The New Cottage

It's been a month of absence for me now. For that I apologize. But it's all in good reason. I'm moving! Yes, moving! To a true 'homestead'. It's a tiny home, but a perfect one. Located right on the bank of the Yukon River. Overlooking tundra for as far south as my eyes can see. An alder forest traces the east side of the home. A few willow and a dirt road headed into town take the right side. To the north sits a hill- where cranberries, blueberries, and tundra tea grow. The dogs chose the hill as their home- of course. For it's the very best spot to view all that our new home has to offer. Ravens tease the pups habitually. Seagulls panic on the water- fighting over fish scraps. And it's all so very perfect. I can't wait for the new stories this home will help me tell.

Creating A Never-Ending Energy

I believe in the transfer of energy, and the creation of energy. I believe that once one person sends good energy into the world, it's transferred to others- who then transfer it to even more people. Bad energy behaves the same way. Both are endless cycles. Endless energies. Energies that were once created-- most likely without the intent to change the world. That one person who set that one energy in motion never intended to change everything (for the better or worse), but they did. They made a difference. They're probably unaware of the difference, but it's there. It always will be, as their energy continues to travel to different people. And each day that you and I behave in, we're creating, absorbing, transferring, and containing kinetic energies. Some we absorb and transfer, not by choice- but just by the law of physics (an object in motion stays in motion- an energy in motion stays in motion, no matter who it passes through). But other energies, the ones we ourselves create- we can choose. Do we want to send a positive or negative energy into the world? Do we want to make a change for the better or for the worse? What chain reaction of energies do we want to create today?

The Blessing Of Support

I've read many many blogs regarding foster parents and their 'support system'. These people are their family, friends, neighbors, and community members who will be involved in their children's lives. And I often read of these people (ironically entitled their support) being unsupportive. I, to the very contraire opposite, have the most supportive support system known to mankind. My mother and father so avidly push me to achieve my dream of fostering that they allow me to talk of it nonstop, and give me parenting advice when I feel the need. They eagerly await their opportunity to be grandparents. And although they live far away intend to be as involved as possible in everything (including a yearly holiday vacation to their home- where Santa Claus has promised very big blessings). My grandparents are also very supportive- applauding every step I take closer to becoming a foster parent. My friends give me hugs for even the smallest achievements in my fostering dreams. And my extended family and younger brother are all open arms ready to accept and love absolutely any beautiful child that comes into their family. I am so so blessed in this department. So so blessed indeed.

Snickers' Passing

Snickers passed away last night. Yesterday he began spinning in circles instead of walking in straight lines. He began to lose his appetite and his motor skills. I don't know what would cause this. I'm assuming some sort of internal damage from the dog bites. But it progressively got worse, until he passed away around 2:00 or 3:00 AM. I am heartbroken, but also feel very blessed that I got to give him a bit longer of a life. I woke up last night, abruptly, and panicked. I kept saying "Do I have baby mice?" over and over. I was still mostly asleep and vaguely remember it. But my darling reminded me this morning when I found Snickers had passed. I'm fairly sure I was having a dream of Snickers passing and awoke approximately the time he passed. The worst part is, I don't know if me awaking was my chance to save him- or merely his way of saying goodbye to me.

The Yearn To Be A Foster Mother

I know I've mentioned my yearning to be a foster parent before, but I'd like to go in a bit more detail. Since the age of 10, after watching a 60 Minutes episode regarding the foster care system- I decided I wanted to be a foster parent. I'd taken in as many children as I could and provide them all the love in my heart. Since the age of 16, my goal was to be a foster parent when I turned 21 (the legal age to begin fostering). I am now 21, and with the ever most urge to reach my goal. Finances, housing, and life have handed me some delays- but not a day passes when I don't wish that I had foster children in my care at this exact moment. It is my entire reason for living. I don't ever intend to have my own children (and as I've learned, such a thing may not even be possible- keyword: infertility). But that, I feel blessed with. Because it's all the more reason to reach out and be the mother I was meant to be- to my children. Perhaps not by birth, genetics, or law. But my heart. I shall be a mother by heart. And I dearly hope things fall into place so I can make such a dream a reality very soon.

Happy Normal Pups

Rascal is doing fantastic! I really cannot believe how quickly he's healed. It's surreal. The only sign he was short a week ago is the large wound on his leg. But other than that not one ounce of his behavior would lead you to believe he's been through such a tough week. I am amazed. He's jumping, playing, howling, and walking absolutely normally. His appetite is back full force. His happy smile never takes a moment away from his face. And his curious and playful behavior is once again reeking havoc on my home. He and Coho are on full alert, making messes and trouble wherever they go. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Solid Food and Sleepy Cuddles

The little vole is officially on solid food! Yesterday evening, as it began to suckle my hand in excitement, I offered it a bit of bread to veer its teeth from my skin. And wah-lah, it ate it! And that started the beginning. It's been very active lately. Very independent. In a matter of a day the little thing has completely come to life. It crawls up and down my arm and legs. It avidly enjoys exploring. And it no longer cries out for my company. But when it begins to go to sleep, and feels a bit chilled, I offer up my hand and it hops right onto it. It snuggles into the curve of my fingers and makes tiny clicking sounds of happiness as it falls asleep. My faith in its fully recovery is at an all time high now. I have no doubt it will become such a lovely adult vole.

Feeding The Smallest Baby

The little vole finally began to suckle on the 'bottle' today. It's so very fragile, but eager to eat. It wakes up and cries about once an hour. I pull out a small syringe, fill it with some warm formula, and we're ready to go. The little thing crawls up into my hand, I light wrap my fingers around it to direct its head, and then it finds the syringe on its own. It suckles for only a few seconds. But it's so small that even a few big gulps will fill it up. I give it a light tummy massage and let it snuggle into my lap for a nap. When it's hungry it awakes again and begins to cry to let me know it needs some food. It's a habit that I've come to love. And the little happy chippers of the tiny baby when it's full, right before it falls asleep, is worth every hour spent in its company.

Warm Milk and the Baby Vole

I awoke this morning to the small lonely cry of my new furry child. My vole had gained a bit of strength in the night. It can now move around upright, but I had noticed it hadn't eaten. After some thoughtful consideration, I came to the conclusion it may be a baby. I have never handfed a vole before. I've never raised one from such a young age. But I knew I must try. I grabbed a very small, thin straw, and heated up some milk. Even though the straw was small, it was still too large for the small creatures mouth. So I set drops of milk in front of its mouth with the hopes it would suckle them up. The milk very slowly disappeared, but I don't know if just absorbed into the fur or was actually eaten. I'm hoping deeply that it was eaten. I have also taken the little thing and cradled it into my hand. It became very happy and curled into the warmth. It even took a few minutes to clean its fur. And then I placed it back into its small haphazard habitat. I keep it next to me, and in an hour or two I shall try to feed it again.

Squeak In The Weeds

As I went outside to play with Coho this evening, I found her at the end of her chain. Her ears were perked up, her head cocked sideways, and her nose pointed right into a hug of tall grass. There was a squeaking coming from the weeds. At first I thought it was a baby bird, but after rummaging around I found a very small baby vole. It's fully furred, but it's eyes are barely open. It was laying on its side, crying out in pain. There were two large bite marks on it's back. Knowing that I couldn't just leave it there, I brought it inside and wrapped it in a warm towel. There it could die in comfort and peace rather than in panic on the cold, hard, wet ground. I expected it to pass in one or two hours. But four hours later, it was still breathing. Whimpering and attempting to move. Two more hours and it had regained strength- it could slowly move around the habitat I had put it in, but it was still very weak. I have given it some water and bits of food and I just hope it makes it to tomorrow morning.

