The rain I mentioned in a prior post has now drug on and on. There's no end in sight. And although the droplets have been few today, the overcasting clouds leave the ever-dwelling doubt of rain returning. The winds have died down though, leaving the river calm. I prefer to look at it when it's not ravaged with waves. There is something so simply delightful about still glass waters.
Thoughts Of Adoption
Two years ago, when I first started the process to become a qualified foster parent through the state of Alaska- a child was pointed out to me (not on purpose, more as a passerby) from Washington. I have thought about that child and checked their availability for two years straight. They connected to me. I just cared about them since the instant I first saw them- I couldn't explain why. I've spent many nights praying they'd find a family. Two years of trial placements and heartache have gone by. And my praying has yet to bring an answer. I'm beginning to wonder, if I myself am the answer. Every logical explanation says 'no'. According to my age- I'm really only 'available' to adopt younger children- no one over 8 would be deemed appropriate. And although I always knew I wanted to adopt older children, I never intended to at 22. But, aside from all the reasons my mind has told me 'no', my heart keeps pleading 'try'. So I think this girl is going to start the process to get a WA-quality home study. Not sure if this is the way fate wanted me to go. But I guess I'll let the social workers and adoption agencies decide that.
How I've Grown
How have I changed since I originally began writing this diary? I don't know if I've changed much at all- perhaps I've simply merely grown. I've grown into comfort with my surroundings. The changing seasons of Alaska don't leave me as confused as they used to. I'm accustomed to them now. I know the sun's patterns, the ways of the snowfall, the changing of the scenery from month to month. I can judge the weather with accuracy. And I know the impacts the changing winds will have on the waters. I can identify a majority of the plants and animal tracks. I can do many things now that I lacked the ability to do before. I am not so naïve, perhaps. I've been awakened to misfortunes and the realities of adulthood. But a part of me still (and I hope forever always) hangs onto its innocence. I still find admiration in everything beyond my window. I still hopelessly love and hang onto every kind soul I meet (whether it be a tree, a stray cat, or a fellow human). And I still find inspiration in so so many places. I haven't changed for the worse- I've merely grown for the better.
The Homestead's Description
I haven't truly taken a moment to literarily depict my new homestead. My cabin. My house on the banks of the Yukon River. It's about a mile's walk from the village. It sits at the end of a dirt road. To the south lies the mighty and wide Yukon. To the north is a steep hill, leading to the top of one of the first mountains hills inland from the Bering Sea. To the west, lies the road that takes me to the village. And to the east lies a thick never-ending grove of alder trees.
The house itself is small, very old, made of plywood walls and a tin roof. It's three rooms. A kitchen and living room area makes up the largest portion of the house. In the middle of this room sits our woodstove. And off from the room, in the back of the house, lies one bedroom and a bathroom. Alas- there is no running water here, so our bathroom is simply an attached outhouse. But it works ideally for us.
The backyard features a wood-burning steam house, where we bathe. A smoke house and fish rack where we prepare and store meat for the winter. And a fenced running area for the dogs. The western portion of the yard is dedicated to my garden- as well as a grove of wild-berry bushes and tundra tea. A few edible greens also grow there in the spring. On the east side of the yard sits three old boats, of which the last owner left. As well as a worn down camper. They may look junk-like to some. But I admire them. They're old and weathered and tell many stories.
The home, for the most part, is quiet. Many birds are nesting here now. The river keeps me constantly company with it's waves. Everything about it, is perfect for me. A mansion could not even begin to compare from the solitude and peace I receive from my humble abode.
The house itself is small, very old, made of plywood walls and a tin roof. It's three rooms. A kitchen and living room area makes up the largest portion of the house. In the middle of this room sits our woodstove. And off from the room, in the back of the house, lies one bedroom and a bathroom. Alas- there is no running water here, so our bathroom is simply an attached outhouse. But it works ideally for us.
The backyard features a wood-burning steam house, where we bathe. A smoke house and fish rack where we prepare and store meat for the winter. And a fenced running area for the dogs. The western portion of the yard is dedicated to my garden- as well as a grove of wild-berry bushes and tundra tea. A few edible greens also grow there in the spring. On the east side of the yard sits three old boats, of which the last owner left. As well as a worn down camper. They may look junk-like to some. But I admire them. They're old and weathered and tell many stories.
The home, for the most part, is quiet. Many birds are nesting here now. The river keeps me constantly company with it's waves. Everything about it, is perfect for me. A mansion could not even begin to compare from the solitude and peace I receive from my humble abode.
De-Motivating Rains
The rains have set in. In Eastern Alaska, it's a blessing- for they've been cursed with a terrifying wildfire. But in Western Alaska the only thing they're bringing is a much needed quench of thirst for our springing plants. For me, they have only prolonged my spring-cleaning procrastination. During the sunny days I pushed cleaning aside in order to run about outside- playing with the pups and planting the garden. Now that I'm stuck indoors, the cloudy skies only give me even more of a lack of motivation to clean. The beat of the rain makes good company for book reading- which has become my only activity throughout the storm. But the sound of the watered windows leaves me no inspiration to do the much needed organizing my cabin is requiring.
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