Where to start... it's hard to know, really. On Thursday, we got the high tunnel signed off. That means, for all intensive purposes, it is done. Of course, it's really just the beginning. I see that. A week ago, after some pretty intensive time finishing up little pieces like putting tape over all the joints so there are no rough edges and finishing up the last rafters, I invited some people over to help pull the cover. It's amazing how nervous I was about this piece of the puzzle - somehow the vision of a crew of my friends being picked up by the wind and flying away was too scary for me... by Friday I was in a full-fledged tizzy, focusing all over the place on a myriad of minute details rather than just letting things unfold as they would. But in the end, it all worked out wonderfully. I had to unfold the plastic completely the day before to make sure it was the right size and then bunched it back up on the forested side of the tunnel. Then I put tennis balls in the plastic and looped it back over them, then tied rope which I had thrown over the tunnel around the tennis ball to create a spot I could pull from without cutting a hole in the plastic. Then it was just a matter of getting everyone together, and pulling. In hindsight, I would have put balls and ropes on the other side, too - then once the plastic was up it would have been very easy to tie it off and not worry about it flying up into the air with the wind gusts (there were some doozies - we didn't choose the calmest day, that's for sure.) Anyway, the plastic had to be coaxed in a few places, but mostly it went over very well. It was tricky to get it straight and tight, but in the end, we managed pretty well. I was thrilled. There was one moment when I realized Liam was holding down one part of the tunnel - the windiest part - and I thought, wow - it wouldn't take much for him to be airborn - but luckily that didn't happen, and life went on unscathed. It took us three hours, with the help of Elaine Grabowski, Marylou Burton, Warren, Andrei, Mike, Andrew and the kids, of course. Later that afternoon, we got one end wall mostly finished and the other one started, and by Thursday, we had the whole thing done. Amazing. Mike has been putting in some pretty long hours, and my feeling of gratitude to him is so great. I don't know what I was thinking when I signed up for this - what I thought I would have done had Mike not dedicated most of his winter to this project for me - and Andrew, too - who has spent many a Sunday toiling on this metal structure. I am so lucky to have people around me who are willing to help, and I hope the time comes when I can reciprocate that. I trust it will. There's something about the whole experience — about life, really - that tells me I'm headed in the right direction, for the most part. So the tunnel is up. In my house, there are starts everywhere. I mean everywhere. I created a map of my tunnel and what I want to put in it using an online program, and it allowed me to see in technicolor how much of everything I needed and when I needed to plant it and how much I could fit in a row, etc. Then I went to work planting all the starts I would need. Dozens of zucchini, squash, pumpkins, herbs, flowers, the list is endless. I am in awe. There is so much to do. Luckily, my first Wwoofer arrives today, so we'll begin muddling through this together. And there is still a couple feet of snow in the high tunnel, so it will be a while till we can plant. Melt, baby, melt. The rest of life is going well. I think the whole family is pretty ready for school to be over, for summer to start. It is hard to get to bed on time because of the daylight. It just doesn't seem right to be going to bed when the sun is still blazing. Mornings are muddy. The snow is soft and postholing is inevitable. There's just so much snow - on a normal year, I think the snow would be gone. But this year, it's going to take a couple more weeks. IN other news: I got the best compliment of my professional life yesterday. I wrote a story this week about Caroline Cannon, who won a big award for her environmental work speaking up for her village of Point Hope in the Arctic. Interviewing her was both inspiring and challenging, and I wrote the story late at night on Tuesday... having delayed as long as I could. But as I sat down to write, the way to write it hit me like a bolt. And I was so thrilled, really happy with the story, and onto the page it went. Yesterday, I got this comment from a reader: "I really want to thank you for making the story of Carline Cannon. She is a special woman working hard for our people and you gave life and spirit in your story about the importance of our traditional and cultural uses. We cannot thank you enough for this special story. She was the light but the touch of the heart was yours. We have goodness with this story that will continue to spread goodness." I shared this with Craig, and he got it the same way I did - this was a compliment that substantiates what I'm trying to do with my professional life - help others tell their story in a meaningful way that captures their essence. I am touched. I am inspired to do more. And it tells me again, that I'm doing good things with my life, that these are things I should be doing. This weekend I spent time in Anchorage at the Alaska Press Club conference, which is always inspiring. I got to meet Neal Conan, and hear the stories of big reporters from around the country. It is always fun and fairly humbling. But one of the most fun things about the trip, actually, was hanging around with Sila, my bosses daughter. She is this light of silly fun and I saw how great that is. I miss my kids, and I'm eager to spend more time with them this summer. They are so amazing, and children, in general, are such a wonderful source of joy. They are truly living in the moment. They are looking for experience and knowledge and energy. They are learning, and soaking in the world around them. We are just a gentle hand of guidance, but what a wonderful thing to have that opportunity. I'm looking forward to Craig's new granddaughter to be in the neighborhood. What a rich life. I'm still working my way through the learning curve of practicing meditation. Sometimes it seems silly. Sometimes it is very productive. Sometimes it is scary. Sometimes it just hurts. But mostly, it draws me back. I believe there is much to learn. I believe it will teach me everything I am willing to let it. I'm so lucky I found it or it found me, or whatever.