Without A Paddle

As we went out to do our habitual salmon fishing, my darling and I had no idea the bad luck we were in for. As we began to pull our net, our motor shut off- and wouldn't restart. So we were back to the stone age. You'd think we'd be comfortable there, considering we live without running water, television, and universal heat most of the time. But being stranded in the Yukon current truly puts things into perspective. We didn't have a paddle. Luckily, a family coming up river stopped and hauled us to shore. From there, we would walk. Well, I would walk. He stayed in the boat and used a stick to push the boat from the shore. I held onto a rope, tied to the boat, and pulled it up the side of the river. About three miles down, we ran into a man at his fish camp and he offered us a ride home. It's traditional Eskimo culture. No one ever leaves anyone stranded. Luckily for us, Eskimo culture is not one of racism- so even our lighter skin  tone was blessed with their traditional kindness.

No More Swelled Paw

Rascal's swelling has gone down significantly. He's beginning to use his paw quite normally. No more limping. And he's fully blossoming into his old self. He jumps up on me excitedly when I come to visit. He eagerly runs inside when I strap the leash onto his collar to bring him indoors for a while. He grabs his favorite toy and expects nothing less than the roughest playtime. And he's hyper as can be. I'm so happy he's feeling better. So much of my worries can begin to disappear now. His physical contentment has lead to my emotional contentment. His fast healing is a miracle. I've never seen anything heal from a gunshot so quickly! But I'm so very happy he has.

Berries and Jam

We went berry picking today. Typically I absolutely love picking berries. It's one of the most raw and natural ways to spend a day. But with all of the stress I've experienced lately, my mind wasn't on the happy habit of berry picking. Rather it was caught up in the worries of what was awaiting me at home. Even so, I managed to fill half of my basket. It's not much, but it's made three jars of jam. I hope my energy peaks soon and I manage to fill more jars before winter. The jam is a perfect sweet reminder of summer amidst the snow.

The Surprise Fetch

Today I went out for my habitual morning check on Rascal. Gave him some cold water and rubbed his tummy for a bit. When I got up to leave he did something that really surprised me. He hobbled over and picked up his favorite fetch rope that I had given him about four months ago. Then he hobbled back and demanded that I throw it. I really didn't want him getting excited and hurting his leg worse, bu...t he was very consistent. Finally, I threw it. And out of no where be becomes three-legged-super-dog jumping into the air and catching it without a problem. Pretty sure that was a sign he's going to be perfectly fine. I know he has picked up on the fact I've been fairly upset the last few days. I think this was his way of proving to me that I don't need to worry. He's always been my big strong boy. Even with a gunshot wound that didn't change.

Rascal's Blessing Amidst Misfortune

Rascal is still very weak and wobbly. He is a very big dog, so walking on three legs is very difficult for him. He lays around most of the time, licking his wound. The wound is healing up nicely, but the swelling is not going down. He can't move around very well. I bring him water habitually and feed him regularly. Today I took him some frozen salmon. I held onto it while he bit off pieces. His appetite is slowly growing. And by the wag of his tail whenever I'm in his company- I know he'll be just fine. And today, when his original owner say me taking care of him- he gave him to me. So today, I became the official owner of Rascal. And of course- there's still Coho. So I have them both now. And you have no idea what a blessing I think that is. What a miracle it is. What a magnificent light at the end of the tunnel that is.

The Special Stop

After the terrible day yesterday, today things got a little better. After many hours of weather delay, a plane finally landed in the village. The pilot had heard the story of Luck and made an extra stop to pick her up. It was a special stop, and one that would cost the airline around $200.00. Her flight would usually cost about $600.00. But all of the fees were waived by Era Aviation, and she was taken to Anchorage for free. As I brought her up the plane and handed her to the pilot, I cannot lie that I was saddened to say goodbye. I handed her over, along with a pink blanket, her favorite toy, and a donation for the rescue. It would be the last time I ever saw her playful heartwarming charm. But I am forever grateful that I got to be a part of the miracle of saving her life.

Rascal's Gunshot

This morning, my darling came in the front door with some horrible news. As I was preparing Luck for her venture from the village... something terrible happened. Rascal had been shot. My darling found him laying on the side of the road with a wound in the joint above his front left paw. As I ran outside to check on him, his tail wagged. But his body went limp. He could barely move. Blood rushed out of his wounds. One entering, one exiting. He licked it over and over, and I sat beside him. I cried, although I didn't want to. I couldn't help it. Seeing him in pain made my heart break. And yet, even amidst the pain- HE tried to comfort ME. He licked my tears. Rested his head on my leg. And nuzzled into me as best he could. Eventually I had to leave to take Luck to the airport. Her crate would be coming on a plane. But one unfortunate event lead to another and the plane didn't arrive. I was devastated, and spent the remainder of the day with many tears streaming down my face.

Finding Care

Alaskan Animal Rescue Friends will be working with me to get Luck some help. Her wound, once again, seems to be going the opposite way of healing. The puss is overwhelming. Every time I bring her inside the smell instantly takes over the house. It's an awful stench- one that assures my assumptions that it's infected is correct. AARF will be sending a crate out to her soon. With the help from Bethel Friends of Canines, hopefully this little love can get the care she needs. She's still as happy as can be. But I really can't stand to wait and see if that happiness turns to sickness. So I've put getting her to safety on the top of my priority list.

Luck's Cut

Luck's cut has gotten worse. The infection is oozing out a clear liquid. It smells, very badly. And the cut looks gruesome. I feel so helpless and sad. Yet, she, is as bright and happy as can be. She behaves as if nothing is wrong at all. She doesn't have a care in the world. She's happy and curious and ever so eager to see whatever in the world her human friends are doing. Feet are among her favorite toys, although hands are equally as entertaining. Tall grass is her favorite place to hide. And she absolutely loves milk bones. She plays constantly- almost too much. And even with her energetic spirit. I am worried. So I intend to contact an animal rescue tonight and hopefully have her removed from the village.

The Pup Named Luck

Today, a small puppy arrived on my doorstep. My neighbor's introduced me to her. Her name is Lucky. She's about three months old and by far one of the most playful little things I have ever met. She seems to have a cut around her neck. I brought her inside to check up on her and make sure there was not a rope left around her. It seems like the rope- which did cut her open, is gone. But her neck is very infected. I've told the children (her owners) to clean her up, but I worry that they're just too young to help her. She's very active and happy, and I think she'll muttle through just fine. But I will be keeping an eye on her for the next day or two.

I'm Not A Drinker's Kind

You know what impresses me? Sober courage. Sophisticated humor that drunks can't understand. The intelligence that comes with not being intoxicated. Moral of the story: The most attractive feature in a person is their ability to be more entertaining without a glass of alcohol in their hand. I never want to be the girl who only likes her guy on Saturday night. I only want a guy who I'll be proud of Sunday morning.

Rain On My Parade

 I guess the rain is mimicking my mood. I've cried out most of my sorrows. The tears flowed pretty freely into the evening. I didn't wake up this morning feeling entirely better. But that doesn't mean I can't force myself to get over this. This? I haven't really explained it- have I? My darling's daughter and I got in a bit (actually a lot more than a bit) of an argument- leaving her sour to my appearance. She's refused to accept me being around and I am left as the evil 'stepmother'. I am not. Nor would I ever be. And that's what breaks my heart the most. I've been with him three years. I've tried with every bone in my body to be the very best person I could be to his daughter. And in a matter of one tension-filled argument, she can decide I am worth nothing to her or her father. And I'm left with the deepest pit of heartbreak in my stomach.

