Wishing you...

Sending BIG adventures, love and whimsy from Alaska to you!

Cheers, Team Leslie

Lessons from Carrots

GARDEN PARTY. This year Team Leslie had the sweetest little garden in front of  our townhouse here in Seward. 

• a few rows of lettuce
• three small cabbages
• one prolific zucchini plant
• four potato plants (for the Fall Equinox Potato Parade tradition, of course)
• lots and lots of carrot tops

Now I'm not a green thumb, and so consider it a minor miracle that anything I plant grows at all. Beyond a daily water, some weed pulling here or there, and significant hope, I don't really tend gardens. So slugs have their way with the cabbage leaves, the bitter lettuces I didn't harvest bolt a mile high, and, apparently, a gazillion carrots grow next to each other, competing desperately for resources, because I didn't thin them out. Whoops. 

Whether or not there are even potatoes or carrots in the soil remains a mystery until the day of the Potato Parade, which happened a few weeks ago. J, Indigo and I tentatively dug around a bit before the event, to confirm something was there, lest we be really embarrassed when guests arrived. We unearthed teeny tiny potatoes, and teeny tiny carrots, and breathed a sigh of relief; the annual micro gleaning could commence!

Like the past 7 years, we met up with fellow crazy people, donned wacky costumes, pedaled around town, stopped at homes of said crazy people, dug up edible roots and tubers, and ended the parade with a harvest themed potluck. A lovely venture all around.

LESSONS FROM CARROTS. Usually the potatoes are the stars of the show, but this year, our overcrowded carrot patch got top billing. They were so darn fun to look at and munch! And I decided they could teach us some pretty valuable lessons about life and love, too:

Despite what we're often shown, carrots come in all shapes and sizes. And they all taste great!

Love is beautiful between all sorts of carrots and should be honored and nourished so it can reach its full potential.

So there you go. Lessons from carrots. Feel free to pass along what your vegetables teach you! And now for a few more pix of the scene that day:

Getting costumed up to ride. 

Harvesting potatoes and educational carrots from our little garden!

Waterfront buffet of fall delights. Each dish had local offerings from salmon to blueberries to pea-pods to miniature Moose Pass (20 miles inland of Seward) apples.

I didn't get a chance to ask her "why" before she crossed and left the parade. Next year!

Food: From Beautiful Bounty to Embarrassing Bulk

FOOD. We all eat it. But where do we get it? Up here in Alaska, the answer can vary quite a bit...

FISHSLAYERS. Ahhhhh, Alaskan residents dipnetting. Perhaps best described using numbers:

1 big ass net
1 big ass handle
25 salmon (max, per head of household), clearly not higher order thinkers, swimming into net
1 human, not necessarily skilled in any way, chest-deep in the water, holding the handle
21 days in July
100 percent of success due to luck and luck alone

Remember our first stab at dipnetting when we first moved up? Complete fail. Ended up without a single fish and had a kind neighbor gift us one of theirs to feed our summer visitors. Over the years we've improved a bit, catching 8 fish on our best day ever, securing our own net rather than borrowing from friends, and somewhat mastering an efficient processing strategy (Kim de-scales the fish, J fillets the fish, and J-Dock Company down in Seward does the vacuuming sealing for about $1/pound).

Well this year we returned from Lower 48 travels and had just a few days left in the dipnetting season. Slightly bleary-eyed, we hit the road for Kenai with our supplies:

• cooler
• bag of ice
• dipnets (in pieces that can be reattached so they fit in Sally Ride)
• waders (for J) and dry suit (for Kim)
• neoprene gloves
• billy club (for bonking the fish on the head after they're netted and dragged to shore)
• fillet knife (with sharpening block)
• cutting board (with strong metal clip to hold the tail fins)
• bucket (to hold the other stuff and hey, it's just always good to have a bucket)
• water and snacks 
• hoola hoop and James Patterson kid novel (Indigo does not like to fish, but she likes to watch)

We got to the beach parking lot early and scored a spot near the stairs, carried everything down and hopped in the water. Within 1/2 an hour, J was dragging out the first fish. Then we started feeling them hit our legs... by lunch time we'd made two trips up and out to a local thrift store to buy more coolers!

