Visiting Pearl Harbor was pretty special for us. From different military branches and for different reasons, both Yukon and I knew people who served, fought, and subesquently were able to share their experiences with family. An opportunity to walk on the same soil was, for Yukon in particular, sacred.

My great aunt was a nurse in Honolulu's Catholic hospital on December 7, 1941. A free spirited lady, born and raised in Montana but wanting to see the world (wonder where I got the wanderbug; look no further), she had married a native Hawaii'an and settled in the city. When the planes flew over and bombs began to fall, she busied herself with getting over to the bases and helping wherever she could, though not enlisted in the armed forces; not yet. After things settled down, she flew home to Montana, "borrowed" her younger sister's birth certificate (Aunt H was considered too old to enlist at the age of 30), and became an Army Lt., eventually becoming one of the first medical personnel to accompany Gen. Eisenhower into Dachau to liberate thousands of concentration camp prisoners. And all because of one day that, indeed, lived in infamy.

Yukon's father was a lowly navigator for the Submarine Service, and traveled in and out of Pearl Harbor frequently. He joined up the day of the attacks, and was sent to Pearl to help with the salvage of the many ships destroyed on December 7, before spending the majority of time encountering Japanese ships in the South Pacific, returning to Pearl for resupplying. We toured the USS Bowfin, a sub exactly like those Yukon's father sailed.

Then there was Bear. Like most kids, a historical site like the ones at the WWII Valor in the Pacific is full of things to see, touch, and soak up. With such deep military roots, Bear was anxious to know about submarines and wars and the people who fought them. Especially at the USS Arizona memorial, his understanding became clear as he peered below the stark, white monument to the oily depths below, where hundreds of souls still lay. He got it.

We spent the entire day at Pearl Harbor. For me, it was a chance to quietly honor those I know, and those I never did. We took a lot of photos, but in them no one is smiling. And that was how we felt it should be.

Let the Photos Speak For Themselves...

The holidays came to a peaceful finish up north in Talkeetna, Alaska. The Alaska Railroad provided the transportation, the Talkeetna Roadhouse, lodging, and Mother Nature, the scenery. -26F did not deter our AK Fam from plunging determinedly into the frosty wilderness that is Alaska.

Just breathe it in, friends.

Autumn in Alaska

The AK Fam took a trip to Fairbanks this weekend, during which was intended to be a visit with Wolf. Even though he has returned to Anchorage, and given that arrangements had already been made, we went anyway.

I'm glad we did, for Life, in its unexplicable and unpredictable ways, manages to go on.

Disney Dreaming: How Would Wolf Handle the Magic Kingdom?

Yukon and I knew we might be heading into hot water with Wolf when we conducted our weekly Hour of Power via the room phone from the 9th floor of the Disneyland Hotel suite thoughtfully provided for us by Disney.

Wolf, I'm sure, feels bad sometimes when Bear gets to go places he doesn't, and justifiably so. I'd be ticked if it were me. Disneyland is the top of most kids' fantasy vacation list, and our oldest son's was no different.

I'd spent two whirlwind days exploring Disneyland and adjoining California Adventure with six year-old and 49 year-old children. Park work, part play, it was my job to find the undiscovered, or at least unwritten-about "little things" at both parks. Thinking about Wolf was constant, but not always despairingly so.

I learned this about Disney: If a child wishes to visit the park and has particular needs, be they physical, mental, social, or otherwise, Disney will make sure it happens. We saw kids in wheelchairs who had broken legs two days before leaving home for the vacation of a lifetime. Kids undergoing chemotherapy, kids with cerebral palsy, sight-impaired children, children in foster care; they were all there, and all were treated with respect and dignity and, most important, just like everybody else. Isn't that what all kids want?

It is comforting to know that should we decide to take Wolf to Disneyland, they would take care of him. And us.

All Aboard the Ski Train

I regularly count myself fortunate to experience so much of the 49th state, all in the name of family travel. Somebody's gotta do it. Every trip is an adventure, every person we meet considered one more character in the realm of Alaskana. We dig it, all of it, and most of the time I keep my work writing separate from my personal musings just so I can keep it all straight and not confuse anyone. This time, however, I just can't keep my mouth shut or my fingers still.

