Here a little, there a little

The masked moose mascot of Great Alaskan Bowl Company

So I was flipping through my pictures on the phone the other day, deleting the pocket-portraits and various nose-shots of the kids that accumulate over time, and I realized that there were a lot of small memories that I had failed to record.  Either I had forgotten, or they hadn't tied in to a bigger adventure, or I'd posted a blurb on FB and called it a day.  Just because they're small, though, doesn't mean they aren't worth remembering.  Life is made of small moments, little feelings and words and experiences that build up layer upon layer.

Today I'd like to share some small memories that apparently meant enough in the moment that I took a picture.

Some entrepreneurial souls started up an axe-throwing business in Fairbanks, and several of my friends decided it was time for a ladies' night out.  It was lots of fun despite getting lectured by some skinny kid on proper technique.  (Apparently, I throw like Mary Katherine Gallagher, "super-starring" at the end of my throw--like I care.  At least I hit the darn target.  And kid who tried to explain to me who Mary Katherine is: Do not cite the Deep Magic to me.) If you bring a picture of your ex or your dog, they'll give you a discount and let you throw at your ex (they just want to see your pooch).

And this is House Grouse.  House Grouse belongs to a local artisan who has a carving shop at Pioneer Park. The artist, who is also famous for the giant Great Danes who hang out in front of his shop, found an injured grouse in the woods and took it home.  House Grouse has been with him ever since, and is gracious enough to let nosy strangers hold her and boop her beak.

As the summer closed and the world opened up a little more, people started leaving.  Some friends ended their time in the Army, and others moved on to new duty stations.  One brave (and slightly crazy) friend sold everything, loaded her kids in the truck, and embarked on a wild adventure across the lower 48 to experience all of the U.S. and find her new home.  Whatever the reason, goodbyes are always hard.

We managed to go hiking a couple of times.  We made it to Angel Rocks, and apparently I'm in better shape than the previous times because I didn't feel like puking at any point.  We also went out to Olnes to do some day-camping with our friends.  Knife fights and campfires, big dogs and fading birch made for some good times. These pictures make me want summer again.

This is a momma moose and baby Rick and I found on a walk by our house.

Not our dog.  Still a good boi.  And a cold boi.

We had kind of a late start to winter (which we are more than making up for now), but our first big snow-dump snarled up the roads, as always.  It always takes a couple days at the beginning for the snowplows to get their act together, a tradition complicated by Fort Wainwright poaching plow drivers from the city.  Thank goodness for 4WD.  We weren't a casualty of the first deep snow (this year), but a bus was.  Rick, another guy, and I got to help dig it out.  Well, I mostly documented, but I was involved.  Another cheer for the trusty truck-shovel.

I've said it before, but I love the solstices.  Every year I say I want to do something to mark the Winter Solstice on December 21st, but I never do.  This year, though, will be my last chance for a while, so I rounded up some friends and headed out to Creamer's Field about noon, just after the sun rose, for a walk. Since I finally got out and made plans, the temperature naturally dropped to the negative teens.  It was still a beautiful day.  From sunrise (10:59) to sunset (2:40) we got less than four hours of daylight. I loved it. And, yes, this is the brightest it got that day.

There's a guy who goes a little left-field on his holiday decorations every year.  He's got a giant robot spider at Halloween, and for Christmas he always does a Robot Santa from Futurama (if you know, you know; if you don't know, look it up).  Every Christmas I wanted a picture, but this year was the year.  He even added a Bender and a Robot Devil.  Thank you, random citizen, for making my Christmas.

We had unexpected visitors this winter.  In the several years I've lived here, I've never seen a lynx except once, very far away.  We don't usually get them in Fairbanks proper as they don't like people much.  However, apparently we had a bumper crop of bunnies the last few years, which meant we had a bumper crop of lynx this year, and as the bunnies ran out the lynx came in to town for food.  (It's a cycle that repeats itself every 10 years or so).  At any rate, we had two lynx cross our yard one night, and leave us some lovely furry footprints as a souvenir.  It might seem weird to be so happy about a couple of lumpy tracks, but I'm easily entertained.  No apologies.

This is a doggo print for comparison.  Note how it's more pointed and you can see the claws.

Bren and I had the opportunity to work another holiday craft fair this year.  Bren had earrings and her incredible elf-ears, and I had a variety of birch ornaments and bookmarks.  It was a great experience to sit with her for a couple of days talking smack, chatting with strangers, and just getting to enjoy that kid's company.  The money was nice--we did well--but I'd have had a great time if we hadn't sold a darn thing.

It hasn't been ridiculously cold for months like last winter, but it's been plenty cold enough for the rivers to freeze over.  One morning on a lark I went over to Pike's Landing so I could get a picture with the LOVE ALASKA sign.  I kayaked past it last summer, but I wanted a shot on the ice.  The Chena, like many other interior rivers, freezes a good 18-30 inches down during the winter.  I'm a little leery of river ice, but took heart from the snowmachine tracks that crosshatched the river.  I was a little less confident when, halfway across, I noticed a huge crack that extended from my foot to the opposite bank.  I took my pictures anyway.  

So you can see the seasonal 100-degree difference.

