With Years End

I feel as though 2012 passed slowly but quickly all at once. It seems to soon to end, but an ending long in the waiting. I'm not sure what 2013 beholds for me. I'm not sure what I want it to behold. Tomorrow is just another day. And the day after, yet another day. And I am inhaling and exhaling and becoming the person I am going to be. I will make mistakes and triumphs. I will feel heartache and unimaginable happiness. I will change lives, both for the better and worse. And I will live. Perhaps not always in the moment- but just a part of a moment passing. And I'll find, someday, that every step I ever took was leading me on a beautiful journey that I call life.

Collecting Skeleton Keys

I collect skeleton keys. Not because I find their antique appeal beautiful, but rather because their vibrations tell secrets. Each key leads to the wonder of what it opened, what locked compartment it allowed a human to enter. How magnificant lost keys are. What sort of mysteries they behold. They were kept in pockets, stored confessions, hid riches, and spoke the directions of unknown corridors. They are made of a hundred different metals, etched with a thousand designs. Hold one in the palm of your hand. Feel it, listen to it, and it will tell you old fairytales that a very few ever knew existed.

To Create Your Own World

Reality is just a figment of our imagination. Our minds are magnificant things. They can take us beyond this physical world, or make this physical world something beyond what our eyes see. If we try hard enough we can begin to feel things, to see things, to experience things no one thought possible. We can touch stars, communicate with spirits, feel the heartbeat of the mountains radiating through our hair. We can leap high into the air, freeze time, and remain weightless for minutes. We don't need to breathe. There is no part of this world that we need to follow the rules of. We can make our own rules. Deep within the depths of our souls lies the remarkable ability to make life into anything we want it to be.

Warm Play

The weather is warming up. I can now walk outside without a parka, mittens, scarf, or even boots to keep me warm. I wear boots- simply because they high sides and prevent snow from chilling my toes. But nothing else. And I run around with Coho and play with Rascal. It's perfect. The snow is packed down enough to easily make trails. And we bounce around happily. My sleddog, my wolf, and I. 

Letting Go

I let things go. I did. I am, today. Not sure why. I just feel as though there are a lot of things I am holding onto that I need not grasp any longer. So I'm letting them go. Everything that's ever upset me is fading away. I'm accepting apologies I've never heard. Forgiving people for things they won't aknowledge they've done wrong. Bettering myself by walking away from regrets I want other's to have. I'm tired of wasting good energy on negative things. So I'm telling it all farewell and stepping away from the words I wanted to hear. Silently saying goodbye to the one's who don't deserve an explination.

Post-Yule Illness

I am terribly ill today. Stricken with all of the ideas of a hangover. But, alas, I dispise alchohol- so it couldn't be the cause. Something else is perhaps. My Yule high fading away. But it's taken my body and stricken it to peices. I am cold and hot. Shaking and on the verge of losing everything I've eaten in the past 24 hours. In dier need of lots of rest. A warm bath would be nice, but with the lack of running water I suppose a sponge bath will have to do. Terribly exhausted, my body is worn down, and all I can think is of the many things that still need done.

Unexpected Christmas Miracle

Today I was blessed- in a way few people are. As you know Santa handed me the job to deliver a few children gift's this year. And a family of five up the road sent their two oldest (an 8 year old boy and a 7 year old girl) to my door on Christmas morning. In their hands they heald the toys that had been quickly unwrapped and opened (to be played with of course). And they also heald a lynx fur, which was given to me as a gift. The young girl said, "My mom and dad said they love you because you got us lots of toys". I smiled and hugged her- told her I loved them too. And then I asked what else they had gotten for Christmas. Nothing... aside from the toys I had handed them two days ago. I didn't know when I delivered those small trinkets that their family did not have the means to produce even one gift this year. But Santa works in funny ways. And often times those ways are miracles.

Awaiting Unwrapping

Christmas Eve. A hopeful day of anticipation. I am not a Christian- rather a Pagan. But I postpone my Yule until the 25th each year, merely because I adore the excitement that Christmas morning beholds. You feel it today, don't you? The hope. The excitement. The everwaiting unknown of what lucky children will have awaiting them when their sleepy eyes open tomorrow morning? A beautiful thing- isn't it? A wonderful thing... all waiting to be unwrapped at the next dawn.

An Elf's Gift

I took Yule gifts around today. Well, more so Santa did. Few children here have ever seen Santa Claus. Few ever will. So I like to give them a small lesson in what exactly Saint Nick is. He is the lesson of doing good things anonymously. He is the spirit of kindness that needs no recognition. The action of doing something heartfelt with no expectation of a 'thank you'. Imaginary? Fairytale? Contreversial? I think not. A magnificant part of earth folklore? Absolutely. And so I wrapped many gifts today and ventured into the cold to take them to a few families who needed smiling children on Christmas morning. Many of the kids are aware that the gifts are from me. But perhaps someday they will come to understand that an elf was the one to deliver them to my door- so that I may deliver them to theirs.

Knowing The Sky

The sun is very late to rise now. Around 11:00 AM it finally peers it's sleepy head over the horizon. It's always a pink glow. Not like in the summertime when the sunrise switches from hues of purple to green to blue to yellow to orange. In midwinter the sunrise is always one color- pink... sometimes drifting into a dark red when there is a storm in the near future. And I like the consistancy of it. I like being able to fortell the exact moment the sun will arrive, and what color the clouds will be to celebrate it's appearance. There's something inspiring about knowing the world so intimately. People often forget that we have the ability to know the sky better than we know the ground. If only we took a moment each morning to awknowledge it's presence.

Athabascan Admiration

The very shortest day of the year is upon us. Today I travelled up river for work. A four hour plane ride in some horrific winds. It was beautiful though. We transfer from flat tundra to spruce covered mountains. There's something magical about the Athabascan villages. They are so very different from my Yup'ik home and I fall in love with their scenery. Tall trees, gardens, chicken coops, sleddogs, and fenced log cabins. They are beautiful in a way that my home isn't. My home... is breathtaking. But theirs is terribly remonescent of the place I sometimes yearn to be.

Helplessness

Lately I've had an ever present sense of doom looming over me. I'm struck with anxiety whenever I sit in the dark. I can't quite explain it. It's this indescribable sadness. Sort of like the way you feel when someone forgets to hug you goodbye or passes you as if you're invisible. Not a depressed emotion, but rather a longing for something better. I'm not longing for better for myself though. I'm longing for the world's betterment. For people to find happiness. For children who are starved to eat. For one's who are broken to heal. For the terrible things to turn into miracles. I want to be able to change the world. To alter it significantly. To cure every bit of hurt anyone has ever experienced. And yet, there I lay in my comfy bed... stricken with anxiety. Not because I'm sad or worried. But rather because I can't do anything for the people who are.

Hoping for Deja Vu

I had a dream last night about a boy I used to know. It was an odd dream, but a perfect one. I don't remember all of it. But a lot of it was us catching up- chatting about what we've done since we went seperate ways two years ago. And then somewhere admist it all I think we sort of fell in love. And there was one particular moment where we were hugging. Really close hugging. The kind where every single inch of the other person is against you. And we kissed. It all felt so so real. Butterflies shot through me. I love those kinds of dreams. The kind where you wake up, but close your eyes just to hold onto the feeling a bit longer. He re-entered my life (in real life) about a month ago. We've exchanged little words since then. But it wasn't until this dream that I actually stopped to think about him. He was always magnificant. And we've went our seperate ways now. But I would dearly like to cross paths with him in person again... just to see if my dream would cause deja vu.

Scars of Play

Rascal is in the deepest sense, my big puppy that will never grow up. I make trips to him often throughout the day. To throw him food, pet him, play with him, and add hay to his house. Today, as the temperatures began to fall, I went out with a sack full of grass to add to his home. But, alas, a big puppy sees a sack and thinks something exciting must be inside. Now, Rascal has grown into quite the large dog. A wolf hybrid. So he is by no means a small puppy. So when he grabbed my burlap sack and began to wrestle it to the ground... I too was taken to the ground. And then of course I became a toy of joyful pouncing and licking. Needless to say fifteen minutes passed before I made it to my feet again. And I now have the scars on my arms and legs to prove I played with wolves... But these scars are my pride and joy. Proof that even the most frightening of creatures can fall in love with a human.

A Pagan Santa Claus

I, myself, do not celebrate Christmas- but every single child in my village hopes for Santa. I believe in him. I always have. My childhood was blessed with his appearance. When I left Christianity and followed my pagan heart I began to celebrate Yule- which even further inspired my belief in the loving, kind, magical create named St. Nicholas. Unfortunately, Santa seems to forget a few children here. There are a few hopeful eyes that wake up to hungover parents and not a single treat under the tree on Christmas morning. Such a story was brought to my attention last year- and as you all know, Santa magically appeared for those two lucky young girls. And this year, Santa is visitting three more houses this Christmas. He's dearly excited (can barely hold in the excitement). And even though Yule is my day of choice, the 25th will most certainly be my day of joy. I won't be able to see the excitement, or hear it, or be amidst it. But I'll know it... and that will literally be the most amazing 'good morning' feeling in the world.

Lullaby Singing Sleddog

Coho makes everything seem alright. I don't know what it is about her. She's so nonchalant with every action she makes. And yet, when I am feeling sad and gray, she somehow manages to nonchalantly make everything okay. Just by being near her, and having her nuzzle my chin with the top of her head, takes away all of my worries. She curls into me. When I lay down she positions herself to curl right into the bend of my knees. She's my best friend in the entire world. She never says a word, but she speaks calmness with her actions.

