Digging out of Winter

Spring in Alaska is a process.  It isn't just a simple, gradual warming, the snow mysteriously melting away and replaced by violently brilliant flowers.  Please refer to the chart below.

It makes sense that it takes a while, though.  The last I saw, the total snowfall for Fairbanks this winter measured 78.4".  In laymen's terms, that's a crap-ton of snow.  The vast majority of it (approximately 70") fell over three months.  As much as I love the winter there were definitely times that it seemed like we were all stuck in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers*.

But that was then. To quote another awesome movie: "The world is changed. I feel it in the earth. I feel it in the water.  I smell it in the air."

In short, break-up** is underway.

Housing guilt-tripping us into cleaning our driveway.  These are actually some pretty cool machines--first a snow plow breaks up the ice, then this contraption comes behind and scrapes it up, crushes it, and spits it into the back of trucks to be driven away and dumped in political dissidents' yards.  Okay, maybe not the last part, but it's still fun to watch.

The day is stretching, seven minutes at a time--it's subtle at first, and then one day you realize the sun didn't set until 9:30. The temperatures still yo-yo to single digits and even occasionally dip below 0 at night.  The sidewalks are visible, the roads are clear, and the snowline is slowly creeping back from the concrete. So much snow is melting that ankle-deep floodplains are developing and the constant drip off the roof sounds like rain, and everything is STILL mostly white.  The icicles are massive and vaguely terrifying.

As of last Thursday, the first geese were spotted in Creamer's Field.  The cold has shifted from "painful" to "brisk" and even occasionally to "refreshing." It's a daily struggle to convince the kids that 30 degrees still means they need to wear shoes and some sort of arm covering.  The locals are venturing out in t-shirts, and it's nice to open the windows and air out the winter fug that's permeated my house for the last four months.

It's like they're trying to get hypothermia.

I am a little sad that the snow is finally melting, but only because I have to stop driving on the sidewalk.  I will not miss Bertha skidding into the intersections, and I won't miss the sideways lurch as the tires spin on the ice and suddenly catch.  That being said, break-up is the worst time to drive up here.  As the snow melts and refreezes, it gets ridiculously slick. Trying to drive on rotten hard-pack is equally bad.

You can't tell, but Bertha is well and truly stuck.  This was taken while we waited for a tow-truck after getting another truck stuck trying to pull us out the first two times.

One of the more unpleasant parts of break-up is that the hard pack--the 4 inches or so of compressed ice and snow that you've been driving on all winter--has to be removed from your driveway.  Now, if you're smart, you hire someone with a machine to come do it and count the money well-spent.  If you're Rick and me, you do it yourself and promise your aching body that you'll be less cheap next year.

Rick with his sledgehammer.  There's actually a pretty awesome video that goes with this, but I can't get clips to work on the blog.  Let's just say Rick's a beast.

We got the savages out working on it, too.

Just in case you were wondering why we needed a hammer.  The stuff below was 4 inches thick; it was closer to 5 by the street.

Of course, there are compensations for doing it yourself.  No one else had an inuksuk*** in their yard.

*(Sing along if you know it): "In November the snow starts to fly / Piling up, ankle-high. / By December it's up to your knees/ Still a bride's a bride to be. / January, higher still, /  To the parlor window-sill. / February finds a drift / and a storm that seems never to lift. / March comes in like a lion, what else / Still the snow never melts. / April showers will come so they say / but they don't, and it's May..."

**The term is supposed to describe the process of the frozen rivers thawing and breaking up, but the idea of breaking up with winter is also incredibly appropriate.

***Freestanding sculptures of stone made by Inuit to convey messages, but that definition lacks nuance.  If you want more information, here's a link.
 www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/inuksuk-inukshuk/

Got Homeschool?

"So you homeschool?"

I get that a lot.  When I'm at the store at 10 a.m. on a Wednesday in January with six chattering little savages in tow, I guess it's pretty obvious.  It's definitely an ice-breaker.  Most people are politely interested for the brief window of time that we interact.  Others are genuinely interested, either because they're curious how I manage without a daily Valium or because they are also homeschooling (or interested in homeschooling) their own minions and want to compare notes.  Some are openly incredulous and question my sanity.  A few, usually devout teachers or die-hard economic redistributionists, are very direct with their disapproval.  The few forthright nay-sayers are usually easily ignored since I have other crap to do, like catching my three year old before she actually opens the bag of chips.

However, thanks to the current news cycle, more people are questioning homeschooling.  Some people are even asking whether it should even be allowed, since it's obviously a huge opportunity for knuckle-dragging, religious nutjob sociopaths with awful haircuts to abuse their children.  A couple of the more rational, thoughtful Internet philosophers have even posed the idea that, no matter the parents' intentions, that homeschool is always bordering on abuse if not dancing right across the line.

