Good Tidings

GOOD TIDINGS. "Good tidings we bring, to you and your kin!" Today is the Winter Solstice and I watched the clouds turn bright pink above Mount Alice and the sun rise up about 3 finger widths above the horizon line at its highest point before slowly descending back down. The sky beneath kept a reddish glow the whole time, like a day-long sunset scene. 

Seward's small boat harbor with a south-facing sunlight glow. (Very Official Source: A friend of a friend)

Everyone from the folks at the post office to kindergartners at the elementary school are saying "Happy Solstice!" - you don't have to be secular hippy types like us to celebrate the motion of the sun up here.Yesterday after school we lit candles, made a fire, baked cookies and played a family game of Clue after dinner (during which J and I both made incorrect accusations about darn Mrs. Peacock - we blame the extended darkness which has been known to make people a bit loopy), about as cozy as cozy gets. Today we plan to head out on a headlamp ski and sled, and attend a friend's bonfire party to ring in the coming of longer days with some outdoor fun. Good tidings indeed.

Team Leslie departs to Costa Rica for Indigo's first international adventure (sorry, Canada) soon so the next blog post might look a lot different than the normal snow covered tableau. Until then, may you soak in LOVE and LIGHT. Sending both from Alaska!

Freezing Teeth

Reflections.

FREEZING TEETH. I am thankful for freezing teeth. What in the world does that mean, you ask? It means that there are times when I smile with such authentic joy and appreciation of the moment, and the environment I'm in is so cold, that my teeth, exposed as they are in their silly grin to said cold, feel like they are starting to freeze. 

I noticed it for the first time a few weeks ago. It was a busy day and I decided to let a few things on the to-do list slide in order to get outside. J had inflated the stand up paddle board again (we'd stashed it for winter and then decided that with dry suits and a big beautiful ocean bay outside our door, that was a bit hasty) and I had just enough day light to paddle to Tonsina Point and back. The moment I stood on the board I noticed how clear the water was. I suppose it's always fairly clear but this day was insanely calm, the water was like glass, and because the sun is so low in the sky at this time of year, the shoreline mountains were casting a shadow on the water; without a glare, I could see down to the bottom with ease. I don't usually paddle out too deep but I did that day, just to see how deep I could see... I got to what looked like 50+ feet based on the decreasing size of the rocks and sea stars and then got a little spooked and paddled closer to shore. It felt like walking on water, gliding along, watching fish and barnacles and mussels and anemones and bat stars and kelp swaying beneath me.  Determined waterfalls cascaded down the seaside cliffs, harbor seals popped up to investigate my wake, and I felt my teeth starting to freeze.

With all the cold, our lakes and ponds have firmed up with incredible ice. Sewardites are loading skates into the backs of their cars in hopes of sneaking a turn or two around the local pond, "Second Lake," after school or work... or maybe driving a bit farther to one of the larger lakes at the base of a mountain on a weekend. That's when I felt my teeth freeze for the second time - we'd stopped at Trail Lake on the way back from Homer, our first skate of the season. The sun was setting and the ice was a mirror and J and Indigo and I were all swooping about, getting steadier on our feet. And my teeth... Honestly, I didn't realize I was smiling so much until the cold started to permeate the enamel and I almost got that ice cream headache feeling.

REALIZATION. Back in college, on the very last day of school actually, the last day of classes before graduation, I was spotted standing on the Green, paused before crossing the street. I honestly don't remember who saw me... in my mind, they texted to tell me, but that can't be right... it was 20 years ago! Perhaps they emailed? Or called? Or maybe I just ran into them, a few hours or days later, in a real face to face interaction. Anyway, this person said that I had the most serious, contemplative, reflective, maybe even devastated look on my face. And they wondered why. I remember why, and I told them at the time: I was insanely happy. I felt like I was on top of the world. There I was, about to graduate from a respected college in a first world country. I had a clever mind and a working body and ideas that could fill a book and a loving family and every gift one could hope for as a spring board to launch into the adult world... Simply, I was too lucky. And I knew that the world didn't work that way. Statistically, I couldn't possibly sustain that kind of happiness... the kind of happiness based largely on circumstance. So there I was, at the edge of the Dartmouth Green, figuring that I would probably be hit by a car if I crossed the road. If not a car right then, then something... something that would smash me back to the reality of the challenges faced by most humans on the planet. At that moment, poised on a multi pointed edge of happiness and appreciation and realization and fear and awe, someone saw my face and all it contained.

