Smiles + Love from Afar

SMILES + LOVE FROM AFAR. Things are looking pretty festive in these parts! Local businesses are taking great efforts to decorate and illuminate every nook and cranny of town as the final descent into darkness comes. And we finally got our first real dump of snow here at sea level, so the landscape looks brighter and our hearts are lighter. A handful of scenes from our Alaskan world:

Not many places that you can see a salmon tree!

Indigo picks out our little guy in the forest...

and burns her letter to Santa so the smoke can take her wishes to the North Pole.

With the Sun at its apex in the sky, we get outside and soak in as much as we can.

Kim heads to the Post Office with boxes of Fireweed Jelly, Low Bush Cranberry Sauce and a new culinary (?) venture...

 

And on that note, CHEERS to family and friends everywhere!

Love, Kim, J and Indigo

Here Fishy, Fishy, Fishy...

Looks like a painting, doesn't it?

ICE PARTY. Tern Lake is located about 40 minutes from Seward, an hour plus from Kenai, and an hour and a half from Anchorage; it's on the road system, so not technically a back-country lake, but it still falls into the category of "remote" for sure. So what a surprise to show up last Sunday and find literally hundreds of people there! Why? Fabulous ice.

The temperatures up here just kicked down into the freezing zone, and word was out that ice on Tern measured more than 3 inches in multiple spots. There was no event, no social media invite... just good old-fashioned word of mouth and a clear crisp sunny day. Game on. I took the time to count and there were over 50 people that I ran into (or should I say skated into?) that day that I knew by name, many good friends. It felt like a huge impromptu party, but the dress code was pretty wonky and the thermostat was set super low. There were pick up hockey games, picnics with folding camp chairs and crates for tables, and lots and lots of skating.

Tern Lake

J and Indigo join the party!

HERE FISHY, FISHY, FISHY. Do you remember that Sesame Street skit? The one where Ernie and Bert are in a boat, and Ernie keeps trying to call for a fish to jump in? None do, until Bert, totally dubious and at the end of his wits, screams at the top of his lungs, "HEEEEEEERE FI-SHY FI-SHY FI-SHY!!!!" And a whale jumps in the boat. Ask and thou shalt receive, in dramatic fishy fashion.

So at one point, I noticed a dead fish suspended in the frigid water beneath the clear glassy ice. Others were noticing too; you could see pockets of people gathered in circles, staring down.

Nope, not a painting... a salmon! Guessing the color is decomposition and scale fungus. Beauty appears in the strangest places!

And then... J spotted a not dead fish. A very much alive fish! And you could skate above it, chasing it almost, as it flitted about, making a few last runs before likely succumbing to its friends' colorful demise. It was the strangest sensation, and one that made you laugh out loud with the wonder and whimsy of it. A few short video clips (might have to click to the actual blog site, not the emailed version, to watch) of what it looked like to us human types, feeling like we were flying above the aquatic underworld - enjoy:

Vote for More Top 10 Days

SUPERLATIVES. For the best or for the worst, I always reflect on my life in terms of superlatives.

My favorite menu item at Chinooks this summer? Chef's 4 Hour Snow Crab Bisque. Rich, creamy, pink and so amazingly delicious that our family went there for dinner one night and each ordered a whole bowl for ourselves and nothing else. Brilliant. 

Worst pizza topping (ever)? Black olives. If you like olives, no problemo, but if you don't, they are such a strong flavor that they overpower the whole damn thing and the subtle cheese blend, savory sausage, and fire roasted tomatoes are completely annihilated beyond all recognition. Sadness.

So clearly this makes it look like I only think about food... which may or may not be true (tee hee). But I can and do sometimes think about other things!

Best place I've gone "to the bathroom" in the back country? Sitting on a warm smooth rock below the high tide line on the Lost Coast Trail in California with the Charging Snails ladies in 2016. I'll spare you a more detailed description. 

Most adventurous day hike? Tenaya Canyon descent from Tuolomne Meadows into Yosemite Valley with J and friends in 2002. From chucking our bags into the water below and jumping down to swim sections, to sliding down thousands of feet of granite on my butt and creating enough friction for my backpack bottom to smoke. Yes!

I could go on...