Ohhh myyy!

I am planting. I am planning. I am gawking at the number of carrots I plan to plant this year... Not sure if I'm crazy or not, but I know what my family eats... I think.
Here it is. More later!

Bhavana

A few months ago, someone said, "We sure are getting a lot of winter this winter." That statement was almost prophetic now, considering where we stand as of today. My snow levels are over 7 feet in some places. We've had snowstorm after snowstorm and no signs of it letting up. You can walk onto my roof without even stepping up. You step down 5 steps to get into my door. I had to shovel off the roof because the snow was actually weighing down the roof so much the front door wouldn't shut. The plow guys came through last week with some big piece of equipment and created mountains of snow at the end of the road so high that you cannot see beyond them, even to my neighbor's house as I drive down the road. It is, in a word, an intense winter.
But despite that snow, we have erected the frame of the high tunnel. Still needing doing is the attachment of a zillion little bits and pieces. But I have faith that will come together. If I can ever get to it.
I've started the tomatoes - there are over a dozen varieties, all growing little green shoots now, as well as cucumbers for Mike's windows and basil for our greens-starved mouths. So there is hope, and the expectation that though it doesn't look much like it now, summer will come.
And on Friday, I got a taste of that. I hit crossman ridge when the sun came out and skied on the telemark hill I was introduced to a few years back. It was fantastic. I was in a tanktop and my vest, - sunkissed by the end of the day, and smiling so wide, it almost hurt. I skied till my legs couldn't do it anymore and I risked biffing into the white powder. On Friday, I loved Alaska again.
Today, a couple friends and I skied down Twitter Creek to the North Fork - it was a great ski - good to be outside, good to be moving, good to remember it is beautiful even on a cloudy day. Zee had the most fun of all, though. She's a happy dog - exhausted, but happy.
It has been a big couple months for the whole family. Liam performed an incredible rendition of The Edmond Fitzgerald for his school - playing the piano then jumping up to sing the song (he knows all the words) with his friend Sam Banks. The two of them were absolutely fantastic - brave - and passionate. At the end, Liam had to get back to the piano quickly so he leaped into the air and dashed for the keys, getting a great laugh from the crowd.
Thea's big deal of the month is that she has mastered the art of skating this month. Excellent stuff. She really had her edges working the last time she went, and I think it's going to be an easy road from here. Atta girl!
Both Liam and Théa have been learning to ski this month - Théa's less impressed with it all, but put up with it. Liam was really into it. I love seeing them get into the outdoors like that. So good for Alaska kids to have a clue why this place is special.
As for me, it's been an up-and-down winter. There are great joys, including a relationship that has swept me off my feet, and sorrows, like the news that my mother is struggling health-wise. Her journey with MS has been hard, and in recent years, it is obvious that it is a struggle for her. As a daughter, processing this transition is not easy. But as is often the way with life, the tools you are given are handed to you just as you need them. This winter, I have begun focusing more and more time on trying to live a mindful life, trying to be conscious of the way one chooses to move through the word and interact with others. A big part of that has been mediation, which I have been easing into, but feel is opening doors in ways nothing else has. My capacity to feel connected to others, the world around me, and whatever gooey abyss there is beyond even that, has grown and with it, my love of life... though I didn't think that was possible. I hope this new perspective will help me in the days ahead as I travel to Victoria to spend some time with Suzy and Charley.
It's pretty hard to sum up the whole experience of this winter in a few words — perhaps I'll try again real soon. But suffice it to say, the weather is amazing, my children are amazing, my life is amazing, and I am grateful. Last week, I picked a name for the business that will be my farm. It is Bhavana - which means cultivation - though it is used to define mental cultivation. I think the two are intertwined. Feel in the earth, hands tending green plants, face to the sun - I'm not sure there is any more spiritual a practice in my mind. Let the cultivation begin!

