Winter Animal Tracks + Recipe Saskatoon Pancakes

One of my favorite things to do in winter is to observe and follow animal tracks I find on walks around our property or along woodland trails. No bears sign of course - they are hibernating. Nor do we see moose until mid-winter. I imagine that those huge animals prefer to linger close to the open water of creeks and rivers until they freeze over. After that, they lumber through the deep snow to our vicinity and yank pitifully at birch and cranberry branches for a few calories, and then curl up out of the cold, northern wind. (If there is reincarnation, I do not want to be reborn as a 1600 lb herbivore in the arctic!!!) 

 

The tracks we see most often are the dog-like footprints of coyotes, the big cushioned feet of hares, the narrow tread of martens and slimmer still of weasels (to which they are related). The latter is distinguished by an accompanying tail swipe between the legs. By the length of the stride, we can tell if the animals are strolling or running. Rarely do I see the tracks of voles (small meadow mice) because they burrow under the snow all winter, leaving telltale swales in the spring mud. However, this month, our snow is so shallow (maybe 2-3 inches) that I see their little foot impressions, complete with perfectly defined tiny toes. Their tracks run back and forth across short, exposed distances between tree stumps and the fluffy, insulating tents of dead fern fronds. I also see the tracks of their predators overlaying their own, presumably some hours later. Fast and quiet martens and weasels like the caverns beneath tree trunks, too.

 

Sometimes we catch a peripheral glimpse of a speedy and lithe white weasel or a black marten. These wily predators can sniff or hear the creatures beneath the snow. I have watched a marten run across a field, stop, approach slowly, and then leap into the air to dive into some sub-nivean nest for dinner. With one in his sharp teeth, he trots off for a quiet meal. I also see ravens fly, dive, and then fly off with something dark in their beak. The bottom of the food chain is a vulnerable place to be. 

Moose last winter

 

Only once have I seen a blood trail. If I interpreted the ground signs correctly, an eagle swooped down to grab a hare just before it dived under a tree. The talons drew blood of some volume that pooled at the base of the tree, and then spotted the snow in a linear pattern as the bird lifted off. We found no body in the vicinity. All of this “dog eat dog” world transpires during the summer, too, of course, but it is hidden in the verdant, fast growing landscape. It is winter when I ruminate over clear reminders of the vulnerability of life – for us and other creatures - water, food, warmth, and safety. 

 

Recipe: Saskatoon Pancakes 

1/2 cup each of corn meal, oatmeal, white or wheat flour. 

1 cup sour dough starter or buttermilk or milk "soured" with a tablespoon of vinegar or lemon juice. 

Add water to adjust texture for thick or thin pancakes. 

1 cup of saskatoon berries (fresh in summer or frozen in winter) or blueberries 

4 teaspoons baking powder 

3 Tablespoons melted bacon grease, butter or oil

 3 Tablespoons sugar or honey

1 egg

Combine. Cook on a medium high, greased griddle. Extra oil or bacon grease will yield lacy, crispy edges. We serve this with homemade rhubarb syrup or honey, but any syrup or molasses is tasty.

Fireweed Predicts Early Winter + Alaska Horseradish Recipe

 Folk wisdom here says that when the fireweed flowers die and shed their dandelion-like seeds, count 6 weeks to the onset of winter.  Well, on August 15, the fireweed flew.  By mid-September, all mountains over about 4000 feet wore a mantle of termination dust (initial snow).  By Autumn Solstice, our yard sparkled with frost every morning, shriveling the ferns.  The last day of September, a light snow fell, and gossamer thin ice floated on the lake.  On October 5, 70% of the lake was covered with a thin skim of ice, although the wind and rain that night melted it.  Time to put the polystyrene over the outhouse toilet seat. 

Thanks to the fireweed's clue, we worked busily to ready our property for eight months of winter.  We emptied garden water from 5- 55 gallon drums, cleaned flower pots with diluted bleach, planted bulbs and seeds that require cold stratification (like garlic, poppies and delphinium).  I cleaned and rubbed wooden tool handles with linseed oil, mulched the gardens with fallen birch leaves and mucky chicken straw, plugged in the heated poultry waterers.    

When our hens molt (shed old and regrow new feathers), they do not lay eggs, and subsequently, during a dark winter, they lay fewer than in summer.  So I am pleased to have glassed 150 eggs for winter eating.  This means that they are stored in a solution of water and pickling lime, which coats the shells and keeps the eggs shelf stable at room temperature for many months.  The longest I have stored any this way is 9 months, but Mother Earth News reports 2 years!  

