Ribbons of White, Blue, Brown and Green

WHITE SNOW. It is September. It is September. It is September. I have to keep telling myself this because based on my surrounding scenery, it is most definitely not September. It has snowed, people. Here in town, up in the mountains, on the streets of Anchorage. The word on the dirt road is that Alaska has pretty much two seasons, Summer and Winter. Fall and Spring are just a blink of the eye. Open, close. Hello Winter. Honestly, as surprising as the seasonal shift is, we're pretty fired up. But being reasonably strong thinkers, we are mindful of what this means for the next six months. Time to get our Alaska groove on.

Indigo hunts for snowman anatomy.

White caps.

BLUE RIVER. We have had plenty of flood warnings in these parts and this weekend we finally got to check out the damage. The Kenai River is big and driving along the Sterling Hwy we found ourselves right next to her. Absolutely beautiful turquoise blue paired against the yellows and oranges of the changing trees. Couldn't park in our usual spots though...

Cranking.

 Blue.

BROWN CHOCOLATE. We found ourselves on a city venture this weekend, rocking the urban tourist scene complete with museums and candy stores. Considering the fact that J has been known to arrive in and subsequently depart from a city despite hours of driving because of the frustration at a lack of parking, we did well in Anchorage. In fact, we were just about the only patrons at each stop and could play, eat and generally frolic about to our hearts' content.

Fatherly lift.

For f*!#'s sake, I'm a science teacher! Now how does this work??

And you wondered who was controlling the world...

Yes, that's chocolate. Apparently Willie lives in Alaska.

"Three jelly beans plus one plus one makes five, Mama." -Indigo math

GREEN LIGHTS. We came home to this...

Our first aurora borealis

Kim: "This is so awesome... guys, we live here!"
Indigo: "Auroras are kind of like rainbows at night. I want it to be pink though. Can we go home and play princess now?"
J: "Stay here, I'm grabbing the tripod!" (Translation: Another new hobby!)

Autumnal Cleaning, Equinox-ing and Voting

 HOUSEKEEPING. A few "important" tidbits for you...

• The subscriber email version of the blog appears to skip the video footage I include - in other words, those of you yearning to see my hotty husband on his new trike need to head to the blog site itself to see the racy three wheeled action from the last post: 

http://teamleslie-thealaskaadventure.blogspot.com/

• Let's be clear: we can get pumpkins here. We just can't pick them ourselves, or even peruse already-picked ones among decorative corn stalks and well-placed hay bales on the side of the road. Having chatted with a few of you, I realized that there was a bit of a "Save Team Leslie's Halloween" movement involving the mailing of 10 pound squashes thousands of miles for hundreds of dollars. Please don't do this. Simply pick your own pumpkin and think of us. Here are some visuals from yesteryear to help you:

We can't get THIS. (circa 2011)

We can't do THIS. (circa 2011)

Rest assured, we WILL be able to do THIS. (circa 2011)

EQUINOX. As luck would have it, a new friend here in town lovingly referred to as "Groundskeeper Chris," secured a community garden plot back in April and grew some fabulous fall produce. In honor of the Autumnal Equinox (a serious holiday in Team Leslie's secular wonderland), Groundskeeper Chris invited us on a potato parade that involved riding our bikes, trikes and chariots to said plot to harvest some spudaliciousness. Copious amounts of buttery mash ensued, and some pretty stellar potato and carrot prints to boot. If we can't get plump orange pumpkins, gosh darn it we'll settle for firm brown tubers.

My favorite veg!

Dirt ball or potato?

The haul.

ROCK THE VOTE. October second is fast approaching and we just received our Alaska voter pamphlet. Admittedly, I don't usually look too closely at these thick, floppy, paper packets. But a few different pieces of candidate information in this one caught my eye:

"Experience: Jr. High School President"

"Education: 1-Year College"

"Memberships: Girl Scout"

Now mind you, I like to think I'm open-minded (Chip, don't comment), especially living in a new place with a new culture. So I looked carefully at some of these people... One Candidate's entire statement reads:

"I am a mom of three bright children. I own a small cafe and hotel. I am running for city council to actively watch [our town] grow and be a safe and reasonable place to live and raise a family."

PolitiFact's Truth-O-Meter wouldn't be able to light any one's pants on fire with that one.  But if elected, would she be respected, listened to, accepted by the council? Based on her running mates, probably. Interesting. Now I'm not forgetting about that Mom from Wasilla who moved up the ranks pretty quick awhile back... "You Betcha" didn't turn out to be too impressive. But I certainly like having some regular people with regular lives and maybe smart ideas getting a chance to share a page in the thick, floppy, paper packet. Cheers to choice. Rock the vote.

The Dark Side

Lest you think it is all fun and games up here in the 49th state, let me share some of the more mundane and less fortunate aspects of our existence...

