Tuesday, October 20, 2020

October at a Remote Alaska Homestead

 October is the start of freeze up.  This year, during the first half of October, snow started to cling to the apex of Mt. Susitna (about 4400 feet).  On the 16th, it appeared at the top of Little Su, too (about 3300 feet).  Most of the deciduous trees and bushes dropped their leaves (except for the yellow needles of tamaracks and the fat green maple-like leaves of the large domesticated currant bushes).  We raked up tarps full of birch leaves to mulch the raised bed gardens as well as two trellises of domesticated raspberry bushes.  We also re-wrapped the lowest 1-2 feet of young berry plants to protect them from under-snow girdling by hungry voles and hares.   Having lost several prior apple and cherry trees to such predation, I hope we can finally outsmart those little rodents.  

Reflections of birch along lake shore

 During the first half of the unusually warm month, we were still able to gather fresh salads of sorrel, mustard, and nasturtium greens every day.  Tomatoes continued to grow in the greenhouse, even though I stopped watering in September.  A wonderful treat was our first small harvest of horseradish.  We divided the plants, cut the skinny horizontal roots for the kitchen and replanted the stronger, thicker tap roots for next year's growth. The ones I harvested for our use were so thin that I just used my thumb nail to scrape off the hairs and thin skin, then pulverized the roots with mayonnaise and yogurt for a tangy sauce.  It was so delicious that it lasted a mere 2 weeks!  I look forward to much more sauce in years to come, since the plant flourishes in our Alaska climate, and since our jalapenos seem to taste milder than those we grew in Texas.

Friday, October 9, 2020

September at a Remote Alaska Homestead

September is our month for beautiful autumn colors, rain, trail blazing, and molting chickens.

Walkway to the lake
Our views are particularly attractive this time of year.  From my bed upstairs, I see the yellow birch trees below purple mountains reflected in perfect symmetry in the still lake. Through the north windows, I spy patches of sparkling water  hidden all summer by the leaves of trees.  From the kitchen window, I look uphill where  the understory plants, like highbush cranberry and devil's club, and the ground huggers like dwarf dogwood turn brilliant shades of yellow, red and purple.  The scents of autumn the musty fruity fragrance of cranberry bushes and on dry days, the tannic scent of dead birch and other leaves.