The final vegetables that I harvested were potatoes (100!), horseradish root (see recipe below), and an abundance of green tomatoes in the unheated greenhouse which are ripening indoors now. I look forward to making a roasted tomato/onion/jalapeno salsa.  Sorrel, cabbage, and onions remain outside even when temperatures drop to the 20s.  

One new idea to enhance our winter experience is a bit of a test case.  Like many homes, our door and window areas are drafty.  And drafty in an Alaskan winter is problematic.  So I bought used blankets from second hand stores that I sewed  and strung over rebar rods flush over the window frames behind our decorative drapes as an extra layer of defense at night, which, let's face it, is LONG during this season. This reminds me of my chilly 1904 vintage apartment when I attended grad school at Washington University in St. Louis.  We taped plastic sheeting to the inside of every window because the old, water circulating radiators were so ineffective.  Perhaps the Alaska blanket method will work better at retarding exterior cold and retaining heat from our very effective wood stove. We will see.  Warmth is good. (Update: it works well! At +6 degrees F outside at breakfast time, the temperature just inside our double paned windows but inside the blanket is a chilly +49 F. However, two layers further, past the blanket and decorative drape, the temperature at the kitchen table is a comfy +66 degrees.

Our winter water situation remains inconvenient.  Bryan unplugged the on-demand water heater for the kitchen, filled the 55 gallon interior cistern, and installed our 23 gallon aluminum tank over the woodstove.  We will top these off about twice a week by underground pipes until the temperature drops to about +10 - +20 F.  After that, we string hoses across the yard.  

I think we are ready for winter.

--------------------------

HORSERADISH SAUCE RECIPE

Combine: 

¼ cup of horseradish root, grated or chopped finely.

¼ cup mayonnaise

¾ cup sour cream or plain yogurt

1 tsp - 1 TBS vinegar  (to taste)

1 tsp - 1 TBS dijon mustard (to taste)

salt and pepper.

NOTE 1:  You can make your sauce MILDER by adding the vinegar to the roots as soon as you cut them.  I waited 5 minutes and this was so.  Vinegar stops the enzymatic process that releases the sulfur compounds.  Similarly, you can make your sauce HOTTER by delaying the vinegar - one correspondent said that he waits 45 minutes!!!  I think that next year, I will delay for 20 minutes. We'll see...

NOTE 2:  You can color your sauce by adding synergistic flavors. Here,  red beets and the green leaves of nasturtium and sorrel  are still growing at the same time that I harvest the horseradish. 

Enjoy!

December: Rain, Snowmachines, and Lame Holiday Crafts

Believe it or not, December began with RAIN!  A “Pineapple Express” weather system brought a stream of warm, damp wind up from Hawaii, slammed into the tall mountains along the Alaska coast and caused all sorts of havoc, including historic records for rain, plus ice (and car crashes) and landslides (and loss of homes and people).  A mess.

Here, we were spared any damage, but temps rose to the mid-30s and the hard rain pelted some snow off roofs and hardened (finally) the soft snow in the yard.  The surface was no longer pillowy soft and smooth but looked like a patchwork of lightly melted marshmallows.  Over the course of the month the temperatures plummeted to -10F, and then jumped back up to the +30s.  These dramatic shifts felt like the weather version of bumper pool.

When the snow paths firmed up from the rain, we decided to groom them into wider, smoother, and harder surfaces.  This entails dragging a passive groomer (looks like a horizontal fence with angled iron bars) behind the snowmachine.

Two conditions delayed the task: 1) the snowmachine skis were coated in lumpy layers of ice and  2) the snow that had been sheltered from rain beneath the vehicle remained deep (several feet) and soft, between higher and harder paths pelted by rain.  So, we toted a sled of supplies and got to work.  First, we tipped the machine over on its side to melt the ice with a heat gun (like a hand hair dryer), powered by the generator and  scraped the ice off with a garden spade and a screwdriver.  When we tried to power out of position, the heavy rear treads predictably sank into the soft center snow.  Plan B:  we tied a strap around the base of a spruce tree ahead of us and I ratcheted the tow strap as Bryan climbed, a few inches at a time, out of the soft hole and up onto harder snow.  Then, he was able to whiz around the property and for about four miles into the woods, smoothing paths and widening curves, for pleasant afternoons of cross country skiing and walking.

For a month, our internet and telephone connectivity were inconveniently haphazard.   Apparently, one of our service providers had installed some upgrade for customers on the grid, but the old equipment they sold us to install several years ago is not compliant.  They gave us a 90% discount to turn off the service until spring, when can upgrade, too.  