Dying, My Mind

Life hands me lemons. I don't make lemonade. I experience every ounce of their sour fruit. I let them break my heart and drown my sorrows in alcohol spritzed with their flavor. Lately I've been doing a lot of that. Drinking away the pain. I never used to be like that, and I keep trying to write about the positives. But today I want to delve into my own emotional suicide. Maybe I'm a little drunk. Maybe it's only 3:30 in the afternoon. Maybe I have no excuse. But I'm dying. Not physically- but my mind is leaving me. Every second is a battle to not reach for the razor and drag it across my skin. I want the scars. You wouldn't understand that would you? My life isn't perfect, but I'm privileged. Why is everything aching? I don't know. And maybe that's what makes it so bad. I can't do anything to make it better.

Running From The Heat

The bright sunshine has been almost overwhelming. The heat makes me want so badly to run into the Yukon River and not come out until dusk. My cabin offers shade, but also causes stagnant air. The front porch offers a slight breeze but is dreadfully in direct line of the sun. The heat certainly doesn't make things seem very easy. In fact it tends to make everything harder. Even fishing gets irritable when combined with hot weather. Obviously I was born an Alaskan- for only the kind of humans that dearly despise warmth would happily delve into snow nine months out of the year.

Fishing For Pennies

Fishing has been a blessing lately. The sun shines so brightly in the sky, and yet the breeze (cooled by the river) keeps you pleasantly refreshed on the water. The salmon have been abundant, practically jumping into the net. The work has been easy. Glass calm waters make the work seem almost majestic. The pennies are collecting freely in my hand, and the days spent to earn them are ever so worthwhile.

Just A Message

I didn't think of you until I got your note today. "We are having an amazing rain storm here. Wish you were here to come and run around in it with me". It's been a while since we've spoken. I don't think you realize I had the biggest crush on you. So I was caught off guard by your message, but that didn't stop me from being flattered. I was amidst a not-so-wonderful day, so your little words were ever so welcome. I won't deny the fact my heart skipped an oh so miniscule of a beat. But a beat nevertheless. Thank you for the smile; it won't be forgotten.

F/V Late Dawn

I went to go get on the boat this afternoon and saw there was a new name painted on the side. When my captain updated his permit and boat license info this year he named his vessel 'Late Dawn'. Because I'm never on time... especially in the morning. The letters are black, a subtle contrast to the silver-colored metal. Up until now, I had no idea he had bestowed his lady with the same name as mine. He thinks it's funny, but I think it's lovely. Commercial Fisherman Dawn, F/V Late Dawn. I'm ecstatic about the entire ordeal. A fishing vessel named after me. What a way to flatter someone to bits and pieces. A boat, my loves! Named after me...

Well-Written Love Songs

I haven't listened to music for a long time. Not sure why I lost my interest in romantic songs and upbeat guitar hums, but I did. But for some reason I've found it again. There's something really magic about the way music can move you. It can take you back to a different time. Transport you to a moment you thought you'd forgotten. It can give you courage, give you freedom, give you the inability to stay still (sometimes your body just must move to the beat). It can provoke sadness, alleviate anger, and simply let you let go of every emotion. For me, I fall so into a well-written song. Lyrics speak to me more than anything else. And if they're perfectly written I will repeat them over and over again.

Brighter Sky

I'm sending sincerest wishes for sun. I've lost my appetite lately. Not sure if it's from the lack of sunlit motivation or because I'm too lost in my own thought to eat. Either way, food seems unappetizing. I've forced myself to eat meals for the last two or three days. I've lost count of how long it's been since I've seen the sun. A week, maybe two? Either way the dreary weather is wearing on me. As much as I love clouds, I am in dire need of a brighter skyward view.

Waiting On Fate

What do you do, when fall hopelessly in lust with someone who doesn't even know you exist? First, you try to make them know you exist- right? You try anything to be noticed. It seems so simple. But yet... not so simple. What if you're noticed, but they choose to ignore you anyways? Or what if you're noticed, but not in the way you intended to be? What if you're noticed for your faults rather than your admirable traits? But then again... what if you're never noticed at all? It's such a hard thing to want so badly to be given a chance. And typically in life- you can make your own chances. But in love, the only thing that could ever create a chance is fate. And fate never works out as easily as easily as we'd like it to...

Impossible Dream's Existence

I'll be honest. I'm often irrational. I make ridiculous wishes and then strive with everything in my soul to make them come true. I spend money hopelessly in an attempt to make something impossible, possible. I spend every waking moment working towards something that can't truly be worked for. It's ridiculous, to say the least. I am a hopeless dreamer. Dreaming dreams far too big for me to achieve. And I know that I can't ever reach them. But that doesn't stop me from working tirelessly for their existence.

Small Cabin, Ablaze

There was a house fire yesterday evening. I remember distinctly awaking to the sound of the siren. Coho was howling outside (the sound of the siren always inspires her to do that). At first I was in a daze. Then someone asked on the VHF, "Where's the fire?". The panic struck then. I realized why the siren was going off. My first instinct lead me to the window. There was no smoke anywhere in the village, until I looked way off in the distance- to the corner very far from my home. I pulled on rain gear over my pajamas and hitched a ride down. The sight was a devastating one. A small, one bedroom cabin ablaze in flames. The entire building was engulfed. You could make out each of the beams- they burned a bit brighter than everything else. The crackling was soft, yet loud. There was nothing anyone could do. The village has no running water. Our fire truck's battery had run dead long ago. So we all stood around and watched. I hate to say it was romantic, but in some odd way it was. No one was inside, so we could all just patiently wait until it fell to the ground. And that's what everyone did. In thoughtful silence, among the flames.

Counting Rain Drops

The weather has been terribly dark lately. The Bering Sea has sent winds eastward and they haven't died down for over three days. The dark clouds loom over, making even the happiest of emotions a bit more dreary. I've been counting rain drops on my window, listening to love songs, and waiting for the sunshine. It's the kind of weather you can't pull yourself up from. And the choice of slow dance music isn't making my loneliness any more easy to handle.

You're An Addiction To Me

I've seen a lot of broken dreams. But none is more powerful as watching you fall apart. You sit on your half of the world, distantly getting high while I wait for you to step through my door. And if you ever did visit, would you wake up and watch me walk out to the kitchen in my morning attire? Or would the drugs be more important, as you barely raise your eyes to meet my risqué hopes? I'd wish every second in your company that you'd absent-mindedly escape your haze and take me somewhere with you. I'd let your dark eyes melt into my blue ones. And I'd let you're brown hair tangle in my blonde hair. And I might, if the world turns in the wrong direction, wrap my fingers into yours while you step away from your addictions and get addicted to me....

Coming From Misfortune

Most people will never truly understand depression. They cannot fathom someone replaying suicide in their heads over and over again. And for that, they are lucky. They are lucky that they will never know that kind of hurt. But I am not so lucky. Before my awakening of maturity, I was left with a shattered array of teenage years. Ones that battled suicide over and over again. The scars on my arms from cutting are a reminder of the girl I was growing up. She was so beautiful, but she had no idea. Self-expressive, different, undeniably uncomfortable in her own skin. She went at war with eating disorders, experimented in one too many promiscuous activities, and was diagnosed a chronological liar at only 15 years of age. When she grabbed the kitchen knife and threatened to kill herself (the note, already written in her bedroom) I wish I could have been there. Not to pull the knife away, but to get to her before she even reached that kitchen drawer. To stop her. To drag her, crying with bloody wrists, to the bathroom mirror. And then to cry, leaning over the bathtub in pain from the sobs, and cry with her. Let her bawl her eyes out, choking on heaves that were too heavy to swallow. She needed that. Someone to break down with her. To let her know that those demons that came to her, came to others too. She never knew. She never knew that other people fell as deeply dark as she did. And that loneliness shadowed the happiness of her life. It stripped her of her childhood, forced her to runaway to Alaska, and made her into I am today. I don't regret those years. I wish, for her sake, that she wouldn't have gone through them. But without them, she never would have grown into a storyteller (rather than a liar). And she never would have found her fate.