Bear has been working hard on his Nordic (xc) skiing this year, and although he would rather die than admit he likes it as much or better than the faster-paced alpine style, had advanced to the point where Yukon and I agreed he could handle a day-long trip aboard the Alaska Railroad for the annual Ski Train. Sponsored by the Nordic Ski Association of Anchorage, the Ski Train is a tradition dating back to 1972 and is an epic day of choo-chooing, skiing, and all-out eating or partying, depending upon one's age and or inclination.

We boarded the train in Anchorage at 6 a.m. Saturday morning, and traveled four hours to Curry, 22 miles north of Talkeetna, where the train stopped, spit out 730 skiers and snowshoers, then sat in the warm Alaskan sunshine until 4 p.m., when it again collected us for the ride home. It was, my friends, a blast. No roads, no technology, nothing but our own power to propel us around the historic town site and birch forests along the Susitna river.

Bear did a great job of navigating the non-groomed trails and crusty spring snow, enjoying the atta-boys from grownups as he sidestepped, climbed, and schussed a number of tricky hills.

His favorite part, however, was his unfettered access to the train, which sat, engines off, all day, allowing him to go on, off, on, and off the train for at least an hour. He was (gasp) even allowe

d to touch the shiny springs and wheels of our car and talked in person to the engineer who sat, puffing on a cigar (of course) in his high-up post, surveying the territory around him.

We dined on smoked salmon, crackers, cheddar cheese, and beer for happy hour, then moved on to a gourmet dinner of barbeque and salad for the ride home. Denali, the Great One, stood watch over our train as we lumbered home, and at least ten moose were equally silent sentries to our forested haven for a day.

I feel as if we were gone an entire weekend instead of only one day. Epic, I tell you.

From the Wolf Den: Hour of Power Away

It's a little complicated to conduct the weekly Hour of Power with Wolf while on a trip. In the first place, I always feel a bit guilty talking about the cool places we are, doing the cool things we do, with the cool people we do them with. Especially when our trip included seeing family and friends of Wolf's past. Hour of Power is a bit of a delicate dance between dealing with the current issue of the week and our desire to share some of our life in Alaska.

The second reason is purely mechanical. Time changes, remembering to tell Therapist B. the land line phone number of our current stay, and actually remembering that it's Thursday all factor in to the H of P from far away. Sometimes we can't even have the Hour of Power because our location that week is such that no phone can get through, never mind my sort-of-smartphone.

This morning I'm sitting in the front room of my in-law's condo that overlooks the Willamette River in Lake Oswego, Oregon. Had it not been for Bear needing to get up and use the bathroom I would have not happened to glance at the clock and notice the time.

It's a rainy, windy, genuinely stormy Pacific Northwest day in the works, I can tell by just a glance out the enormous windows. Still a bit dark outside, I'm enjoying this rare chance to just sit for a little while and relax, even if it is 6:30 in the morning.

Down on the Farm

As a travel writer, I'm often besieged with requests to visit places and people, just about wherever we go. Sometimes I take folks up on their offer, sometimes due to time constraints I simply can't.

Today was our scheduled departure from Issaquah after five great days with my folks. The second leg of our journey took us down to Portland where we will spend the next five days with Yukon's folks and my sister, P., who lives in the neighborhood made famous by Beverly Cleary.

We had received a request from a friend in Anchorage, however, to visit her brother at the family farm near Winlock, about halfway between Seattle and Portland. Called Olequa Farm, it is a little treasure tucked in between Toledo and Winlock, and along the main Seattle/Portland rail line. At over 100 years old, the farm is now about 32 acres and part of the community supported agriculture-culture so popular with consumers. Heirloom seeds, organic farming, and a family atmosphere are what makes places like Olequa tick, and we found a gentle spirit in owner B. and his wife, L.

Nothing fancy but everything genuine, B. walked us around the property, stopping to show off his kids' favorite haunts, like a swimming hole and the barn loft, the 5,000 strawberry plants he intends to plant soon, and a pack of puppies who followed Bear around, clutching at his heels every step of the way.

The day was bright, the river whispered and gurgled as we walked its banks. Yukon, Bear, and I slowly shook off our wintery sluggishness over the next two hours, the historic buildings and squishy soil bringing sunshine back to our souls.