Living remotely means that we have lots of back ups and work-arounds.  This is true for communications, too.  So this month, we could reliably make phone calls from the unheated power shed, but not from the warm cabin.  If I wanted to call my 89 year old dad, I had to bundle up and call from there.  It was worse for Bryan, whose business has been busier than he expected this time of year, with 5 or 6 business calls each morning.  He dressed up in his quilted Carhartts, bunny boots, glove liners, hat, and balaclava, standing among power tools and beekeeping supplies, hoping that the other guy didn't want a Zoom visual feed as they discussed business services.  Then “Mr. Popsicle” would return to the cabin, for some hot tea and a sweet treat.        

My husband and I are not big on decorating for holidays, but this year I was encouraged by a crafty friend who gave me a bag full of buttons, bows, and Christmas lights and told me to “DO SOMETHING” with them.  My arts and crafts instincts are sadly lacking, but I dutifully looked through Pinterest photos.

My evaluation:  pictures on Pinterest look A LOT BETTER than my lame attempts.  I decorated a “Charlie Brown tree” of spruce bows I wired together and decorated with Betty's lights, bows, and bullet casings (hey – they are shiny), topped with a flimsy branch star.  Then I assembled a tree like decoration of mason jar rings, green flannel, and buttons.  Frankly, everything looked like something my children made in elementary school.  They wouldn't win any blue ribbons, but I must admit that I really enjoyed the process, and the results made me chuckle.  That was not a bad outcome during a month when our world sorely needed laughter.

Next crafts project:  I am thinking of making earrings from the bullet casings, maybe with washers for some dingle-dangle appeal.  Stay tuned.  

Alaska November: Snow, Food, Predators

November temperatures varied from the +30s F to below 0 F. During surprisingly warm periods in the upper 20's F, a 25 hour storm dropped 3 feet of snow over the weekend of Nov 7/8, and then again over Thanksgiving weekend. (So I made a big batch of snow ice cream each time) Because of the soft, light snow, we lumbered about in the yard in awkward snowshoes almost all month, patting out paths, shoveling out doorways at the coop, outhouse, and greenhouse, and digging out the burn barrel.

Snow shoes don't skate along the top of soft snow. They spread out one's weight so a large area is pressed down, after which you lift the snowshoe up over the next two feet of snow and press down again. This is tiring – like climbing a stairmaster in a gym. I feel the exercise at the top insides of my thighs. A clear work out! We widened each path four snowshoes wide to provide a firm surface for the snowmachines, but the temperatures remained so high (20s and even 30s) that the upper layers never hardened up for our (admittedly old and heavy) machines. After they got stuck twice, we ignored them and continued to strap on the snowshoes for the rest of the month. (“Why fight a...xxx?” I think about this every season.) 

The mostly windless and temperature stable days and nights retained the pretty white layer above black branches and angled tree trunks. I find this so beautiful. But this also meant that the roofs retained their load of snow, too. Fortunately, half of our buildings have 45 degree roofs (1”:1” rise), so they shed snow easily. But the 30-33 degree roofs (1”:3” rise) needed some early attention to slough off the heavy load of precipitation. I found a website that helps one calculate the increasing weights of fresh, settled, wet snow and ice over a given expanse of roof. Yikes! A two foot snow dump can weigh 15,000 lbs on a 20 x 12 roof! I pity the families and work crews attending to the surprisingly shallow roofs I spy throughout this part of Alaska. Sure, flatter is cheaper to build, but... 20 years of maintenance?

Freeze Up at an Alaska Cabin

Freeze up is a brief and dramatic transition.

The first snow always makes me feel like we have suddenly switched from a color movie with sound to a silent black and white one.  The only colors remaining in view are the yellow needles of the tamarack (larch) trees and a few glistening red cranberries dangling from denuded branches.  The only sounds are of wind,  snow sloughing off our steep roofs and lake water freezing. 

First snow in the front yard

The first sunny day after any snowfall is gorgeous, with the diamond-like glints of snow crystals, reflected light, and the complicated geometry of sun and shadow formed by trees and the lumpy terrain of snow coated ground cover.

October 25 featured a full day and night of wet, soggy snow, in mid-30s F temperatures, coating the yard and topping the stumps with 6 inches.  Early the next morning, Bryan heard branches cracking and snapping under the weight.  

 

Chainsawing Hundreds of Dead Spruce Trees (Sad)

Sadly, the majestic spruce trees throughout the boreal forests of Southcentral Alaska have been decimated by an infestation of spruce beetles.  Beetle killed trees are easy to spot.  Their needles turn rusty brown and then drop, littering the snow.  The bark, too, turns redder than normal and sheds in shaggy patches like a mangy dog.  These dead trees are not only an eyesore but a potent fire hazard.