Clearly, I disagree.  In this meme-driven world of ours opinions are often distilled into a single, uncomplicated photo with a pithy one-liner.  There's no nuance, no discussion, just assumption.  So here goes nothing.

What Society Thinks It Is

No, I'm not brainwashing my kids.  We're not members of some cult.  We can cut our hair, wear pants, and sleep inside during our periods.  We even--gasp--learn about evolution and believe the world is more than 7,000 years old.  Shockingly, these ideas don't conflict with prayer and daily scripture study (and, being LDS, we have two or three times the average number of scriptures to find conflict in).

What about socialization?  Well, I don't know about you, but I'm teaching all my kids to be afraid of sunlight and other people because I want all six of them living with me until I die.  Gah.  Say it with me--you socialize dogs, you educate children.  With one notable exception, I'm pretty confident my children will neither bark, bite you, or pee themselves if you get too close.

In all seriousness, my kids--and the bulk of their peers--are just fine.  Between soccer, tae kwon do, painting, a Harry Potter book club, playgroup, church activities, and friends (yes, they have them), their week is pretty darn full.  In their down time, they have each other, which is a whole class in interpersonal conflict theory and resolution.

But all homeschoolers are weird, right?  I can't deny my kids say some weird things.  In fact, you could probably call them weird.  They like D&D, Japanime, and Marvel Universe song parodies.  They squeak and curl up on the floor like dead cockroaches when they're caught doing something they shouldn't.  If you sing something down the hall they will respond in chorus like a pack of coyotes.  Just the other day one of my kids sailed down the stairs in black thermals, an orange scarf/skirt, and a pair of sunglasses, carrying a bat with yellow and red material tied around the end, and informed me that she was the Egyptian goddess of death, flame, and cartoons.  They're definitely weird.

And they're awesome.

What Teachers Think It Is

The joke is that homeschoolers do nothing all day.  We all laze around in pajamas, watching tv, playing video games, alternating between lethargic, unwashed puddles on the couch and psychotic little brats wired up on sugar running around the house.  The assumption is that I homeschool because I'm lazy, and just can't be bothered to get out of bed or effectively parent my children.

Uh huh.

First off, we are often in pajamas until lunch.  Don't be jelly.  We also spend plenty of time in real clothes. 

There is also more television than I like, but it's often documentaries or somehow relevant to whatever we're studying.  We don't have any kind of gaming console, and the computer games are often subtly and secretly educational (shh!).  As for the absurdity of homeschooling because I'm lazy...yes, six kids at home is definitely conducive to eating bonbons and binging on Netflix in peace.

I've also been questioned by some educators why I think I'm capable of educating my kids.  This always amuses me because, hello, 13 years of public education (not to mention a college degree, though not in education) and I'm not capable of teaching addition and noun identification?  What does that say about the capability of my teachers?  In all fairness, I've had some amazing teachers, particularly in high school.  I loved learning from them.  I've also had some not so amazing teachers.  I succeeded in spite of them.

Also, the internet is freaking amazing.  You can learn almost anything.

What Other Kids Think It Is

Well, some public school kids think it sounds amazing.  Other kids think it sounds like a nightmare.  Fair enough.  Sometimes I'm torn, myself.

What My Kids Think It Is

In a word, I'm a slave-driver. Sometimes I'm a benevolent slave-driver, but if you ask them, I'm always waiting in the wings with a workbook and one more problem or chore for them to do.  The terrible injustice of doing two whole hours of school work AND having to clean your room, am I right?  There are golden days when we venture out on a field trip, have a themed activity day, or everyone shockingly enjoys doing their school work.  Those days are awesome.  More commonly, the day is spent in conversations like this:

"Yes, you have to do your writing, too.  No, not just your handwriting.  Yes, it is too fair.  No, it doesn't count that you did it yesterday.  Why?  Because you have to do it again.  Hey, you, where do you think you're going?  I know you're not done.  Take that off your head.  As for you, little miss, I already told you that you had to do your writing.  Just write the story.  Sure, it can be about a giraffe pirate.  Make sure you capitalize names of people and places and the beginning of sentences. And don't rush, because when you rush you write like a serial killer."

I get exhausted just remembering it.  Man, this homeschooling thing is eating into my Netflix time.  Maybe I should just send them to school...

What I Think It Is

Sometimes, I'm sure I'm raising the next generation of scientists, world leaders, moms, and all around good citizens.  Other times, I'm pretty confident I'm failing them in every possible way.  Then when a concept just clicks, when I hear my five year old use "ambiguous" correctly or they casually discuss friction when it comes to snowy roads, when they are kind to a new kid at the park and indignant over some injustice in the world, I'm positive they're going to be okay.  These reassuring victorious moments are counter-balanced by the times it takes a half an hour to understand why they should wear socks with their boots.