The reason I bring up that moment is this: This past weekend, we were, like many local folks, skating on Second Lake. The ice was so perfect you could see through it to objects in the water below, like an old ceramic mug, 1970's beer cans, a pair of disintegrated jeans (?!?), even a muskrat swimming beneath the frozen top. J and I were on one end of the lake when we heard the tell-take holler of a fallen skater... "Mama!" It turned out to be Indigo, splayed out on the far side of the lake, with just that sort of tone to her cry that made us skate a bit faster to reach her. Indeed, she had fallen backward, landed on her right arm, and as an ER visit confirmed, broken it. Fast forward to the following morning. Up a bit early, I heated the oven with a plan to throw some cinnamon rolls in for a leisurely stay-at-home breakfast. Indigo wandered upstairs, splint and all, and we cuddled on the couch. Suddenly the kitchen started making all sorts of banging and clattering noises, almost like large rodents were in our cabinets. Zigzag perked up and crept around the corner to investigate, with Indigo and me on his tail. Instead of R.O.U.S.s, we found bright sparks flying from the oven, smoke billowing, and increasingly loud cracks and pops of an electrical fire. The heating element in our old oven had fallen apart and the electricity was arcing between the gap, a kitchen and house fire waiting to take hold.

We are fine. Indigo's break appears to be of the quick healing sort, a classic kid fracture that 4 weeks in a brace will begin to heal. The old oven has been yanked out and brought to the transfer station, and with the help of a few friends and an electrician, a new oven from the local building supply company has been installed just in time to cook some Thanksgiving goodness. We managed to dodge a few of this first world country's bullets, shot at us rapid fire. 

THANKFUL. So once again, I find myself on the proverbial edge of the Dartmouth Green, pausing before I cross the street. But this time I am not paralyzed as I reflect on the precariousness of this life. Instead, I smile. I appreciate every little ounce of luck and circumstance and earned happiness I've got, and I grin. Because life will take unexpected twists and turns no matter what. And it is a gift to have moments when we find ourselves freezing our teeth.

Happy Thanksgiving. 

Rare Finds

Still hopeful amidst patches of green without red...

RARE FINDS. Ahhhh, my friends. It's been a little while. I've realized of late that saying, "I hope this finds you well," is a bit of an insensitive phrase. Amidst world leader chaos, natural disaster chaos, and potential unique-to-your-family chaos, "well" becomes quite subjective. So I say, "I hope this finds you moving through the world with as much grace as you can muster," and I thank you for taking time to read this. Believe it or not, the Earth still lives and breathes reasonable seasons and adventures and hopes up here in Alaska... which is why I love to share it with you.

Today a crew of us strolled along a lake-side trail attempting to pick low bush cranberries. Always the story teller, I began, "When we first moved up here, I was really good about making posts to my blog... everything was novel. But now Alaska is home, Alaska is the norm, so I really need to be inspired. There has to be a series of events that tie together in a nice little bow that make me say, 'Ha! I could write a blog post about all this!!'" We were hiking farther and farther, tin pails making hollow clinking noises as they swung back and forth from our frost-nipped fingers, and it became clear that the berries were not going to be easily found. The normal patches of waxy little green leaves were there, but not a single red ruby was attached. For whatever reason, this cranberry picking venture was going to be more challenging than anticipated, and the satisfying pluck of firm round goodness would be a rare find indeed...

A BOOT. Back at the beginning of June, our family invited a friend of Indigo's, Emerson, to join us on a backpacking trip to the Caines Head area along Resurrection Bay. You, my dear blog followers, have been here before - the Charging Snails hiked this same trail a few years back, before Team Leslie lived in Seward. Par for the course, it was raining on us yet again and we picked and slipped and dripped our way down miles of beach, hoping for a start of summer miracle.

Rain? We mock you!

After a surreal period of time in the mist with a whale exhaling in a noisy but beautiful show a few dozen feet to our port side, the sun did come out and we were treated to a glorious 24 hours of bluebird amazingness. Indigo and Emerson increased their pace, led us through verdant rain forest, and enthusiastically helped set up camp along a creek near the beach.