A few fresh blueberry muffins later, we piled back into the van and finished our trip; slower, now, than perhaps we were before. No rush to get there. No rush at all.

Downtown Isn't as Far As it Used to Be

I remember when a walk to downtown Issaquah seemed like it took forever. In actuality, it was something like five blocks. To the dime store, to the grocery, to the library or park, going into town was a big deal during a time when kids were allowed to roam the sidewalk-laden streets of this tiny town with one flashing stoplight.

Yukon, Bear, my Dad and I all walked downtown yesterday to stretch our legs in between crazy spring storms. Our destination was the Issaquah Brewhouse, former site of Mr. Kramer's Butcher Shop where my mom purchased our meat, milk, and liver for the cat. Now it's a trendy little pub and Rogue Ale brewery that Yukon simply must visit each and every time we appear in Issy. Not that it's difficult, mind you.

That we decided to walk is also important. In Anchorage, there are few true "neighborhoods" like this one; places where residents have sidewalks and access to such luxuries as parks and brewhouses and the like. Being able to propel ourselves sans motor was big fun. Bear rode his scooter and we ambled along behind, stopping to look at the various attributes (or former attributes) of a city that's changed a heckuva lot since my growing up years in the 70's and 80's.

I took Bear to see the Salmon Hatchery next door to the Brewhouse; a place where thousands of kids have seen spawning salmon and where, I told my son, my entire neighborhood passel of kids would launch our truck tire inner tubes into the icy waters and float, without any grownups, all the way to Lake Sammamish some five miles away. Awesome.

The annual Salmon Days festival was an opportunity to see scores of dying fish clogging the same waterways; in disbelief we'd look, every year, over the railing of the then-wooden bridge at the flopping, stinky salmon. Then we'd go over to the festival booths and eat ourselves silly of cotton candy and Bohem's ice cream bars.

Bear looked at the water, looked at the holding tanks with leaping little fishes, wandered around the hatchery house, then asked, "You used to come here a lot?"

Oh yeah, man. I used to come here a lot. Five blocks, at least.

Old Home Week

It's been a few years since we ventured back to the familiar landscape of my growing up years. Bear didn't remember anything about his grandparents' home in Issaquah and our trip down was full of questions; "Where did you play?" "Who were your friends?" Stuff like that.

One of the first things Bear wanted to do upon our arrival was take a walk despite pouring rain and puddles everywhere...no problemo. I think most of it had to do with his desire to carry one of Grandma's umbrellas.

Off he went, through the neighborhood that has seen the tracks of my sneakers more than once. My mom gave me a walking tour, who was there, who had moved away, who had begun remodeling. It was nice to see her still so engaged in the comings and goings of a place that held a generation of kids within its quiet streets.

Those same streets aren't so quiet now, though, and I had to keep reminding Bear to stop, look and listen when we came to a crossroad. We sure don't have this many cars in our neck of the North.

Bear was also highly interested in the sidewalks and driveways of the older houses along our route. Anchorage houses (at least in our neighborhood) are clearly 1970's style; built in a hurry and with no sidewalks. My son found it most delightful to run up and down the driveways of people I don't know, sort of funny that he assumed the owner wouldn't care because a kid is outside playing, right?

Always so fascinating to see the differences in awareness and thought of my Alaskan child when we visit the Lower 48.

Mass Exodus

Of Biblical proportions, I would imagine.

Alaska schools begin their spring breaks over the next two weeks, and already the airline terminals are filling with overanxious, overeager, and definitely over-wintered 49th state residents ready for a respite.

We witnessed this phenom last weekend while walking toward terminal C at Anchorage International. C1 was leaving for Honolulu, our friend H. the First Officer, and he said flights had been full lately. "We're outta here" is the general mantra, he told me, clutching his passenger manifest and glancing at the crowded gate area. And we were going to Fairbanks. Bummer.

Weather wise, winter 2010/11 hasn't been particularly brutal to Anchorage-ites. No -40 degree nights, lots of sunshine; our only complaint was not enough snow rather than too much. But health wise, it's been a tough one. Between Bear and I, enough cough, cold, and flu medicine has been taken to assure stocks in such pharmaceuticals for a long, long, long time. The same can be said for much of the state. H1N1 reared its ugly self, Influenza of other types came to visit, and the usual coughs and colds left many a classroom down many children at a time. It, for lack of a better descriptor, sucked. Badly.