What It Really Is

I'm usually pretty good with words, but I can't begin to adequately express the fun and frustration, the freedom and joy, the purpose and meaning I find in homeschooling.  I cannot imagine doing things any other way.  

(For now.  Ask me again when I finally get them to bed.)

My Brother's Keeper

I've been kind of depressed with humanity in general for a while, and then this weekend I saw something wonderful.  A pair of trucks collided on the icy highway just outside of post.  Nobody died, but the front of one truck was completely crumpled, windshield shattered, its driver seriously injured.  Empty water jugs and a cooler were scattered across the intersection.  The cops wouldn't arrive for another 15 minutes.

I'm sure some of you are thinking, "What the heck is wrong with you, weirdo?  There is nothing wonderful about that. And a picture is just classless."  And you're right on all counts.  I debated over sharing the picture.  More importantly, the wreck wasn't wonderful.  What happened afterward was.

Literally the entire four way intersection stopped.  People put on their hazards and cleaned up the jugs and debris.  The police were called.  Multiple others gathered around the smashed truck, taking turns holding pressure on the driver's head wound until the ambulance arrived; in the well-below-0 temperatures, several jackets were offered to keep the injured person warm, including one man who was bare-chested, having used his shirt to staunch the blood. The other driver, who was in shock from the accident, was kept company and reassured. Without any specific coordination, single lane traffic started carefully making its way around the accident.  By the time the police arrived, there was little left to do except get the driver into the ambulance and tow away the truck.

It was amazing.  Even now, days later, I get a little verklempt remembering it.  People didn't need to be told, or wait until they were given permission to help--they just did.  They saw a need and did something about it.  This attitude isn't unique to Alaska, certainly, but it is stronger up here than anywhere I've ever lived.  Maybe it's a sense of duty, maybe it's because Alaska is actively trying to kill all of us.  I don't know.  But I respect the heck out of it.

Seen the roads lately?

I was driving home the other day and realized that the roads have looked like this since November.

Yes, this is a road.

And so is this.

And this.

Parking lots are a glorious free-for-all, lanes are by common consent, and I've been steering between trees instead of lines.  Speedbumps have enough snow packed onto them that they're barely distinguishable from the road. I'm actually kind of sad that I'll have to stop driving on the sidewalks when the ice melts enough to see them again.

Not a local pic, but the sentiment applies.

It's been interesting watching the weather this past month.  While a couple weeks of wacky cold weather paralyzed the lower 48--schools closed, cities issued electric usage guidelines to prevent blackouts, and iguanas fell out of trees onto unsuspecting passersby--we had an entirely different problem.

It was too warm.

Fairbanks sat at a positively balmy 29 degrees for days.  Kids made snowmen, people wandered outside in t-shirts.  Schools and businesses were on delayed schedules and the city downgraded road conditions to Black as the temperatures rose to near freezing.  It might seem bizarre to be worried about the roads melting while everyone down south worries about them icing, but we've been driving on snowpack and ice for months.  When it's cold, the roads are pretty dry and easy to drive--you just take it a little slower, give yourself more space.  Unlike most other Americans, Alaskans actually know how to drive on winter roads.  Once the temperature starts rising, though, that top layer of snow starts melting--and that's when things get a little iffy.

Another unforeseen consequence of our warm spell was the snow.  It's usually pretty dry and light, more like powdered glitter.  It's really easy to shovel.  When it's warm, though, that fluffy, delightful snow is replaced by snow with the consistency of wet cement.  I tromped out in my boots and every step broke through a crust of ice.  The snow was so heavy it bent trees...

...and we had 10 inches of the horrible stuff fall over a couple of days.  Luckily this was just a temporary spike and the temps fell again to sub-zero temperatures.  I'm glad, because this wet snow crap is for the semi-frozen birds.

Ravens aren't so majestic when they're fluffed out trying not to die.

We're still in the doldrums between Christmas and February, when everything starts kicking off again. The Yukon Quest, one of the most grueling of all dog races, will start on the 3rd.  The local Shakespeare company is hosting a Bard-a-Thon, where they will read all of Will's works over the course of a week, and anybody can pop in and read.  Also of interest is the upcoming ice festival, which is similar to the one we went to before Christmas but much, much bigger.

Even though it's a seasonably appropriate -15 now, the world is turning.  It will be summer before we know it, and in this land of extremes you can feel it in your blood.  The days are brighter, longer.  The kids are counting the days until they no longer have to actively dress against freezing to death.

They've got a little ways to go.

Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.

It's that time of year again.  Glittery cards and lovely, thoughtful letters on festive paper chronicling the last 12 months.  Well, ain't nobody in this house got time for that.  The best you're all getting is a blog.

After 12 years in the legion, Rick finally commissioned as a Physician's Assistant--excuse me, I was just corrected, PHYSICIAN Assistant, not possessive--and dragged us all up to Fairbanks.  He works long hours treating the booboos and rashes of the common soldier, and takes frequent work-mandated vacations often with little warning.  In his spare time he indulges in internet-politics and lock-picking.