TOP 10. So it should come as no surprise that I often reflect on a given moment or day in terms of extremes, as in, could this be the hardest thing I've ever done? The most heartbroken I've ever been? The most alive I've ever felt? And if, just if, the answer is yes or near to it, then that event makes my ever changing Top 10 list for that category.

KAYAKERS COVE. Earlier this fall, I had a day that made the Top 10 Days list. The Top 10 Days list!!! That's crazy, right? I mean think about it... I've been alive for over fifteen thousand days. The odds of having a top 10 day is pretty slim... 1 in 1500. Okay, maybe a little better because about a thousand of those early days don't come to memory well enough to consider (although I have a feeling days spent being cuddled and nursed and stared at adoringly would rank pretty high). Regardless, having a Top 10 Day is something to celebrate, something to reflect on, something to plan and strive for more of.

In that spirit, here is how this day went:

6AM I wake up in a second story communal sleeping space at Kayakers Cove, a hostel across Resurrection Bay from Seward. I and 10 other women had water taxied across the day before, for a casual ladies-only friend retreat weekend. The plan is to enjoy each other, the place, and being off the grid for awhile.

I've been to Kayakers Cove a few times before, and the mountain ridge running behind the coastline has a few "notch" features that are accessible by scree field scrambling. A map hanging in the hostel features two arrows, pointing to these notches... one with a happy face (Climb this way! You'll be able to look over and see the ocean and glaciers on the other side of the ridge!) and one frowny face (Do NOT climb this way! You won't see shit and you'll likely die!). A friend and I decide to make a go up to the happy face notch first thing in the morning with a goal of being back in time to snag a bit of breakfast (eggs scrambled in bacon) and join the others for a sea kayaking venture.

9AM We make it to happy face notch! Cloud cover is low, the wind is cranking and it's super cold, but we feel absolutely exhilarated. We worked hard to get up there quickly, and feel super proud of both our bodies and spirits. A mountain goat joins us for a bit ("High on a hill was a lonely goat, lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo...") before we begin the scramble slide down.

Descending from Happy Face Notch

11:00AM Back at the hostel, breakfasted (they made us egg sammies!), and ready for the next adventure, I put on my dry suit and head down to the water. I brought our inflatable stand up paddle board and decide to pump it up and tootle about the cove until the others are ready to kayak.

12:00PM My tootle turns into a solo venture as I can't help but paddle "around one more corner" for about 100 corners' worth and end up a good mile or two away from the cove. Figuring my girl friends will kayak without me, I decide to settle into my independence. I stop at little rivulets cascading into the high tide from the terrain above. I talk to bald eagles twisting their stoic heads to watch me slide by. I stare down into the crystal clear water and watch sea stars, fish, crabs and even diving shore birds play below. 

Above and below.

1PM Having stopped to sit on my board and snack on chocolate covered roasted coconut and fancy cheese with a Merlot rind (I definitely treat myself on these ladies weekends), I lean back and study the cliffs above the sea. It's all pillow basalt, a dark bubble-esque volcanic rock that gets its unique appearance from molten lava having billowed out through the Earth's crust into cold ocean water a gazillion (there goes my science credibility) years ago. And it strikes me that unlike a lot of the rock around our area of Alaska, this would be super stable and amazing to rock climb, with all the natural foot and hand holds of each bubble. And it's above water, so a hypothetical climber would have a very low stakes situation if they fell. Although it's cold water. But this hypothetical climber happens to be wearing a dry suit!!

2PM I have SUPed, climbed and cliff jumped from every place I can find on my way back to the cove. And I am beyond happy with myself. It's like inventing a new tri sport! A few times I had to pause up high, quite obvious in my bright orange dry suit, like a convicted felon inching along the outside of a building ledge, as a ferry or fishing charter motored by. Then, when the coast was literally clear, I would take the plunge, whooping and laughing the whole day down. A friend on shore captured this final leap: 

4PM Everyone is back from their water adventures and we enjoy apps and bevs outside the hostel before dinner. Conversations range from motherhood to politics to jobs to love to dreams. There are tearful moments and belly clutching laughter moments and everything in between. Friendship.

 A very special place. 