We have arrived!

While the grownups dove into the box wine and relaxed in the sun, the kiddos mucked around in the creek until they scrambled up the embankment with a find: A boot. And not just a discarded hiking boot with a flopping sole... this thing was old. A closer look at the leather stamp near the top revealed that it was 84 years old to be exact!

I spy really handy valuable info about this boot!

What followed was one of the more authentic history learning moments ever. Indigo and Emerson had just wrapped up a "Seward History" unit as part of their elementary school studies, and their ideas about the boot were free flowing:

"The Lowell Family homesteaded near here - maybe it belonged to one of them..."

"Or maybe it was someone stationed out here at Fort McGilvray during WWII..."

"This area was logged back then too - maybe it's a logger's boot..."

Then came the debate of why a perfectly good boot, probably hard to get in Alaska almost a century ago, would be left behind to begin with. A tentative peek and grope into the far reaches of the toe confirmed that no part of the owner was there - phew.

In the end, we decided to hike the boot out (each person taking it for 2 miles, even Steven) and bring it to the Seward Community Library Museum to get their take on it. At our appointment several weeks later, the Resurrection Bay Historical Society museum curator interviewed Indigo and Emerson, thoroughly examined the boot, and was legitimately excited about the find. She gently wrapped it in archival acid-free paper, lowered it into a labeled box, and had us sign paperwork agreeing to loan it for display in the museum, after the rest of the Society members reviewed it.

Indeed I got a call from someone a few weeks later with an update: The good news was that the Society was interested in the boot and wanted to send a group out to the site of the find to explore and potentially find other artifacts from the same historical context. The bad news was that we had removed an object from State property and as such, it needed to be handed back over to the State. Argh! Foiled! So the boot is currently awaiting further review, and with some luck, will be loaned back to the Society so its story and its discovery by local kiddos can enrich our little town's museum. Stay tuned!

A FOSSIL. So this particular "rare find" is not our own, but one of our young friend's here in Seward. To say that Kai is a budding scientist would be putting it lightly. Kai explores, discovers, and understands the workings of the world about as well as any of us can. And this summer, he, too, found something old. Something ancient actually.

While on a family day at the beach near Homer, Kai noticed an unusual rock. He had found small fossils on this beach before, and thought this might be a piece of petrified wood... until he noticed it had teeth. Come to find out, Kai had discovered a 10 million year old fossilized jaw of a mammal called a tapir, possibly the only mammalian fossil from that time period ever found in Alaska. Wowzers.

Kai and his fossil.

I spy teeth!

Homer News covered the story and if you're interested in knowing more, you can read it here.

A BABY WALRUS. Yup. A baby walrus. I admit the initial finding of this incredible creature is a sad one. According to a June 20th post by the Alaska Sea Life Center here in Seward, 

The calf, estimated to be about 2 weeks old and weighing 55 kg (120 pounds), hauled out onto a gold mining barge several miles outside of Nome. The crew returned to Nome for the night and found the animal was still on board the next day.

The article goes on to explain the rescue and transport of the baby walrus to Seward where a team of scientists and caregivers quickly went to work. Dr. Carrie Goertz, ASLC staff veterinarian, shares,

“Walrus are incredibly tactile, social animals. Calves typically spend about two years with their mothers, so we have to step in to provide that substitute care and companionship. This includes round-the-clock physical contact and care from staff.”  

So Team Leslie has been able to pop down the street to the Sea Life Center throughout the summer and fall to watch the baby walrus heal and grow! Indeed, for a long time he needed to have a human cuddle him 24/7, to mimic the contact and attention he should have gotten from his walrus family in the wild.

Who knew a baby walrus could be so freakin' lovey dovey!?!?!

Even though the baby walrus recovered from his early life ordeal amazingly well, it was never in the cards for him to return to the wild; as the Sea Life Center explains, 

Due to the high level of maternal investment in the wild, walrus calves are not candidates for release following rehabilitation.

So this past weekend we went to say our goodbyes to the baby walrus. Word on the street is that he will be traveling to SeaWorld Orlando to join another baby walrus, also born in June 2017, and begin to form the necessary bonds with his own kind. Safe travels, baby walrus!!