Low on wood at winter's end!

On our property, we have culled 30 - 40 trees each year for three years. Most of the stricken trees are mature.  (The tallest dead ones we cut down were above 80 feet).  For some reason, the young saplings seem to be spared, perhaps because they have a higher concentration of turpines to discourage insects.   As a result, our woodsy setting is changing.  The good news is that, with more space and light between trees, the woods are less damp, harboring fewer mosquitoes.  The bad news is that spruce grouse and squirrels are disappearing along with their habitat. I so miss the calm cooing of mother hens leading their little ones on a march across the yard, and the aerobatic antics of squirrels climbing spruce trees with mushroom caps too large for their mouths.   

Challenges at 29F Below Zero (-34C)

Brrrrrr!

After the record breaking warmth in Alaska during every month of 2019, including rain on New Year's Eve (!), I was astonished when the temperatures plummeted last week to teens below 0 F, and kept dropping to the low 20s and 30s below 0 F this week. These arctic conditions are predicted to remain for another week.  (Thank goodness there is no windchill factor).  Interior Alaskans might regard me as wimpy (Bettles was 60F below 0 last week), but I find this weather brutal.

For three days, I had NO interest in doing any projects outside.  My husband dressed up like an astronaut in multiple layers of quilted, lined winter wear to do any outdoor chores, such as checking on the animals and hauling load after load of wood to our cabin.   When I finally ventured out myself, I could perform only one or two brief projects before retreating inside to warm up.

As you can imagine, we are rapidly depleting the wood supply that heats our two room, 750 sq. ft. cabin and our hot tub.  On warm winter days  of +20 to 30 F, we burn, per day, about 15 small birch logs in our wood stove.  At 0 degrees F, we ignite up to 30.  Currently, we are churning through about 45 logs to maintain patchy interior temperatures of low 50s to high 60s.  That may sound cool, but it is 70-80 degrees warmer than outside. We have already burned half of the dry logs my husband cut last summer.  (Fortunately, we live in a forest and have already flagged standing dead trees for future fuel).

Freeze Up Thwarted

Freeze Up begins in fits and starts in mid-October.  I envision Old Man Winter playing tag with three lively grandchildren - Wind, Water, and Ice.  He lets them chase each other back and forth across the lake until he wearies of the game and declares Ice - his favorite grandson-  the winner so he can move along to other seasonal tasks.

First, ice forms in the still water below and behind our docks and then extends in the shallows on either side.  One night,  I awoke to a lovely, evasescent sight.  A full October moon was reflected in the inky water, framed by newly formed silver ice floes.  As soon as the moon moved, the image vanished.

The next day, my husband and I kayaked among the shifting ice.  Some stretches were gossamer thin, patched together with visible icy stitches.  Others were thick enough, even after only one day's formation, to withstand a paddle's prodding.  The windward side of these floes had developed a curb, higher than the shallow center, where gentle breezes blew laminar sheets of water over the surfaces, thickening them, millimeter by millimeter.

Beautiful Frost

Termination Dust- first snow

Yesterday, September 25, was the end of summer.  Mid-afternoon, rain turned to wet, sloppy snow which then pelted the flower beds.  The long white streaks were stunning against the purple, candelabra-like anise hyssop, and blended into the tufts of feverfew below.  Sure enough, once the clouds parted, I could see the layer of termination dust on the mountains.

Termination refers to the end of warm weather.  Dust?  That is far too unattractive a term for the initial cap of snow.  One of my favorite sights here is the double image of snowy mountains reflected in the still lake, divided by a row of yellow birch in fall or bright green foliage in spring.

Frost on a fern leaf

Despite the undulations of the hillsides, the snow etches a razor sharp line.  As autumn warmth wanes, the snow will descend to ground level, where it will stay until next May.

Frozen cosmos

Today, I awoke to 28 degrees and the loveliness of a frost covered world.  The tops and edges of all plants are decorated in white.  I particularly love the delicate transformation of lacy ferns.  Flat leafed plants appear dipped in sugar.  Pink and purple cosmos seem frozen in time, as though the White Witch of Winter froze them for her winter garden.

Frost is especially delightful because it lasts for such a short time.  The moment the sun warms a patch of foliage, the icy molecules melt, returning the plants to their everyday garb.  Thus continues the autumnal decay.  The leaves and flowers will mulch and warm the soil below, bedding the nursery for the next generation.