Dreaming For The Impossible

Do you ever have one of those dreams- those crazy irrational dreams- that you just can't help but wish come true? I'm having one of those dreams. There's no way in the world it will ever materialize, but here I am spending second upon wasted second hoping for it to become a reality. It won't. Fate rarely hands someone a miraculous collection of perfectly aligned events. But if it did, oh my gosh if it did, my heart would explode with happiness.

Memories Of Thunderstorms

We have had a relatively calm spring up until this evening. In fact it's been lovely. The sun shining on a blue sky, painted with those light fluffy white clouds. The dandelions bloomed and the summer came fully into life. Trees are green, grass is tall, small light rain showers have kept everything healthy. And it's been very peaceful. But tonight, we saw a change of pace. A storm, more so of wind rather than rain. But a storm nevertheless. Something in me loves storms. I couldn't explain why. I think it roots back to my life in the Midwest, where there was thunder and lightening- cracking tree branches and a loss of electricity. We don't have that here. The tundra offers up no trees to crack. There's never thunder, never lightening, and our electricity is minimal- so losing it is never a big deal. To most here a storm isn't exciting. But to me, it takes me back to a place in my childhood where my heart would race. A place of pure wild intrigue. A place of a loud crack of thunder, followed by hard rain pounding against an accidental open window sill.

Napping With The Wolves

Sometimes I lay, just sprawled across the ground, with Coho and Rascal. It's not a common thing here. Eskimos think of dogs as work animals, not pets. Laying with them would be an embarrassment to say the least. To most it would be a disgrace. But, alas, the old English in me cannot help but undeniably adore my wolves. So I don't care what anyone thinks. I don't mind their stares and whispers and odd looks as they drive by. Rascal's usually sitting above me. Coho lays her head on my chest. Within a few minutes they're both curled into me and all of us will fall asleep for a moment or two. Most people would call me ridiculous. No person here would dare lay with a dog. But I couldn't find happiness any more pure than my simple moments with those two furry children. I never fall asleep more soundly than I do when I lay with them. The mosquitos are of no bother, the sun doesn't ting my eyes, even the rain won't fade away my smile. Because those two simple little animals, with their wagging tails and comforting eyes, are worth every moment of I spend with them- no matter the weather or the looks of those who pass by.

Speaking The Language Of Animals

I find it endlessly intriguing that humans can speak the language of other animals. I don't mean imitating their sound, but rather having that mutual understanding of respect and love. Any human who does not make the effort to befriend an animal, live in harmony with an animal, and permanently place an animal in their heart is missing out on one of the most beautiful abilities of being a man. How blessed we are to be able to live so closely with any living creature we take the time to earn the trust of.

Still A Princess

I'm still a princess, in case you're wondering. When we fish, I mean. I'm kidnapped by pirates and I am a princess. Working to keep my kingdom free. It makes the miserable rain seem a bit more majestic. Splashing waves are easier to work through when you're working for your royal stand rather than your modern bank account. I've played this game for three years. Every year, when we fish, I am a princess. The rest of the crew and the captain are pirates. And the only way to survive is to work as hard as I can. On the days when the fishing is slow and the work is hard, this one small act of imagination keeps me light in mood. So I pretend, just as a five-year-old would. And such a child-like action leads me to the easiest of pennies earned.

First Drift Of The Net

We set our salmon net for the first drift of the season. I know it by heart now. The river. I've spent three summers on it. That time seems so miniscule to most, but to a twenty-one year old it seems like a near lifetime. And I've made a point to pay close attention to each little sandbar, knook of trees, and swerve of the water's edge. I know it now. I know where we're going, where the waves will get rough, and where we'll be blessed with calm sees. I know each turn, each cabin, each grove of willow. And I knew exactly where to set the net. Between a shallow sandbar and a rocky beach- next to a long-abandon fish camp of a Yup'ik elder. We caught 15 our first drift. Enough for enough dry fish for the winter. A blessing, to say the least. And an ever-so-welcoming addition to a dwindling supply of the nature's gifted dinners.

Melting Ice Moving

It was exciting. In a matter of minutes the village awoke from it's winter rest and became a bustling summer town. It was the first spring, in the three years I have resided in Alaska, that I was present for the break-up of the Yukon River. A late spring made for thin ice this year, but that didn't stop it from pushing itself into towers upon the shore. The strength of the melting mountain snows upriver creates a current so full of wrath that it tosses breaks of ice against anything in it's wake. This causes a rush of people to run to the beach as the ice begins to move. A procrastinator's panic ensues and everyone frantically tries to pull their boats from the water before the ice takes it away. Rouge children escape the playground and run to watch the ice build up- sometimes ten times taller than them. And I, stood in awe among the chaos. People yelling, pulling, children weaving in and out of it all, and the ice, deaf to the village sounds, pushing itself into it all. After a long, quiet winter seeing the town so suddenly come to life left me feeling every so welcoming to summer.

Think Of Me?

I have searched up and down for you, but I suppose it's time I just quit looking. I feel like if I see you, and you see me, then you'll think of me. I'll cross your path, and then cross your mind. And then maybe you'll remember some spark, somewhere inside, and you'll not be able to get me out of your mind. I really shouldn't hope for such things. But I really can't help it. You're utterly extraordinary and you haven't left my train of thought for many many days. I only wish that the thought of me could play the same tricks with you.

To Not Be Adored In Return

The worst feeling in the world, to me, is when I like someone who doesn't like me back. In fact, I find it to be the worst common emotion anyone must face. Of course the loss of a loved one or the facing of a tragedy, trumpts heartbreak anyday. But, in the daily twists and turns of things- heartbreak is certainly one emotion I always wish to avoid. I'm finding myself in such a pit right at this moment. It's always a muddy pit, full of dirt and darkness. And it's terribly hard to escape from. He's so handsome, always kind, and my over-analyzing heart persuaded me that his friendly 'hello's' in fact meant 'I adore you'. I was wrong. And learned that quite clearly today when I saw him walking with another girl, a different girl, and one far from what I am. It was, in light terms, a heart-stopper. And I couldn't help but feel absolutely dreadful the remainer of the day. All this time I assumed he adored me oh, so, dearly. And no I've learned it's a one-sided emotion.

Contentment In Death

I'm not afraid to die. That phrase scares a lot of people. And I do not mean that phrase as in I am ready to die- or as in I want to leave this world. I mean at as in, I am so proud of my life. If I die young I want the world to know- I am okay. I am happy. I am so content with the life I have lived. I have made my mark. I have tried my best. I have spilled my heart into everything I do. And I do not have one reason to leave this world with a frown- or to wish I would have had more time. I am blessed, my loves. To be so young and yet to know that my life, as fleeting as it is, is worthwhile. And I am completely okay with the idea of never waking up tomorrow. I dearly hope I can do more, and that I have more time to make more miracles. But if not, then by all means I shall have my life flash before my eyes with the sincerest smile.

