Highbush Cranberry Harvest and Alaskan Recipe

My adult version of Halloween Trick or Treating is to gather highbush cranberries when they are red and ripe in the autumn.  In cool weather (40s F), I amble around the hundreds of plants on our property, delicately raking the glistening red fruit through my fingers and depositing them in a bag slung over my arm.

 

Mature, fruit bearing plants range from waist high to 15 feet here, with an airy arrangement of opposite maple-like leaves on slim, upward curving branches. (see photos below)  Both in spring and fall, they are very pretty.  This time of year, the foliage varies in color as far as the eye can see - green, yellow, orange, red, and burgundy - depending on whether their locations are sunny or shady.  I pick a gallon at a time of the reddest fruit, letting the orange ones imbibe their full complement of sunny goodness for a few more days.  

Most bushes prefer to grow in dappled shade under or near birch trees.  But the “blue ribbon” producers thrive in a sunny thicket in front of the lake where no birches grow.  I puzzled over this anomaly for a while until I remembered all of the waterlogged birch trunks we had hauled out of the lake back in 2007 and 2008, to ensure safe passage for docking float planes.  Based on the birches leaning precipitously over the water elsewhere on the lake, I presume that the root balls of those erstwhile trees probably drowned in saturated shore side soil, and tipped into the water.  In the meantime, they created an ecosystem conducive to my beloved cranberries.

As I wander about, kicking yellow birch leaves, I can feel that the cooling land is getting firmer under foot.  I breathe in the musty scent of the woods, and listen to the rasping sound of drying and brittle leaves as they rub against each other.  I pop a few of the tart, juicy fruits into my mouth and feel them squirt out their load of vitamin C.  To me, this is the iconic taste of fall.  What a pleasure these daily excursions are.  They stimulate all five of my senses.  

After each day's harvest, I rinse the berries and sort out any debris before popping them in a bag to store in the freezer until I have enough to go through the process of assembling, using, dismantling, and cleaning my manual food mill.  Unlike bog cranberries, these have a flat seed to extract, so I set up two bowls - one to receive the juice (for people), and the other to collect the seeds and pulp (as a winter treat for the chickens).  Most of the juice I sweeten with our newly harvested honey and drink thick, like a nectar, hot or cold.  Some I set aside unsweetened, to add a wonderful flavor to barbecue sauces, vinaigrettes, and fruity desserts. 

As a child, my exposure to cranberries was limited to canned jelly on Thanksgiving.  Now I nurture the plants for the spring and fall beauty as well as their tasty, vitamin rich addition to my larder.

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Recipe for Barbecue Sauce:

2 cups fresh, unsweetened cranberry juice

2 cups beer

2 cups molasses

2 cups vinegar

1 small can tomato paste

1/2 cup black coffee

Dried orange rind, about 1/4 of a fruit

Herbs and spices to taste.  We like it hot, so add a lot of hot dry peppers and garlic.  I also like a "dark" flavor so I add cloves and cinnamon.  

Simmer and cook down a bit to thicken.  Flavors combine best if consumed the next day or many hours after cooking and resting.

Our Interview on www.thesurvivalpodcast.com

Linked here is our 1 hour interview with Jack Spirko, of The Survival Podcast.

 http://www.thesurvivalpodcast.com/lbear-hunting-for-meat

Jack has produced a daily podcast on topics of interest to the prepper community since at least 2008.  Bryan listened to them when we still lived in Houston, TX.

He has a delightful personality as a radio host.

In this interview, we talk about harvesting black bear for food, as well as other topics such as beekeeping and foraging.

If you enjoy this program, you might like to explore his two websites:  www.thesurvivalpodcast.com and www.survivalpodcast.net.

Thanks for listening.

June at an off-grid Alaska Cabin: bear burgers recipe

The short summers of Alaska are busy for everyone.  Here, too.  In June alone, between (and during) visits by and to friends and family, we had several visits by moose cows and calves, harvested a destructive black bear (10.5 quarts of bear broth alone – bear burgers for dinner tonight), and gathered, dried, blanched, froze, canned, fermented, pickled meat and veggies (as appropriate), and limed 60 eggs toward the 100 I want to have when the hens molt (and produce no eggs) for 6-8 weeks in the fall.  