8PM Our candle-lit potluck dinner is over and cleaned up, and everyone is gathered around the bonfire. One gal walks to the water's edge and comes hot footing it back up. "Bioluminescence!!" We all rush down, wine glasses in hand, and wade out into the water in our boots, straining to see the flashes of light. Our eyes adjust and it's not just flashes; the water has countless bright greenish beautifuls. I slug my wine and dip my empty cup into the water, anxious to get a closer look (science credibility coming back, eh?). They turn out to be baby sea jellies, pulsing their little bodies with delicate tentacles, with perfect dotted rings and crosses of light. We're in awe.

VOTE. So what does this have to do with voting, you ask? Well, if we look at the conditions that made this Top 10 Day possible, we find some interesting things.

This day did not require me to have an exceptionally large amount of money, but it took some. The cost of a bunk at Kayakers Cove, the round trip water taxi, snacks and food contributions, and the clothes and gear I wore. I'm estimating well under $100.

Really, this day required that I be fit and healthy and able to do physical things. It required that I have a loving, flexible, equality-minded partner who happily took care of the home front and our daughter while I was gone. It required that my group of lady friends also have healthy emotional backdrops that left them feeling empowered to take a weekend like this. And it required that the natural environment here in Alaska, both on land and at sea, be stable and teaming with biodiversity.

Economy, healthcare, women in U.S. society, climate change. Familiar topics, hmmm? And topics that we can drive in strong and healthy directions by electing leaders who are smart and courageous.

So in order for me, you, and everyone to continue adding days to our Top 10 list, we must vote for the people and things that will make those conditions possible. So dig deep into your very best days, and figure out the heart of what made them possible. Perhaps your answers will lie with acts of gross consumerism, power, exclusion, or burning lots of fossil fuels, but I doubt it. As different as we may seem sometimes, we humans are all nourished in similar ways; love, respect, community, nature... that's where I'll cast my vote.

P.S. If I still lived in Hood River County, Oregon, that vote would be for Chrissy Reitz! So proud of you, my friend.

Wild Smacks

SMACK of JELLIES.

Where Holgate Glacier meets the sea

Our Kenai Fjords Tour captain had been wooing us with comments like, "Wowser! A breaching whale! I can count on one hand the number of breaches I've seen this summer; you all are super lucky," and "we usually only stay at the glacier for 1/2 an hour, but it's being so active today, we stayed for 45 minutes; what a day!" Having been a naturalist, a teacher and a parent, I know verbal magic when I hear it. Little comments that boost the audience, make them feel special, like the goddess of serendipity smiled down from her perch among the clouds on this one day. 

Now don't get me wrong. It was super cool to see a whale breach next to our boat... and it was absolutely mesmerizing to patiently wait and ultimately watch bus-sized chunks of ice cascade down the face of the tidewater glacier and make an enormous splash, followed seconds later by the sound wave "boom." But I was dubious of our Captain's claims regarding the rarity of it all - guide hocus-pocus at its finest. Until...

Okay folks. We've seen some incredible thing today, but this is likely the best. Very unusual. Let's see if we can get closer.

I spy a pale green patch...

Ahead of us was a pale green patch in the otherwise dark blue ocean. A "smack" of jellyfish, he said. tens of thousands of jellies, all congregated in this one spot. We craned out necks over the rails, trying to make sense of the green, hoping to see a round bell or a long tentacle or something. And then another boat came along and stirred up the water. Suddenly the ocean was like a boiling sea jelly soup. It was the kind of sight that makes you smile and even chuckle out loud, it's so odd and beautiful at the same time.

Smack!

I considered myself officially wooed.

SMACK DOWN. 

I'm sleeping.

Sleeping cozy and warm.

Sleeping cozy and warm in a puffy down sleeping bag.

Sleeping cozy and warm in a puffy down sleeping bag nestled nose to nose with my little one.

SMACK-CLANG-TWANG-Riiiiiiip

"Mama? What was that?"

"I don't know."

"Are we safe?"

"I think so..."

"What was that noise??"

"I'm not sure... it sounded like something striking metal..." 

"Mama look! There's a rip in our tent!"  

Looking out from inside the tent

Where's the bear spray? Fuck. Left it on the bike. Holy shit. That was less than a foot from my head. Why? Is it still there? What is it after? Doesn't matter. What should we do? Need to get out of the tent.

"Mama? Are we going to die?

"No."

"I want to go home. I want to go home now."

"Come with me..." 