Shapes Of Frozen Clouds

You know the way people lay in the grass and find shapes in the clouds? I play the same game, but facing the opposite direction. I sit atop a steep slope and dream-up creatures in the floats of ice that pass across the pond. They're carried by the wind, not by the current. Made primarily of snow flakes and rain drops, they are- in their own frozen way- a cloud. Sitting atop a sky of water, drifting away into the wind until they reach land. I see magnificant things in them. Frogs, swans, daisies, and ice skates. They are beautiful and full of inspiring potential. They offer up the opportunity to be turned into anything the mind can imagine. And quite often, when I am in their presence, such imagined shapes truly do come to life.

Love For Yet Another Dog

My neighbor across the street is the owner of one of the sweetest dogs on earth. Unfortunately, for some reason, the kids in the home are very cruel to her. They kick her, hit her, spill over her water so she can't drink, and ride their bikes over her chain. It's heartbreaking to witness, and although the original owner is very loving towards her- the children(his nephews) are just very cruel. Recently she got off the leash and was running around the neighborhood. And as with any animal that crosses my path- I set out to befriend her. She was very shy at first, almost always ran away yelping if I even neared her. But after many many days of slowly getting closer, letting her know my scent, and eventually teaching her how wonderful it feels to get scratched behind the ears- something beautiful happened. There is only one person in the entire village she trusts- her owner. He is very kind towards her and she loves him dearly. But now... there are two people she trusts. I have made a habit of sitting with her each day. I let her approach me. At first she was very shy and took many minutes to come over, but now she runs and burrows her head into my chest. She rests her entire body against me and nuzzles my chin as hard as she can. She still shakes- mainly out of habit of fear of humans- but she isn't scared. She kisses constantly and has the biggest sweetest eyes. And the love I get from her is so overwhelming. I nicknamed her 'sweetpea' and she certainly has earned a sweet little place in my heart.

Late Break-Up

Winter is prolounged this year. This is the latest Yukon River break-up on record. We still have three feet of snow in the backyard. The one loan rabbit that has survived the harsh cold makes daily stops there. My honey throws him bits of greens and ears of corn. The dogs seem weary. I can tell they too are yearning warmer days. Both of the pups spend much of their time loaping around- waiting for the nice activities that will occur this summer. But summer seems so so far away. The snow is melting so slowly. The lakes and creek are still frozen. No birds have arrived yet. The swollows are late and the waterfowl almost nonexistant. It's such a shame. Children keep coming to my door asking when the pool will be ready. Darling little Eskimoes don't quite understand that it's still too cold. 20 degrees is too much of a chill for May (even in the subarctic) and I'm dearly hoping for brighter days soon ahead.

The Differences

 As Coho and Rascal have matured into the sweet pups they are- they've bothed developed entirely different personalities. Having both been raised exactly the same way, by me, I find nature vs nuture to be taking it's course. Coho is very serious. She loves running, learning, working. And although she adores a nice cuddle, she prefers to be off and about doing her own thing. She's easily jealous and hates when another dog gets attention, but will happily share the attention (one hand petting her, one hand petting another) if she has to. Rascal, on the complete opposite, loves playing, being goofy, and digging holes. He is anything but serious, and doesn't find cuddles very entertaining. He's much too hyper for cuddles. And if you attempt a cuddle, he will turn it into a sweater tug-oh-war with your sleeve. He isn't very jealous and loves other dogs- so much as you give him a big hug and kiss first. These two pups are literally opposites. Coho will not step in a mud puddle- rather she will daintily walk around it. Rascal, on the other hand splashes right in- drinking the muddy water as he bounces across. And yet, amongst their differences, they are the best of friends. They fight, play, cuddle, and communicate every day. They are inseperable and are very protective over one another. And they are my biggest source of happiness. I love them equally- but differently, and really couldn't imagine a more perfect pair of furry children.

Just A Romantic Thought

"You are exquisite and devine," he said, in the lowest of whispers. I'll never forget that compliment, and the way it so eloquantly slipped from his lips. It wasn't your typical compliment. A whistle from a passing car as you're strolling down the sidewalk- it wasn't one of those. It wasn't a drunken internet-found pick-up line spewed haphazardly across the bar. No, it wasn't that. It was a poetically thought, Shakespeare inspired compliment. And it landed so softly in my memory. He's long gone now. I never knew his name. He saw me one day as I drifted through some old antique shops. Spilled those hopeless words before my open-toe heels. And left a permanent mark of chivalry in my heart.

Tearful Village Aura

 I woke up in a very sad mood today. I can't quite explain it, I have no reason behind my verge of tears. But it feels like the village is mourning- there's a crying energy today. The sun is shining and it feels like spring, and yet the roads are very quiet. People seem upset, as do I. There's this unexplainably hopeless aura in the wind. It's slipping through the cracks in the door- making its way into every house. Leaving us all hopeless and tearful, without a reason in the world to feel such a way.

Prom Without A Dance

I was fourteen the first time I was asked to prom. I was not a popular kid, and it wasn't my Cinderella story. His name was Chad Looney- perhaps one of the sweetest boys in the entire school. He and I had been friends for a long time. The other kids in school were not too keen on his glass eye and elder age (health complications had left him in high school even after others his age has graduated). He was picked on regularly and I was the girl who chose to sit by him in the lunch room. He made me laugh, smile, and we both stood up for eachother when other kids were not-so-nice. So when he got up the nerve to ask me to prom, I said 'yes'. I didn't have a dress, nor would my mother buy me one, so I cut up two old dresses and sewed them together. It didn't look as I wished it would, but it would do. He wore a suit, bought a corsage to match my mis-matched dress, and paid for the tickets. We ate, but didn't dance. The cool kids filled the floor and we both sat on the sidelines. We ended up leaving early, and it's one of my sincerest regrets. I wish I wouldn't have cared so much about the looks of the meangirls (and the way they whispered about my cut-up dress). And I wish I would have danced, not because I liked the music, but because it was one of the few times I would have been able to prove to Chad that even though the other kids may not have been always nice to him- he was worth the time of a girl he thought was pretty. And I didn't show him that. So if some girl out there is reading this, and it's close to her prom- dance with the nerdy boy. Not to get attention. Not to be nice. Not to show off your big heart. But to simply dance with a guy who deserves your time way more than any of the jocks ever will. Someday you'll wish you would have.

Evelyn, My Little Hug-Bug

My heart is completely broken. I don't want to leave the couch or eat or sleep. I cannot even begin to recognize the enormous amount of tragedy that's struck this village over the past three months. But the most recent loss, was by far the hardest to swallow. Rest in peace little love. You will be missed so dearly! I'll miss your hugs and your waves and your really sweet outgoing smile. I'll miss you yelling 'Dawn!' every time I pass your house and the way you'd run up and hug me when you saw me in the store. I'll miss you so so much. But I know heaven just got so much brighter with you there. Love you little angel ♥ You'll always be in my heart.

400th Diary Entry

Today, marks my 400th diary entry. I truly cannot fathom that for the last two years I have made an avid attempt to document the simplest parts of my life. My inner thoughts, daily happenings, and the ups and downs of a young girl becoming an old woman. I have been through much. And yet, so little has changed. I have grown, yet stayed the same. I am more of a person than I was, built on experiences of a rural Alaskan lifestyle. I've changed philosophies, enlightened myself on the hardships of adulthood, and partook in a collection of ordinary days- that when put together have made quite an extraordinary story. The winds aren't changing yet, but my style of writing is. I'm not sure if I'm growing up, or just growing older. But whatever it is, whatever my story is going to tell, I want to continue to document it. I am 21 now. I have become accustomed to the ways of no running water, wood chopping, and snowey springs. It's beautiful, and now ordinary. I'm still lost in it's beauty- but not in a way of intrigue, rather in a way of comfort. I suppose in a way it's slowed my writing. I don't document as much as I used to, merely because I don't find things as exciting as I used to. I have delved more deeply into my mind than I should have (hence my recent drowning in self pity). I hope to pull myself out of it soon. I want to become inspired again. And the only thing that can provoke such emotion is the presence of nature. A presence I can only find if I choose to. And at this moment I am choosing to.