This time of year, we enjoy many Cobb salad entrees for dinner, with whatever greens I gather that day, plus meat, cheese, and hard boiled eggs provided by the hens and ducks.  Sorrel remains a citrus-y favorite green (raw only).  The spicy leaves of horseradish, nasturtium, and mustard flavor burgers, bratwurst, and potato salad.  A sauce/dip/chutney of fresh mint leaves with jalapeno is a tasty condiment.  Rhubarb enlivens oatmeal, muffins, and desserts now and through much of the winter, too.   

Yes, mosquitoes are BAD in Alaska in June.  We battled a 4 week onslaught both indoors and out.  Inside, we slept under mosquito nets, and wielded tennis racquet – like bug zappers with the finesse of Wimbledon athletes.  We live a very organic life EXCEPT this time of year, when we light chemical coils outside the front and back doors and spray ourselves with DEET.   

 

But June is not all work and insects.  We enjoy nearly daily afternoon kayaks around the lake and frequent, stunning flights with views of several, snow capped mountain ranges and the river valleys in between.  The air smells sweet, and sweetly varying, as a succession of plants come into flower at various heights, from ground cover to bushes to trees (ash).  I sniff my way around the property each afternoon, appreciating each short burst of beauty, both olfactory and visual.  

Weather-wise, June 2021 has been unusual, primarily for precipitation.  The first week we witnessed a rather dramatic hailstorm from our covered front porch.  As hailstones bounced onto the deck, I popped some into my wine.  Fortunately this year, like last June's hailstorm, too, no damage occurred to any of our plants.   For the rest of the month, we saw many more days of rain than usual.  This pattern, following the hot (low 80s) temps in May meant that some plants bolted early from the heat and others were visited by aphids and slugs.  Not a great combo if you want to eat what you grow!  I nipped out the flowers of the bolters, sprayed garlic solution on the aphids, densely sprinkled diatomaceous earth around and on the plants visited by slugs, and started harvesting leaves and stalks earlier than usual for canning.  So far, my efforts seem to be helping.  The heat and rain likely mean a second fabulous year for harvesting several gallons of our five types of berries.  Yum.

A noticeable difference this year is the lack of pollinators.  For 7-8 years, we have raised honeybees.  This year, rain and other issues prevented our picking up the four small, nuclear colonies with our bee vendor.  When we realized this, he was able to loan or rent them to local orchards.  By the time we could retrieve them, the number of bees in each colony made the prospect of flying them out in our little plane a rather dicey proposition (!!!)  So we will harvest the honey at his  place in August.  Without the bees here,  I notice that the only insects in my gardens this month are mosquitoes and an occasional bumblebee.  I hand pollinated the plants in my greenhouse, but I fear a low harvest.  

 

I never thought of myself as fond of any insects, but I want those gentle bees back here!

Bear Burger Recipe

* Shoot, skin, and butcher a black bear (This will take many hours)

* Soak meat in a thin brine overnight.  Pluck off residual hairs.

* Chop meat into chunks, like stew meat - about 2 x 2 inches.

*Feed through a meat grinder, alternating with fat (pork or bear) of the proportion you prefer for burgers (85%/15% etc). 

*Grind a second time. (the grinding is fast, but set up, grinding, and clean up takes about an hour)

* Either chill immediately or combine immediately with other flavorings, such as herbs, diced onions, grated cheese.  Shape into burger shapes or hot dog shapes. 

* When firm but not frozen, toss on the grill. 

* Serve on home made buns with condiments of choice, just like hamburgers.

For some reason,  I do not find bear burgers to be the "gut busters" that  similar sized beef burgers can be.

May in Southcentral Alaska - snow, bears, birds, and flowers

 May is the month of greatest transitions here.  Just as the weasel's fur  changes from white to brown, so does the landscape shed its snowy raiment for muddy expanses that quickly green up and then flower.  Temperatures rose from a low of +6F to +78 (which is too hot for me).  Surely heat records for May.  

WATER:

On Mother's Day (May 8) we were able to drop the kayak into a slim slip of open water and bob about close to shore.  By May 11, we crashed through rotting ice floes,to huge expanses of  water which  a diverse community  of ducks and geese discovered immediately.  Yea!  Welcome back, feathered friends!  No otters this year though. Right on schedule, the lake was fully liquid on May 15, so we scheduled an air taxi to pick up Bryan on the 17th so he could retrieve his float plane in Willow.  