Alaska Earthquake Effects at Remote Cabin

Alaska is VERY seismically active.  At our place, we feel the earth shudder several times a year.  On November 30, South Central Alaska suffered a 7.2 earthquake, followed, in the ensuing month, by more than 6000 aftershocks, some of which were strong enough (above 5.0) to cause additional damage. 

Ceiling earthquake damage

At the time, we were out of state, so we nervously contacted friends in Anchorage and the Mat-Su Valley – on either side of the epicenter – to see how they fared.  One man said that everything on any shelf, wall, or mantle came crashing down, and his house is now riddled with cracks.  He was particularly devastated that his sons’ clay mementos, like their hospital footprints, had been smashed to smithereens.  A woman lost only one wine glass… and an entire 30 gallon aquarium (on carpet, of course!).  An acquaintance said that her home was fine but that her father’s house was totaled and he barely escaped when his two story stone fireplace buckled, smothering  the couch on which he had just been seated, seconds before.   The closest school to us – some 20 miles by air – is closed for the rest of the year.

Cost/Benefit of Raising Food Animals in Alaska Winter

Animal husbandry in cold, dark winters is challenging and expensive.  From a cost/benefit assessment, it is unsurprising that autumn has historically been a time for butchering animals - they cost a lot more to feed and warm through winter than in the summer, and in the case of birds, they lay fewer eggs, too.

Insulated bee hives in winter

Below are some of the seasonal problems we have encountered raising honeybees, chickens, ducks, and rabbits, and the costs/benefits we estimate.  Perhaps this will help others considering raising food animals (and insects) during long cold seasons.

Problems, costs, and benefits:
HONEY BEES   Winter: Almost all of our honeybee colonies die in winter, despite insulated hives, so we have to buy nucs (nuclear colonies with one queen and a few hundred Buckfast or Italian bees) every spring, for about $250@.

Costs: So  (after buying the initial boxes and equipment), our annual cost to produce 17 gallons of honey from four hives is about $58/gallon, or $0.91/oz, which is in between the prices of store bought regular and organic honeys.  This volume may seem ridiculous to anyone who only uses honey on an occasional biscuit, but we use the honey in place of sugar in many recipes (can't grow sugar up here), including beer and mead, and for hair conditioner and facials.  We also use the beeswax in furniture and leather polish, lip balm, and skin moisturizing bars.  I don't know the weight/volume we accumulate,  because we store it in bits and pieces, but I read that a pound of beeswax sells on-line for $10 – 15/lb.

Alaska Homesteading Winter Anecdotes

Outsiders may envision Alaska's long winters as all very similar, but that is not so.  Each year's differences offer variety and alternating advantages and disadvantages at our remote home.  This year, our firewood stores have benefited from low snow and high winds, our beeyard has suffered from a moose, and our entertainment has increased by visits of a curious marten to our hot tub.


THE CURIOUS MARTEN:

Martens are described, in one source, as “nature's most adorable assassin.”  Isn't that an evocative description!  Related to weasels/ermines/minks, martens are the size of slim dachsunds.   They have short legs, a long body wearing a glossy brown coat, a fluffy, fox-like tail, small, rounded ears, a short nose, and bright eyes in a restless, alert face. They are really cute.  It is entertaining to watch them dash lightly across the surface of the snow, jump up, and then dive deep to a subnivean nest of voles. They grab one for dinner, and then dash off to some quiet picnic spot.  One day, my husband was sitting in the soaking tub where his splash aroused the curiosity of a marten.  The little critter bravely bounded not only to the tub, but also up two stairs!  Cute they may be, but their sharp teeth and claws are not condusive to close acquaintance.  Bryan splashed at the creature, who decided to retreat in favor of smaller meat or perhaps less water.

MOOSE and BEES:

For some reason, we have had more frequent moose visitors this winter.  We watched one with a damaged rear leg struggle through overflow on the lake, have viewed others nibbling birch branches in our yard, and sighed over the depredations to our apple trees.  The animals' heavy footfalls punch deep holes through the soft snow and even along our hardpacked snow paths.  Saturday night,  a moose banged through the 4.5 foot high wire fence that encircles the bee yard, totally ripping out some of the lines and then, stepped over the rest with his 5 foot long legs.  I don't know why; tracks indicate that he was walking, not running.  Maybe the appeal of a straight line?  

Building A Hot Tub in the Woods

For years, I yearned for a hot bath out here at our cabin in the woods.  Ah, the relaxation of sinking into deep warm water, maybe with a book and a glass of wine after exercise or at the end of an eventful day.