Wanting Hello

I realize I am blessed. I am flattered on a daily basis. But at the same time, flattery is beginning to get old. I want philisophical conversation (based on astrology, not religion), playful banter, sarcastic humour, and a weird sense of galaxies coliding. I want blushing and stuttering and awkwardness. I don't want a compliment. I just want someone to be a friend with, to walk with, to get lost with, and to argue with. I don't need a man who begs to get my attention by throwing around haphazard words like 'beautiful' and 'sexy'. I need a man who meets me at the bar and doesn't care to say anything more than a simple "Hello".

Wish I Wouldn't, But I Do

The only reason I shouldn't fall in love with you, is that I have better things to do. But my heart doesn't care about time, because when time fails and the clock stands still- love stands strong. I wish I wouldn't dream about you. I have bigger goals, better things to do. But you're always there in the back of my mind. I can't get you out no matter how hard I try. I would push the world away to spend a lifetime with you. And I really wish I wouldn't, cause I have better things to do. But my heart doesn't care about time, because when time fails and the clock stands still- love stands strong.

The Art of Judging People

There are so many people who I've crossed paths with and they've stayed to chat for a while- but I've left before the conversation was finished. I left words unsaid. They wanted to talk more, but I was sick of listening to their story. I judge people, I do, and I hate to be the one to look down on others. But he was the father who didn't give a f*ck about his children, he merely wanted to live out his dreams. And he was the man who thought his religion was the best- so best in fact, that he had Hitler-like views on how America should be run. And then of course there was him... the one that had nothing wrong with him. But he left my conversation with words unsaid. And I can't help but wonder what whisper I let trickle through my lips that scared his judgemental mind away...

Insecure

I have insecurities that fly around more vividly than fireflies on Midsummer's Eve. I am one of those young women. The one's that leave their hair unkept and clothes unwashed. I try though, I do. I make an attempt to get up in the morning and put on a dainty skirt and a bit of mascara before I face the day. But I often feel so self-concious... so unworthy. I fear being compared. I don't want to stand side by side with anyone else. I want to be viewed as an individual alone, not an individual apart.

Escaping Maturity

I'm a virgin. Nowadays a twenty-year-old virgin is like a forty-year-old one. It's cliche and pitiful. But I'm proud of it. I love sex, I'm inspired by it, but I won't participate in it. It's an artistic expression, I think. I'm paranoid in a sense. I guess I feel like if I gave away that innocent part of myself I would lose my fairytale allure. My imagination would escape me and I'd find my writing ability lost admist a maturity that I wasn't ready for. I remain a virgin so that I still have this artistic part of me in tact. Once I give up my childlike aspects I fear I'll lose my ability to transcend to different worlds and explore things in an unwavering curious manner. Too many girls are too quick to yearn for adulthood. But I yearn for the absence of adulthood. My virgin innocence will remain with me until I find another way to carry my childlike heart with me wherever I go.

Company of Snowflakes

It snowed today. A real, thick, heavy snow. The kind we haven't had in over a month. It was beautiful. I've been stuck inside too long. My boots have barely trekked beyond the front yard. And the only reason they go out there is to feed and play with Coho and Rascal. I'm in dier need of an adventure. But today all I wanted to do was watch from my bedroom window. I nestled in under my canopy bed and peered out quietly for about a half an hour until the flakes trickled to a slow light level. They were perfect company this afternoon. Just the faces I needed to see to brighten up my otherwise uneventful day.

Children & Gifts

I love the holidays. I love Hanukkah and Yule and Christmas. I love giving gifts. It's an odd thing to enjoy really. Giving things away, specifically to children. There's no substance return that goes with such a deed. In fact it's a deed that never really gets returned. Children take and laugh and enjoy and maybe mutter a thank you (if you're lucky). But they never think to return the favor. And yet, even without a return it seems to be the most glorious feeling in the world to hand a kid a wrapped package. I never think 'I hope I get repaid for this' or 'They owe me'. I don't think anyone thinks that, like we do with other deeds. With giving children gifts we just give... thoughtlessly. And their smile is enough of a thank you. Maybe if we treated every deed the way we treat giving a child a present the world we be a much more beautiful place.

Curl Away Days

Lazy days. Curl away and drink tea from small cups days. Cuddle in a blanket days. Read a book days. The kind of days where all you want to do is stay near your woodstove, wear your wool boot socks, and eat spoonfuls of honeycomb. I have too many of these days. When one doesn't necessarily have a career, there is a lot of room to do nothing at all. I survive by living off the land and doing odd jobs to make ends meet. But when I lack motivation and comfort finds me in the most irresistable mood... I dearly have a problem leaving the corner of my couch to go out and face the world.

Bumbling Writer

Somedays I feel like I've worked so hard and accumulated so little. Don't get me wrong; I fully realize that I am a very blessed individual. But as with every young person I am reaching for the stars. I just feel like I'm barely making it off the ground. The clouds seem far too out of reach- yet alone the moon. I want to be something. Something big and important and memorable. I want to change lives and alter fate and spill secrets that the world forgot to tell. And I feel like I'm at a loss on where to go or what to do. How can a bumbling writer, that stutters when she speaks aloud, ever change the world?

Later In Life Lessons

It's amazing how time can surprise you. I remember back in my teenage years I had swooned over hundreds and passed by just as many. I thought I knew who was a prince and who was a dragon. But things are changing now. People I used to look up to, I now pity. One's I barely took notice of, I now sit in admiration of. Boys whom I once adored now seem so nonchalant, and one's I barely spoke a word to leave regrets of ignorance in my mouth. There are a few people I wish I would have gotten to know better, and a few I wish I wouldn't have spent so much time yearning for. It's amazing how times change and minds change and all of the sudden weird little peices of the world fall into place. Maturity is a word now, not a number. And all of the sudden I'm seeing things in people that my teenage heart never noticed- the good, the bad, and the ugly. And all of the sudden a lot of fate-planned things are making sense.

Past Time's Strangers

I like it when I look back and notice what you became, and I realize you've turned into a magnificant young man. I never took notice, always passed by you, and didn't give a second thought later in life. But when our paths crossed and we exchanged our simple "How you been?'s, I was happy to see who you were. I never really knew you, but I'd like to get to know you someday. You're a pleasant surprise amongst this oh so predictable world we reside in. It's humbling to see I'm not the only one who grew up and changed everything the world percieved me to be. Keep going dear gentleman. You have a world of beauty ahead of you.

Sentimental Treasures

There are a few things I miss from my childhood home. Thunderstorms, fireflies, raccoons, and deer. Dirt roads with spontaneously placed quaint neighborhoods. Stray cats, dark summer evenings, and little church events that bring entire towns together. We don't have those things here. I haven't seen lightening or heard thunder in over two years. I cringe when I think that my children may never see a firefly if they are raised here. Raccoons and deer are replaced with lynx and weasels. My heartfelt neighborhoods are now native villages. I've always hoped that someday I'll drive along and find a stray cat... but those things just don't happen here. The darkness brings beautiful northern lights though, and the elders here don't attend church- but rather teach Yup'ik. There are always things I'll miss from a time long ago, and I'll have times when I just want to run back. But a part of me knows I was never met to stay there- and someday I'll find this home beholds just as many sentimental treasures.

30 Days Without Snow

For 30 straight days now we have had no snow. An entire month without one flurry. The little bit of white flakes that fell in October are now trampled by foot prints, animal tracks, dogsled trails, and snowmachine-made roads. The trees are brown, the roofs are clean, the water areas are pure ice (unhidden by snow). Typically the lakes, sloughs, creeks, and Yukon River will have a full layer of snow covering them. It makes it difficult to distinguish land from water. But with our lack of precipitation everything is visible. A blessing in disguise I suppose. It is kind of a magical experience to find a hidden pond you previously knew nothing of.

Absent Sunshine

Kissing the sunrise goodbye is always a tough thing. Through this month and January I will be lacking much daylight at all. My dear shining friend is hiding right along the horizon. Barely coming above the cottonwood trees across the Yukon River and the fading behind the distant mountain in the west. I wish I could throw a rope around it and pull it higher into the sky. Even though it's shining it always feels like I'm in the shadows. The trees are hiding it, or the hill, or the shed to the left of my front door. I already miss it. Winter is passing quickly, but oh so slowly. And I know that this absence of light is going to last much longer than my biological clock would like...

To Begin December

I'm so happy the full moon is done and December has officially has begun. My moral compass was headed in the wrong direction and the November energies (although beautiful) were beginning to drain on me. I was exhausted and in dier need of a change of pace. So when I awoke this morning to cloudy skies (with a foggy chance of snow) my heart felt happy. I had every intention of waking up today and doing the wrong thing. But the full moon's overly sexual energies have subsided and I feel refreshed. My head is much clearer. My emotions are much more stable. And for the first time in quite some time I'm feeling a very positive vibe towards what's to come this month. December is one of my very favorite times of the year.

Falling for Native Boys

I have a thing for a man with black hair, brown eyes, tan skin, and Yup'ik blood. My heart beats more wildly in the presence of any native than it does with any darker or lighter skinned human. Don't ask me why, I really can't explain it. They're not exotic or fascinating or any bit different than the next guy. But my eyes are so accustomed their appearance that out of a line of prince charmings, I would immidiately veer to the native. No questions asked. For some unexplained reason it's just where my heart lies. I couldn't change it's direction even if I wanted it to... and I really don't want to. I like it's odd tendancy to fall for some wild-eyed native boy.