LAND:  

The land starts out a muddy mess, traversed with the sinuous swales that voles carved below the snow.  We gather up branchy debris that fell during winter storms and use it to “courderoy” low wet spots that spell “mosquito nursery” to anyone in the region. Initially, these branches provide a bit of a surface to walk over the water and mud.  Eventually, they will break down and perhaps raise the surface a bit at a time.  Two big, rotting birch trees snapped during a wind storm and slopped over the sap line.  We will cut them into firewood this summer.   Meanwhile, I collected 20 gallons of sap from 6 trees elsewhere over a few days.  A tasty and vitamin rich spring tonic.

I LOVE wandering about the newly opened brownscape to “visit” wild plants that bounce up out of the snow.  To me, they are like snowbird neighbors who have returned after a winter away.  Because of several  years culling thick swathes of devil's club, sweet grass, and wild raspberries, I enjoy  a sunny meadow with a prickly rose “garden, ” orchards of high bush cranberry bushes, and an expanding  ground cover of white starflowers and dwarf dogwood which delights me.   Wild currants tumble gracefully over spruce stumps and under birch trees.  These plants are the first to flower, with small, modest mauve and white flowers that perfume the surrounding air. Opportunistic dandelions are pretty, too, and nutritious.  Bumblebees dote on the butter yellow flowers of the domestic haskap (honeyberry) bushes which line the south side of our cabin.

 

GARDENS: 

Each autumn, I mulch the raised bed gardens with a soft bed of birch leaves. In May,  intrepid perennial plants like rhubarb, chives, feverfew, strawberry, and sorrel are the first to pop through, followed, sigh, by the weed chickweed.  

To try to retard that weed in my gardens and greenhouse, I SERIOUSLY FURTHER mulched three gardens, totalling 156 square feet, with the mucky chicken bedding I described in the April blog.   I also lay garden fabric on the ground, next to the raised bed in my green house and topped it with spruce rounds as stepping stones to retard the rampant growth of weeds in there.  I can already see the advantage because of the ferns growing green and lush beneath the fabric – but unable to grow upward or spread spores... except where they find the edges and openings.  Of the three ground covers, the birch leaves were the most effective at retarding chickweed.  Point noted.

WILD and DOMESTIC ANIMAL HUSBANDRY:

I feel sorry for my hens cooped up all winter.  They don't like the snow and cold.  So it was such a pleasure to see them venture bravely across the snow toward the cabin, under which there is so much dry, dusty, welcoming dirt.    Interestingly to me, it was the “lowest three gals” on the pecking order that ventured out first.  I wonder if this is analagous to humans.  Were the  lower orders of societies  the brave sailors, pilgrims, and “miner '49ers”  who took off first for points unknown?  Out and about on brown and green land, the hens function as  shallow rototillers, scratching up the dead grass looking for seeds and grubs.  We have added two ducks and five more hens to our menagerie, much to our amusement.

We always see moose cows and calves in late May/early June, but never a bear that early in the year... until now.  One night about 10 pm I saw a HUGE cow and her dainty calf walking past the cabin.  They headed toward a woodsy spot near the lake and then BOLTED out of the trees back toward us.  Clearly, they were running away something frightening.  Sure enough,  two brown bears chased them up hill.  They evaded their predators, because we saw them a week later (this evening).    

I also surprised a cow and twins around 11 am when I popped outside to stir the hot tub water.  The mom stopped, assessed the danger and then trotted up hill, 50 feet past me.   

There is never a dull day in May.  Much to do.  Much to see. 

April, Record Breaking Temperatures

Weatherwise, April was a whipsaw month of dramatic changes. Temperature records were set all over the state for LOWS around April 7 and for HIGHS just two weeks later.  Anchorage smashed a record set way back in 1917.  Here, we bottomed out at 6 degrees F, BEFORE wind chill, which was substantial, and topped out at 64.  By mid-month, we relied only on a modest morning fire to warm the house above 59 degrees. No fire = spring cleaning, so we washed every curtain and rug free of 6 months of soot and ash accumulation.

