Alaskans have an interesting sense of humor and scale.
Getting that sun is a lot harder when it's raining, and it has been rainy and cool. There were a couple of days that hit 80, but otherwise daytime highs danced in the 60s and low 70s. A lot of people grumbled about the subpar summer, but I'll tell you what--I'd rather be rained out than smoked out. I had enough of that last year. Not that the rain doesn't have its challenges. I can handle the long dark of winter, but a solid week of grey makes me a little stir-crazy. Still, since nothing was on fire, I would take it.
Perfect beach weather.
The Chena outside of Pioneer Park. The sign marks the highwater mark from the last great flood.
Even with the rain, we managed to get out a lot. The farmer's market was still open, so that became a weekly stop for cream rolls and fresh vegetables. We took multiple trips--some alone, some with friends--to Tanana Lakes, Olnes Pond, and various parks (if you're ever in the area, Ester Park is worth the 20 minute drive--firepits, seasonal ice rink, half-shell theater, playground, outhouse--it's pretty awesome). The water was freezing all summer. The girls, being good little naturalized Alaskans, plunged in anyway. Brenna always protested that she wasn't going to go swimming, refused to wear a swimsuit, then wound up getting soaked. The kid fell in multiple times, including one particularly slapstick episode while reading on a rambunctious inflatable llama.
Not to worry, the book survived.
Our adventures continued on the rivers. We visited the Salcha River a couple of times with friends. It has a huge rocky bed with simply the coolest rocks and is shallow enough that the girls can go a ways out without getting knocked over. It was also a nice perk that we had to pass the Knotty Shop and could pick up ice cream for the drive home.
And then there's the Chena...This river is truly one of my happy places. There are few things more peacefully beautiful than being alone on the murmuring river with the wind sighing in the spruce, the V of a beaver's wake breaking the water until the silence is shattered by the warning slap of a beaver's tail. I went out multiple times this summer. A couple of times it was just me or with a friend, but I also made it a point to take out each of the four older girls for a one-on-one trip.
The girls and I also made it out for some local hiking. I'm not much of a hiker (I'm a natural sitter) but it felt good to stretch out on some reasonable trails. We made several trips to Creamer's Field to watch for cranes and walk, especially the Boreal Forest Trail. There is a seasonal lake at Creamer's that usually dries out by August, but this year it was high and full all summer; the boardwalk was washed out multiple times and they finally just closed it. Some of us might have ignored the sign. Worth it.
Leah found a shillelagh on one of the hikes. As for Claudia...well, we succeeded in wearing her out. The fact that she insisted on carrying the backpack full of all her earthly goods helped.
Because I'm a glutton for punishment, we homeschool all year. Every year we celebrate D-Day. This year we marked the occasion with a 4 mile hike, which is the same distance from the landing at Omaha Beach to Pointe du Hoc, where the 2nd Ranger Battalion scaled the cliffs to disable German guns. We chose to hike the Moose Creek Dam Trail; the girls carried their own water and the older girls each carried one of their dad's tomahawks or knives. They started by scaling the rocky escarpment to reach the trail. I lectured about Operation Overlord as we walked. It was one of those great days where homeschooling felt like a good decision.
The downside of adventuring during a wet summer is that Alaska's mosquito game is even stronger than usual. A couple of trips were cut short because of the bloodsucking little beasts. During the summer, you have three choices: Stay home, get eaten alive, or coat yourself liberally with poison. You only choose incorrectly once. DEET is your friend and you use it with abandon, then shower and do laundry when you get home. There's a system.
One of the best parts of the summer is the light. I'm not just talking about the 21 hour-days and 3 hours of twilight again. Light just works differently up here. I swear there are colors I've never seen anywhere else. An atmospherically-minded friend told me that the angle of the earth affects the way the light filters through the atmosphere and so we actually do see a slightly different spectrum up here. I don't know if that's true. I do know that this is the only place I've seen green in a sunset.
