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.