Snow: 

As you may imagine, the snow started melting FAST.  We shed 5.5 feet in about 10 days.  Even with the dissipation of that volume, our yard is still 90% white.  Brown doughnuts of open ground have appeared around trees and dark buildings, expandìng and blending.  Hardscape is starting to appear, such as the rocks around our firepit and log benches.  We discover that the snow weight shredded a 4x4 post tethered to several electric and barbed wires encircling the beeyard.  (We should have loosened the wires).  On the other hand, one of the 2 x 4 cross beams of the raspberry trellis broke, too, and we DID loosen those wires.  Frost heave and snow.  What ya gonna do? 

Chickens: 

My delightful hens have endured another winter.  They don't like cold, wind, or snow, but they do like sun (so I wish we had positioned their coop better).  In mid-April, they started venturing rather tentatively out across the snow to our cabin.  I don't like it when they poop on my back porch, but I LOVE seeing and hearing them, and I am sure they love the snowless expanse under and around the edges of our cabin.  In a happy trade, the 8 ladies gave us 7 eggs one day.  I hope that these fluffy carnivores are eradicating fly larvae, because those creatures are annoying the barbeques we have started to enjoy again in the sun of the front porch. 

This was the first winter that we kept so many birds through the winter (we actually started with 10, but a marten killed two of them.  As a result, we underestimated the amount of hay we would need.  In the initial warm months of winter, I turned the dirty bedding every day.  But the muck freezes in deep cold, so later I use a deep litter method, which is to simply add a flake of new material every few days.  Well, by the beginning of April, we had depleted the bale, the coop smelled of ammonia which is unhealthy for the birds, and it was too cold for them to go outside.  So Bryan mucked out the stinky mess and I hauled 14 small sled loads uphill to dump into our big snowmachine sled.   It was interesting to see the methane rich material steaming from its internal heat in below freezing temperatures.  When the coop was cleared out, we transported the noisome pile to the vicinity of the biggest raised bed gardens in the back of the property.   Then, I layered thick cardboard over the chickens' floor and tossed in woody debris from our wood corral and cold ash.  This was not ideal, but it sufficed for the short interim until they could spend most of their days outdoors. 

Plants: 

I love what I consider to be scavenger hunts throughout the year.  In April, I cross the snow to the open ground and seek the earliest leaves and buds, some of which appear directly through the snow, too.  By the end of the month, I am wearing a short sleeved T shirt, but with tall boots and gloves as I cross through rotting snow, sometimes postholing up to my knees.  

Wild currant and elderberrry buds are full and fleshy.  The initially magenta leaves of dwarf dogwood appear along the lake shore.  Among domesticated plants, I favor perennials, and have planted lots of tulips in groups of 5-7 in front of a memorial bench with stone cairns for loved ones and dear friends.  Not only are the tulip leaves rising directly through the thinning snow, but, to my surprise, several of the cairns remain intact, rather than tumbled, despite all the winter snow.    

During this transitional time of year, we scurry about, trading out winter supplies for summer ones.   The marine cooler that stored food on the porch all winter is cleaned out.  The freezers in the food shed and the on-demand water heater are turned back on.  Boots and skis and parkas and snowmachines go into the bunny hutch/garage building, trading places with summer wear, mosquito netting, and sunscreen.  

As of the end of April, we see no open water on the lake yet, but it is no longer safe to walk on the thinning surface.  As the snow melts there, the lake takes on a variety of hues – some black/brown from suspension of dead leaves and branches, some lovely shades of ice blue, sea green, and sand.  We have pulled the blue tandem kayak out from beneath the cabin and dusted it off, ready for the first day we can paddle among the ice floes, perhaps with a visiting river otter.

Alaska Civil Air Patrol: Search and Rescue Training

 

The Civil Air Patrol is the civilian auxiliary of the US Air Force. Its missions, since formation in 1940, are emergency services, aerospace education, and cadet development.  Throughout the country, its squadrons are often the first people in the air to photograph damage from floods, hurricanes, and tornadoes, and to assist in locating lost hikers, boats, and planes.  Among the states, the Alaska Wing of CAP (akwg.cap.gov) performs many search and rescue (S&R) operations.  These emergencies require both practice and coordination among pilots, ground crew members, and communicators.  Lectures and simulations are useful, but nothing is better than real experience.

