31 jul 13 The Summer Day

Yesterday Anchorage continued setting a record for the most consecutive days at 70 degrees or above -- 15 days.  This summer has seemed close-to-perfect and it's a constant topic of conversation even after two months of great weather.

Two weeks ago, as that 70+ streak started, an acquaintance of mine ended her life on the shores of Turnagain Arm.  She had worked her entire career to protect Alaska's beauty, wildlife, and ecosystems, but she wasn't always able to take joy in that beauty and wildness. 

I am saddened by her intense despondency and her death.  I am grateful that I am able to feel joy in these perfect summer days.  My yoga instructor read this Mary Oliver poem to us yesterday, and it struck me for the way this summer makes me feel and the incredible loss to the Alaska conservation community with this death.

The Summer Day

Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

from New and Selected Poems, 1992
Beacon Press, Boston, MA

Copyright 1992 by Mary Oliver.
 

(I encourage you to buy all the Mary Oliver poetry books that your arms can hold.)

10 nov 12 off kilter

The Bluedot is an unsanctioned trail across municipal lands that is a favorite of dog walkers and winter bikers.  A band of fairies spray paints blue blotches on the trees and maintains it for wind and dead fall.  The bridge that crossed Campbell Creek was made of two long tree trunks that just barely reached more than 30 feet from bank to bank.  Half of the planks that spanned the logs had fallen off.  I didn't dare cross that bridge except in the winter when snow and ice filled in the gaps.

Six weeks ago we walked the Bluedot Trail as Campbell Creek was overtopping its banks after days of rain.  The flooded creek had dislodged the bridge and deposited it along the far bank.  We walked upstream following another foot path to the Old Rondy Trail.  We returned a week later and the water was still high.  At the Old Rondy bridge, the water was less than a foot below its deep steel beams and rushing past the abutments on which they rested.

Today we hiked Bluedot again to see how the creek had changed.  We were surprised to find that the trail fairies had built a new bridge downstream from the old.  The logs bow down from each bank in a sway over the creek.  The planks cover the entire length of bridge.  A biker crossed just after we did.

Thank you to all the folks who care for Anchorage's trails.  The winds and rains have kept you busy this fall.

18 nov 11 for the 99%

We saw James McMurtry in concert at The Latitude 62 last night in Talkeetna. He wrote this song in 2004. Sadly, it's still relevant for a lot of people in our country today. You can read all the lyrics at his website, even download the song for free if you show a little love for the Occupy movement.

We Can't Make It Here Anymore*

Some have maxed out all their credit cards
Some are working two jobs and living in cars
Minimum wage won't pay for a roof, won't pay for a drink
If you gotta have proof just try it yourself Mr. CEO
See how far 5.15 an hour will go
Take a part time job at one of your stores
Bet you can't make it here anymore

High school girl with a bourgeois dream
Just like the pictures in the magazine
She found on the floor of the laundromat
A woman with kids can forget all that
If she comes up pregnant what'll she do
Forget the career, forget about school
Can she live on faith? live on hope?
High on Jesus or hooked on dope
When it's way too late to just say no
You can't make it here anymore

Now I'm stocking shirts in the Wal-Mart store
Just like the ones we made before
'Cept this one came from Singapore
I guess we can't make it here anymore

Should I hate a people for the shade of their skin
Or the shape of their eyes or the shape I'm in
Should I hate 'em for having our jobs today
No I hate the men sent the jobs away
I can see them all now, they haunt my dreams
All lily white and squeaky clean
They've never known want, they'll never know need
Their sh@# don't stink and their kids won't bleed
Their kids won't bleed in the da$% little war
And we can't make it here anymore

Will work for food
Will die for oil
Will kill for power and to us the spoils
The billionaires get to pay less tax
The working poor get to fall through the cracks
Let 'em eat jellybeans let 'em eat cake
Let 'em eat sh$%, whatever it takes
They can join the Air Force, or join the Corps
If they can't make it here anymore

And that's how it is
That's what we got
If the president wants to admit it or not
You can read it in the paper
Read it on the wall
Hear it on the wind
If you're listening at all
Get out of that limo
Look us in the eye
Call us on the cell phone
Tell us all why

In Dayton, Ohio
Or Portland, Maine
Or a cotton gin out on the great high plains
That's done closed down along with the school
And the hospital and the swimming pool
Dust devils dance in the noonday heat
There's rats in the alley
And trash in the street
Gang graffiti on a boxcar door
We can't make it here anymore


This song took me back to my hometown. I grew up in a small factory town. The Smith-Corona typewriter factory was by far the largest building on Main Street. My grandfather and an uncle made their careers there. My mom worked there part-time as a young woman. My neighbor was the plant nurse. When I was in elementary school my grandparents spent a year in Singapore to help open a factory there. A few years later, another factory opened in Mexico. The factory on Main Street closed while I finished high school and sat empty for years until the site pollution could be dealt with. All the kids in town spent the hot humid summer days at the town pool. Many of my friends were life guards as their first jobs.

Thanksgiving is only a few days away. I'm grateful to still have a good job for an organization that strives to make a difference in the world. May I remember that not everyone in our country is so lucky these days to be bringing home a paycheck that covers the bills.