SUBS. Like how everything is a bit more expensive. Not to the extreme, but in funny little ways that add up after a long day. For example, the famous Subway "Five dollar footlong." I remember getting that goddamn catchy song in my head on a weekly basis back in Oregon. Well up here my jingle memory gets jarred by an alarming difference... "Six. Six dollar. Six dollar footloooooong." Plus tax. Gone are the days of being able to score not one but two footlongs for the family picnic with a single ten dollar bill. Then there are the bins at Walmart (I know, forgive me) labeled "1 Dollar." But upon closer inspection, everything inside is individually labeled "1 Dollar and 12 Cents." Plus tax. I haven't even tried to find an official "Dollar Store," let alone go into one, for fear of what I might find. Gas - more expensive - despite the fact that we can honestly see oil rigs off of our beach in the Cook Inlet. (No, we can not see Russia.) I think the only thing we seem to have in the "less expensive" category is salmon, because so far it has been free. If we mention to a friend or neighbor that we ate our last salmon fillet last night, a new stash of fresh red flesh arrives in minutes. I suppose that's not a bad price to pay in exchange for six... six dollar... six dollar footlongs...

THE OLD MAN IS SNORING. Now we have lived in some rainy places before. San Francisco in the summer, Oregon... but oh my oh me my. I'll let the numbers do the talking:

• Normal average September rainfall for Kenai, Alaska = 2.5 inches
• Rainfall yesterday in Kenai, Alaska =  5 inches
• Total so far this month in Kenai, Alaska = 15 inches

 Indigo and I have taken to having rubber ducky races in the river (think street) in front of our house. And J invested in a new man toy to help in his commute to work. Two wheels just wasn't cutting it in the puddles...

CHARLIE BROWN. Having come from the mecca of quaint family farms and u-pick parties in the Hood River valley, we find ourselves in a sad situation. There does not appear to be a single pumpkin patch on the Kenai Peninsula. Out of the 150-million acre network of protected lands and waters that make up the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge, no one eked out a single spot to grow a freaking pumpkin! Indigo went from always having a Cinderella pumpkin carved with her name (while it was still growing - this is an amazing idea we hadn't seen before) and lovingly guarded by the farm dogs at Rasmussen farms, to the plastic dipped squashes in the cardboard bins at Walmart (there it is, again!). To quote Linus, "Oh, Great Pumpkin, where are you?"

So go enjoy a true five dollar footlong, pick a great pumpkin, and think of us washing away up here in the great state of Alaska! (Okay, so the duck racing is actually pretty fun what with the high stakes drains and rogue neighborhood dogs; and J does look pretty hot on his trike... I think we're gonna make it!)

Dead Porcupines, Nauti Otters and Bears, Oh My!

DEAD PORCUPINES. So J comes home from a run on the beach the other afternoon and casually mentions seeing a dead porcupine on the sand. Indigo immediately perks up and demands a venture down to check it out. Thus began our quintessential after dinner dead porcupine walk. Her cause of death remains a total mystery: quills - present and firmly attached, eyes - bright and uneaten, body - dry and unbloated. (All of this confirmed through the use of a professional dead-thing-poker-stick conveniently found next to the deceased.) We feel confident that she is now nourishing the marine life at the mouth of the Kenai River and gave her a short seaside service, conveying as much.

Is it odd that we're so darn excited about this?

Yes! A dead-thing-poker-stick!

Very mysterious.

NAUTI OTTERS. No longer needing to uphold the high standards of a grandparent visitor, we decided to stay at the Nauti Otter Hostel over the weekend for another Seward adventure. Our cabin was of extremely rustic construction (yes, if Team Leslie thinks something is rustically constructed, it is completely fair to imagine protruding nails, gaping holes and copious amounts of duct tape), oddly contrasted with a DVD player set to go with Back to the Future (Indigo is now familiar with the original use of the phrase "Flux Capacitor"). Our bathroom was an outhouse with a flush-able toilet covered in red shag rug, and the classic Alaskan jokes and stories posted throughout. A sample:

"A boy is very unhappy with his family's outhouse. It is too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter and always smells terrible. One day he decides to take action and push the outhouse into the nearby river. Later, at dinner, his father asks him if he is the culprit. The boy confesses. As his father gets out the leather belt, the boy bravely reminds his father of the story of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree. 'Father, George Washington told the truth and his father did not punish him.' 'Yes Son, but George Washington's father was not in that cherry tree.'"

A note to Gran: We put paper down on the toilet, washed our hands a bunch, and checked for bedbugs... there were only a few and they seemed friendly.

Nauti Otter lair.

Strangely cozy.

Spoiler: Bear habitat!

