the process were the camoflauge of leaves left over from autumn and the rock hard ground.

Almost makes me wish for the -10 days again. At least then it was akin to pioneers picking up frozen buffalo chips.

I did what I could, rewarded myself with a cold beer in the yard while Bear finished swinging and Wolf chopped at a snowbank out front. The sun was still bright, the breeze still fresh, and we could at least walk a straight line to the back door without slipping in something.

Until tomorrow, when Yukon brings Jasper home. He sure is going to be busy out there...

Homeward Bound

After almost two weeks in the relative springlike weather of Seattle and Portland, the boys and I are headed back to Alaska tomorrow evening. I hear it snowed today.
My desire to return home is fueled mostly by the desire to get back to our normal routine, if indeed we do have one. I enjoy traveling, or at least think I enjoy traveling, until reality bites. Teenager and toddler fight for number one spot on who can be most irritating in the car ("He won't let me kick him!" "Mom, tell him to stop putting his fingers in my ears!"), Yukon refuses to be rushed through any restaurant as a self-proclaimed World's Slowest Eater, and I simply exist to referee, dole out juice and snacks, and pay off Wolf for good behavior.
Lest I sound catty, the trip overall was a great opportunity to show the boys the proverbial playgrounds of my childhood; we drove past the house my father grew up in, hiked some local trails, visited some family, heard good news.
But I like Alaska. It is our home, and it is calling us. I hear that Yukon did a militaristic cleaning job before he left. If this is true, I want to go there even more!

Roots for Wings

I took the boys and Wolf's little half brother and sister (ages 8 and 6) to the local park the other day. Sitting on the site of the old library (but in the same general area), this park was a staple of my childhood. The tall metal slide that was hotter than hell in the summer, a log teepee thing we climbed on, all that is gone and has been replaced by nifty train-themed equipment that is divided up in areas so all the kids, regardless of age, have a spot to play safely. Not that I totally agree with this; heck, I played on the teepee when I was too young, got stuck at the top, and ended up falling off with little damage done. But, times have changed I guess, and the children had a blast.

As the kids and I were walking home, young "S" walked with Bear and me and listened as I regailed them with my Issaquah knowledge. "So and so lived here, he was a mean man who got mad when we jumped over his hedge." "I used to go swimming in the creek down that street, we'd go all the way to lake Sammamish and then walk home." Impressed, S asked if I missed living here. I said I did sometimes, because there were so many things that were the same.

My roots run deep here. I went running the evening I arrived and kept going and going, jogging past all the places I used to ride my bike as a kid (with, I might add, no helmet or care of getting run over). Spring has arrived now, and with it comes the old houses with tulips and crocuses and little pots of primroses on their front porches. The smell of plum blossoms was almost overwhelming for the familiarity of it. I almost told Yukon that we needed to come back when I talked on the phone to him. I almost couldn't stand being so far away.

But the wings stopped me. My parents, for years, kept this verse hanging on their wall; "There are two lasting gifts parents can give their children. One is roots, the other, wings...."

I don't think the blossoms would have smelled so sweet, nor the flowers seemed so bright, had I not had wings.