View from outside

We slip on our boots and slowly unzip the rain fly of our tent. No bear in sight. We hustle over to our friend's tent where he is asleep with his kids. 

"Steve? STEVE. Please wake up and come out."

We explain what we heard and show him the slashed tent. He and I both un-attach our bear spray cans from the water bottle holders of our bikes.

"Mama? I want to sleep in the van."

"Smart one."

We wake again a few hours later and stiffly emerge from the van. Steve hands me a coffee and apologizes that he accidentally bought half and half that is fat-free. My first smile. I take it and start sipping. He makes all the kids pancakes with fresh strawberries. The sun comes out. It's an absolutely gorgeous day.

I'm standing.
Standing in the glorious sun.
Standing in the glorious sun by a glacial stream.
Standing in the glorious sun by a glacial stream hand in hand with my little one.

True appreciation

Mysteries from the Sea

"Octo Bebe" (Image from the Alaska SeaLife Center)

OCTOPUSES. Yes, just looked it up. The whole "I'm being grammatically savvy and know to put an 'i' at the end of 'octopus' to make it plural" thing is not a thing. Bye bye, octopi! And hello sweet baby octopuses newly hatched down the street from us at the Alaska SeaLife Center! Who knew they could be so cute looking, right? Mama Giant Pacific octopus, Gilligan, mated with Leo back in 2016, she laid her eggs back in 2017, and now, after a year of tending to them, she's watching as they jet propel themselves into the world!

I asked a SeaLife Center volunteer what the plan was for the brood of several thousand blown-glass-bobble-esque babes and got the craziest answer. Before I share, ask yourself: How long have you known about octopuses being an animal on the planet? If you're like me, probably a wicked long time. Like since you yourself were a wee one and looked at colorful books of cool animals: lions, tigers, bears, whales, turtles, and octopuses! We all know they have eight legs and suction-y parts and yeah... octopuses. Got it. So it turns out that scientists don't know what baby octopuses eat. ?!?!?! Incredible, right? We can send people to the moon and maybe Mars, but no one is sure what to feed a baby octopus. Apparently no one has ever thoroughly observed how these pea-sized babies grow up in the wilds of the sea. So although the SeaLife Center is hopeful they can figure it out, it's a guessing game at this point with a constant smorgasbord of zooplankton being offered. Cross your tentacles for them! 

And if you want to check out for 30 seconds of mellow and mesmerizing footage of the baby octopuses, enjoy:

MARITIME ARCHAEOLOGY. A little farther out Resurrection Bay from the SeaLife Center lies one of our favorite quick hike-to spots, Tonsina Point. With a particularly erosive series of storms over the winter, the beach there has shifted a fair bit and now a new treasure has literally been uncovered: part of what appears to be a very old boat. So old that upon close inspection, you can see that all the wood planks and metal and wood fastenings appear to be hand wrought. Team Leslie explored the hunk of boat at low tide and brainstormed its origins; although pirate ship was a favorite, a fishing vessel was much more likely. But whose? Could it be old enough to be Russian?

Tonsina Point's Mystery Boat

I stayed up one night and decided to see if my picture of the boat, coupled with the power of Google, might be enough to make me an instant maritime archaeologist. It did not. Although I did learn fancy words like "fastenings," I ended up lost in pages of spikes and bolts of varied lengths and widths and heads and... oh my. Luckily, one such page was authored by a true doctor of marine archaeology, Dr. McCarthy or Mack from Australia. So I fired off a message and the picture to Mack, asking for some insight, and low and behold, he emailed me back! Love love love this day and age of epic communication possibilities between the Great and the Googlers. I will include a snippet of Mack's analysis here:

Great image………. of a section of what appears at first glance to be  the  floor of an iron fastened  vessel.  While the fastenings, especially the mushroom-headed round section bolts and  the single square-section spike ( square sectioned head) driven at an angle to the others  and the inner planking (ceiling)   are quite large   (thereby  indicating a large vessel), a  keelson is not evident, tending to suggest  the vessel itself may not have been that large, or that it  is not built to  traditional western European or north American continental large shipbuilding method.    To be hand wrought  is common right into the  early 20^th century and not necessarily indicative of age  and  the spike is of a  common form. the mushroom headed bolts are  not a common form however.  These  could join  timber analyses  in  indicating a vessel    built outside the  common north American  tradition.