I mentioned something earlier about knife fights. Rick bought a couple rubber knives a while ago.  They're a favorite with Bren and her friends.  Echo is also a fan.  She took one to church a couple weeks earlier, and wore it in her boot the whole time. 

And, of course, to cap off the year (and this post), we had our little 2020 Covid Portraits.  These are self-explanatory.  I'm sure there will be more adventures to capture in 2021. In fact, I'm kind of dreading that.  For now, though, one day and one memory at a time.

Spring-time is an Ice-time.

 March has arrived.  The sun is higher in the sky, and the days are brighter.  The sun is now rising just after seven, and the sky is still bright at 8:30 at night.  In just two months we've added over six hours of sunshine. Even though there's still thigh-deep snow and the temperatures are hovering in the single digits, the forest echoes with the mad twittering of fat little songbirds. Spring is just around the corner, and in Alaska, that means ice.

In February, ice sculptures start popping up all around Fairbanks at various businesses and homes. Lynx, angel-nurses, polar bears, logos...  It's kind of like an Easter egg hunt except with giant blocks of ice. 

If you're not feeling in the mood to hunt, you can always go to one of the two ice-parks. We usually make it to Fairbanks Ice Art Park at least a couple of times to go sledding on their ice slides.  I dragged the kids out, but they weren't feeling it.  After Claudia cried her way through the walking loop with the ice sculptures and Echo banged her hand going down the slide, I called a mulligan.  Bren and Jane took a couple more runs and we went home.

Later that week Bren and I hit up Ice Alaska.  If you only get to go to one ice sculpture competition, this is the one.  It is an international competition, and the statues are always incredible.  In addition to the sculptures they have a game section with ping pong tables, chess, checkers, and cornhole boards made entirely out of ice.  There is a skating rink and a pair of crazy-fast slides.  It was also twenty degrees warmer than last year, so that was a bonus.

What made it extra exciting was that Bren and I got stuck.  For whatever reason, the parking lot had not been plowed even though Ice Alaska had been open for two weeks.  With ten fresh inches of snow, we tried to find a parking spot, and followed a Subaru around the back, hoping to loop around into the next aisle.  The only problem is that it didn't connect.  The Subaru had backed up to try to turn around and gotten stuck.  We were driving the truck and would have been fine if the other car wasn't blocking the way.  When I saw her wheels spinning, I just got the shovel from the back of the truck, went over, and started digging out her tires.  After about half an hour's work between the lady, her in-laws, the guy plowing the parking lot with a Bobcat, and me, we got her out.  It's one of my favorite things about Alaska--people just help.  It's the least you can do in a place that is actively trying to kill all of us.

Another thing that is uniquely spring in the Interior is the Nenana Ice Classic.  I have mentioned it before so I'll just sum up--every year the town of Nenana installs a big tripod in the ice of the Tanana River and then the entire state makes bets on when the ice will melt and sink the tripod.  If you're counting the legs, yes, technically it's a tetrapod, but tripod sounds better.  I promise Alaskans can count to four.

Anyway, I've never actually gone and seen it, so after church I schlepped all the kids and the dog into the van and headed an hour down the Parks Highway to Nenana.  We got there as they were erecting the tripod.  They had carved a massive X about 18 inches into the ice to secure the tripod.  We trekked onto the river for pictures.  Some of the girls were exasperated that we'd driven an hour one way for twenty minutes and a bunch of pictures, but they're buzzkills and I have other children who still enjoy pointless adventures. (Or, if they don't, at least have the good sense not to say anything and therefore stay in my favor.)

I also took a chance to go to Chena Hot Springs for my birthday.  It was a last minute decision.  I'm not big into birthdays to begin with.  It had been blustery and snowing all day, and I knew the hour-long drive was likely to be much longer because of it. Rick was still gone and I didn't want to spring it on anyone else with an hour's notice, but I didn't mind going alone.

The drive out was much like I expected.  The already narrow road was further narrowed by berms of snow.  Snow drifted and flurried across the road, and there was a brief white-out every time a car went by in the opposite lane.  Multiple times I considered turning around, but coaxed myself forward as the signs counted down the miles remaining to Chena.

I was glad I did.  There's something invigorating about stepping out into the ice-rimed entrance to the springs, walking past the layered crystals forming in the beams and signs and through the doorway that is framed in five solid inches of frozen condensation; the 106* water seems almost too hot as you step in.  The whole pool is clouded with steam that is bizarrely illuminated by the bright red, blue, pink and green lights around the edge.  I found an accommodating rock and clumsily half-beached myself on it like an arctic mermaid (or walrus, whichever you prefer--they're roughly the same thing).  In the subzero temps, even though they were nothing crazy, my hair quickly froze over just from the steam.  In extremely cold temperatures, you can get yourself a nice, icy mohawk with very little effort. My only complaint is that my glasses kept freezing over as well--it's just one of the downsides of being practically blind.

I soaked for an hour then got changed.  The showers at Chena are always a lesson in international cleavage and American self-consciousness, even during a pandemic.  After a quick shower I stepped outside and was greeted by a birthday aurora right outside the door.  My hair froze over again as I watched Lady A dance.  Worth it.  It was a good birthday.