Homestead Tourists

At Home in the Spring

It seems like just yesterday we were taking down the Christmas tree for kindling and placing orders from seed catalogs.  Then I got sick and struggled through a very snowy spring to put in the garden before we left for vacation.  There were a million things to do before vacation and being flat on my back or snowed in did not help. There were seedlings to nurture and plant, beds to prepare, repairs to make and an irrigation system to reset. In a flurry of activity, we managed to get everything ready the night before we hopped on a plane to get away from it all.  

It was a busy spring indeed, and a vacation was well deserved. So where does a diva farmer and her dashing handyman go for vacation?  Of course, we chose a homestead in Alaska. Before I go much further I need to explain that “homestead” has a specific legal meaning and then there is a more colloquial sense of a self-sustaining farm. I am referring to the latter.

View from the Homestead

While I don't know how tourists find a homestead to play at sustainable living for a week in Alaska,  I just visit my family and add in some hiking and horseback riding*. 

Yes, I have family in Alaska; and yes, that is a fantastic conversation starter at cocktail parties. I often stand around sipping pear martinis telling droll stories about the amazing things people do without wireless internet access. As you know I am not and have never been a self-sufficient frontierswoman despite my familial link to the quintessential pioneer experience, so much of my life was spent hotfooting it away from such foolishness.  I come by my ineptitude at all farm related activities honestly.  The rural communities of my youth were by far more civilized than Alaska. Even though I was frequently at my grand parents’ farm growing up, I considered myself a visitor, proprio.

Now that I am by far more impressed by sustainable living than I was at sixteen, I am quite keen to go somewhere out of cell phone range and dig around in a garden.  Fortunately, my step-mother, a proper homesteader, lets me express my new found zeal by watering her plants between excursions.  I would honestly have been content to spend the whole vacation tending her garden and fishing had I not been intent on giving Salt his first real Alaskan experience.  

We hiked, we watched birds, we rode horses, and we drove a four-wheeler on what we think was the guide's hunting trip.  We caught halibut and collected rocks.

My Halibut

Our rock collecting was certainly a great amusement to the Alaskans.  Being used to the Outside -- the Alaskan term for the lower 48 -- and all of its rules about not collecting rocks in parks or reservations we were continuously asking with trepid curiosity, "Can we take a rock?" At first the Alaskans wouldn't understand the question.  They would look across the vast expanse of rock beach, then back to our innocent faces, before it occurred to them that we were dead serious. They refrained from openly laughing at us, but the mirth was in their eyes as they explained that we could take as many rocks as we wanted.  I am sure that they are still slapping their knees over those tourists who paid to ship back two boxes of rocks.  Rocks! But the joke is on them, because we would have gladly paid good money for those rocks.

On one night of our vacation, my indomitable relatives gathered for a party.  Alaskans are a special kind of people, whom I won't pretend to know well enough to characterize here.  But they know they are different and they know how they are special.  If you want to get a real look behind the rhubarb thicket into their lives, I suggest a memoir written by my Aunt Joan called "Cow Woman of Akutan," about homesteading in the Aleutians in the 1960s.  (Understand there was no indoor plumbing.) Unlike many memoirs I have read, it doesn't bore the reader with navel gazing.  It's a real page turner with every chapter leaving the reader wondering, "What will happen next?"  Obviously she survived, which is one of the unifying traits of Alaskans, but I will not spoil the book further other than to say that indoor plumbing is much more common now.

Head of the Bay

Another highlight of our trip was horseback riding to the head of the bay.  We watch a lot of "Alaska the Last Frontier" here, because the subjects of this reality show live a few miles from my family.  On the television show they are always riding to the head of the bay to tend their cattle and having to swim the horses across the tidal rivers because someone neglected to check the tide charts.  We did both of these things.  Riding a swimming horse was not on my bucket list, but it should have been, because it was fun... for me, but not for the horse.

Ultimately, though we had to pack up our halibut and fly home to catch up on our own chores at home. Over a month later, we have not caught up on our chores... but then I somehow doubt we ever will. We need a vacation.

Places to Stay in Homer, Alaska:
Katchemak Bay Cabin on Airbnb
Glacier View Cabin on Airbnb

Things to Do:
Trails End Horse Adventure --(907) 235-6393
Alaska Adventure 4-Wheeler Tour -- (907) 235-6393 (Read the signs. Don't touch the dog.)
Rainbow Tours -- (Ferry to Seldovia, wildlife tour, and halibut fishing.)
Grewynk Glacier Hiking Trails -- You'll need to book a water taxi round trip, so try Mako's Water Taxi.

Read Before You Go:
Cow Woman of Akutan by Joan Brown Dodd on Amazon

The Easter Blues

A typical Easter up on the Palmer Divide includes snow. It's difficult to believe that a week ago the grass was green, the trees were starting to bud and I was closing up the chicken coop at night without even bothering to don a jacket.  That was the day before the blizzard dumped 18 inches of snow on us. The subsequent four days of overcast and snow have finally given way to the sun, which is why I bundled up and headed out to the paddocks to dig a path for the chickens.