Admittedly, I did not follow all of this completely, but the last line might toss an extra vote into the Russian boat hypothesis at the very least!

STAYING POWER. Finally, going even farther out along Resurrection Bay... Earlier this Spring, some family friends invited us to accompany them on their boat and stop on Fox Island for a picnic and bonfire.

Park and Ride.

Right away, the kiddos and grown ups started beach combing as item after item caught our eye; three different species of sea star, the wing bones of an eagle with some feathers still attached, natural sponges, unnatural sponges, buoys, and countless other treasures were added to a pile near our landing.

Eventually, someone suggested that the girls create eco sculptures and have a friendly competition.

A serious contender. 

Then someone suggested that the grown ups create eco sculptures and have a friendly competition.

The Mama Mandala

While the moms went with an all natural mandala theme, the dads decided to do a combination beach clean-up and manly sculpture... complete with "Staying Power."

The Dirty Dude

Powerful Parts.

As someone who just took my pledge to reduce my plastic consumption as part of National Geographic's #PlanetOrPlastic campaign, I have to applaud the boys and their vision. Saving the ocean from plastic, fiberglass and overly horny fish, one art project at a time.

If you haven't already, take your pledge! And help ensure that there will be marvelous and mysterious marine biodiversity far into the future...

Chutes and Cleats

CHUTES AND CLEATS. You all remember the board game, "Chutes and Ladders," right? Rescue a kitten from a tree and you get to climb up up up towards the winner space... Break a cookie jar and you have to slide down down down towards the beginning space. But heck, it was a slide! And slides are wicked fun! So it was all good! Brilliant, Mr. Bradley, simply brilliant.

This Easter weekend, Team Leslie played a live action version of the game but we're calling it "Chutes and Cleats." Strap those funny, stretchy, spiky, thingies over your boots, and you get to climb up and up and up the winter Lost Lake Trail above Seward. (Stay a few nights at the Dale Clemens cabin, and then...) Grab an industrial sized trash bag, wait for the sun to heat up the trail and make it a bit soft and slushy, and you can slide down down down in record time. Even the grown-ups couldn't help but hoot and holler with the best of them. Because slides are wicked fun!

Note the cleats left over from the climb... and the trash bags, worn like a diaper, to help on the chute!

Eat your heart out, broken cookie jar chute... we're headed all the way to the bay!

Chutes and cleats wasn't the only game played on top of the world... a fabulous frisbee toss (128 consecutive catches), three egg hunts and some nail biting Exploding Kittens rounded out the venture with friends. 

And yes, somehow the Easter Bunny did know to deliver Indigo's basket to the backcountry. Phew! 

Cheers to a playful Spring!

Holiday Breaks and Some History in the Making

HOLIDAY BREAKS. Ahhhh... the proverbial Spring Break. Indeed, Team Leslie just wrapped up an amazing week of playing the heck out of our local Alaska backcountry, spending two nights at our beloved Manitoba yurts just 45 minutes from home and then three nights at the Hatcher Pass Lodge about 4 hours away. Sunshine, lots of new snow (we just learned that one of the peaks up in Hatcher had a significant slide the day after we left, covering and blocking the road, and stranding families up there... now that we're back at school, we can't decide if we were lucky, or unlucky!), and great friends, all added up to some spectacular moments. 

Indigo and friend hoofing it into Manitoba - a familiar trek!

Picking out her line... (and yes, Indigo now has her own set of climbing binding inserts and skins - hard core!)

Indigo wasn't the only American girl hitting the freshy pow pow!

The view a short skin up from the lodge at Hatcher Pass.

Coolest thing about this pic? That's Indigo and a friend, leading the way on a skin up at Hatcher.

Learning the ropes.

Staying on top of 2 feet of back country powder (a bit different than a groomer at the resort!)

We don't just make her ski... we let her run around in a swimsuit in the snow too (tee hee).

And eat fondue -"You dip the bread IN to the cheese, like so..."

Yeeeeeessss... The cook shared that they import the blocks of cheese from France for about $250 a wedge... and who says Alaskans don't eat fancy-like?

You've likely seen it before, but come on... does it get more idyllic than this? Hatcher Pass Lodge A-frame cabins.

This year they even let us share their kitchen to make our own meals (when we weren't scarfing their fondue).