Looking Back on Me

As I look back into myself through the eyes of google, I am completely amazed at myself at sixteen. In fact, I'm rather disgraced. What, oh what, was the younger me thinking? I was ridiculous on a million levels. Immature and caught somewhere between a child and a woman. I was a child, but looked like a woman. I was a child, but was expected to act like a woman. And it caused an identity crisis bigger than the world itself. I look back at pictures and blogs and just wish I could write a letter to that girl and tell her that she doesn't need to try so hard. It's okay to hold onto your innocence. It's okay to not have a boyfriend and only have one best friend. It's okay to play with dolls instead of drugs. It's okay to be you, just you. Don't change for anyone. Don't question your self worth. You're confused and lost and there's no one there to help you, but someday you're going to grow into a strong stubborn woman with dreams bigger than the sky. I wish I could have told her... I wish someone would have...

Not Quite Travel-Worthy

The days are finally growing warmer. Snow is on the horizon. We've barely had any this entire winter. A few inches are keeping the dogsleds from getting stuck on the tundra. But a few inches is not nearly enough to travel by for long. We can't go distant places and most of us are stuck just in the few roaming miles beyond the village. The ice on the Yukon River is bare- which means no traveling across it without slipping paws and sliding sleds. And then of course to the north is an array of paths between the willows that needs a bit more snow to make travel-worthy. So for now I travel upriver a ways and down river a ways. It's a very minimal area to adventure. And quite honestly, I'm getting wrestless. This warming cloudy sky is keeping me with my fingers crossed that a few flakes fall.

Fifth Dream

I had a dream about you last night. Fifth dream I've had this week. I'm not going to deny the fact that I think of you right before I fall asleep at night. Perhaps that's why my subconcious mind drifts to you. I don't remember what happens in the dreams. I just remember that you're in them, and they're so beautiful that even when I wake up, I close my eyes and try to hold onto the image a bit longer. I feel everything so powerfully. The butterflies are inspiring. And they don't leave me until late into the afternoon, when my memory of the dream isn't so clear anymore.

Going Somewhere Else

There are times where I am so preconsumed in thought that everything around me doesn't exist. I leave this world and just transcend into somewhere... else. I just lose everything. All of the sudden the air doesn't have a temperature and the ground doesn't have a shape. My clothes lack texture, gravity starts relieving it's pull on me. And off I drift... somewhere imaginary. I'm still awake, my eyes are still open, my physical self is still performing daily duties. But I'm not there. I'm long gone to a place so far from where I stand...

Late Dreaming

The sun rises slowly, as do I. When mornings are late, I'm late to awake. But I find contentment in warm (not hot) coffee and having a sleepy smile even as the rest of the household has already become bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Someday I'm going to have children, many I hope. And someday my late mornings will be interrupted with the giggles of breakfast and hectic school preparedness. So as for now I'll enjoy the annoyance I cause with my late dreaming- for it may be the last few years I have of it.

Bright Dark Hours

When the ground is officially covered in white, the night turns magical. The moon glows and everything illuminates. It's not like the autumn, when the moon's light is hidden in the shadows of the grass. In winter everything is white, flat, and curved. There are no places for shadows to hide. So everything is clear, easy to see, and almost day-like even in the middle of the darkest hours.

Mess of Emotions

What is love? Truly, what is it? Can you love someone and spend your nights sleeping beside them, dreaming of another? Can you carry someone in your heart and yet yearn someone else was in their place? Is that love? I feel as if most would answer no. And yet, as we all know, my wild heart claims the heart of one while unfortunately wanting another. I can't help it really. My admiration for something different is instilled in my gypsy soul. And it breaks me, causes me grief, and often leaves me in a confused mess of emotions.

A Village Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving in my home never leaves space for an empty stomach. My kitchen was filled and my table was too. And now I sit exhausted. Two days straight of labor in the kitchen and one large meal to finish it off. Now I'm tired. Admiring the thankful letters of a few generous neighbors. Remembering the kind exchanges of smiles from children and loved ones. My family is very far this holiday season- as they have been for the past three. I haven't spent a Yule or Thanksgiving with my parents since I was eighteen. And I often miss them. Often wish I could find a love here who would share his family with me in an intimate, true way. But for now the village is my family, a friendly family, and one that I take in with all my heart.

Day Before Thanksgiving

It's the day before perhaps the very biggest meal in the world. I prepare of course. For thanksgiving, to a white girl in a native village may be the very most significant day in the world. I share a feast like it was in the very first days of my people's immigration- with friendly souls who appreciate my residence on their homeland. So today I prepared my rolls. Picked the fruit from my pumpkin, mashed it, and made a pie worth eating immidiately. And set the table for a day that is one of the most sentimental and truly heartwarming of the year.

Ballerina Dreams

I like to think I could be a ballerina. I point my toes and prance around daintily. Bow my head, extend my arms, let my wrists click in and out with each movement. I am by no means as graceful as a true Swan Princess. I have awkward footing and trips. But I do enjoy jumping into the air and landing as softly as I can. Feeling things slowly let beautifully. Letting my body move, extend, and twist. It's a beautiful art really. Like the yoga of the free-spirit's world.

Sledding Too Fast

The hill beside my house is filled with sledders. Adorable miniature ones. They all wear fur ruffs, puffy mittens, and boots with seal skin soles. Every time I peer beyond my window they wave frantically and race to the top of the hill to show me how fast they can slide down. And they can slide quickly... ohhh so quickly. The mother in me screams for them to stop. But the mother in me is silenced by the child in me that remembers such fond memories that they are making that very instant.

Silent Sun, Vocal Moon

The sun is fading now. I live on the side of a hill on the north side of my village. To the south, west, and east of my house lie homes. And those homes are now creating shadows- shadows from the sun. The sun is a man who I haven't seen in a while. He likes to hide low on the horizon and escape beyond the hill in the afternoon. I see him late in the morning as he peers through my lace curtains. But shortly after he will be off, and not visit again for the remainer of the day. The moon is more vocal now. She's happy, bright, cheery, and oh so confident. She's a big part of my life. And I can't deny the fact that I'm fascinated with her conversation.

Touching Flying Planes

I love when something happens that forces me to stop and realize I am living in a place so far from stereotypical America. My darling and I traveled up river yesterday to bring home a new (used) snow machine we had flown into the airport at a nearby village. As we neared the runway- which is merely a dirt road that is now a snow-covered dirt road, a tiny plane flew not five feet above us. I could have stood up and touched it. Of course, I did not do that. And I realize that the safety of such a thing is probably not a story to be proud of. But to me, the fact I live in a place where rules barely exist and a freedom still lives on, is really a magnificant thing. A truly magnificant thing.

Sad in the Air

My heart has been a tender subject. I have not scribbled a word for two weeks. Not sure why. We finally had our lovely dusting of thick fluffy snow (the kind in which I adore so much that I instantly play out in it). Coho and Rascal are as playful and loving as ever. My darling and I have finally found this sort of contentment that was missing through the summer. I've settled in for the winter- and yet, there's this uneasy sort of emotion running in my viens. I'm saddened. The village has been stricken with three deaths in two weeks. An unfortunate energy has overtaken us all. Fall is still clinging to much of the landscape- as the thick snow is running late this year. There's just something sad in the air. I can't explain it. But my facial expression and lack of written creativity shows it all.

Finding Gentleman

I've been serenaded, once or twice. I've been told I was beautiful, been handed a rose, been asked to walk down an aisle, and been told 'I love you'. I've been on dates, on picnics, to movies, to dinners, to extravegant tropical resorts to spend a weekend. I've been paid to act in love. I've paid people to love me. I've seen more aspects of romance than most girls my age. And I realize that in a way, that makes me very blessed. I was very much so the ugly duckling in high school. I went unnoticed and if I was approached it was only in the highlight of a cruel joke. So when the world turned and things changed and that awkward girl grew up to be me- I found love in a million places. It was all I ever wanted, all I still want. I'm the epitome of a hopeless romantic, and it's doomed me to fall for every gentleman who removes his hat and bows in my presence.

Back To Autumn

The permanent snowfall I thought we had had, has almost completely melted away. I'm quite disappointed that the browning scenery is now still evident. Hallow's Eve this year will be a autumn-looking day. Typically it's begining to look like Yule by the time the 31st arrives. I shouldn't complain, it's been years since I've seen a fall-dwelling Samhain. I suppose I'll quite enjoy it. And the tiny witches and ghouls will probably much enjoy the easy walking without a need for boots.

Eskimo Nanny

I've played nanny lately. If there is one thing that makes me yearn for an Eskimo husband- it's being the caretaker to Eskimo children. They are the happiest children you will ever meet. They scream with delight with even the littlest activities. They laugh and smile and are as sweet as could be. Every activity is exciting and every second is an adventure. And how sincerely would I love to be a mother to such kids. At the moment, I could name ten worthy Eskimo husbands that I would absolutely wed. But, alas, my merely twenty-year-old mind knows that we have many a' dreams to achieve before the day of breastfeeding begins. Perhaps when I'm twenty-two I'll settle down. As for now, I'm quite enjoying testing my mothering skills on the greatest children in the entire world.

The Simplest Pleasure

I'm quite well known in the village. Well I suppose in an iscolated town of merely 600 everyone knows everyone- and everything about everyone. But I, especially, have a tender heart for children. And I visit them quite often- and they visit me. So we adventure and play and explore and I teach the virtues my mother taught me in the hopes they will grow up to be magnficiant souls. And it's such a wonderful thing knowing children, because wherever you walk they are outside. And they wave excitedly and scream your name as if you are a celebrity. 'Dawn! Dawn!' they shout- and run towards me. It's so simple, so child-like, and yet so flattering that I often find myself with the biggest accidental smile. Simple pleasures, loves, simple pleasures that I believe could not compare to a million dollars.

