Camp Leslie

CAMP LESLIE. Two weekends ago we switched our living situation up from the Beach House to our Craiglist-ed "Cozy Cabin in the Woods." Due to our lack of internet and thoroughly unreliable cell phone service (Thankfully, the kind gentleman from TMobile based in Tennessee was entirely sympathetic to my mournful plight of survival in the wilds of Alaska and our early termination fee was successfully waived - point, Team Leslie), our first week in the new digs was blissfully disconnected. We played outside, we read books made of real paper, we listened to this thing called a radio, and we settled in. A fire pit was dug. A slack-line was put up (So far, I can take 5 steps; J can take 11... Grrrr...). Kickball with a home plate hoolahoop was played. Fiddleheads were discovered, picked and fried in butter. At one point Indigo said, "Mama, come lay down in the grass in the sun and just look up - it feels great!" and I did. In short, it felt like old fashioned summer camp and it was wonderful. Thus our new home was christened: Camp Leslie.

The ski shed.

The cozy cabin.

I spy J on the slack line and Indigo's little cabin.

LOVE the big windows (so do our tomatoes).

3 floors of spiraling round and round.

Just in case it gets cold and dark again (ha!).

iTRIP. Ironically, we then went out and got new contracts with another monster phone company and caved into the consumer candy that is the iPhone. (For those of you who don't know, until this latest change, J and I both enjoyed two antiquated flip phones that youngsters were heard to call retro.) In an attempt to preserve the serenity of just being here, as opposed to being everywhere and with everyone all the time a la the wonders of technology, we are attempting to use our phones minimally and on some days or weeks (gasp) not at all. We leave tomorrow for our first summer travel adventure: A road/water trip across Prince William Sound, a spring ski at Thompson Pass, and a venture out to the small historic towns of McCarthy and Kennicott, only accessible via a footbridge - the quintessential pioneer Alaska. We're hoping to keep the experiences fresh and wild, and not get dooped into having an iTrip. We want to see migrating birds, not angry birds; shimmering whale tales, not rainbow whale trails... (I've already been initiated into the app-fold by my 4 year old). Wish us luck.

SUN. Just an update: We are officially in the land of the midnight sun. Despite a sunset around 11:30pm, the world simply does not get dark because the sun remains just below our horizon line until an insanely early rise - instead we enjoy a somewhat eery bright twilight for the few hours in the middle of the night, light enough to walk or read by. Giving us all the more time to adventure!!!

Until next I connect...

Hooligans and Happiness

HOOLIGAN. Noun. A small oily fish, hunted by Beluga whales at the mouth of the Kenai River. (Lots of talk about Hooligans in the area lately - took us a beat to realize that Ice Cream Newton wasn't in danger of being flipped over and set on fire...)

Photos courtesy of LGL Alaska Research Associates, MMPA/ESA research permit No. 14210

HOOLIGAN. Noun. A young troublemaker. (Are those moose skull and crossbones t-shirts on preschoolers? ...Trouble.)

We will, we will, stomp you.

HAPPINESS. In a crazy, end-of-the-spring maneuver, Team Leslie is moving from our beach house (a rental, which sold) to a cool cabin in the woods (another rental, which is not for sale), complete with a three-story spiral staircase, lots of lakes for skating, and even more moose and bear. We are now officially off the paved road system and have a feeling our day-to-day Alaska Adventure is about to get a lot more Alaskan! We are attempting to get everything situated in this final week of school so we can truly sit back and enjoy this next part of our adventure in time for summer and our visitors.

We have yet to take many pictures of the new digs, but I will give the following teasers:

• A huge hunk of fleshy moose hide is nailed to a tree in the yard as a bird feeder - tasty!
• Indigo has her own mini play cabin which sports a real wood stove, wooden bunk bed and desk set with a big window looking out over the yard - think Little House in the Big Woods.
• We have not one but two storage sheds with many moose and caribou antlers "decorating" them.
• On the corner to our new street sits the Tustumena Smokehouse ready to prepare any big fishies we catch this summer - really tasty!
• A-la our friend Ed, J finally has a bedroom with a toilet (minus a sink or any other bathroom elements) right next to the bed for easy access... we just need to put our coffee maker up there and we won't have to get up 'till noon!

I took the following photo of a front yard near the new neighborhood because it just captured the whacky Alaska spirit (i.e. managing to be a gun-owning, conservative Republican who still owns hippy RV's and paints joyful messages on rusting boats in the front yard). As I slowed Ice Cream Newton to snap the picture, J warned, "Honey, don't stay here too long - we don't want to get shot!" On that note, I'm off to finish cleaning the old beach house, load up the fleet of bikes and trikes, and get my woodland groove on...

Wise words.

Salmon

SALMON. A recent conversation with my little Alaskan:

Indigo: Mama... do salmon ever get to be grandmothers?

Kim: I suppose so... why?

Indigo: Nah uh, they die after they lay their eggs, remember? So they don't even get to be mamas either!

Kim: Gosh, I guess you're right! I hadn't ever thought about it.

Indigo: I'm super glad you're not a salmon.

Kim: I love you.

Indigo: I love you too, Mama.

A Happy Mother's Day to all the juvenile-rearing animals out there!

Joyfully rearing my juvenile.