23 fish for Team Leslie
3 humans, tired and pleased with ourselves, unskilled fisher people and all

Kim and J early in the game, starting to fill up cooler #1.

Filling the freezer and then some!

BLUEBERRIES. It just kills me in the winter when we go to the local Safeway and eye the teeny tiny half pint cartons of blueberries in the produce cooler section. $6... maybe $8 per half pint. Just enough for a good smoothie or a round of Saturday morning pancakes. Now every year we try to stock up and pick our own in August, but time gets away from us, school starts up, we eat a ton of what we've picked, and a few baggies end up with the dregs in the freezer.

Well this year we decided to do some picking up on Mt. Alice, usually framed across the bay in our window. It was my birthday weekend, also J and my 17th wedding anniversary, and one last summer overnight camping adventure was in order. We crossed our fingers that there would be some bloobs up high and after getting above treeline, we hit the mother lode: 1 gallon of big berries off a single bush! Eat your heart out, Safeway.

Serious work; a winter's worth of extra tasty breakfasts is at stake!

Powered by blue!

COSTCO. Last but not least, (and it does pain me slightly to write this), we of Team Leslie have joined a wholesale warehouse club. A company that started out selling food in an airplane hangar. A company that has more pallets per acre than blades of grass. Good God.

How did we come to this, you ask? Well, when we first arrived in Alaska, we quickly noticed that everyone had a Costco membership. Everyone. Pantries were filled with 144-packs of mac and cheese, plastic wrapped together; enough paper towels to sop up a baby pool; and goldfish crackers in boxes the size of small cars. Home-made robot costumes made of massive Kirkland boxes walked the streets on Halloween. Guests arriving at a potluck dinner needed to enter in pairs to hold up the 36-serving pies without having them cave in the center. We were terrified.

It's also of note that Team Leslie had moved up from the fruit and flower rich farmers markets of Oregon, from the organic samples on wooden platters in the Whole Foods of California. There was a time where we knew the chickens who laid our eggs, knew the orchardists who grew our apples, and milked the tits of the... okay, we didn't do that last one. But we did feel connected to our food and enjoyed our saunters up and down the isles in these nutrient rich market places. Market places. Not warehouses.

But groceries here in Alaska are expensive; the price we pay for living so far from the rest of civilization, right? Except for our fish and our berries, most foods we consume are traveling thousands of miles. And when a lot of it gets here, especially produce, it's in sorry shape. The joy of cutting into an avocado and seeing that creamy green amazingness? Rare. The sadness of cutting into an avocado and seeing brown mush and dark grey strings? Standard operating procedure.

Enter Costco, and bulk food towers of power. Clearly, we have arrived.

Smoke, Sweat and Success

"The Toughest 5K on the Planet" 

"The World's Gnarliest Three Miler" 

"The Best Mountain Runners in the World Can't Crack 40 Minutes" 

SMOKE, SWEAT and SUCCESS. Before we even moved to Seward, we'd visited for the famed 4th of July shenanigans and Mount Marathon Race, dubbed "The Toughest 5K on the Planet" by Outside Magazine and touted as the oldest mountain race in the country. Sporty crazy people running 3000 feet up and down a super steep mountain in record time, often muddy, bloody and exhausted, while crowds of thousands go wild. Simple rules drive a complex race: Start at the line down on the paved road in town on 4th Avenue (our street!), get up the mountain on foot any route you want, round the rock at the false summit known as "race point," and get back down to the finish farther down the paved road. You want to free climb the cliffs? Fine. Drop from roots and slide down waterfall gullies? You got it. Where a costume like a tutu or Gumby suit? Why not. Just train like hell, feel like hell, and get the hell down in one piece.