BEARS. While exploring said cabin upon our arrival, I opened a blind on the back window, revealing a rocky hillside covered in low vegetation very close to us. "Let's keep this open; perhaps we'll see a bear!" And moments later, a medium sized, pretty-darn-adorable, black bear came lumbering past the window... not exactly the ferocious, towering, grizzly encounter out in the wilds that some might have been waiting for, but a bear none the less! Our weekend adventure was complete. (And yes, J got in his September ski. And a bike ride. And homemade waffles... Team Leslie packs it in!)

Our bear friend.

Indigo and J at the edge of the Mt. Marathon Bowl.

YES.

Kim as Sherpa.

Russian River Trail bike ride en route to Seward.

View from the road.

Indigo collecting high alpine shells of the bullet variety (J's ski terrain behind).

Back to the Future

FLUX CAPACITOR. September has arrived which means hopefully, you got in your August ski. What? You didn't know you needed to get in your August ski? Let me explain: There exists a fanatically dedicated crew of individuals (said in the nicest way) who go skiing every month of the year. J, of course, is one of these unique people. He has logged a ski day for more than eighty consecutive months. Multiple surgeries, the birth of a child, summer - nothing had stopped J's streak... until we came to Alaska. Now August is usually one of the trickiest months anyway with hard to reach, sun-cupped, dirty snow at higher elevations. This August had the added challenges of unknown terrain, head-high bushes, and massive piles of bear scat. Remember that blueberry picking venture after we ran into the boaters near the gold mining claim? I wasn't allowed to blog about it at the time, but it was actually a failed ski attempt. And with only working week days between J and September, it looked like the Leslie household was in for a period of mourning. Just as I was about to dye our hippy-beanie-hats black, a new friend invited J on the most cockamamie scheme of our Alaska experience (on a school night):

6:00 PM "Hey, I'm still in, are you in? Sweet. See you in a few. What? Sure I can bring my bike."
7:00 PM J and friend park truck at primary trail head, put packs and skis on backs in traditional A-frame formation, and begin bike ride in to secondary trail head.
7:30 PM J and friend park bikes at secondary trail head, switch packs and skis to flux capacitor* formation, and begin ascent.
9:00 PM J and friend actually find a relatively large snow field with decent white stuff. Game on.
9:30 PM With the sun setting, J and friend ski in August. (The streak lives!)
9:45 PM J and friend cannot find trail back down. Friend realizes he has not brought a headlamp.
10:30 PM J gets enough cell reception to call Kim and say, "I think we just found the trail... but I won't be home at eleven like I thought."
10:31 PM Kim falls back asleep, happy to know that her husband is stumbling around the Alaskan wilderness in the dark with his new friend and a ridiculous amount of gear, alive and well for the moment.
1:00 AM "Honey, I'm home." "Did you get to ski?" "Yes." "Excellent." "Night night."

*NOTE: Apparently non-winter cross country travel in Alaska can pose quite a problem to those of us who like to hike with skis on our backs. They stick up too high and get caught on trees, bushes and other overhanging vegetation. Thus a very creative soul invented a different way to position one's skis to allow for more aerodynamic travel. See picture below.

Eat your heart out, Doc.

The elusive August ski.

BACK TO NH. With 150 mph wind shears shutting down flights out of Anchorage last night, it was looking like Gran was in for yet another horrible travel epic back to NH. However, after a lovely last lunch at Veronica's, we gave her covertly tearful hugs and kisses at the Kenai airport and watched the first leg of her trip fly successfully. Indigo's thoughts to me in Ice Cream Newton after Gran's departure: "Since I don't want to cry when I'm a grown up, I think I'll just choose to live near my parents." Can we get this in writing?

And although she and Indigo wore it quite a bit, Gran's silver whistle was not used to scare a bear on this trip. In fact, in a very unAlaskan turn of events, Gran never saw a living bear on her visit. She did, however, want to pass along this bear wisdom gleaned at the visitor center near Exit Glacier:

If you encounter an aggressive black bear, you may fight it.

If you encounter an aggressive brown bear, play dead.

If the brown bear begins to eat you, you may fight it.

Here are a few more Gran-in-Alaska statistics for you:

• Spotted a sea otter, a bald eagle and a moose within a twenty minute period in Homer. 
• Survived 7 days of rain and only 2 days of sun.
• Had a fisherman wave a massive halibut tail at her in greeting.
• Saw a rainbow and a glacier at the same time.
• Photographed a record number of Russian Orthodox Church steeples.
• Collected too many beach treasures to bring home ("Look guys! Doesn't this rock look like the head of a dog? Can you see it? If I turn it this way? Well I think so and I'm keeping it.").
• Loved us up like only a Mom/Grandmother can... we love you and miss you, Gran.

Kenai church

Treasure hunting on our beach.

Counting the loot.

Several generation dress for Miss Indigo.

Beach warriors.

Beach snugglers.

Ninilchik church.

Seal intestine and grass Native raincoat (with modern comparison).

Hiking twins.

We've got options.

I spy the whistle.

Glacier hiking.

Somewhere over the rainbow.