A lot of winter

It has been a month since I posted anything. That's probably because of a couple reasons - you would think given three weeks to myself to enjoy the relative relaxedness of life, I would revel in things like blogging, not to mention bonbons and sleep.
I did a little of a few of those things, but mostly what I did was shovel. It's been an extraordinary winter. Many times this winter I have gone out in the evening and shoveled for hours and in the morning, wind combined with light, fluffy snow have filled in all my fine work with expertly sculpted drifts higher than any I can remember. This effort is time consuming and at times frustrating. At times it has completely undone me. As a result, I have 4 steps down to my house - as my friends have put it, it is like I live underground. The snow for most of January was fine, fuffy stuff that would better be moved with a leaf blower than a shovel. It was more like pixie dust than snow. It has been cold - single digits for most of the last month, too. There is something really frustrating about cold. It makes everything - a trip to the grocery store, putting gas in the car, trying to pry the metal mailbox open - more difficult.
So the weather has shifted. It did so last week, and what a relief. It was freezing one day, then the next in the 40s. And it has stayed between 30 and 40 since. Snow comes, but it sticks to the ground rather than messing about whilly nilly. I'm slowly starting to feel human again after what felt like a month in a cage.
But the reality is, the kids are back, the daylight is stretching, and it's time to get this show going again. No more relaxing - it is time to garden. I now have a constant checklist of things going through my head that need doing. Plan garden layout. Finish putting up high tunnel. Dig down 4 feet to find parts that will allow me to finish putting up high tunnel....
I took a class last weekend with a bunch of other Homeroids - most would be or existing high tunnel operators. For me, it was a perfectly designed class. I have been gardening with the following philosophy for years now - throw some lime around, maybe mix in some poop, plant seeds, water, hope for the best. Not really, but essentially, that's what's been going on. Now, my head is swimming with things like the best way to get nitrogen into your soil - but not too much nitrogen, mind you... soil testing - what do I have to do to chisel out a sample.. crops, cover crops.. so many options. And I want a tractor. I want a lot of things.
So. And. But.
These are also busy days for the kids. Liam and Thea are doing skiing lessons on Saturday afternoons. It's pretty cool to see them get out there and enjoy this aspect of Alaska living. Liam likes it more than Thea, but she's always a bit cool to new things for a while. Is it possible to be born with both confidence and a lack of it? It feels like that's where she's at. Her brother - that's another story. He's a rock star on his new, long skis. So happy Santa wasn't off-base with those. The are getting lots of use.
Liam also started his Annie classes this week. I'm pretty excited to see him enjoy his theatrical side more. It's as if that's how he's wired... performance art is sort of how he lives his life. Wednesday, his buddy Sam is supposed to get together with him and sing the Edmond Fitzgerald in front of the school for the talent show. Oh my. I worry. But... Liam, Liam, Liam.
So what else - Thea wants to dance. Dare I add another thing to the list.
Oh, and... I'm now putting out two papers, not one. That is a lot of work. That's just about all I'm going to say about that. It's so much work that Mondays hit me like a train of anxiety and fear. How will I pull off the impossible again, I wonder. And yet, somehow it works so far. But I'd like to do better. Always better.
Oh, and... my mother is dieing. Not quickly, but she's fading, struggling to keep her elements separate, struggling to rebound once more. I'm planning to fly down as soon as I can get a passport issued. I need someone to take a photograph for me. I need help getting there. I don't know how to ask. I don't know how to leave my life for a week. Zee tried to eat two chickens this morning, and by March my house will be full of starts, and who can I trust.. for 10 days... oh my.
But I take deep breaths, and read from books that bring me peace and calm me, and draw great, soul-filling comfort from those who love me, and lean on them when I need to...
Today, though, I went out by myself and dug for two hours, excavating like an archeological dig the remaining six rafters for the tunnel. It was good to go and work by myself. I wish I could do that for a whole week. Just slam that thing up. It would feel good. Instead I need to do a little here and there, and get a rhythm and get it done. Once again, I am in one of those phases of life where my favorite quotes ring true - the only way out is through... and Opportunity is missed by many because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.