But moving, heating, and draining water are all challenges in this setting that I never appreciated when bathing in a city.  In a remote, off-grid home with six months of winter, a cold water well, and no septic system, a bathtub seems like a decadent pleasure in a former, urban life.

After several years of trouble shooting water delivery problems at Latitude 61, we finally felt confident about securing running water ... most of the time - after we re-insulated our well and water lines for improved reliability.  So I started to think again about a tub that could work within our constraints:

a) It would have to be outside, because there is no room in the outhouse, cabin, or shower house.
b) We would have to be able to fill it by hose and then heat the water by wood or propane, during long, cold winters without fear of hoses, couplings, and water freezing.
c) And it needed to be close enough to the cabin that I would even CONSIDER a cold and dry ingress and wet and slippery egress.

Ski Plane Lands in Eight Inches of Winter Overflow

This year's warm and soggy winter weather has disappointed - and endangered - outdoor enthusiasts on all sorts of skis - cross country, snowmachines, and planes.  At any temperature, when ice thickens on lakes and rivers, it pushes water up through spider holes and other crevices to flow atop the ice, with inadequate places to drain.  Unseasonable winter rain/sleet deepened those pools.  The modest moniker of "Overflow" belies its danger.


Nearly frozen water is thick - almost viscous - and it has a terrific affinity for metal, adhering to and weighing down any surface it touches.  This impediment to forward movement is bad enough when visible, but it is even more treacherous when covered by a thin layer of snow that looks soft and deep but actually insulates the water enough to keep it from freezing thick and safe for transport.

When we arrived at Willow's little rural, gravel strip airport (originally an emergency runway for the Lend Lease planes in World War II), Barry Stanley of Denali Flying Service warned us, “The ice is thick, but be careful of overflow out there. Land fast so you won't bog down far from shore.”  Then his passenger regaled us with a few harrowing and expensive lessons learned by friends whose airplane skis were trapped in icy graves.

So cautioned, my husband circled our Piper PA-20 over the lake at 1000 feet to spy any open water.  We saw none but three spider holes in the northwest corner - far from where we intended to land.  So far, so good, but it was hard to see much else.  Although mid-day, the light was completely flat, providing no shadow to identify moose tracks, snow drifts, snowmachine or plane tracks that could catch a ski.  In such white- on- white conditions, depth perception is severely challenged. Where is the surface? What angle and speed will ensure a smooth landing instead of a chaotic bounce?

Forest Scavenger Hunt for Food, Remedies, Useful Products

Birch trees

Climbing the learning curve from “erstwhile city slicker” in Texas to remote rural life in Alaska, my acclimation has been immeasurably aided by several courses in botany, which have enhanced both gardening and foraging for food, home remedies, and construction materials.  Currently, I am enrolled in a fascinating on-line course in Applied Ethnobotany (offered by the University of  Alaska-Fairbanks).

As the name suggests, this field studies human use of plants - for food, fuel, textiles, shelter, medicine, and anything else.  I am learning how indigenous peoples and settlers utilized the resources all around them, that other people, like me, surely overlook. Interested readers will see below a list of resources they may be able to utilize for their own regions.

At the very beginning of this course, our professor instructed us to harvest some local plants for

Witch's Hair (lichen)

several projects.  Really?  In February?  In Alaska?  What could I find this time of year?  Well, duh, trees.  I live in a forest!  But besides use as firewood, construction, and spring birch sap, I did not know much. So one day, my husband and I pulled on our snowshoes and dragged a little plastic sled through the woods for a scavenger hunt. How fun!  In half an hour, we gathered two species of pendulous (hair) lichen with the evocative colloquial names of “witch's hair” and “bear hair,” chopped some chaga and “punk” conks off old birch trees, peeled off some loose birch bark,  gathered a handful of frozen spruce resin globules,

chaga

and cut a wrist thick swath of sweet grass sticking up through shallow snow beneath the shelter of a large spruce tree.

Remote Living: Once-a-Year Deliveries

People who live in cities and suburbs enjoy the gift of spontaneity:
a) frequent, short trips to the supermarket or a restaurant when “there is nothing to eat in the house.”
b) "just in time” delivery of purchases

Short days = cold hauling

By contrast, residents of small towns, villages, and island communities plan their errands around once-a-week or once-a-month visits to Big Box stores where they buy bulk supplies, including food, tools, and toilet paper, to be stored in ubiquitous sheds or walls layered with shelves.  Even more remote homes and villages await twice a year shipments, by boat or plane of a pallet-load of carefully selected supplies... and an eye - opening delivery charge ($0.30 - $0.60/lb).