And this year, ladies and gentlemen, J Leslie got off the wait list for the lottery and entered hell, I mean, the race!

Here are a few pix I snapped from the top of the mountain after race day, so you can try to get some sense of the elevation gain and steepness of the trail.

Near the top of the "race point" - you can see the squiggly trail leading up the final rocky pitch, above the cliff-y forested area. The start and end is near the far right part of town in the picture.

And the down trail, or controlled-falling-down-a-scree-field portion of things. I spy a cruise ship!

BURN, BABY, BURN. Now the race conditions are always unpredictable: a slip and slide mud fest on rainy years, dehydratingly hot and dry on others. And this year was hot. But it also had an added twist: The Swan Lake wildfire. Started by a lightning strike at the beginning of the summer, this fire about 50 miles to our north had kicked up significantly in the weeks leading up to the race, smoke filling our bay and obscuring the mountains. (PurpleAir.com has areas close to us ranked as the worst air quality in the world, right now... wowser). Race officials offered all adults a free opt out, with a secure spot to run again next year, and the youth race (ages 7-17) was canceled within an hour of start time when the air quality index put us slightly too high.

Interestingly, when the Junior Race was canceled, tons of Seward kids said, "we're doing it anyway!" and promptly charged the mountain at the original 9AM start time. 

So what happened? J went for it, of course! Like the wild and crazy youngsters, he'd been training in the smoke, so why not do the thing in the smoke?

Indigo came up with a few interview questions, to get you some of the inside scoop:

I: How was the smoke?
J: It wasn't that bad - it was smokey but it was more that it was hot and that it was smokey at the same time. 

I: Did anyone slap you on the butt?
J: No. 

I: Were you only thinking about the race during the race, or were you thinking about paint colors or something?
J: No, I actually talked, well not talked, but cheered other people on and made jokes and stuff during the race a lot. The nature of the trail is that you have to be focused on the trail, but it's just how I am during these sorts of things. 

I: Were there any points where you wished you hadn't signed up for the race?
J: No, but, and I knew it was going to be like this, but running the road was the worst... it was just awful... because it was super hot out on the road and you just want to get to the trail and start going up hill. And the road is also sneakily up hill. And the road at the end was the hardest part too, because my legs were cramping up and I didn't want to fall over in front of thousands of people. 

Who says Alaskans don't have style? Indigo waits in the unusually hot summer sun for her dad to pop out of the chute (and not fall over).

Kim (sneaking in a final question): What part of the whole experience are you the most proud of?
J: Just that I ran it and finished it. I mean you can train and prepare and all that, but it's the kind of race that lots of things can go wrong and you can get hurt... so just to finish.

J with Mt. Marathon in the background, just proud to finish!

Hope on Summer Solstice

High alpine wild flowers collected in a "Solstice rainbow challenge"

SUMMER SOLSTICE. A holiday mostly passed by in the Lower 48 but celebrated with vigor here in AK. A whopping 19 hours of bright light here on the Kenai Peninsula, before the sun sinks just below the horizon for 5 hours of dusky twilight. We slowly build up to it, so in some ways it doesn't seem terribly dramatic. All the same, we find ourselves having conversations that would never happen in the colder months:

8 PM - J - "I'm going to run up Mt. Marathon, okay? Any plans for dinner later?"

11 PM - Indigo - "Let's go out for ice cream for dessert! ...what do you mean it's closed?" 

1 AM - Kim - "I know it's the good part in the movie, but shouldn't we get to bed?"

Midnight on the Summer Solstice

HOPE. This year we decided to head to the tiny town of Hope, Alaska to celebrate the Solstice with a crew of friends. We camped out, went to hear Reggae legend Clinton Fearon in a grassy outdoor venue, walked the mudflat trails along Turnagain Arm, and hiked up the Palmer Creek valley through wildflower fields and over snow fields quickly melting into raging creeks in all the light.

A town of under 200 people, Hope is a hidden gem of kindness, historic intrigue and wild beauty. The sort of timeless spot that perfectly fits these secular holidays.