SOUPsnowsnowsnowCraigsnowsnowsnow

A couple weeks ago it got cold. Single digits for a long time. Then, it started snowing. Usually, in Alaska, snow means warmer. This winter, it did not. We got several feet of fluffy, quicksand-like snow that moved around with the slightest breeze. Every time you shoveled, it undid your work, almost as you were doing it. Then came the wind. One night a few days ago, it blew. I could feel the house shake. In the morning, the already impressive drifts were incredible, sculptures, really. Knife-edged cornices, scoured spots where snow had been the day before and drifts well over my head in two places just on the way to my house. The snow was dense, too - and walking to my neighbor's house just a few hundred feet away, took serious effort. Ice jams on the roof backed up, causing minor floods near my stove that produced an amazing explosion-like sound when they splashed on the hot stove. Winter - the extreme version.

Yesterday I went out and shoveled for two hours. It was slow going, the snow, and just as I finished, it started coming down again. Now, it's nearly a white-out, piling up fast, creating stratus lines of fluff against the sliding glass door in the living room. More shoveling coming my way if I want to go get my Full Circle box.

The kids are now in Hawaii - they left Saturday night and won't be back for three weeks. Craig is also gone, as of yesterday, for two months. It's an interesting feeling - all this snow, quiet, calm, inspiring me to be home more. I'm sure at some point I'll start to need some sort of outside conversation, but at the moment it feels good to be alone, quiet, thinking.

This winter has seen the opening of another chapter in my life, one of introspection and a revisiting of the valuable things in life on an emotional level. I've never searched for a meaning to life beyond the general enjoyment of my family, friends, environment, etc. But more recently, a focus on deliberately considering what I pay attention to and indulge in on an emotional level has changed things in a big way. It's a shift. It's almost impossible for me to explain it to anyone yet. I wish I could. It's a feeling of inner peace. Of finally being comfortable, accepting, letting go of a lot of things, stories. Seeing people for who and where they are, with compassion. It has opened things up for me, made me embrace vulnerability and joy in a whole new way. It led me to Craig Matthews, my neighbor for 12 years, who I barely knew until recently, with whom there is a beautiful harmony. It led me to the writings of Richard Moss, whose very voice instills calm, and whose words give the world I live in a different shape.