Coho's Broken Doghouse

This, is a story of fate. Coho's dog house is made of thin wood, packed with hay for comfort, and placed on the side of my rocky mountain hill that I call a yard. We have no roads in the village, and everyone travels my fourwheeler (or as we call them 'Hondas'). An older woman, around 60 in age, was turning her fourwheeler around in our yard and as she did so she pressed the gas while in reverse. Her fourwheeler spun backwards, directly towards a pile of old barrels and a big wooden dog house. There was a crash, a very loud one. Coho's chain was tangled on a tree and she was stuck at a safe distance (blessed be her hyper running antics that get her stuck). And the woman had landed directly upon the dog house. Because it was not made of hard plywood (like most doghouses in the village) it broke her fall, and the hay inside cushioned her. Had she landed on the rocky ground, surely a boulder would have cracked her head or broken her spine or done some sort of irreversible damage. She got up, shaken but fine, and walked away in a physically okay manner. The fact that Coho had been tangled instead of inside, spared her life. And the fact my doghouse is made of soft wood that easily split, and filled with hay, perhaps spared the human's.

A Freedom of Opinion

I don't believe in being rude or cruel. I believe in having poise and grace and kindness even to those who may not stand the straightest around me. I believe in giving children and animals my entire heart- and every person I meet a portion of it. And yet, I often feel attacked or taken advantage of or even drained by other's energies. Trust me, I am nowhere near a perfect soul. Some nights I come home and punch a pillow just to keep my sanity, and then turn around and smile sweetly at the person who made me do such a thing the next day. And there are so many of them. So many people who say things without thinking- subconciously hurtful things. There are people who will willingly take you down, only so they can use you as a stair to climb up to their pedistal. And people who will never do a kind thing, but expect respect merely for being mean and demanding. Those are the people I will never understand, never know how to change or influence. Because I, myself, will keep an opinion secluded forever just to spare a single soul's feelings. And I often think that if perhaps we all started realizing that a freedom of speech also gives us the right to have a freedom of our own inner opinion (that need not be spoken) we could all live peacefully- not hatefully.

An Action, Not Emotion

We tend to make sex a bigger act than it is. Especially ones like me, who are holding onto their virgin innocence until the exact right person and moment arrives. I mean I've been there- I've been amidst the moaning, sweating, breathing deeply- passionate exchange on the bedsheets. But I haven't ever truly been... there. And it's sad to think that after two years with a darling I still refuse to go there until I have some sort of permanent idea of who will be mine forever. I need that justification that if I act to bring a child into the world, then that child will be brought in also with the man whom helped create that child. And yet- sex is just sex. Good people can do it badly, and unattractive people can do it magically. It can happen at good times, at bad times, and at the wrong times. It can be over as quickly as it began or it can last an entire night. It's just an action... but to me I want it to be an emotion. And I know that it's not, but I'm still holding onto that hope that maybe if I find the right person and the right moment it could be.

Twenty Eight Degrees

Today our first perhaps permanent snowfall fell. We've had snow, lots of it, but none of it 'sticks'. Today, on the other hand, it's a mere 28 degrees so the snow that is falling is covering and coating and staying. And I'm quite happy with it. And the children are ecstatic. Even the empty trees seem to happily be taking to the coat of cool white colors.

Eskimo Marathon Runner

I don't typically whisper the secrets of a stranger's name, but today is a different day- one in which I have found someone worth mentioning in my diary. His name is Christopher Shawn Redfox II. Don't worry, this is not a love note, but rather one of mere adoration. He is a marathon runner. Two years ago his brother, Jerel, passed away. He was merely 22, Chris was 20. They had grown up together and the loss was obviously taken very hard. But, inspiringly, Chris did something that most villagers do not do. He didn't drink away the pain, or smoke away the hurt. He started running... marathons. And he did so in the name of his beloved late brother. He worked terribly hard and has made the promise to run a marathon in each of the 50 United States in dedication to his brother. And I've witnessed as hundreds of village children (who feel trapped in iscolated poverty- so distanced from America) became inspired by him. He's proving to them that they can do anything they set their mind to with a bit of hard work. And I honestly admire him deeply for such a thing. So I am sharing his site, where you can donate to his cause if you see fit: http://redfoxmarathons.tripod.com

Learning Life Lessons

Adults often speak to me as if I am their age. People often forget I am merely two years older than a legal child. My mind is still growing, my stupid decisions are still accumulating, my heart is still niave and wild and yet to go a certain direction. I've had people at forty years of age insult my lifestyle. I've had ones at fifty judge my actions as if I am too mature for such a thing. I've had people old enough to be my mother publically humiliate me for the sake of their own values- but not mine. If you do not like the life I live, do not live it. Preaching to me the path I should walk will not make me change direction. I am young. I may be mature, I may have more responsibilities than most. I believe I make decent decisions- I do not drink nor smoke nor practice sex freely. But I still have an innocence and stupidity and often times complete and utter faith in something unworthy of my heart. But I am young enough to learn my lesson, to experience my mistakes, and to make my own virtues rather than have every one taught to me. So before you treat me as though I am a generation older, remember I am still young enough to experience life for what it is- the good and the bad- without your ideals on what is appropriate. I will learn them on my own time, and it will hurt and I'll wish someone would have warned me. But deep down I'll know I learned a life lesson for what it was- a part of my life- which makes it much more meaningful than a few words someone told me once.

Thick Frost in Afternoon

There is nothing sweeter than the very earliest days of winter. Still, not a layer of snow has made home on the ground. Instead thick layers of frost coat branches and grass in the morning, and fade only in the sunlit spots by late afternoon. Coho and I curl up on the couch and read books and play. Well... she plays. I scold her for biting too hard and then persuade her to quit playing and lay down for a belly rub instead. Of course, then she insists I continue until eventually she decides it's time to go outside and play in the cold by herself. The woodstove crackling in the morning is becoming more and more welcoming- and although I still have a few tasks to do before snow breaks- I'm beginning to be quite fond of the idea of the white stuff arriving.

Woodstove Incense

The winter winds are slowly closing in on the tundra. Even yesterday, as we ventured up the frozen slough, they would catch peices of ice light enough to slide across the glass and push them down the water nearly as fast as they could go. The bald eagles seem to be the only ones strong enough to soar in such strong gusts. I did see a flock of late snow geese fly over, cackling happily at how fast they were going with the north wind helping them along. But the ravens, chickadees, and seagles have all but settled in for a while. I'm with them. My knit sweaters are looking more and more appealing and the smell of the woodstove is becoming my newest home incense.

Newfrozen Ice Music

We ventured off on our last boat ride of the season today. The temperatures have reached well below freezing so all creeks and waterside areas have begun to ice over. As we turned into the clearwater slough that we often paddle through to admire the scenery- we were greeted by a sheet of welcoming frozen water. Our boat, fortunately, was strong enough to break through. So we explored up even further into our loving autumn scenery. Permanent snow is yet to fall, so the dead leaves, grass, and bare trees are still the only thing we have to gaze upon. But I wasn't doing much gazing- rather listening. Ice makes such a unique music when touched by rushing water. It clinks and chatters and sings it's own sweet little song. I closed my eyes for a majority of the ride and just listened to the beat. The beat of winter on the water, the beat that one can only hear for one or two days a year.

Across The Northern Sky

The aurora in my western Alaska home is not always as evident as it is in the center and northern parts of Alaska. But as I escaped my front door this evening I was greeted with a sight to behold. The green haze stretched completely from east to west across the northern sky. They were moving so slowly and gracefully tonight. I love when they dance to a slow moon song. You can watch and it looks as if they are standing still- but when you blink for just a second somehow they entirely change. It's unquestionable that they are utterly magical. But at such times- when they sit still yet somehow changing- they seem to imminate more inspiring energies than any other moment.

One More Farewell

You know that saying 'If you love something, let it go'. It's becoming truer and truer at the moment. After a tearful farewell to my white furry love yesterday, today I decided it was time to bid my seven dwarves (blackfish) goodbye too. I am running low on bugs to bless them with and their happy little faces are getting bored with the aquarium scenery. So today my darling took them to a small still water pond here in town and released them to frolic freely to their heart's content. They swam away with glory and although I will miss their cheerful peers from behind the glass- I know it was time to say goodbye. So off they went, to live out their lives freely in a place not too far from my cabin. And now every time I walk by such a place, I can recite their names and know they're looking up cheerfully at my presence.

Saying Goodbye Pup

Today- my little white girl was sent away to a better home. After a week of interviews, I finally found a wonderful woman who welcomed this little darling with open arms. And so it became time for me to say goodbye. Her time here would be cut short- and the children were antsy to kidnap a full white (prized) dog for their own. So this morning I tucked her away in the side of my parka, zipped her into my body, and took a twenty-five mile trip by fourwheeler to the airport. It was an exhausting ride for both of us. Her sweet little nose peeped in and out of the frigid wind to check the scenery, and she slept curled into my warmth most of the way. When we arrived, a crate was waiting from her future 'mum'. I placed her inside and said goodbye. There were many tears whiped away and I faught the gulp in my throat with all of my strength. She cried a little- and so did I. But in my heart I know she is going to a home without the terror of children or the impatience of a Coho. I'm happy, and sad, but most of all grateful fate fell into a place to bring this love into my home and have her sent away to an even better one...