So we're leaving in search of green grass and flowering things and bare sidewalks. Quite the irony that our destination seems determined to be white instead of green. But Grandma assures us it will merely be raining when we show up on Tuesday. And, for once in my life, I'm ecstatic to hear it.

Ten days of lounging around, hiking familiar trails, running without spikes in my shoes and mittens on my hands. Bliss. Bear is excited to bring his Christmas scooter along to get a jump on pre-summer riding, making his pals jealous.

I do know, however, that it won't be long before Alaska joins the rest of the nation in thawing out, melting down, and greening up. I can see tired, brown grass underneath the tree wells of spruce in our neighbors' yard, and birds are starting to show up in greater numbers at the feeder. The days are longer now, and The Dog has begun curling up in his favorite late-afternoon "patch of sunshine" at the back slider. He does this every year about this time, it lets us know spring isn't really that far away.

We're ready this year. Boy, are we ready. But first, the exodus.

From the Wolf Den: Post Script

It was a fairly uneventful trip home. No delays, no mechanical failures of the aviation sort (that's a biggie with me, I hate flying and someday I'll tell you why). I ordered wine, watched a movie, read a book, surfed the Net. On my flight from Seattle to Anchorage was a friend from the church we used to attend and who we still remain in some contact with in an oblique sort of way. A pilot for Fed Ex, he is also dad to three daughters and a former Air Force officer. A very no-nonsense sort of guy who's values mesh perfectly with mine.

It was harder to say goodbye to Wolf this trip, in part because I knew it could be the last time I spent multiple days with the wonderful individuals who have nurtured and cared for my son, but also in part because Wolf and I had such a "normal" sort of visit. Time spent as any teenage boy and his mom would; I nag about pants hanging too low, hair being too long, socks being dirty and he rolls his eyes and laughs.

Nice to talk to another parent about all that; the joyous trial of mom or dad-dom, and receiving validation that Yukon and I, for all the doubts of Wolf's lifetime, are not bad people. I think every parent goes through that in the child-rearing process at one point or another (or more often perhaps).

But it was nice to hear from someone else....

Afraid, or Aware? The Choices of Family Travel

I've been asked by a few people my take on the recent State Department Travel Advisory for Europe. Rather than rehash what I already wrote this morning for AKontheGO, here is a link to the blog post.

For the record, since moving to Alaska five years ago, I am a much less fearful traveler. Read HERE to find out why...

We're On a Roll

Somehow the family travel bug has been passed around Alaska and AK Fam, i.e. Us, is right in the middle of all this information-gathering.

The AKontheGO.com web site has flourished after a summer of trips and treks around the 49th state, and now with winter poised for pouncing upon we unsuspecting Alaskans, everybody wants more.

Not knowing quite how to handle this attention, the AK Fam has had to do some scrubbing and polishing, to be sure. The AKontheGO web site has some new looks, a new calendar of events, and a way to finally listen to our radio broadcasts.

Yes, broadcasts, plural. AKontheGO is now partnering not only with the Alaska Travelgram each week, but with our local NPR station for a new show called Kids These Days. A welcome listening option for me as a parent, KTD is geared towards parents and caregivers of kids birth-18, and is a perfect fit for us to promote and encourage outdoor recreation with the whole fam-damily. So for those of you who have been bugging us for online access, there you go.

One more opportunity jumped out at me today, this time in the visual realm. Not my comfort zone, for sure, but KTUU television's GoToAK.com travel web site really wanted to connect with Alaskan parents. After a day trip feature in June where Bear and I escorted a local anchor along one of our favorite trails, the station asked if AK Fam would be interested in a monthly segment on family travel.

I guess we were, because sometime in October we'll be jumping, and landing somewhere in Alaska for our first installation of GoToAK's AKFam. Or something like that.

Venture on over to the AKontheGO web site and let us know what you think. Besides the cute pictures, I mean. See if you don't want to buy a ticket today and come visit us.

Big time.