Speaking of colors, I have been so twitterpated with the wildflowers this summer. Instead of actually planting a garden and maintaining my yard, I threw down a bunch of wildflower seeds. They were not what was promised on the package, but they were still nice. I also had a ton of fireweed spring up from last year, but it never actually flowered. It probably had something to do with Echo spraying it with bugspray. Just a theory.
I've shared the pollen pictures in another post, but the cottonwoods really outdid themselves this year, too. The summer snow was thick for a couple of weeks. Since I'm not allergic to it, I found it all quite enchanting.
Rick and I never really go overboard for our anniversary, and that's probably a good thing considering that the only tradition we seem to have is that he's on the other side of the world when it happens. In 16 years, he's been home for less than half of them and this year was no different. I compensated by taking my older girls out for a horseback ride at Chena Hot Springs and then eating my weight in pie. The girls really enjoyed the ride. Leah's horse tripped and if she hadn't been clinging like a spider-monkey she would have gone flying. I was particularly proud because on the way back to the corral we had to cross some construction zones, including one four-inch-wide ditch that freaked out the horses. The guide had to lead her horse and the girls' horses across, but I managed to get my mare to hop over it with some encouragement. I haven't ridden consistently since I broke my arm when I was 10, so I felt very accomplished. Even the guide was impressed. Then it was time for victory pie.
It rained the week of the solstice, which is one of the few High Holy Days of the Alaskan year. In the grand spirit of 2020, all the festivities were canceled--the Midnight Sun Run, the Festival, and the Midnight Sun baseball game, which was traditionally played on solstice by the Goldpanners, our local team. I was somewhat consoled when I later found out that the game, at least, had been salvaged by a group of locals who gloved up to keep the tradition alive.
The morning of solstice, we managed to sneak out to the Salcha River during a break in the clouds. We had been planning to camp with friends, but the rainy forecast prompted a lot of people to opt out. Desperate to get out of the house, we decided to roast some marshmallows solo and play in the river for an hour or two before coming home.
The rain settled in. I was pretty sure that was the end of solstice for us. I was disappointed, but figured it was just following the zeitgeist of 2020 and resigned myself. Then, at sunset, the clouds parted and the sky flashed tangerine and fuschia, and a midnight rainbow arced across the sky. Everything was fresh with rain and painted with the stunning light. I've never been happier to be awake at 1 a.m.
With the military community, summer is a time of hellos and goodbyes. This summer, one of Bren's really good friends had to leave. It was a sad separation for all of us, and for the final hurrah Bren and her friends got together to do an Escape Room. They actually did pretty well; they were only a minute or so away from escaping when their time ran out. The best part was that we moms sat outside with the host and MST3K'd the entire thing on the cameras. The crowning moment came when they had to solve a combination lock. They figured out the combination fairly quickly, but couldn't figure out how to input it. The host was worried that the lock was broken or jammed; the moms all looked at each other and cracked up just as the youngest member of the escape crew yelled in frustration, "Doesn't one of you know how to do this? One of you had to have a locker!" One of us finally caught our breath long enough to mention that they were all homeschooled. The host promptly scurried in to give them a free assist and we moms made a mental note to teach an afternoon lesson on combo locks.
It was a good night, but bittersweet. When you move every two years or so, good friends are hard to find and harder to leave. Thank goodness for technology that can transcend 3500 miles, two countries, and five time zones.
We did get our own hello, though. After 9 expected months and 1 extra just for fun (thanks again, Covid), I finally got The Call. I masked up and waited on a field with dozens of other families for the buses to roll up. There aren't words to describe the anxiety, the anticipation, of waiting for your companion to finally come home, but I could see it written on the faces of the women around me. It's not a feeling you forget, even after 16 years.
It was easy to pick him out--a long dark forelock falling over his eyes, the familiar roll of the shoulders and wide, heavy stride. After all these years we didn't linger on the field. A hug that smelled of dust and uniform and twenty four hours on a plane and we were ready to go home. I shouldered his assault pack, he balanced two massive duffels on his back, and we made our way to the truck. After nearly a year, he was home, and after quarantine (grumble mumble), our summer could finally really get kicking.
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