Happenings of My Pup

The pup has finally officially calmed down. She's adorable and precious and finally showing affection for the human kind. For one week now I have been searching for a home for her. I want her to be loved as dearly as she should be. She's absolutely priceless. She has four phases. When she awakes she's very calm, cuddly, and in dier need of kisses. But after a few minutes the energy renewel has hit full force and playing ensues. So we play- for many hours, until she begins to get hungry. She's learned if she goes to the stache of moose scraps on the porch and sits- she will be fed. So she piles on the food- in a way that even a starving dog would eat- and then more playing ensues. She gets hyper and hyper and more and more ridiculously wild until finally- literally within a minute she goes from a tumbling toddler of excitement to the sleepiest baby in the world. And she sleeps- so sweetly, until the habitual actions can become evident once again.

Dreaming of Forever

Do you believe in soulmates? I always thought my heart belonged someone. Whether or not I'll ever garuentee that they're a part of life is uncertain. But I know that within, I'm searching for them- and perhaps a moment will appear when they will become a part of me in a way I have never experienced. I like the idea of forever, but I don't know if I believe in it. I like the idea of someone who flawlessly fits together with me. I'm in love with the aspect of love. And my hopeless romantic heart wants to think that it has an equal. My views on marriage are minimal, if that. I don't appreciate the idea. My views on permanent love are... undefined. I want it, yearn for it, could live my life with it- but I don't need it. I think I could spend my life happily without it. And yet, for some reason, it's an ever so evident part of my dreams...

The Pup's Habits

The pup has learned the habits of this home. She and Coho both run to the door now when I peek outside, slide across the wood floor, and await by the moose meat for chunks to be cut off and thrown in their favor. She knows where her blanket is when she wants to sleep, and where Coho's is (and how she is not allowed there). She's trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms, and loved me enough to give kisses almost constantly. And I have to admit, the idea of not keeping her is aching in my heart. I've taken Coho without my landlords permission and yet another female dog will not sit well with the higher power...

Awaiting Hallows Eve

The idea of Hallows Eve has consumed me. To me, it's a day of rebirth. The dead visit earth and it's the one chance to say all of the things you forgot to say- to the people you love and lost. It's a day when candles light the way home for people you care about, and children visit in exchange for gifts. The childrens energies renew the house, give a good aura, and keep innocence in order as spirits also walk in and out the front door. I love such a day- and always give the most extravegant gifts. This year I am even more excited, as I have officially gotten a very good amount of gifts to give, candles to light, and spirits I hope to meet.

Addiction of a Poet

I go through phases where I spend countless sentances just rhyming. I don't know where my inner poet comes from, or why exactly she appears- but she does every once in a while and refuses to leave. I speak in poetry to my animals, darlings, and friendly trees beyond my bedroom window (whom I whisper secrets to every night- they are the very best secret holders). For some reason I have taken on her again. I feel like every other sentance should rhyme and it takes every ounce of my concentration to ensure that such a thing does not occur- especially when I am writing something so dear to my heart... like this diary. But I seem to have made it through a paragraph now and the urge to collect likewise words is overwhelming. So I'm off to grab a notebook, pencil, and candle and play poetry writer to my hearts content.

Midnight Puddles

There is an ever so faded glimpse of sunlight on the horizon, but between the bouts of enormous rainfall- ominous dark clouds- and winds of a hurricane's strength, it's hard to believe that those rays of light will ever make it to my cabin window. We have had such weather for almost one week straight now. I mean, I am fond of the excuse to hide away in my covers for long periods of time- but the dirt roads are calling my name for a walk that I just can't give them. I've been sneaking around in the night hours to feed some starving pups around town- and even in my fifteen minute reign of the village I accumulate more mud and soaked clothes than any poised girl should behold. But, alas, I suppose my inner five-year-old does get the best of me in such times. And those puddles can be oh so irresistable. Besides, who quite cares when the hours are so late that only the dogs awaiting their food are awake? No one sees me, so I shall play in this harsh weather to my heart's content.

Rascal's Patience

The pup has now been passed onto Rascal. Coho has all but become annoyed with the responsibility of a rambuncious little devil. Rascal, on the other hand, has the patience of no animal in the world. And although the wolf in his blood should bring out anger- he only has the heart of the sweetest soul in the world. So the pup can growl, bite, and play constantly without even a nip of Rascal's impatience. Coho, on the other hand, refuses to allow the small terror into her home or even remote area for that matter. So not only has she all but kicked him from her side of the family- she has fully passed on all of it's hyper antics to Rascal- who evidently has taken to the little white fluff ball quite fondly.

Emotional Bedroom Chaos

My body has been craving the attention of a man. Perhaps my motherly instincts are in dier need of a child to behold. I've had dreams of birth, of labor, of the beauty and pain they both behold. But even more than that the covers are calling my lonely name. I need kissing, sweating, moaning, breathing deeply. I need the grasp and release of a bedsheet. I need a passionate exchange of two physical beings wrapped up in one emotional chaos...

Tune Of Droplets

The rain and wind are picking up. It may be one of our last autumn rainstorms. I'm enjoying the dark solitude. I like the sound rain makes. It's heavy, so my tin cabin roof beats with the rythem of the falling droplets. Snow doesn't have that effect. It merely brushes by in a wisp of the wind. So for the time being, although I am stuck indoors peering out, I am dearly enjoying the tune of one of my last little rainy days.

Writing Days

Somedays I just want to curl away on the side of my couch, wrapped into a wool blanket, and simply write to my heart's content. I'll grab any peice of open unwritten paper in my notebook and scribble words- any words that come to my head- for hours upon hours. I write poems, stories, non-fiction tidbits, and narrative essays. I write of dreams, of thoughts, of imaginary places I someday hope to visit. And to many such a day would seem wasted, but to me such days are among some of the most well spent.

A Dusting Of Snow

Today I awoke to the most magnificant feeling in the world. Snow, I could sense it- just beyond my windowpane. I jumped from my brown plaid covers and ran over to pull away my tan curtains. There, about 7 or 8 feet below me, lay the most amazing color- white, everywhere. It was flawless. I ran out to my even larger kitchen window and pulled back my lace curtains to take in the scenery even further. And then, out of pure and utter excitement- I grabbed my coat, my slippers, and my happy soul and I ran outside to make the first tracks of the season on the ground before my cabin.

Awaiting Permanent Snow

The weather is sunny but oh so cold. Frost remains in the shaded parts until late afternoon. Small puddles are becoming permanently frozen. The birds have hushed and settled in for the snow to come. Chipper- and her daughter Sassy (who decided to stay around instead of roam into the wild) are stocking up on seeds for the winter. The pups all have new dry hay put into their dog houses- and my seal skin mukluks are calling my name. A first permanent snowfall is on the horizon and I'm beginning to feel the excitement for its appearance.

Fleeting Daylight

Autumn has officially come and gone. My favorite season of the year disappears so quickly into winter. The first snowfall fell. It didn't stick but the white dots made a scene on the horizon. I love winter, I really do. It could perhaps also be my favorite season. But I'm so sad to see the yellow leaves already fallen onto the riverbanks. The frogs hiding away for hibernation. The waterfowl have all traveled south- leaving only the northern dwellers to pass by. The berries are gone, the tundra has turned from green to a vibrant red, and the northern Siberian winds have begun twisting the empty alder branches. It's now passed the season of sweaters and the weather for fur is growing on me. I have much sewing to do, hay to gather, and firewood to cut. Winter is coming faster than I can imagine, and my procrastinating habits are growing more evident with the fleeting daylight hours.

My Little Rotten Love

The pup has so quickly become a part of Coho and I's family. She's such a mother, it's beautiful. When she venture's off this small little white ball of anger follows her. He adores her and never leaves her side. And she never walks too fast for his little paw's pace. She lets him pull her tail with his sharp little teeth and she snuggles him in for an afternoon nap. She has taken him as her son and he has most certainly considered her a mother. He's getting used to me. Coho adores me, and so he naturally get's overwhelmingly excited when I come in his presence as well. I see pitbull in him. He's too young to tell if he's full bred or not, but he has the heart of a fighter. That terrifies me, but Coho keeps him in line quite well. She keeps Rascal in line and he's twice her size, so I feel comfortable with the fact she is the chosen one to raise this little ball of terror. He's playful, adorable, and although he's as rotten as they come- I have already made a spot in my dog-loving heart for him.

Coho's First Child

As I made my way outside to bless Rascal and Coho with moose scraps, I had no intentions of adding yet another love to my home. Rascal has been kind lately- howling. The inner wolf in him has come out. His owners, my neighbors, chained him next to Coho so I can conveniently feed him and play with him often. He's precious, a big puppy, and in every sense of the word my baby boy. Coho has become something different though. She's merely a year old and yet a woman in every way possible. She proved that to me today when I came outside to find her snuggled into the hay in her home with a small, white, so very thin puppy curled into her. She hopped out happily to greet me, and her adopted child followed. After feeding Rascal I brought Coho in for cuddles and her child, naturally followed. She was so patient with him, so loving of his ways. He's terribly agressive and skinny. But I've fed him and my heart is patient with his hate of humans. He's merely two or three months of age and ferocious as hell. But Coho is in love with him, so alas, I suppose my heart fell into his cute little eyes as well...

The Aches Of Strength

Ugh, the work of dismembering an animal as large as a bull moose was something I never expected. It's so large, so heavy, so hard to maneauver. And yet, as always, my challenge to hold up to a men's standards have left my woman's body sore and exhausted. The young bull fell on the side of a hill. The rainy season has taken it's toll on the landscape and as I lifted and leaved legs, ribs, a butt bone and a neck down the trail my body often ended on the ground. My arms ached. My neck ached. My back broke and my soul was determined to prove to the men that I was not in pain. I was strong, well-able, and determined. But I was not all at the same time. And after a night in a tent and a day collecting my winter's meat all I can think is how nice a woodstove and wool blanket feels.