A BABY BELUGA. Our frequent visits to the Sea Life Center won't be stopping any time soon though. Why not, you ask? "Baaaaaa-beee... Baluuuuuuuga..." Early in October the Sea Life Center got another rare find. This time, a male beluga whale calf stranded along the Cook Inlet. He is currently in critical condition with three or four people giving him round the clock care. With some luck, a future blog post will feature the smiling fellow. Wish him luck!

"Same, Same... But Different!"

Same, same - still living in beautiful Seward, Alaska!

THAILAND. When J and I traveled to Thailand for our belated honeymoon, we often heard locals say the phrase, "Same, same! But different." Although it became an endearing part of our traveling vernacular, it could be a bit disconcerting depending on the context.

Kim: That red curry looks delicious! It is chicken?

Thai local: Ahhh! Same, same! But different.

J: The train car you gave us tickets for is full of cows and monkeys... is it really heading back to Bangkok?

Train depot attendant: Bangkok? Yes! Same, same! But different. 

ALASKA. So as I considered what the heck has been going on in the world of Team Leslie during this Spring, it struck me that although much is the same, we've had some notable changes:

Same, same - we drive a Chevy Astro Van. But different - We said goodbye to aging IceCream Newton and hello to the new green machine, Sally Ride!

Same, same - ZigZag is still rocking it as a furry feisty feline Leslie. But different - Indigo is adopting Kevins, a supersized and super lovable guinea pig!

Same, same - As mentioned, we still live in Seward. But different - WE BOUGHT A TOWNHOUSE, our first ever owned-home! And we're pretty excited about it! From a killer view of the mountains and ocean from our deck...

To a chance to get our whimsical and homey groove on...

To the ability to hike and paddle and bike and even ski, leaving from our doorstep without Sally Ride!

Same, same - Kim is continuing to learn the art of belly dancing. But different - she's actually dancing with a troupe and getting up the gumption to perform every once in awhile!

Same, same - camping and skiing adventures above town in the Mt. Marathon Bowl. But different - Now Indigo is joining J in climbing as high as possible to farm that Spring corn

Same, same - J is still an artist. But different - he's starting to show and sell more work here in Seward, like at this July First Friday opening at Resurrection Art (an old church turned gallery and coffee shop).

Same, same - Team Leslie still tries our hand at catching fish to fill the freezer. But different - we just went ocean fishing for the first time... ugly beasts, for sure, but super tasty! 

Same, same - J and Kim are still into adventuring together. But different - now we've gotten into running (okay, fast hiking) up the Mt. Marathon race trail which starts near our house. A little rock climbing, some root repelling, creek canyoneering and lots of scree sliding, packed into an hour is a heck of a date!

So there you have it. Despite a significant hiatus from blogging, Team Leslie is pretty much the same. But just a little bit different! We send our love and smiles out to friends and family everywhere and wish all a super Summer! 

Choose Your Ride

CHOOSE YOUR RIDE. Growing up in New Hampshire, I had the opportunity to go to a progressive public high school that emphasized collaboration, creativity and authentic experiences over desks in rows and high stakes final exams. In that spirit, our senior project was supposed to be a showcase of our learning, incorporating math, writing, science, art, history, you-name-it into one glorious mega performance that, ideally, targeted one of our personal passions. Brad focused on golf, Carolyn on the theater, Elizabeth on vegetarian cooking, and me... on paragliding. I built mini parafoil wings out of rip-stop nylon, studied Bernoulli's Principle, and took lessons running off of hilltops and tasting a few minutes of flight. A few years later, during a college fellowship, I snuck away on weekends to the local airport and learned to skydive, again thrilling at the feeling of speed and freedom, playing above our marble blue and green planet with colorful billows, back lit by sun.

Fast forward to post-30. Somewhere between realizing my responsibility to stay alive for my new little person, and noticing that roller coasters were starting to make me queasy, my love of jumping off of mountains and out of planes began to wane. When we took a commercial flight and the pilot's voice would come over the intercom, "We are now passing through 10,000 feet en route to our cruising altitude blah, blah, blah...," I would look out the window and think to myself, "Dear God! I would jump out of these things at this height! I was freaking crazy!" 