In our case, our little airplane affords a certain amount of spontaneity for excursions and small purchases... when the weather allows.  But big, bulky, heavy, or flammable items, like furniture and fuel, have to await a  once-a-year window for transportation to our remote home.  As you can imagine, we maintain and continually update a precious inventory and shopping list for these important occasions.  Some purchases are planned (or wait) for several years, since transportation needs have to be triaged by priority and some seasons are truncated.

Water catchment hauled in last winter

Thus, after seven years of waiting,  I look forward to a bathtub and my husband now has the rocking chair he has long wanted for the front porch.

Generally, January - March are our “hauling season” because the rivers are frozen thick enough to become speedy iceways for lodges and residences located alongside, as well as for the recreational snowmachiners and dog mushers who traverse them, too.  We, however, live an hour's snowmachine trip west of the rivers, so we need the right snow conditions to get there.  This winter began with so little snowfall, that we lost the entire month of January.  Devil's club spikes, alder, and even small spruce trees perforated the trail. Our only neighbor told us he went out into the woods to hack out some underbrush and even move around some snow!  But by the time we went out, his hard work was obscured by a 24 hour snowstorm that blanketed the landscape with a pillowy soft 13 inches.

So, before we could go anywhere, we had to construct a snow road hard enough to support the weight we anticipate - up to 1000 pounds - otherwise, the snowmachine, sled, and all purchases will be mired in the deep, soft powder, perhaps even far from any assistance.

Snow Based Desserts (Ice Cream, Sorbet, or Granita)

Did you know that you can make desserts with snow?   It is a fun novelty, but also extremely fast and easy - another way to enjoy the season's bountiful precipitation even indoors.  What a great activity with children of all ages.

After a fresh snowfall, I scoop up several cups worth and leave the bowl outside on the porch while I rummage around my kitchen assembling metal bowls and spoons (which conduct the cold, and thus buy you time in what has to be a fast job) and  ingredients, which include a liquid, a sweetener, and some flavoring agent.

I've flavored various bowls of snow with chocolate, birch syrup, honey, last summer's raspberries, canned peaches, and the morning's fruit juice.

The density of the snow will determine how much liquid the snow can absorb, and that, along with the liquid used, will determine the texture.  I have found that cream and condensed milk confer a silky mouth feel, like ice cream, and can be eaten right away. Milk snow is flakier, like ice milk.   Bowls flavored with fruit juice or other water based liquids tend to be more granular, like a granita or a sorbet, and benefit from refreezing time, unless you purposely want a hard popsicle-like texture.

Sample recipe:
Over four cups of snow, drip a tablespoon of extract or liqueur, sprinkle 1/2 cup of white sugar, and slowly pour about a cup of milk, juice, or other liquid, while gently folding the snow to incorporate all ingredients.  Taste and adjust.  Most people will want more sugar.  Total labor time: 2 minutes.

Deep Cold - Grin and Bear It

It was -36 F (-38 C) this morning, and is -20F (-29 C) now.  The whole week has been like this. Brrrrr!
What are the practical and emotional aspects of life in such weather, both inside and out?   My main reaction is that it makes me feel vulnerable.

INSIDE:

We heat our two room cabin with a woodstove.  At such temperatures, we are burning about 50 pieces of aged, dried birch logs per day.  Last MONTH, which was warmer, we depleted our wood corral by more than 1/2 cord ( 4 x 4 x 4 ft.) This WEEK - probably the same amount!  In milder months, we let the fire go out during sunny afternoons to empty cold ash from the woodbox to a metal storage container we stow in the snow.  This week, we dare not let the fire die, so we shovel hot embers into the metal bucket and carefully carry it outside, hoping that the walls won't rust and perforate from the heat... for a few more weeks.

Even with a vigorous fire, the cabin is cool.  The kitchen area measured 46 degrees while I made breakfast yesterday.  Cooking oils had congealed.  The juice and tea that I store by the front door (away from the fire) floated ice flakes.  The snow we track into the door mats takes an hour to melt. And this chilly interior occurs despite my husband's dogged night time efforts to pile on additional logs every few hours while I snuggle under a down comforter.

Even though the windows are double paned,  we close the lined draperies as a third line of defense.  Every window interior is rimmed with ice until the sun hits half of them, mid - afternoon. The metal of screws and hardware INSIDE the doors is coated in hoarfrost.