Immature Uneven Antlers

I never thought I would be a girl who would enjoy hunting. And yet, when that young bull walked galantly out from the shadows and I hid behind the willow bushes as my darling aimed his gun- something happened. It was such a beautiful, big animal. Graceful and confident. I didn't watch as it fell- I never do. One thing I cannot bare to see is the life of something leaving it's body. But it fell not ten seconds later, and I didn't feel the ache I do when a swan lands in front of me or a fish is pulled from the net. We hiked up the bank to view our winter's sustinance. I knelt down and felt the back of its head. I do with every animal. To feel its third eye, its soul, and to tell it that I'm thankful for the food it is giving me. Its ears were so soft... so warm... and I got lost in the traces of the fur. Some time later I turned to look at the eyes. It was so odd, something I have not seen in geese or fish. This young bull looked at peace with death. It's eye was open, not mad or sad, but rather hopeful. Staring directly into the blue sky as if it was ready to go and content with the fact it had been respectfully and honourably taken. And it whispered to me that it was okay- that it was happy to be taken in this way and that his life would live on through the memory I behold of him and his small uneven antlers.

Finding Love Again

We were laying in a tent. His 5 o'clock shadow was unshaven and rugid. My hair was uncombed and a tangled blond mess. The wind was picking up, the clouds were settling in, and our pile of blankets was growing cold. And yet I looked at him and was completely in love. Something I have missed for so long. He was beside me, but within me all at once. His soul just reached out and pulled me in and I couldn't help but to climb on top of him, wrap my body into his, and never want to let go. He wrapped his arms around me, grasped my tangled hair but didn't bother to attempt to run his fingers through it. Rather he just tangled it more and I had no problem with that. I fell in love with him all over again. The butterflies overwhelmed by soul like a long lost friend and I realized at that moment- as the clearwater stream outside trickled it's sounds through the tent- that I was still in love with him... and I didn't want that to ever change again.

Explaining Tundra

Explaining the tundra to someone who has never seen or felt tundra is quite difficult. When you walk on it, your feet feel like they are bouncing in and out of a huge mattress. It looks like a perfectly manicured lawn covered in hundreds of species of mushrooms and moss and lichen. Imagine a decorative terrarium, except it covers the entire landscape, not just an office bookshelf. Up close it looks magical- like a clip from Alice In Wonderland. There are little itty bitty hills made of moss, and there are tiny trees made of blueberry bushes. I sometimes just lay on the ground and stare off into the next few yards with amazement of all it beholds.

The Thankful Salmon

Today would have been a typical fishing day, had it not been for one specific salmon that I pulled out of the net. I'm not a typical commercial fisherman, I love and treasure every scaley creature I catch. I'm soft with them and whisper messages of thanks in their ears. But today I pulled a beautiful chum from the river. The net was caught in her gills... and I could see it was causing her the most sincere pain. I was extra careful with her. And when I began to carefully pull the mesh from her cheeks, she calmed down, and looked up at me, and said thank you with her eyes. It's like the first time I've ever known an animal knew I respected and honoured their life. It was touching and magical and a river-story moment I will never forget.

Choppy Clouds

Choppy clouds have loomed over the landscape for a week now. They tease the sun and allow miniscule amounts of it's light through. And they periodically rain... or should I say reign, over the village. I don't know if I'm beginning to dislike them or not. Some days I am not fond of their company, while other days I quite enjoy their solumn slow pace.

Never-Ending Scenery

The landscape south of my village is so absent of hills that miles seperate my eyesight from the horizon. It's a flattened area, seemingly never-ending. And yet, it is impossibe to travel over. The river is so wide that the cottonwoods on the opposite bank look as small as victorian dollhouse ornaments. And once you reach the cottonwoods, the bank is so steep that it's virtually impossible to climb. And if, by some impossible chance, you find yourself atop that bank, you will take five steps and find yourself beside a lake or slough too wide to cross. In which, I can only admire such a place, with the sincerest curiousity of what it beholds, from the view outside my window.

Cool North Breeze

Every tree, every blade of grass, every current berry bush is green right now. Everything is alive and beautiful. It's hard to imagine it all fading away this month, but autumn is evident. The weather is cooling, wind beginning to blow from the north and west. I feel like summer just arrived and now it's fleeting so fast. Even the sun has begun to set. I love knit sweaters and woodstoves, but I'm terribly ad my wildflower-plucking days were so short lived.

Lazy Rainy Day

My finger pressed to the window and I traced the path of the raindrop as it fell to the sill. I don't think I know why cloudy days give me a sense of sleepiness. I like to believe it's because the clouds give the world a darkness that makes a bed a worthy home. But I think it's something different. It's the way the entire landscape closes up when it rains. The flowers don't bloom, the birds don't chirp, the fox and lynx don't wonder- and nor do their prey. The trees stand still, the sun doesn't seem to rise or set- just sit there somewhere in the clouds in a direction you can't quite tell through the haze. The children don't play the house doesn't feel alive and neither do I. It's like the world around me is having a lazy day and telling me that it's okay for me to as well.

Sharing Berries With Bears

Berry season has begun, and my baskets are already being filled. I always reach the salmonberry grounds and find myself taking as many tastes as I can. I love the way I can pluck them right from the tundra and eat them side by side with the bears. And there are a many bears this year. The salmon run was slow to come, so the bears are avidly awaiting the arrival of the berries. They like them perhaps even more than I do. And we share the same harvesting grounds, so it's only my luck that a majority of my berries have been stolen by something with very big tracks. But nevertheless I have gathered a basketful and a stomacheful and I am content. I'll leave the rest for the big furry creatures that need them a bit more than I do. For I am not blessed enough to sleep through the winter, I only hibernate at night.

Dainty Dresses

I've always liked dresses. My darling doesn't and he doesn't like that I wear them. He doesn't like the way they tangle in the trees. He doesn't like the way the bugs bite up me legs. He doesn't like the way they make me dainty and girly and unadapt to the natural world. But I love them. I love them because when I wear them I feel things I wouldn't usually feel. I feel the wind on my shins and the grass on my ankles. I feel the rain and the dirt and the sunshine. So I wear dresses quite often, even though I live in a place where dresses are oh so unheard of. I wear them because I like them and even if they are dainty and pretty, nature is dainty and pretty- so I feel I fit right in.

My Motherly Dreams

I hope someday to be a mother, as I have rambled many times before. But it truly is in my heart. To raise children, perhaps not ones I have given birth to, but ones I am a mother to by every inkling of my heart. I've always known genetically I will not produce a child, biologically there will be none of mine in this world. But in the realms of love and nurture and emotional state, I hope to have many many children. And I want to take them in from places that perhaps were no good, and show them a place of dreams come true and fairytales and happily ever after. I shall mother children who knew a different mother, and show them the ways of the world through the kindness of a beautiful soul. I want to bring children who have seen horrible things into my home and have them leave as young adults who can only see beautiful things ahead.

Rain Rain Rain

I was not lieing when I said the rainy season had begun. It has now rained for five days straight. The wind is warm though, which makes it comfortable. I sleep every night to the sound of raindrops. I shouldn't even say that it's raining, because a more descriptive term would be 'storming'. It's most certainly storming. I step outside to feed Rascal and Coho and Chipper and Skipper, to find myself wet within a single moment. More so a single breath. Now, do not pity me, I love the rain and the cold- I would choose it over a dessert any day. But to find myself stuck in a dreary shadowed home from the lack of sunshine can be quite boring. I've found myself writing more often, and creating larger piles of crafts than usual, and cleaning much more muddy footprints off my wooden cabin floors. It's not a pain, just... uneventful. I am dearly hoping that I shall find a break to go and explore for an hour or two. This inside nonsense is not my cup of tea.

Howling With An Unbred Wolf

When I pet Coho and she whines tears of utter joy, I whine with her, and she naturally whines to the same tune as me. So today I howled, as we whined. Not a question crossed her mind and she sat up, back erect, ears pulled back, eyes wide open with joy, and she let out the howl of a wolf. Now, Rascal, when he howls his wolf really does come forth. It's a low thunder that overtakes the landscape and sends shivers to the trees. And I had never heard Coho immitate that kind of howl. Until today, right in front of me, only a few inches far from where my own human howl was taking place, she played wolf. And butterflies ran through my viens. She sat singing this unbelievably natural howl right in front of me- like I was her pack leader and naturally she drew into that. So she howled as loud as she could, and like a member of a closed-down insane asylum, I howled with her. She was so happy, so... wolf like. It terrified me and inspired me all at once, and I was a sincerest part of it in every form.

Running Coho

Coho is a sleddog, there's no question, no doubt, no even remote explination otherwise. When we run her, she runs. When we drive our fourwheeler across town, on these old dirt pot-hole stricken roads, she runs beside us. No matter how fast we go, she's there, feet pouding in a rythem that not even an earthquake could break. She has stride and agility. And when we slow down enough for her to lead, she leads, and she runs and listens to our commands- never straying too many feet ahead. There are times when she cannot join us. We tell her 'no' and force her to stay behind as we drive off. And she gets unbelievably mad. She whines and cries and barks hysterically- begging us to let her run. And sometimes we do. And she'll run, like a dog just born to win the Iditerod. I get butterflies just watching her. She's my lead dog, my first dog, and my undeniably loved (who loves in return) dog.