Then a few weeks ago, I learned about a new-to-me sport that uses a "kitewing," a hand-held sail that is advertised with lines like, "choose your ride (skates, skis, skateboards or rollerblades, etc) and your surface (ice, snow, pavement, sand, etc) and fly." (kitewing.com) Fly? With skates or skis on my feet? I was suddenly off the wagon and signing up for a super chill free clinic pulled together by friends here in Seward. 

Trying to find some wind, we meet at the Seward airport on a glorious sunny day.

Later we move to near-by Bear Lake and I feel the wind pull at my wing for the first time.

As I flew down low, J was flying high on Mt. Eva right above. It is a rare treat to have good skiable snow all the way down to the ocean this year, and we can climb from trail heads right in town.

In theory, once one masters the kitewing, it can be used on mountain descents as well... Now that would be seriously off the wagon.

Kim joins J to fly up high on a Valentine's weekend date, without a kitewing... for now!

Pink, Community, Hope

PINK. This past week has been ripe with rich and honest conversations in our family. Leadership, diversity, respect, human, courage... I suspect many of you have been exploring similar fodder. During one such chat of ours that included ideas about skin color, Indigo declared, "well if you think about it, we're all pink on the inside." Indeed.

Our favorite coffee shop in Seward, Resurrection Art (in an old church), had some foggy windows today... and a pink sunset on the mountains beyond.

COMMUNITY. Some friends and I had planned to hook up in Anchorage on Saturday for the Women's March. As it continued to dump snow on Friday night and digging out our cars, let alone driving them, became less and less likely, we began to text about the potential of rallying some folks here in Seward, maybe even with skis on our feet, to do our own version of a march. Someone threw out an intersection near the Sea Life Center; I threw out 2PM; and the social media world took its course...

Indigo (and Lily) lead the charge as upwards of 100 people sing and chant and chat their way along an ocean path.

Purple and green on the outside, and pink on the inside.

HOPE. As the sun set and folks headed home, our little family retreated to the back yard to the snow cave Indigo and J had worked on during the morning. Candles lit, puffs of breath warming the small space, our little world felt safe and strong and whole.

The entrance.

All together.

And then this morning, the sun came out and all the new snow glittered and flashed. J and I had a "date day" and climbed the mountain behind our house, taking in views of the bay and then skiing down through the fresh three feet of powder, laughing and shrieking like little kids. A needed reminder that there is so much beauty in this world...

Descending from heaven...

A gift near the top of our climb - what appears to be the "track" from a bird, touching down for a moment before taking a few wing beats to lift up again...

And finally, in the spirit of keeping friends and family close (and not having so many holiday cards return to sender), here is our new address in Seward:

PO Box 2066, Seward, AK 99664

Studs, Cleats and Skates

STUDS. I  know what you're thinking. And yes, my hubby is a total Alaskan stud muffin with a hearty helping of wild blueberries in the mix. But in this case, I'm talking about tires. You see Seward, being a coastal town, tends to rock temperatures right around 32 degrees F, sometimes slightly above, sometimes slightly below. The upshot is we can get dumped on with rain only to have it freeze solid and smooth within hours. Enter ice. So we need to put sharp pokey things on the bottom of everything that touches the ground if we want half a chance of staying upright and moving forward.

Even the fat bike gets studded out!

Double studs! (J gets ready to commute to work.)

CLEATS. Hanging by our front door is a mesh bag filled with ice cleats. Mandatory protocol before going outside, you slip the rubber edges around the bottom of your boot and away you march. In some cases, we march to some pretty spectacular places!

Getting dolled up to go out, AK style!

Hiking up Victor Creek - miles of icy wonderland.

We've found ice falls in yellow, blue, green, white and clear...

SKATES. And of course the very best ice transportation of all... skating! Even when they're covered in snow, the frozen lakes of Alaska serve up some spectacular skating; the snow is so light and powdery, you just fly right through it. I can't imagine a more blissful way to move on this remarkable planet. Added bonus? It rarely gets crowded.

J enjoys some solitude skating near the Barber cabin on Lower Russian Lake

Weeeee!

SNOW! So I had originally planned to share a picture of Ice Cream Newton's studded tires as part of the post. But during the past 24 hours, the old girl got a bit covered up... Looks like we get to trade out our sharp pokey things for some long slidey things for awhile!

Now THIS is how an Alaskan winter should look!