Falling Down and Apart

Lately I've been falling apart. I don't know if I could define an emotional breakdown, but I'm getting very close. On the scale of one to a hundred, I'm at a ninety. Tears have blackened my cheeks for the past four days straight and there's no end in sight. Even the sky was gray today- like even the sunshine knew to stay away. My mindful downfalls have left me covered in heartache. I can't explain what's causing it, but my life just feels like it's falling apart.

Find The Gypsy In Me

I've never had trouble saying goodbye. It's always come easy. Breaking hearts, leaving, heading off on an unannounced adventure. I'm good at that. I usually leave without notice or without warning. I don't alert people of my departure. I just disappear. It's a talent I have, I suppose. I've always been very very good at running away. It's a habit I'd love to break, but for some reason I just can't bring myself to part with old ways. I love parting with things, but I can't part with the part of me that loves to explore. I think that's why, prior to changing my name to A Wondering Dawn, I was the Lone Alaskan Gypsy. I had a gypsy soul. A runaway spirit. And she's coming back to me full force now. Goodbyes have always been easy, but this time I think they're going to be very very hard.

Earning Trust Again

Coho's lost all trust of me. I don't blame her. And now I'm on the slow recovery of letting her love me again. To be honest, I'll need time to heal too. My heart is a little broken, and her trust is a little gone. But time heals all and love is a remarkable thing. I have faith that here in a few weeks we will be back to our playful, adoring selves. It's hard right now though. The aftermath of an unexpected storm. I have some peices to pick up and some things to put back together. But somehow those things seem to fix themselves over time. I'm not worried, just impatient. Things have changed now, and I'm really wishing we could just go back to the way we were.

Freedom vs Love

Coho's grown her own mind. She's an adult dog now, she doesn't need me anymore. And she showed me that today when she escaped from her harness and ran away. I called for her three different times when I caught sight of her. She didn't come once. She was so happy to be free that she completely ignored me. I let her run on her own every day. I feed her, love her, spend thousands of dollars on the very best for her. And today she said she didn't need it anymore. I spent all day crying, running around the village trying to bring her home. I finally watched her go around a corner, snuck the other way, and captured her. She faught the entire way back to my cabin. I wasn't hurting her- I had her picked up nicely, but it didn't matter. She didn't love me anymore. When I got inside I was so frustrated I picked her up by the skin on the back of her neck and threw her down. Then I knelt beside her and pushed her as hard as I could. Immidiately she rolled onto her back and whimpered- showing her submissiveness. And I cried. It's the first time in my entire life I've ever laid a hand on my dog like that. And it broke me into a million peices. But her absence of love for me today broke my heart even more.

Summer Surprises

Lately, I have been anxiously awaiting summer. Surprisingly not for the wildflowers, or the sound of the creek in my backyard, or even the chatter of the birds. Rather- the children. In the summer I host free activities for the lovely youth of my village. Many families cannot afford to feed their children three meals a day. The school, typically helps with that. But once school is out the children are left to fend for themselves. That's where I stepped in. I buy snacks and quick lunches and feed the kids three times a week. I also set up a pool (the first this village has ever seen) and let the children play. Last summer it was quite an exciting event. I dearly loved the constant screaming and giggling of children. I've missed it this winter. And I cannot wait to surprise them with the much larger pool I purchased for this year. A wonderful lady named Sylvia, donated enough towels for each of the kids to use! Most parents cannot afford towels to let their kids bring swimming, so this was such a blessing. And I have purchased many many pool toys and snacks to fill the warmer days. I am awaiting the weather to warm, very impatiently. But can you blame me? The company of children is a very hard thing to wait for.

Return of the Squirrel

Today, I awoke to a very pleasent surprise. In the dawning sun, resting on the east side of my smokehouse, sat Chipper. My dear little squirrel has returned. I haven't quite figured out if it is in fact Chipper- or her daughter, Sassy. Nevertheless my heart skipped a beat at her appearance. Her winter fur is silky and ready for spring. She's of healthy weight, energetic, and obviously adoring our light and early mornings. She's given me motivation to by seed and scatter it about the backyard. I'll be cleaning out her box here soon. I wasn't sure if I would ever see her again after she migrated away this winter. Her reappearance is dearly treasured. I can't await the view of her antics this coming summer.

A Simply Dirty Cabin

My little cabin, is undoubtedly, a mess. Many would assume that a little rural Alaskan writer would be quite the tidy soul. But they are sincerely mistaken. Rustic and filled with many worldly collections, my home is most certainly an unorganized chaos. My windowsills are filled with toppling over plants, my floors are filled with toys for my many pets, and I let dust collect for much too long. Without running water much of my dishes and clothes go unwashed for periods of time. I prefer muddy paw prints over pristine shiney wooden floors. And I kind of like my random stacks of books, craft supplies, and artifacts scattered about. And now that it is the stereotypical spring cleaning time I have set my mind to organizing. But I suppose artistic souls are just not the organized kind. For I often find myself in fascination of a long-lost possession, and forget simple-heartedly about the rest of the mess.

Saving Flies

There are many many flies waking up lately. Flies, although a nuisance to most, are among one of my favorite visitors. I love the way they lightly touch things. They're not heavy like other insects. Rather they're very dainty. They're soft. Often times they go completely unnoticed. The air in my home is dry, so unfortunately they often find themselves too weak to fly from dehydration. They begin to frantically roam for any accidental droplet on my wooden cabin floor. Seeing this, I immidiately run to my bucket of spring water, dip my hands in, and fling a few rain drops in their direction. They'll drink it almost immidiately. It's this unspoken understanding between me and the little flying creatures that make a home in my walls. They'll keep me company, and I'll provide their little life-saving miracles.

Spring Time Cheer

Lately I am feeling very positive. I'm not sure why, but I just have one of those gut feelings that something magical and magnificant is going to occur. The sun is shining until 11:00 in the evening and that has truly brightened away my cabin fever blues. I have little seedlings of vegetables growing rapidly on my windowsills. Coho and Rascal are playful and spring-time energetic. And everything just seems to be falling into place. I finally have the motivation to clean the house (something that in the winter seems so daunting). It's just beautiful. Ordinary and ruitine, yet unimaginably beautiful.

Star-Struck Crush

Every once in a while I get caught up in a star-struck crush. To be unusually honest, the most recent is my neighbor. We had a cliche 'can I borrow some sugar' situation on my doorstep a month ago. When I answered the door in nothing more than pajamas and unwashed hair I was caught off gaurd to see his handsome face smiling back at me. So I stuttered and mumbled my way through a minute long awkward conversation. One month later and we've crossed paths a few times. I've waved to him, he's smiled at me, and we've not spoken one more word to eachother. So it would seem absolutely ridiculous that for some reason I get light-headed and butterflies when I see him. But I do. It's unexplainable, aside from the fact that I'm unexplainably sexually attracted to him. He has a lovely girlfriend. And I have a man of my own. But how dearly I'd love to pull him into some secluded forested part of the village and let him lay me down in the snow for a while...