*Music and lyrics © 2004 by James McMurtry

28 feb 2010 different is good

Paul and I have long suspected that we're not like other people. Not that we're smarter, or better, or anything. Just that our priorities and how we spend our time is a little different than our neighbors ... or maybe most of middle class America. We seem to be like many of our friends, not surprising, and given the places we work, like many of our co-workers. Recently we've been reminded that our lives are a little different from the norm.

About five weeks ago we arranged to meet some friends from Talkeetna to catch a matinee of Avatar. They wanted to come to Anchorage to compress some movie going into one weekend. Avatar had been here for over a month. On a beautiful, sunny February Saturday, we didn't imagine that many people would elect to spend the afternoon in a dark theater. We'd managed to fit in a bike ride early in the afternoon. So we were very surprised that the humongous parking lot at the theater was full. When we finally hiked over from the parking spot we found, we were shocked that the film was sold out. But we weren't disappointed. The film hadn't been high on our list to see. So we drove back home and Bhikkhu got a nice walk on a sunny afternoon.

Yesterday was my first chance to ski in weeks, and I was excited to ski on the 6" of snow we received a few days earlier. Paul is recovering from a sprained ankle so I headed alone to the municipal park nearby. We classical nordic ski. Based on the nordic ski club's trail priorities and the people usually passing us on the wide groomed trails, sometimes it seems like most of Anchorage skate skis. Yesterday the parking lot was full and I expected to share the trails and the best snow in weeks with a few of the 250,000 people in Anchorage. After I left the skate ski highway, however, I skied alone for the better part of an hour on a narrower classic only trail. I glided along through silent woods where fewer than a dozen people had skied in the past few days. Our decision to stick to classical skiing seems to be rewarded with solitude on the edge of the city.

We've also been reminded recently about something that's different when you live in Alaska -- the number of people who come and go. Except for college, I've never lived anywhere else where many of your friends are likely to move away. Some leave for better jobs, others to follow or find love, and young families often head out to be nearer to family. Last week our friend Shane came up from California to work a booth at a conference. We hadn't seen him since he, his wife, and their baby left 4 years ago. We've kept in touch via email but that doesn't replace hanging out around the house, walking in the woods, and enjoying good microbrew together. He stayed with us for a week. We caught up over long dinners and walking Bhikkhu every day.

We aren't going to the mall or the theater every Saturday afternoon and our meals are definitely more slow food than fast food. We are lucky to have friends who prefer the woods to the mall and meals of fellowship to the food court. Friends like that are friends forever, whether they live across town, up the highway, in California or Colorado or on the East coast. We're blessed to live in a place where we can pursue our life choices and find lifelong friends.

18 may 09 generous spring

Soon the trails will be dry & this bike will be getting out more

I'm often saddened after local elections because inevitably (with a few exceptions), parks and recreation bonds in this city get voted down. Bicycling around town the last two weeks, I wondered who votes down these measures because it looks to me like everyone is using the trails and bike paths in the greenbelts and long the roadways.

Yesterday I pedaled to Quaker Meeting in the afternoon, along my usual route which includes a lovely stretch of the Campbell Creek trail paralleling Tudor Drive. When the weather is nice, I am amazed at the number of people crammed into the small Campbell Park where the creek flows under Lake Otis Drive. Kids were wading in the creek (hey, it's 60 degrees and the ice went out last week!), teenage girls were working on their tans, dogs were catching frisbees, couples were strolling hand-in-hand. I assume most of the people that use this park live in the apartment complexes of the neighborhood. This park and greenbelt are their backyard.

This morning I rode to work on the usual spring route, which includes a lovely stretch of the Chester Creek Trail. Moms in a fitness class were pushing chariots up over the Northern Lights pedestrian bridge while doing squats (!), couples were pushing strollers, college kids were running with their dogs. I went in late this morning so I missed the early morning strolls of the older Asian ladies. Instead I saw the younger women harvesting tender greens in the grassy areas along the trail.

I wish we were voting on these bond issues in the middle of May, when it's been bright and sunny for almost 3 weeks and only the deranged and really mean people haven't been made giddy (and generous!) by the sunshine.

30 November 2008 Gratitude

At Quaker Meeting for Worship today, someone else said what I've been thinking all day: "This is the kind of day when I'm really thankful to live in Alaska." We received over a foot of snow here in Anchorage since Thanksgiving day. Some would say this is Alaska, especially the "big city" of Anchorage, at its most beautiful.

Our snow actitivies today were mostly moving the white stuff around our property. We skied and snowshoed the last three days in Talkeetna, so today we were both content to shovel, snow blow, split and haul firewood, feed the birds, and photograph the back yard.

Mentioning those activities reminds me of some other things I'm thankful for -- a talented husband and skilled friend who recently installed the woodstove that has become my new "pet" (constant feeding and tending); a healthy household budget that means we don't have to think too hard about buying food and stuff; great friends who are family on holidays like Thanksgiving; and good health to be able to enjoy this great state.

I hope that you feel blessed this Thanksgiving, too.

Gratitude and Hope

Thank you to my fellow Americans who participated in an historic vote yesterday. My generation will enter the White House in January. People of color know they can achieve all the American dreams. I am more hopeful for our country than I've been since September 10, 2001.

Hallelujah!