Life is extraordinary in this way. Things come to you when you are ready for them. And when I needed time and space to be quiet, I got it. This morning, I read, practiced yoga, sat on the mat for a while and practiced quieting my mind. I love this about life - there is always something new to learn that adds another layer of depth to what is already an abundantly joyous life. Today, my great accomplishment is making an incredible lentil soup. What a joy!

And the snow falls and falls.

4 years

Yesterday, at about 11 a.m., I met Théa.. 4 years ago. Her birth, much like her life, was both fascinatingly powerful and surprisingly challenging. But the rewards of meeting that challenge are huge. Every day, she makes me laugh, sometimes snort with shock with her antics, sometimes laugh in glee at her wit. I am so grateful for the experience of being her mother and in awe at the amazing person she is. Look out, world.
As per the typical style, no one celebrates just one birthday any more. It's a collage of days, and with Théa, those days come right smack at the tail end of everyone else's holiday. Excellent. This year, at least, I was able to get a bit of a plan going early, thinking about what to reserve for birthday and what to give at Christmas. But still, it snuck up on me. Sigh. Nonetheless, the birthday party, complete with a rainbow-colored cake with stars on it (OK, wasn't exactly purple on the inside, but that's hard to do, really) - and fairy wings, constructed by her father, Mike and Craig, and lots of glitter glue, and lots of friends to celebrate with. Good times. Her real birthday was good, too. Matt got to spend the morning with her and then I took her out to dinner with Mike and Ella later. Capping the night off was a movie at Craig's, a new book - "Listen to the Wind" and the world's best popcorn. Today, she slept in till 10 a.m. That's going to be a bit rough when we have to get up at 6:20 tomorrow (probably me who's going to be roughest) but we'll manage.
Shortly thereafter - Sunday morning - the kids go to Hawaii for three weeks. I'm partly sad to miss their snuggles and hugs and general banter, but I'm looking forward to the solitude on other levels. I've been trying to work through some things on a philosophical level, and they require long periods of time and introspection - not stuff you find very often when you have children on hand. I'm also interested in minimizing the stuff in my life again - things have taken over and I want to get control on the chaos. I find it detracts from my life. I've also got work projects - a new paper to put out - and the high tunnel to focus on. And possibly a trip to Kodiak to see my friend Judy's new digs, I've never been on the ferry and it sounds awesome. And last of all, hopefully, a trip up north, probably to Barrow this time. So I think that aught to do it. That and lots of skyping and facetime.
But for now, I'm reveling in the joy of time with the kids, new friends who are wonderful additions to my life, and chances to reconnect with everyone, and the joy of knowing that the holidays are finally over again. Hurray!

The new year

It is 2012 - a whole new year. I remember looking at my children when they were born and thinking that they were absolutely unscathed - nothing bad had happened to them yet, and it was essentially my job to keep it that way. A new year is sort of like that. Hopes, dreams, intentions - all placed on this infant year.
I've been reading a lot about hopes and the fact that they are a distraction from the here and now, a distraction from being present in your life right now, this life that is happening as I lay on my couch, body happily tired from dancing and visiting with friends and swinging my children round and round. If that's true, and I suspect it might be, it's going to be a long road to cure myself of the hopes addiction. I have always been a forward looking person - someone who believed that the future held infinite possibilities. Imagining those possibilities was a favorite pastime. So I hope I can get a grasp on that this year - less focusing ahead and more right on this spot.
I have a good feeling about this year. My children have a glow about them most of the time that is palpable - they are loved and it shows. I find them both so extraordinary - such amazing creatures that I could never have imagined that I had much of anything to do with their existence. I believe the things that I care about are good things and the things that I pay little attention to deserve little attention. There is joy in life, rich joy, and I think that is a good thing. Simple things - a lovely meal, good company, a loving hug - are so valuable to me. I'm so grateful for the amazing people in my life who love me, and those who challenge me and make me stretch.
So really, what I want from this year, what I would choose were it up to me, is more of the same. There is little that I want for in this life. I'm very lucky, blessed, grateful.