Decide

I wanted to think I was strong enough to make a life together, despite his past. But I'm beginning to see that this life is his dream, not mine. It's no longer about being strong- it's about being free.

A Memory Letter From My Mother

Today, April 5th, I turned 21 years old. And my mother wrote me a letter:

21 years ago, on April 5th, at 5:15 AM you were born, A baby girl that was calm and took the best baby picture to send out to the relatives. For a full year you weren't sick once. You had a hard time going to sleep, so I would lay with you all swaddled up in my arm in bed. I think Dad was afraid I'd suffocate you. He'd come home from working at UPS (that would be 3:00 AM) and find you in bed with me. We had a bassinet right by the bed so I'd put you in there then. When we moved you to the crib you would sometimes cry out, but only for a second. Then, in a little while, you'd do a giggle. This was all while you were sleeping. Once I got use to this it was fun to listen to you. When you were able to sit yourself up I had a little mirror with a noise thing on it and you would talk to yourself in the mirror. So funny!!!
Just wanted to give you a few memories of you just in the first year of your life on your 21st birthday! You are such a strong, independant woman! We are so proud of you! Have a great 21st birthday!
We love you!
Mom & Dad

Names

I've loved two men. One never knew I loved him. One always will. Their names are secrets, in their own right. Secretly stored away in my heart and in my memory. Secret to the world. Confined to my diary. But other names, although not associated with love, they mean something. Some touch me mentally, some emotionally, some physically. Some whisper lustful wishes. Others regrest of missed opportunity. And a select few- fond memories and perhaps and underlying 'What if'. Some names are secret, but not all need be. And here are a few names, that for some reason, I don't want to keep locked away: Dan Williams, Bryce Quinn, Paul Tolodxi, Chad Looney, Darrell Alexie, Christopher Redfox, Boone Tegeler, Alex Sucher, Jimmy Commins, and Casey O'Connor.

Dirt Filled Windowsills

I spent most of today planting little itty bitty seeds. Seeds the sizes of a grain of sand. So fragile, yet strong. So small yet so full of potential. Each seed was planted in it's own cup, covered in plastic, and placed on my windowsill. They are stacked 6 cups high. Each window with a different plant. One with green beans, another with carrots, another with lettuce, another with radishes, and the last with celery. The other windows in my home are decorated with spider plants, pinapple plants, mother-in-laws-tongue, lemon trees, and banana trees. But my favorite windows are the ones that are simply filled with dirt right now. Dirt and one tiny seed. One tiny seed, so small yet so full of potential.

Easter Morning Walk

This morning the Easter Bunny came. She was tired eyed and still in her pajamas. First thing in the morning, she latched on her basket and ran around the village- throwing out eggs for the children to find. Many kids out here get boiled eggs- not plastic toy-filled ones. The families cannot afford to give their kids the 'luxuries' of 'richer societies'. Knowing this, I couldn't help myself and secretly snuck out to throw lots of plastic filled eggs around my small town. There were ones filled with toy soldiers, others with bracelets, some with coins, and all with candy. It was the perfect way to spend an Easter dawn. And the silent giggles of small children running outside with their baskets soon after was well-worth the early morning stroll.

Stars Of Tiny Halos

I recently recieved the hardest news I've heard in quite some time. I love the children of this village with a heart deeper than the deapths of the seas. I adore each and every one of them just as much as their aunt would. And recently, a very young child, passed away. It was a sudden and heartbreaking passing. And I am left in shambles. I don't know how to mourn the loss of a child, but I've heard when a tiny angel goes to heaven it wears the brightest halo- so bright that it becomes a star. And all I can think is how beautiful the Alaskan sky is, and how perfect this little boy will fit in it. I cannot say anything to ease the burden that has been placed upon the family that lost this child. There are no words that can cure such a sorrow. But I am overcome with heart ache for them, and am sending the deepest deepest love their way. Rest in peace Francis Aguchak. Rest in peace, little star angel.

Sunshine Company

The sunshine is radiating the white landscape. And I'm caught up in the glow. There's a blanket in my yard where I sit with Coho and merely soak in the bright yellow ball above me. It enlightens me in so many ways. A dark winter causes quite the longing for a summertime hug of the sunshine. And now that my dear bright friend is coming out to play for twelve hours a day- I am more than eager to sit in it's company.

Too Soon For Summertime Skirts

The bright sun easily tricks the mind into thinking the weather beyond the cabin requires no more than an autumn sweater. But we are so mistaken. The bright bright landscape now offers up a beautiful dose of Vitamin D, but if you're not careful it will also bless you with a stinging tinge of frost bite. I, am one of the not-careful ones. And my haphazard thinking has left me with some very red marks on my very white skin. I should know by now to be careful. Spring in the arctic can easily fool a newcomber. And just because the sunshine is whispering an oh-so-welcome "hello" does not mean that my summertime skirts are ready to be pulled from their closet shelves.

Stalking Timidly

And there I sat, twitching my fingertips against the split ends of my tangled blond hair. Make-up on, wearing a dress as clean as a monday morning. I tried so hard to cross his path, but the world was sending me the message merely to look- but don't touch. I can admire, but I can't feel. I pressed my eyes into my window pane last night and let the streetlights be his spotlight as he walked by. But I couldn't leave the front door and walk with him.

I'm a quiet dreamer. I was last evening, I still am this morning. I got myself pretty, timidly walked outside for a moment- hoping by some weird timing of fate he'd walk out too. But he didn't, and I shyed away back inside. And then let my breath fog up the cold glass as I sat waiting for him to drop a cigarette of the edge of his porch. He did, and I watched. It's sounds... sad. And it is. But with each breath I took I hoped that by some source of the wind, he would inhale what I exhaled and maybe hear the secrets I whispered from afar...

Motherhood Season

I'm flattered by everyone lately. Playing flirtatiously with any creature that crosses my path. I took many many walks today. I didn't venture very far. Just took Coho on a small jaunt a few steps away from the home. I'll be honest, I did so in the hope that people might drive by and admire me. I've been craving attention. The sunshine is spoiling me and now I expect humans to do the same thing. It's the season of breeding and every time around this year my motherhood instincts come calling. Is it just me or does every little native boy that crosses my path look absolutely bedroom worthy?

Spring Time Confidence

I went to the local store today- I visit it often, but I'm never quite as confident as I was today. Since I have decided to start leaving the house more frequently I seem more apt to actually make eye contact with people rather than avoid them. And today I made particurally deep eye contact with two men at the store. I haven't felt beautiful in a long time. I haven't flirted in an eternity. And just to have a guy say 'hey' and another one smile was enough to pull me headfirst into a world of flattery. I loved every minute of it. I felt very... happy. I know it sounds ridiculous- that a girl could be happy out of random guy's attention. And it makes me sound a bit immature. But dear the eye contact of a soul who seemed remotely interested in a kiss was oh so welcome after this long winter.

Chopping Ice

I went to the net today, down on the river. Even though the sun was out, once I reached the frozen water's edge the wind picked up the snow and made a hazy fog. The sun shown through, but not nearly enough to warm me. Because I have been inside this winter, the chill froze me to the core. We checked the net quickly, pulling out a whitefish, and running back home. I used to love such activities and although I wanted to find enjoyment in it- I found more entertainment out of daydreaming while chopping ice.

Tomorrow

The last time I posted was January 25th. It is now March 11th. I regret to admit that this winter has been a very uneventful one. I have confined myself to inward of my cabin walls. I do not know why. Perhaps I lack motivation. Perhaps I am preconsumed with thoughts and dreams. Or perhaps the call of the wild is going unheard. But tomorrow I vow to finally leave the house. Blizzard or sunshine. Wet snow or ice. I shall put on my mukluks and find the inspiration to begin writing the tales of my life once again.

