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.