I looked great, by the way, wearing my fancy galoshes, my burgundy barn coat and my new brown felt slouch hat. Admittedly, I can still be seen in the yard wearing some highly unfashionable get-ups that result from a single mindedness to get to work that makes me all too absent minded about my appearance.  On those days I appear as a diminutive, firebrand hauling my cumbersome wheelbarrow to and fro with great determination, while dressed as a wild eyed bohemian. Most likely my attire is what I pulled out of the laundry that morning so I wouldn't get my good clothes dirty.  Often, I realize half way through the morning that I really should do Salt the favor of reminding him that I am still the fashionable sophisticate he married.

Fashion aside, I need not have bundled up this morning, despite the fact it was 29 degrees out as I chipped away at the densely frozen snow. The plastic snow shovel wouldn't cut the icy pack, so I cut small blocks with a garden spade and pulled up blocks that would have been excellent material for an igloo.  This was a hot and sweaty job laboring in the sun.  I took frequent breaks to catch my breath, enjoying the sparkling glint of the eastern sun reflecting off of the crystalline lake that is a pasture in warmer weather. The ponderosas were still tufted with snow, and the sky was bright blue and cloudless.  The crisp air smelled faintly of mesquite, which is how I knew that Salt had put a brisket on the smoker. 

After freeing the chickens and airing out their coop, I headed inside to reflect a little on the day and, obviously, to blog.  Salt, who could make a profession of reflection if he chose to publish his writing, had already concluded the sitting silently portion of his contemplation time. He had moved on to practicing the harmonica. And so, my appreciation of life continues as he plays the blues with the dogs sleeping nearby and watches the temperature of his brisket.  It feels a little like Easter in a roadhouse, which has its charm.

So here is wishing you all a happy Easter. We are having a day most worthy of celebrating with gratitude: warm sun on our faces, cool breezes in the smoke scented mountain air, dogs at our feet, dinner and family on the way and music all around. Happy Easter!

Small Successes for the Diva Dog

This morning while I was making the bed, Calicocoa -- my diva-dog-in-training-- lumbered into the room and upon seeing me she sat down to wait. An expectant look was on her happy face.  I continued arranging the bedspread and setting the pillows in place.  As I was putting the cover over the last pillow I looked at her and said brightly, “Good girl!” At that she leaped onto the bed and collapsed onto the cushioning comforter and pillow top.  Once settled she turned her face to me, waiting for more praise and petting, which she received. 

It was a gratifying moment to see how far kindness has brought our old girl. She didn't always know that she could trust herself, much less trust us.

I recall when she first came to us nearly two years ago, she would return to bed in the mornings to take a post-breakfast nap. Since I needed to make the bed, I would quietly, but firmly, say “Get down.” This simple, calm statement would inspire fear bordering on terror, as she scrambled off of the bed and out of the room with her tail between her legs. This wasn’t the only clue we had that our sweet Calicocoa had been brought up in an environment where commands accompanied violence. 

For weeks, when I told her to get down from the bed, I tried to say the words “Good dog” before she could rush out of earshot. Eventually she slowed down enough that I could pet her and praise her properly for getting down from the bed. Always, when I finished making the bed, I called her back so she could resume her rest. Finally, she began lingering long enough to watch what I was doing, until she could anticipate when she would be called back.

Finally, she knows that she isn’t bad for being on the bed.  She is good for waiting patiently until I am done with whatever it is I’m doing every day. Now that she understands the rules, she can succeed and it seems to make her happy.

A few months later we trained her to use the dog door.  She senses a trap in every puzzling training moment, so it was slow going for her.  It took a few days to teach her to use the door, but even longer to teach her that the door was there for her to use when she desired it, as opposed to when she was told to use it. Part of the delay was that it took me a few days to surmise that she was afraid to make an independent decision to use the door. Once I understood the problem, I began by showing her a treat, then walking outside with it and calling her.  If she came through the door she received the treat.  After a couple of days of this, I stopped calling her. I could see her big nose poking through the door as she tried to decide if it was worth the risk. Eventually, she took the plunge and received her treat. Three repetitions later, she knew the back garden was her domain. 

Calicocoa has made other improvements.  As much as she detests little Griffin she tolerates his proximity and even takes a defensive posture when “strangers” get too close to him. 

She is still wary of strangers herself, but quicker to accept their presence and with certain rare visitors she warms up enough to be friendly. Last summer she met my cousin and within minutes adopted the demeanor of a cuddly 60 pound lap dog. Most of the time, we have to send her to her special spot until she is calm enough to assess the situation rationally. We may be working on Calicocoa’s stranger issues until the old girl is gone, but her definition of a friend keeps growing broader as she feels safer and trusts herself more. All she needs is love and praise. All she wants is to succeed.