Keep Believing.

There's something about a shattered dream that can break you to a million peices. It leaves you helpless. When you've put everything into something and for some reason the floor falls through and you're left in the dirt... it's devestating. A place no one wants to be. That mountain looked so easy to climb, before! But now it just seems so high... so impossible. And your knees are bruised and your heart is broken and the world seems to walk by without a care. And time keeps ticking and you realize that you're losing it and the tears only clear away the dirt- so the bruises are even more clear. Everything can go wrong sometimes. I'll be the first one to admit that my naive soul puts me in the worst of situations. But it also blesses me with the beautiful ability to see through the clouds, and find a ray of sunshine. And today I'm finding my ray of sunshine. It seems like everything was gone, but no dream is lost until the mind it's made a home in permanently rests. I'm too young to permanently rest...

You Love Me Guilt

That 'oh dear, you're in love with me' moment you have when you realize someone likes you that you thought was just a friend. I've been there. Many times. And I'm terrible at handling it. I've been 'not liked' by the person I liked... alot. So when someone likes me- I really want to like them too. But, sometimes our souls just don't collide. Maybe mine intrigues them, but theirs doesn't enlighten me. And I'm terrible at dealing with such a situation. Because I don't want to break a heart. Ever. I've had mine broken and it sucks. So I don't want to be the one who caused the hurt. And I'll lie. I'll tell them someday or say I kind of like them too or sometimes (forgive me) kiss them just to give them the hope that romance still exists. I don't want to be the crasher of worlds. And I'll avoid being such a thing at all costs. And when it gets too far and they're falling in love and I know it's my fault- I'll leave. Abruptly and without warning. No answers. No explinations. No words left on a note in the bedroom. Just pure goneness. And that's how I break a heart. By staying in a place I didn't want to be. And leaving at the moment when they wanted me to be there the most. I'm a terrible human being. And I wreak havic on my own heart as much as the person I abandon. Guilt is the worst feeling in the world. And not knowing how else to handle things... makes it that much worse of an emotion to deal with.

Cabin Wall Secrets

I scribble secrets into my cabin walls. It will probably burn or rot or moss away before another human deciphers my writings. But I like to leave notes here or there. Directions, instructions, thoughts, hopes, dreams. I give advice sometimes- to the person who will live here next. Sometimes I tell them stories, sometimes I send them good wishes, sometimes I explain a part of history that perhaps they didn't get the chance to see. I scribble secrets in my cabin walls. For the person who may someday, or may someday not find them.

Dreaming of Unreality

I dream often of the wrong men. I used to think that fate was handing me a sign, but now I've realized they're only telling the secrets of my unknown desires. It's nice to be wrapped up in someone's arms in a dream. It's nice to feel a sort of reality that you won't have the chance to experience beyond the realm of sleep. I hold onto it. I liked the way he put his arm around my shoulder. I liked the way he sat next to me on the couch. I liked the way there was kissing foretold in the air. And I like the way I awoke before that foretelling came true. Sometimes it's nice to live a different life for while- even if only in my dreams.

A Failing Entrepreneur

I am constantly failing. I'm one of those entrepreneurs that tries everything and has yet to succeed at anything. I make enough money a year to be considered under the poverty line- and yet I invest enough money a year in endeavors to be considered a small business creator. I've tried everything and will try anything. I just love the idea of starting anew and getting an idea and just running recklessly with it. I'm very good at that- taking a dream and following it. I'm not one of those people who whispers 'someday' and then sticks my wish in my pocket and waits until it's too late. No, I'm not them. I'm a go-getter. A run out, spend all my money, make investments, have high expectations, and end with nothing in my hand go-getter. But, you see, it doesn't sadden me to fail. Every idea I've ever tried from shops to bakeries to interior design to fashion to animal breeding to crafting to writing to acting to... well the list goes on. Every idea- was my idea. And a dream. A dream I followed. A dream I tried. A dream I got to live, even for a short while, and even though in the end I gained not even a penny, I had a dream, and I followed that dream. And I may have a bank account empty to prove it, but I also have a life full of granted wishes- that I earned all by myself.

Faith In Mankind

I have faith in mankind. I don't think that bad people, corruption, greed, or anger rule this world. In fact, I can tell you that I honestly believe that love rules above all else. That there are many more good hearts than bad-doers. One million wonderful small souls stand miles above one historically terrible soul. Even the worst person in the world is worthless when compared against the billions of beautiful people that we call neighbors, friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers. I pity the people who feel the need to carry a gun everywhere they go. I pity the people who worry so deeply about their child's safety or their home's safety or their own safety. I pity the people who assume that in every public place there lies a person who could kill them. For the people who do such things, and think such ways, have missed out on one of the most beautiful aspects of being a human. And that is our ability to trust, to be kind, to see the good in each soul, and to love endlessly and fearlessly. And I truly feel sorry for the people who have lost that child-like trait, for it really does make life a wonderful thing to be a part of.

Friendship With Wolves

I'm not sure how many people can truly understand what it means to love an animal with every aspect of your being. Coho and Rascal do things to me. When my body aches they melt away my pain. When my heart aches they take away my sadness. When I itch for adventure they yearn to explore with me. They're tender with me. They're strong wolf teeth don't bite at my fingers. Rather if I hold even the tiniest bit of food they'll delicately, slowly, bite onto it (as to not even accidently nip me). They'll instinctually know when I need a friend, and never pass by the chance to simply curl into the bend of my knees and fall asleep. They give me something a human never could. A sort of mutual understanding that things speaking the same language can't have.

Short Cloudy Days

Cloudy days make the sun terribly late to rise. Now that our dawn is breaking around 11:00 the days are very short. And any sort of haze in the sky makes them even shorter. Snowflakes are loved, even treasured, here. But the clouds that produce them make a lack of activity beyond the front door. I love them, I do- but their casting shadows is taking away my motivation to explore.

Staying In The Cabin

I haven't left the house this entire winter. I'm not sure why. The outdoors aren't calling my name as loudly as my craft supplies, books, and blankets are. I've been doing a lot of dreaming. A lot of wondering about the future. A lot of hoping and writing and sometimes sleeping. But not a lot of exploring. I know I need to pull myself from this rut, but the comfort of these cabin walls is making leaving quite difficult.

Miracle Beginning

Coho and Rascal were terrified last evening. The immense amount of village fireworks and gunfire at midnight sent them into a frenzy. I knew Coho's fear and brought her in before the rush began. A few firecrackers had already been set off and had terrified her enough to bury herself under an old shed. After coaxing her out I brought her inside, but alas- even there she was struck in fear. So I spent the first hour of my new year consoling her wide-eyed scared soul. She looked so small. Ran up and down the hallway, trying to find a place to hide. I heald her tight, petted her, tried everything to calm her. Finally I took her into a back bedroom, layed her on the bed, and she let me curl her ears down and cover them (shutting out the sound). After a while she began to get tired and I took a knit scarf and tied it around her head to continue to drown out the fireworks. She fell asleep soon after. But my heart was still worried for Rascal. I ran outside to find him burrowed in the back dark corner of an old shed. He was terrified as well, but unlike Coho, perked up immidiately as I brought him inside. An hour later the loud bangs had subsided and I put my little wolves to bed. A long exhausting beginning to the New Year. But in all honesty, I wouldn't have spent it any other way. Being able to calm an animal is by far one of the greatest miracles of being a human. And last night I was able to experience that miracle twice.