And J got in some big boy lines (left) in an amazing window of snow stability one morning.

Just in case you wondered what it looked like from the top, before J made those sweet squiggles... 

And Indigo shows that skiing isn't the only way to go fast down a mountain:

And while some of you might be thinking, "if I lived in Alaska, I'd get the hell outta dodge in those snowy winter months - those people are crazy," fear not - we aren't as crazy as we may seem! Indeed, we got our tropical groove on this winter - just a little earlier in the year...

Dorothy, we're not in Alaska anymore... 

PURA VIDA. The pure life. The simple life. The good life. Costa Ricans are known as being some of the happiest people on our planet... and we decided to join them at it! From the white sand of the Caribbean coast to the cloud forest mists of Monteverde to the laid back surf scene of the Pacific beaches, we took time over the winter holiday break back in December and January to soak in some Southern warmth. Hopefully this slideshow shares some of our adventures:

HISTORY IN THE MAKING. So while we were playing in Hatcher Pass last week, we caught up with a family friend that works for the Seavey Family. The Seaveys have all sorts of claims to fame these days, the most prominent of which is being the reigning Ididarod champs in recent years, with both the father Mitch and the son Dallas racking up wins. Our friend shared a fun story about the grand-patriarch of them all, Dan Seavey Sr., Mitch's dad.

Apparently Dan Sr., now in his 80's, ran in the first ever modern day Ididarod Race back in the 1970's. He continues to support and promote the race, and as evidenced above, has bred a family who does the same! Close to my heart, Dan Sr. was also a teacher at Seward High School - a history teacher to be exact. According to our friend, Dan Sr. warned him early on in his employment that, "you might find older folks in this town who don't like me... it's likely because I taught their history class and they failed." Indeed, our friend met a long-time Seward area fellow recently who shared that sentiment. When our friend asked the reason, he replied:

"Dan Seavey Sr. failed me. I got the last question wrong on his final history exam. And the damn question wasn't even about history!"

"Wow, that was a long time ago! Do you remember the question?"

"Well in fact, I do! It was, 'what were the names of my two lead dogs in the first Ididarod Race?'"

Thanks to his time with Dan Sr, our friend knew the answer.

"It's Genghis and Kahn... it wasn't history then, but it is now." 

It makes you wonder. What people (or dogs?) or events happening in our lives right now will be considered significant history in 50 years? And more importantly, will we or our children or our grandchildren be proud of the role we played? (Now that sounds like a good question on a final history exam!)

P.S. - Andy Roof, damn you for skipping AK Spring Break this year! It was a good one... and you were missed. :)

Due to Arrive at 1:55 AM

DUE TO ARRIVE. It starts around 12:30AM. J and I both wake up as our bed shakes back and forth a bit and the shelving and side tables rattle.

Kim: Earthquake. 

J: Yup. (10 seconds pass with continued shaking) I'm going to get Indigo.

By the time J gets into Indigo's room, the shaking has slowed. I hear a mumbled conversation, Indigo half asleep. J returns, climbs back into bed and reaches for his phone to check the USGS website and find out the epicenter and size. It feels like a medium-ish quake, not quite the shaker of a few years ago that moved our fridge, but it lasted a little while and woke us up, so...

Then our phones buzz: "Emergency Alert. Tsunami danger on the coast. Go to high ground or move inland. Listen to local news." J jumps out of bed and starts to climb the stairs up to our main floor.

Kim: Should I be following you? 

J: Yes!

Still dubious that we are in any sort of peril, I climb the stairs. We open the front door. Indeed, college students from up the street are running to their cars, firing them up, and gunning them down the road. A fire vehicle flies by and moments later we hear the official Seward Tsunami alarm sound. Officer Morgan, who lives the next block down, has his blue lights flashing in his driveway. To top off the dramatic scene, it's a snow storm, our first in weeks, snow swirling in the glow of the street lights and building up on the roads and cars.

I type madly into my phone: Christy - there's a tsunami warning. My friend and her family are building a house and renting in the meanwhile, a sea-level home in Lowell Point a mile past Seward heading towards open ocean. She quickly types back: Packed the kids and the pets and went up top, left the rest. 