Dark Daytime Sky

The first storm of the summer has hit. Our rainy season is scheduled to appear any day now, and I'm not the least bit disappointed. I drifted off to slumber with the sound of the wind ravaging my plywood walls and the rain pressing against my window pane. I love storms and although I miss my thunder that my childhood home blessed me with, I quite enjoy the way the tundra can whip wind around the trees. I'm curled into the corner of my couch, craft supplies are spewed across the floor. I want to read a book and drink coffee and find artistic inspiration in the color of the dark dark daytime sky.

Dwelling on Romantic Endeavors

I hate to be the girl who dwells on romantic endeavors, but alas, I am the girl who dwells on romantic endeavors. I don't know what I want for sure, all I know is that I want something new and different. I want to dwell in the unknown, explore a place I've never seen before. I want to go on a date and have a conversation and laugh and wait patiently, full of anticipation, at the foot of my front door. I just want to find something I haven't found before, and be completely caught up in everything that it is.

Clash Of Cosmos

Remember that dream I had? The one about a hug, a hug that I closed my eyes and heald onto even after I woke up? Well I had a chance for that hug, that chance to see- just see, if my dream was a premonition. And I don't think it was- because things just didn't, well, click. It was a clash of something in the cosmos. I thought I had this great hopeless romantic lust, but it turned out to be... well, just hopeless. I didn't feel what I thought I would feel. And now I'm left wondering if all of that- the dream and the anticipation of reality- was merely some cruel joke fate was playing at my expense. I had such high hopes, and now I'm looking at my heart like a stupid fool. It obviously needs to reevaluate what it finds worthy.

A Stranger's Company

I have never been one to shy away from a stranger's company. I enjoy meeting someone new, because there is nothing there to be had before; so all we have is what is to come. For instance- a conversation. The very first conversation we have will be just that, a brand new conversation. Where they can tell me their story and I can exchange my little secrets as well. We can laugh at jokes we've never heard and find intrigue in hearing a different tone of voice. We can explore different opinions and perspectives and eyes. There's something about strangers that I find home in. I like the way we can talk easily, and the way our stories are brand new and unused and unheard. The way I can tell a story I've told a million times before and they will find it to be extraordinary. And the way they can open up and tell me things, simply because they know we may never cross paths again.

Coho Hunting

Coho is a vole hunter. Now, if we can all venture back in time to my very first bush pet- we would see that his name was Skipper and he was a vole. So I'm not too fond of dead voles. But, well, Coho is magnificant. She's like a fox, jumping into the air and pressing her nose to the ground in one perfectly swift movement. She listens, watches, twitches her ears and slightly turns her head to the right... then left... then right. All until the opportune moment presents itself and she's off. She'll catch it and drop it and chase it and catch it once again. It's precious and utterly fascinating. She's a hunter... she's a hunter...

Hope For Romance

Secrets swell up in my dreams like long forgotten memories. Secrets of some sort of fairytale I'm wishing upon myself. There was a hug, and the anticipation of kiss, and intelligent conversation. I saw his face so clearly and his body against mine felt so... alive. It's like I wasn't asleep and when I did wake up I tried to close my eyes and reach back into my mind to stay there forever. I loved this place, this dream. It was so perfect. I felt so young, so beautiful, so caught up in the magic of a first exchange of untouched fingertips.Ugh I want it in real life. I want some unexpected romance in this reality- not my unconcious mind. I want to meet him... just to see, to see if my dream was a prediction of the future.

Dreary Skies

The weather has been quite dreary. Gray skies stay from day to night, as our sun has not yet begun to drift beyond the horizon. So the color of clouds has become a never-ending constant. They are a hazy set of clouds- the kind that blends together. And so the blue above us appears a foggy image that seems to dwell depressingly on the landscape. I'll admit the absence of the sun isn't hated too much. In fact I rather enjoy the company of the cold. My fair skin can't handle much more glaring sun from the riverbed. It's best I find solitude in the rainy haze for now. And the cool breeze is a welcome feeling after days of beaming sunlight.

Writing, Just Writing

I don't know if I was always a lover of reading, but I was always a lover of books. I loved book stores and libraries. I loved holding a new book overwhelmed with the curiousity of what lie beneath it's worn cover. I loved the brush of old pages against my tiny child fingertips. I loved learning new things and being taken to new places. And I think this magical thing that I found in books inspired me to write. I wanted to know what it felt like to create... create some imaginary world. To play pretend and share it with readers all over the world. I wanted to be a character in a story and to be so consumed in a pencil and notebook that I had trouble seperating a fairytale from reality. And I did, ever since I could write I spent countless hours preconsumed with a peice of paper. I lacked friends and social skills and athletic ability. But I could write, and to me, that was- and still is, the only thing in the world that mattered.

Kinds of Salmon

Fishing has been slow this year, and quite late. Typically the first of the salmon will run upstream to spawn starting mid to early June. But this year the dwelling winter weather and seemingly endless ice kept them in the Bering Sea until late June. Finally they seem to have arrived and our nets are being filled with much needed winter food. Currently Kings and Chums are in the river. Kings are large, and prized- and fighters if I do say so myself. Chums are smaller, but so so sweet. They have the nicest auras about them. And then there are Humpies. We don't fish for humpies. They are small and pink and have a large hump on their back- hence their name. But I like humpies too. They don't really look nice.. or pretty. But in their own little way they're quite beautiful. But soon all of these will pass too. And our river will be greeted with Cohos. For now we spend multiple hours on the waters collecting what we can. I like meeting the fish, and I like the scenery, and I like the work. It's a summery thing here, and it's perhaps the most summertime thing I will experience this year.

Happy Aquarium Dwellers

It's been a while since I've rambled on the beautiful lives of my aquarium dwellers. Well, once again I have updated my aquarium to a size two sizes too big- but there's no such thing as too big in my eyes. That is the quote of my darling, who seems to think it's too big. In fact, it is not. It is just right. And my little sweethearts dance around happily exploring the insides of a little wooden sunken ship and a few plants I have placed in the sand bottom. They are happy as always, but are growing by the day. They have at least doubled in size since their release into captivity. And I find that to be a good sign.

Sway Of Waves

Yet another day spent on the river. Today it was calm, peaceful, and there were bits of sunlight between little drizzling clouds. We caught a bountiful amount of fish and fussed over the magnificant scenery as we drifted down stream. It was a perfect evening, well wasted, earning coins to help us through the winter. I still feel the sway of the waves even after I step off the boat. But the feeling puts me to sleep in a way no medication nor warm evening drink could.

A Salmon's Soul

People would often make the arguement that fish are all the same. They each have scales and eyes and fins. But when pulling salmon out of my net I see a different soul in each fish. It's hard to imagine that something so different from humans could have a spirit. But they do. They each have different eyes, different looks, different ways of experiencing death. There are the fighters, that come out of the water with powerful flips of the tail, in one last attempt to escape. There are the timid, scared, ones, that lay limply, breathing heavily, eyeing their capturer with self-pity and hope of release. And then there are the heartbroken ones. The mothers that know they didn't get a chance to lay their eggs. The fathers that feel the extreme pain of being so close yet so far. I can't kill them- any of them. I see too much human in them. I will pull them out of the net with dignity. I will keep from peeling their scales or scratching their bodies. I manuever my hands in a way to keep them calm during death. But I can't pull their gills. My darling does that. And I can't watch... all I can do is hope that their beautiful souls will fly swiftly to heaver and their meat will not be taken for granted.

Unemotion

They stole Coho back... I'm upset and angry and perhaps even a little heartbroken. I am sick and tired of the horrible feelings that go into trying to care for this poor animal. I train her, get attached, and once again everything falls apart. I'm at a loss of emotion. I don't know what to think, feel, or even do.

My Fishing Scenery

There is a little old worn cabin about five miles up river from where my village sits. The plywood is rotted, the grass is overgrown and the bank is muddy. There is no trail leading in, because no one dare stay there overnight. There is no sign of life at all. Just some sort of distant memory of what used to be. You know that at one point in time activity took place there, it was a lively little home. But now it just sits. And it doesn't seem lonely. In fact it seems rather happy and content. It gets to pass into history in a way few homes do. It gets to watch the river go by, and the seasons. It gets to be tickled by the outstretching limbs of an overgrown alder bush. And it gets to be admired by a lone Alaskan gypsy as she fishes the waters outside it's front window.

Overgrown Grass

The grass is growing so tall. It never fails to amaze me, each summer, how much an unattended lawn can grow. And every lawn in a village is overgrown. There is no such thing as a lawn mower or yard worker. Grass is grass, and grass is supposed to grow as grass grows. And so it does here. Very high. It loves the rainy days and the sunny days and the hot days and the cold days. The grass here is not bias towards weather or wind or footprints. It just lives and lives beautifully- all over, overgrown. And quite honestly I wouldn't have it any other way.

Human Touch Magic

There's something magical about the way a human's hand can calm an animals soul. The way I can hold Coho in my arms and all of the sudden she's okay and the world is wonderful and she's calm and happy. Coho, has become, to say the least, dramatic. She likes to cry when she doesn't get her way. And she likes to cry when she isn't being petted. And she likes to cry when she has nothing better to do than cry. So Coho has become quite spoiled rotten. And I love how just the magic touch of my small frail pail hands can put her entire world in order. The way just my arms wrapped around her dirty fur torso can all of the sudden make her the happiest thing in the world. That, is something amazing. We, as humans, take it for granted. But our touch is mother nature's most magnificant creation. Our touch is the gateway to something wonderful, something no other living being beholds.