Classic front porch in Hope, Alaska

This sweet message inspired me to pick up old toilet paper on the public bathroom floors!

About as simple as you can get - the main drag in Hope, Alaska

THE CHERRY PIE MIRACLE. So Indigo's one request for this three day adventure was to get a tasty baked good - preferably, a slice of cherry pie. (Forget the gold panning, epic Alaskan vistas or incredible music, right? Just give the American girl some pie!) Hope does have a few good bakeries so it seemed a reasonable request. Indeed, the first night Indigo scored a miniature cherry pie for $3 inside the Creek Bend's music venue. Delicious, but just a taste... and the more we talked about it as a group, the more everyone got excited for pie!

The next day we explored a few bakery counters and cases but they were empty; the Solstice shenanigans had turned Hope a bit upside down. That evening, we sat around the campfire and our friend Chris got ready to walk to a second night of music. 

Indigo: "Chris, if we give you some money, and they have one of those little cherry pies left, could you please buy it for me? We could stand on the other side of the fence and you could toss it over?"

So Chris, Indigo and Ty headed off down the dirt road on a pie mission. They figured with $20 and some luck (it was late in the evening and very likely that the food trucks had sold out), they might get a few little pies to enjoy.

A half hour later, Indigo and Ty returned, hands full of little cherry pies! The little pies had dropped to $1 per pie and Chris had bought everything they had! Imagining a torrent of pies raining down over the fence as they were chucked over, I learned that Indigo and Ty received a pie hand-off at the venue gate in civilized fashion. A cherry pie miracle!

Home of the Cherry Pie Miracle

A Break from the Thick Bastards

THICK BASTARDS. Many a visitor to Seward Alaska has absolutely no idea that they are surrounded by white capped mountains or next to a sparkling turquoise bay. Why? Because of what a poet friend of ours named the "Thick Bastards:" a heavy cloud layer that sits low over the water and obstructs all views. When the Thick Bastards move in, parts of Seward Alaska become any flat working-class town in America, except that you just flew thousands of miles for thousands of dollars to get there, and it smells like fish!

However this June the Thick Bastards have been beaten back by an unusual sunny spell, allowing the mountains to rise high in all their glory, and allowing us to get out on the bay and on the trails from sea to summit.

SEA. Thumb Cove is a 45 minute water taxi ride from our small boat harbor. Part of the State Marine Park system, it houses two dry cabins and a jaw dropping natural wonderland backdrop complete with hanging glaciers, waterfalls, mountain goats and marine mammals galore. Usually booked out 6 months in advance, the Spruce Glacier Cabin must have had a last minute cancellation, so the Leslie Ladies and some friends jumped on it!

Tucked in a spruce forest beyond a tidal stream, the cabin is accessed by a sweet bridge and boardwalk.

The view of the Cove... Ahhhh....

Happy Campers, Indigo and Kim.

Who needs to pack toys when you've logs, sand and big rocks?

Yes, the ocean water is still frigid; these SUPers are crazy bonkers.

What does one bring on a trip such as this? Lots of dry bags, totes and coolers of course!

Returning from the Sea, with the Summit ready to climb...

SUMMIT. Team Leslie has been celebrating Father's Day the past few years by taking a backpacking ski trip. Yup, I said ski trip. In June. If there is still white stuff up high, J Leslie will get to it no matter what the season. So we stomp up Mt. Marathon from our front door, camp in the natural bowl protected on her north side, ski the snow fields, and honor J's loves of family and sharp slide-y toys. This year we hit the trail a few days early because we heard the Thick Bastards would be making an appearance over the weekend. So glad we did!

What does one bring on a trip such as this? Apparently, EVERYTHING. (J is super human - I couldn't even lift his pack off the ground, let alone carry it miles uphill.) 

Happy Campers, J and Indigo (and American Girl Doll Lily - Indigo is always happy to carry that extra weight!)