Back inside, we follow the original text message instructions and tune our radio to the local Seward radio station. Wolf, the high school theater guru and SAKTown Talk radio host is broadcasting from a few blocks away, trying his darnedest to share what he knows about the earthquake, the tsunami warning, and appropriate action to be taken. With several filler-music moments while Wolf "just looks something up real quick," we start to get a more accurate picture of the situation. An 8 on the Richter Scale. Kodiak is expected to be hit by a wave at 1:45AM. Seward, 10 minutes later. Homer, after that. And although our house is above the tsunami impact line in downtown, the lower elevation areas surrounding us will likely fill with water and ultimately debris, leaving us trapped on an island of devastation.

We have one hour.

The evacuation unfolds in a bizarre slow motion. I can almost hear a soundtrack of cheesy elevator music playing in the back of my mind. Dee, da-dee, dee dee... If you think about the word emergency, you think of fires, car crashes, bee stings leading to anaphylaxis - situations where you need to move quickly, prioritize quickly and hope for the best. Not this. We have one hour. We can chat about where the passports and birth certificate folder is (Sorry, Mom. Haven't gotten that safety deposit box yet). We can grab bunches of kale from the fridge for Kevins the guinea pig and add it to the make-shift laundry basket pet carrier. We can snag The Fellowship of the Ring, our current family read aloud. Some cheese sticks and lime flavored tortilla chips, Lily the American Girl Doll, phones, my computer, the cat carrier from down in the shed, extra layers, headlamps.

At this point, Indigo is awake and she is not having any of this slow packing plan. She wants us to GET OUT NOW.

We clear snow off Sally Ride, heat her up, pack her up, and hit the road. As we drive down main street, we see flashing lights of emergency vehicles. EMTs are knocking on doors, ensuring that people in low elevation housing who might need assistance get it. We see lines built up at the first gas station we come to...

Kim: Do you think we should...? 

J: Smart one. Get gas.

The cheesy elevator music really kicks in as I stand next to the van in the snow, filling the tank like I always do, Indigo and J safe inside, listening to the radio. 

Texts are coming in. Friends from Kenai, Soldotna, the outskirts of Seward who felt the quake and saw the cell alerts. Are you okay? Are you evacuating? Do you want to come here? We love you...

We arrive at the high school, along with 100's of other people, with plenty of time to spare. J stays in the car listening to Wolf and watching ZigZag and Kevins while Indigo and I head in to see the scene, connect with others. Old, young, families, couples, police, teachers, pets... all of us, brought together at 1:30 in the morning, waiting.

Have you watched YouTube videos of tsunamis? Or the Weather Channel survivor specials with footage from folks in Japan back in 2011?

J and I text back and forth. I can't hear the radio in the school office because too many people are talking. J shares banter from Facebook; Kodiak is reporting water receding... A buoy is registering a 30 foot displacement... Goodness. Meanwhile, Wolf is leveraging the internet and folks calling in to become as knowledgeable as he can. He's looking at wave propagation studies, the angle of the bay, city maps, computer models.... Strangely enough, besides Facebook, the internet is quiet. No one is transmitting what is happening or what to expect. Suddenly, the good old fashioned radio is our only lifeline. And a small town radio talk show host turned tsunami expert.

Indigo connects with elementary school friends. Some older kids start a pick up basketball game in the gym. Old ladies take their little dogs outside to pee. The police officers get reports that the Pit Bar (yes, Chip... that Pit Bar) has a record breaking number of patrons for a weeknight. Tonight we're gonna party like it's 1999?

1:55AM arrives on the hallway clocks. The high school sits atop a hill at the base of Mt. Benson with views of the ocean... when it's light. In the dark and the snow, we have no idea what's happening down in town. Wolf isn't reporting anything and the police radios are quiet.

2:00AM arrives. 2:15AM. 2:30AM. How do these computer models work? How do you calculate the arrival time of a wave traveling over hundreds of miles through various depths, around various corners of land?

How long do we need to wait?

A wave never comes. Not to Kodiak. Not to Seward. Not to Homer. This particular type of earthquake didn't displace water in an upward motion, so no wave was generated. By 3:30AM Officer Morgan gives the all clear and we all snake our way down the hill from the high school.

Exhausted, we fall into bed a little while later, taking solace in the 2 hour delay granted to coastal community schools impacted by the alert. And the fact that we are safe and our sweet little winter wonderland town is still calm and bright.