Eleven Fish

Fishing for coins during the summer humbles one. Or perhaps it just humbles me. It merely entails hopping into a boat and drifting into the Yukon waters to set a net, pull it back, and gather the salmon that happen to swin through. But there are days when hopping into the boat is only the beginning. The winds are strong, the waters are rough, and the rain is heavily dripping down your cheeks and into your hood to soak your dry clothes. Summer fishing on the lower Yukon has been slow this year... in fact it's been rather glum. And the very only opening we have had thus far took place last night- in the very worst storm this summer has yet to see. I was exhausted, wet, and grateful for nothing at all. We caught eleven fish... made enough pennies just to pay for the hole we put in our net. My piggy bank is running empty, but the river doesn't seem to care.

A Hundred Candles

Let's light a hundred tea light candles and open all the windows. By the shadows of the Alaskan sunset nights let's lay beneath the covers. Turn on the radio and let the static wash away our worries. Curl your fingers into the smalls of my back. I'll intertwine mine in the light curl of your brown hair. Flitter your eye lashes against my cheek and sit there with me in the silence of a dimly sunlit evening.

A Working Smile

Yesterday I walked into a door. Yes- I know, it's most certainly a big event. But in all reality it was a big event. When I was sixteen I was paralyzed in the left side of my face for some unknown stroke-like reason. It took a year for me to recover- and it was a painful painful experience. Even at that point it hurt to smile, my eye squinted when I smiled, I couldn't move my cheek, forehead, or nose. Things remained that way until yesterday. I was running through my home, as a five-year-old child at heart would run, and smashed my nose into a doorway. A loud crack came and immidiately my eyes filled with tears. My darling ran over, mortified of the bloody mess that was doomed to come from such a loud crack. But when I pulled my eyes away... there was no blood. When I went to look in the mirror I noticed something unbelievable. I could smile without an ache in my cheek. I could move, stretch, muscles that had priorly been left unattended for the last four years. And now I can feel. It's amazing. I can smile without pain. I can... do things. Things every other person takes for granted. And I'm completely in love with my new found facial expressions.

Alder Fay Playing

It's the longest day of the year. Here in Alaska it's the day the alder fay come out to play. Now that Mr. Sun is officially a full time part of the landscape, magical portals start to open up in the thickets. And I sense them. These little happy dancing wings swirling around the landscape. You see it. You see them in the sparkle of the river water, the long distance glisten of a passing cloud, and the small water splashlettes of a timber puddle. You find them everywhere. They're invisible... to some people. But they are evident. This mystical enchanted way of life overtakes the land and it's hard not to be overcome with a fairytale trance.

Romantic Midsummer Getaway

I want to spend a night outside in the breeze and just lay there. I want to watch the sun trace the horizon, barely peeking benieth its sunset stature only to rise again. I like the bright light's company and it's kept my spirits eternally high. One night I just want to set up a romantic white lace canopy in the trees and sit benieth it. I want to eat cheese and drink wine and rest my head on a prince charming's lap. I want to read Whinnie The Pooh and be surrounded by the flickers of a hundred tiny candles. I want a romantic midsummer Alaskan getaway, spent only in the company on the sun and a person who woos my heart.

Playful Pounce

I like the happy prance of a playful dog. When Coho sees me she bows her head to the ground, smiles, pushes her butt into the air, and then pounces up and back down again. I love it. I love how excited she gets, how happy. It's like she knows that she's mine now. I hope she knows. She's learned that it's okay to step foot inside the house. Something prior was not permitted and she was kicked very hard for doing. But now she happily walks in, tail wagging, and sits down on the rug where she belongs. I learn something new about her everyday, and I have yet to find a thing I don't absolutely adore.

Joyful Little Blooms

There's a hill near my home where wildflowers grow rampid. And as I ventured to the top the other day I was greeted with a hundred smiling faces of small dainty cankeroot flowers. Their white little petals reached out in a joyful embrace of the suns rays. They were happily dancing in the breeze, tickling my barefeet as I sat and watched the river below. It was beatiful, solumn, and filled with the upmost joy of little blooms.

The Most Perfect Weather

It's rare to hear the roll of distant thunder. Our tundra land will be struck by lightening only once or twice a year. So when the past two days blessed my ears with sunny morning and rolling clouds of thunder to cool the afternoon- I have found utter perfection in the weather. The bright sun awakens me- along with the loving whines from Coho outside my window. I spend the morning dancing the radio and cleaning. And then the clouds dim the sun and little rainpours bless my worked skin. I sit outside with Coho on the porch. She's too dainty to enjoy the rain- so she sits inside, while I let myself find a free shower beyond the doorway. It's the perfect way to spend an afternoon. I really couldn't imagine a better 12 hours awake.

High On Stream Waters

Coho and I spend many hours together now that she is mine. Today we ventured into the thick timber of willow and alder in my backyard. There's this beautiful creek filled with small waterfalls leading into the deeper part of the trees. Coho walks in the water while I trail the muddy sides in my white boots. Her paws, also white, find cleanliness- while my white boots seem to only find dirt. But I've always enjoyed staying un-clean, and the fresh air enlightens my body in a way no bathtub could. It was such a lovely walk. We spent a half hour or so exploring through broken brush and new-leafed trees. The sound of the water could clear a mind more than any therapist's prescriptions. I've felt sad numerous times in my life, but the solumn sweet greeting of a slow-flowing stream has always been the friend that lifted me back up. I wasn't sad today, but just the act of being in the company of the water escalated my mood to a truly natural high.

Wind On Wood Walls

The sun is finally warming the landscape enough to open the windows. In fact, his firey warmth has heated it so much that opening the windows is a necessity- not a choice. But nevertheless, the rush of cool air drifting through wooden walls is such a pleasure. I've found motivation to wash my neverending stack of dishes. For the first time in quite a while my small kitchen area has enough space to set a cookie sheet. The lace curtains are pulled outward by the currents and then let loose to tickle the windowpane with their slow relax of the fabric. The air smells of baby grass and damp ground. It's one of those moments where the day has left you no room to feel the littlest bit of sadness.

A June 13th Miracle!

Today is June 13th 2012, a day I want to remember for the rest of my life. Today little miss Riley officially became adopted by me. The girl who owned her brought her over and asked if I wanted to keep her. She said as long as I kept calling her Coho I could have her, as she couldn't take care of her anymore. And I said... well I said no- because my landlord won't let me. But after some thought I said 'screw the landlord' and took her for my own. So Coho is officially mine. She has a brand new huge dog house, a big tub of fresh water, a huge pile of dogfood and treats ready for her disposal. A 15 foot chain and a collar will be temporary for her when I'm not outside. This will prevent the police from shooting her as pest control. But when I'm out she'll be off and by my side. I can't stop smiling. I can't stop smiling. I had to say it twice, just so you realize how amazing today is for me. It's a miracle. An amazing twist of fate. And it... well it happened to me and Coho. And my life just feels like everything is falling into place.

Feeling Summer

Yes, yes it's that time of year again. The time when for no apparent reason my heart flutters. I get that little... butterfly that won't leave my stomache. Flowers are beginning to bloom. The children play games- I often accompanying them (for how could a girl with a childish heart pass up a day of frog catching and puddle jumping?). And the first rain of the summer brought forth an awe-inspiring array of green. In a matter of minutes every tree opened it's leaves, every blade of grass poked it's head up from the mud below. And I felt it.... you know, that first real whisp of warm summer wind that flows through your hair and tickles your heart with the idea of what's to come.

Walking With Riley

Riley is so beautiful. She's connected to me now, the way a sleddog should. I don't keep her on a leash, yet she follows me no matter where I wander. I drift up through the thick groves of willow and she stays right near me. We take a seat on the tundra and she lays her front paws and floppy ears on my lap. She's so fast... so so fast. If I could have her as my own I would take her and run her every day. She'd be such a great sleddog. She's lean and graceful. She runs and jumps of puddles that are much too big for even my long awkward legs to get across. She's everything to me. That little inkling of happiness that makes it's way into my heart when I see her happy tail wagging at my appearance is a sort of glee that even the most riches couldn't compare. I couldn't imagine yet another walk in the woods without her playful footsteps beside me.

Connecting Nature Dots

There's a small clearwater getaway not a far boat ride from my village. We rode there today. There's something so utterly magical about the twists and turns of a long forgotten waterway. Ducks peer out from the brush. Moose gaze onward as you stride by. And the reflections of the trees on the water is inspiring. You'll never find anything more beautiful than the echo of a timber in a stream. The little alder branches reach out as if they want a hug from the wind. And the water below sings the same song back to them through their reflection. There's something about the way that everything connects here. The air connects to the trees in a soft sway. The trees connect to the water. The water connects to the land- marking it in little traces until it reaches the Bering Sea.

This Summer Land

I shall take a wildflower and pluck it and place it my knotted blond hair. I'll take my shoes and leave them in the mud, because my barefeet are craving the curve of the tundra. Then with a sleddog by my side and a cloud chasing my fingertips, I'll run to the willows and follow them to the riverside for a Yukon nap. I'm an Alaskan child, dear, and this summer land is calling my name.

Gathering Driftwood

My hunny and I ventured out to get wood. Now that the river has unthawed we can leave land and swim with a boat into the fast waters. Most years the wood will drift down stream. This year, unfortunately, it did not. So we had to scavenger the banks pushing logs into the water and tieing them onto the back of our boat as a raft. These logs will be our winters warmth. A necessity that so unforgivingly finds it's way into our front yard each year. This is the first year my darling took me. I like to jump along the logs, chase them into the water as fast as I can. I balance my tip-toed boots and make my way out on them until I feel a lack of confidence that brings me back to the safety of land. I like wood. I like trees, and I like the idea of taking one that passed away and using it to keep me alive during the chilling cold of our nine months of snow.