After getting sun OVERNIGHT through our tent, this was almost too much - maybe those Thick Bastards aren't so bad?

We made it!

Happy Father's Day!

PIPER. And this Father's Day is an extra special one because my little brother Chip gets to celebrate as a new dad! He and Kate welcomed Piper Rogers into the world at the end of May; we can't wait to start adventuring with her! How small do they make backpacks???

"It's so important to do something every day..."

"It's so important to do something every day that will make you happy."-Bob Ross

BOB ROSS. Okay, if for some crazy reason you don't know the name Bob Ross, for God's sake stop reading this blog and watch an old episode of the Joy of Painting. It's like meditating and listening to your favorite Kindergarten teacher and sipping sweet wine and using one of those scalp massage tools, all at the same time; good stuff.

J. LESLIE. No surprise, J loves Bob Ross. Like Bob, J "finds freedom on his canvas." In that spirit, J is throwing in his school teacher bow ties and donning his paint spattered sweatshirt - yup, he's becoming a full time artist! From little paintings, to big paintings, to murals, to design, my long haired bearded wonder is on fire.

Follow J on his new Instagram account!

@JLeslieArtStudio  

INDIGO. J isn't the only one getting his creative groove on. The Leslie ladies have been making art too, including some of the performing kind! Skateboard design, hip hop, singing solo? Yes!

KIM. As seemingly random as it is, the tribal belly dance culture is alive and well in little Seward, Alaska and Kim has been getting her shimmy on at festivals and beyond. Totally improvisational, her performances are full of trust, forgiveness, courage, friendship and yes, many happy little accidents. No doubt, Bob Ross would approve. 

"We artists are a different breed of people. We are a happy bunch." -Bob Ross

Simpler Times

FEEDING THE FIRE. Honestly, I started and deleted the beginning of this blog post three or four times... ideas about the government shut down... climate protests... extreme weather... my head was swirling with the melody to Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" with a 2019 twist. But I don't think I need to write anything out explicitly or in great detail. You get it. The world is a crazy place. Even way up here in Alaska, we feel it. And stepping away and onto a forested trail, or sitting at a friend's kitchen counter, or cuddling up with a good book - print media, mind you - not on my Kindle, has a grounding effect. 

SIMPLER TIMES. Homer, Alaska. Known for its spectacular views, whimsical art community and reality TV stars, Homer is one of Team Leslie's go-to long weekend havens, as you may remember. This time, we had our mind on a particular prize: The famed Homer Rope Tow, only open on Sundays during the winter, snow-pack permitting. As old school as it gets, this volunteer-run ski hill touts the following on its website (read in your best 1980's Warren Miller voice):

The westernmost ski area in the US!
We have 20 acres of terrain accessible from the 850′ tow with 260′ of vertical.

View from the bottom up to the top - 260 feet of vert, in all its glory

As laughable as those stats may seem, I'll tell you this: We all had to get some serious brave on to pick up that thick rope and feel our hearts yank out through our throats the first time. The tow is fast! Thankfully, veteran riders gave us some hot tips, we took our time, and by the end of the day, we were lapping Mt. Ohlson like we owned the place. 

Okay, full disclosure, I only rode it all the way to the top one time; in the final 20 feet the rope started slipping through my gloves and I began sliding backwards, visions of the domino effect carnage I was about to create flashing before my eyes. Repeating, "hold on... HOLD ON!"out loud and watching the volunteer lift operator vigorously offer the thumbs-up managed to do the trick and I crested out, unscathed. How much does high adventure like that cost, you ask? $20... per family. If we'd hit Aspen, we'd be out $540 and their high speed quad couldn't hold a candle to the thrills of the tow. 

From 0 to 10 in less than a second.

We settled into the warming hut at "the base" for a lunch break on picnic tables by the wood stove. The only evidence that it wasn't 1950 was the stash of shiny new loaner helmets on hangers by the door.

The winter take on the "Kids Don't Float" loaner life vest campaign up here... smart! 

All in all, a lovely escape to a simpler time...