I (Carla) somehow maintain my tenuous hold on sanity.  Homeschooling four kids, toilet training a toddler, and heimliching an adventurous baby are all really starting to cut into my Netflix time.  As if there weren't enough children in my life, I was also called to be the 1st counselor in the Primary Presidency.  (For those of you who aren't LDS, that means that I spend my Sundays yelling at other people's children in addition to my own.)

 Our Christmas moose

Brenna is in 7th grade.  She is sarcastic, pun-loving, helpful, brilliant, kind, responsible, and very proud of her new status as a legal babysitter.  Her latest adventures involve crochet, candy-making, and controlling her annoyance at her mother's bad jokes.  She's getting a little froggy now that we're almost eye-to-eye, but is generally a good sergeant.  This Christmas morning finds her alternating between her new illustrated Fantastical Beasts guide and Great British Bake Off cookbook.  I suspect pastry in our future.

Leah is barreling through 4th grade, a bit of a wild thing and a whole lot of clown.  She has a natural ear for music and is learning piano; as of this moment she is wandering around with the kids' new ipod, singing showtunes very, very loudly.  She has read all of the Percy Jackson and Hiccup series, and is the kid to invite to any impromptu dance party.  She does not love the cold, and even after a year here likes to remind us that she would have preferred to move to Puerto Rico.

Aeryn is almost eight and wading through 3rd grade.  She's incredibly helpful and the nurturer of the group; she's also the lawyer, perpetually concerned about the fairness--or rather, the unfairness--of all of her parents' decisions. She loves to make things pretty, and is looking forward to being baptized in the spring.  She is reveling in her new make-up kit, bought against my better judgment.

Jane is a freaking adorable kindergartener.  She is grudgingly learning to read, but loves math, possibly because numbers don't go changing their pronunciation on a whim.  She also loves Tae Kwon Do with Leah, even though she's the smallest kid in the class.  She is Leah's little shadow, and they rampage after each other all day long.

Echo is 3 and...well, how to describe her... Echo is like some cute wild animal that will let you pet its ears before chewing its way through a window screen and trying to eat your face.  Skull surgery to remove a dermoid in November didn't have any personality-altering side effects.  She loves to help, and also loves to draw on the walls with soap and markers.  She also loves ocean animals, so we think she might grow up to be a marine biologist or veterinarian...or fight sharks.  Whatever.

Claudia joined the madness on an icy day in March.  From the beginning she's been good tempered.  This may just be her temperament, but I suspect it's out of self-preservation.  She's crawling now, and incredibly non-discriminating about what she puts in her mouth.  Cheerios and dice are firm favorites.

Having other people do your bidding is exhausting.

The cats are as fat as ever.  They split their time between the girls' bedroom and a nest of plastic bags in the pantry.  They're pretty protective of their private lives, so there's very little I can divulge since signing a non-disclosure agreement.

All in all, Alaska's been good to us.  The year was bumpy in places, but we've had great adventures and look forward to those to come.  There are so many people we miss, but so many more we've gotten to know and serve and love.

2017 is just about done, and 2018 is on its way whether you're ready or not. We're going to make the best of it and hope that you all will too.  Bloom where you are planted.  Wait until spring if necessary.

Turn and turn again...

I never really thought a lot about the solstice before moving up here.  It just doesn't mean that much in Arizona.  Oh, shortest day of the year?  How can you even tell?

It's a lot more noticeable up here.  Wednesday was the turning point of the year--3 hours and 42 minutes of actual daylight, the sun just skimming the horizon.  The world has started turning back towards the sun.  It's almost upstaging Christmas.  Fairbanks is throwing down this weekend with the Celebration of Lights, complete with fireworks at 6 pm.  The darkness definitely has its perks.

I celebrated by eating tamales.  Like the light, these are in shorter supply than in Arizona.

A lot of people have problems with the darkness up here.  The days can be interminable when you are up hours before the sun rises and hours after it sets.  It doesn't get very bright, either--it's like a constant sunrise that blurs into sunset.  I can see why so many people want to celebrate the turning point of the darkness.

To me, it underscores how much everything can change, especially up here.  We go from four hours of daylight now to 21 hours of daylight six months from now.  Temperatures can have a 30-degree difference between high and low temps, and have a 140 degree difference between the coldest day of winter and the hottest day of summer.  It is flipping amazing.

If you're focusing on the darkness, or the cold, or the snow, or the distance, then you miss so much.  That's my challenge to you as the days shift toward summer. Find the wonder in the little things--they'll change soon enough.

For those who want to get a better idea of the darkest "day" up here, take a look at UAF's timelapse video.

UAF Solstice Timelapse 2017