Sunshine makes an enormous difference, psychologically and physically.  Our view is lovely and bright with reflection off the snow covered lake and yard.  It looks deceptively warm.  I don't mind puttering around the house for several deep cold days, working in sunny nooks on one project or another.  But my husband, more energetic than I, gets cabin fever.  He longs to go outside and do something... until he does, and then returns faster than he intended, for some hot tea and warm cake I have ready and waiting.

Winter Solstice Day at an Alaska Cabin

Everyone's life undulates with daily, weekly, and seasonal rhythms, determined often by routine tasks.  At our remote home, winter chores are determined by weather and prioritized by heat, water, and food.

Below is a sample winter day, at this off-grid, off-road home in the boonies of Alaska (with notes about the subsequent -2 and -22F days that followed).

Dec 21 (+17 degrees)

HEAT and POWER:  When my husband is home, he gets up several times a night to stoke the fire.  But yesterday he flew out to attend a meeting in Anchorage.  Since I am a sound sleeper, I awoke to a chilly interior temperature of +47F. The power had gone out during the night, too, darn it. Naturally, at latitude 61 at 6 am, it was pitch black - and would stay that way for another three hours.  I donned my winter-usual attire: two shirts, two socks and a pair of lined sweat pants, as well as a headlight that I keep by the bed, to venture down the circular stairs to the main room, where I started  a fire in the squat little wood stove from the tinder, kindling, and log boxes lined up by the back door.  While it caught, I moved the all important coffee pot onto the propane stove, and bundled up to walk back through the woods, to the power shed, about 450 feet above and behind the cabin.  It was snowing lightly under a hazy, quarter moon.  On the way, I emptied the chamber pot into the outhouse.

I am not a morning person, so I hate having to face the cold and yank the generator pre-dawn, before coffee.  But December delivers miserly amounts of solar and wind power, so we supplement with two hours of generator to provide interior phone, lights, and Internet.   At the shed, I checked the voltage meter's record when the power conked out.  Hmmm, it is higher than I would wish at these temperatures. I hope the batteries aren't dying.  I tugged futily on the generator rope five times before it roared to life. Pleeeeeease connect!  My glasses fogged up from the exertion.

Motion detector lights illuminated the snowy path as I return past the woodshed,

food shed and outhouse to the cabin.  The buildings look pretty - the steep angled roofs and the log or green painted walls.  I spied animal tracks,  sharply outlined by shadow, mostly hares and voles diving below the insulation of snow covered bushes.  I reflect on the hungry black mink I saw yesterday, bounding through snow to close the distance to a gray hare twice its size. On the back porch, I grab an armload of logs, and step inside, smiling at the orange fire and the welcome scent of coffee, which I sweeten with dried milk and honey from our bees, and scoot under an alpaca blanket to read the Internet news and emails.   I always check weather first, which determines tasks I can or should do that day. Today is supposed to be clear and in the teens, followed by a deepening cold snap that I don't look forward to:-2F and then -22F.  Those will be days for indoor projects.  

Obviously the number of logs we burn depends on the external (and internal)

temperature.  In the teens, we use about 15 logs per day to warm the two room cabin.  At 0 F, the number doubles and at -15F triples. This number of logs heats a two room cabin to the 50s and low 60s.  As you can imagine, my most important winter task is to haul plastic sled loads of aged, dry birch wood that my husband has felled, chopped, cut, aged and stacked during the prior two years, from the roofed wood corral to the back porch, and then, on a daily basis, fill the interior bins with bigger and smaller wood.  Let's just say that I never postpone this chore.

Turning Alaskan Birch Sap into Syrup, Part 2

(This is Part 2, focusing on cooking the sap down to syrup.  To read about collecting the sap, please enjoy the prior article).

In our neck of the woods, the sap started running on April 2, 2016, more than 2 weeks earlier than in recent years and 6 weeks earlier than a particularly late spring several years ago.  Whenever Nature decides, we have to be ready.

Assembling the evaporator

Fortunately, we had strung the collection lines among two dozen trees in February and early March.  After that, Bryan started to assemble the "woodstove" he bought from Leader Evaporator (in Vermont), which consisted of a sheet metal exterior, about 600 pounds of heat resistant bricks (some of which he had to cut to fit), and a short, metal chimney.

Unfortunately, the masonry cannot be cemented together until the temperature rises above the mid-40s, which did not occur regularly until late March, and once that occurred, it started to rain!  Every day for a week!  So that set us back a bit.

The evaporator was finally finished and the first test fire ignited on April 1.
The very next day, we discerned drops of sap flowing down the plastic lines to the collection tank next to the wood  stove. Phew!  Perfect timing.