 

That’s where I fit in.  Although I am not a CAP member myself, my husband is.  Several times per month, I receive a call to “put out the beacon.”  This means that one of CAP’s seasoned check pilots has decided to train another flyer to detect and home in on an emergency locator device that we keep at our remote home This gives the other pilot more than half an hour's flight over largely uninhabited land to find us.  

Summer or winter, I flip the switch and position the yellow box and antenna on a nearby tree stump, where its signal will not be obscured by our metal roof.   Pilots flying north from Anchorage eventually detect the distinctively annoying tone.  To determine the direction from which the signal is emanating, the pilot engages in one or more wing nulls, which is a circling maneuver in which the wings block the transmission from the source location, enabling the plane to skew closer and closer to its destination.   Most of the time, after flying directly overhead, the pilots give us a wing wag of thanks and then fly back to base.

 

Other times, we mix it up.  In the summer, I sometimes take the beacon with me in the kayak and head out to some spot on the lake, simulating a submerged plane or a floating pilot or emergency bag.   This winter, the check pilot asked us to incorporate ground to air signalling.  What a great idea!  We considered laying out a blue tarp (known as a signal of emergency) but because of winds, I decided to try a signalling mirror and a ground indicator made of logs.  Because the afternoon was sunny and beautiful enough that a few recreational flyers were in the vicinity, I chose not to use a symbol of true emergency, like an F, which means “need food” or two parallel lines, which indicate injury.  Rather, I formed on the frozen surface of the lake in front of our cabin, two large L’s out of logs, each one about 12 feet by 7 feet.  The CAP pilot, flying at an altitude of 500 feet discerned both the signal of “Lima Lima” which means that “All is well,” and my random flickers of the signalling mirror, before returning home from successful S&R mission training.  For higher planes, a bigger shape would be important.

 

This signalling practice was as useful to me as it was to CAP.  I had to think about the relative positions of the plane, sun and mirror to make effective use of a simple hand mirror.  I also saw how much the logs sank into soft snow, obscuring a lateral view. I recommend that anyone who spends time in remote locations practice familiarity with these symbols.

In future, I look forward to additional signalling practice with the CAP pilots, pleased that I can enhance their ability to detect and interpret audible and visible emergency indicators... before they are called out for a serious situation.  

     

 

Alaska February Midnight Evacuation + Snowmachine Deliveries

 The biggest excitement, if that is the word, in February required evacuation from our cabin at 3:30 am one chilly, dark night.  We experienced exceptionally high and gusty winds for two days, and in the middle of the night, the wind forced  chimney smoke back down into the woodstove and out into the cabin!  Because, as you may imagine, we keep a robust fire going this time of year, we couldn't just put it out.  After a half hour of open doors and windows in an increasingly smoky house, letting in temperatures below zero, we bundled up, grabbed two canvas chairs and headed over to the shower house, which has a propane heater (the heater in the guest cabin is broken).  

Hauling firewood

About 4:30, Bryan, bless his heart, ventured back into the smoky building wearing his N-95 mask to heat the coffee I prepped the night before. The warmth, comfort, and caffeine were welcome.  

When the fire in the woodstove died out, and light started bleeding out of the eastern sky, I ventured into the cabin myself to start the two day task of cleaning the ash, soot, and smoke that coated and scented every single surface in the building.  First I hauled outside every pillow, cushion and rug to air out, along with any outerwear that hung on hooks inside the doorways.  Then I grabbed a pile of rags, filled a bucket with soapy hot water, and started damp dusting from the ceiling on down.  About every five minutes I had to dump out black water and switch to a fresh rag.  I smelled like a fireman.  The second day, I did it all over again, as well as damp dusting the draperies.  Even today, a month later, I occasionally come across some item that I did not clean, like pillow cases when I changed the bed.  We called a friend who is a retired fire captain, to ask about anything else we should do in the future.  He recommended a product called Ozione, which one can spray in the air to “grab” soot particles and clear the air faster.  It is on the list for a spring purchase. 

Speaking of purchases, the end of February/beginning of March is when Roger delivers nearly two thousand pounds of supplies that we have stored on our trailer at Deshka Landing and/or asked an expediter to buy and deliver to him.  His arrival is the equivalent of Santa Claus.   Between hauler Roger and expediter Miranda,  their excellent organization and labor saved Bryan more than 50 tiring hours (7.5 hours x 4 round trips with his smaller sled + 2-4 hours of trail grooming before EACH trip + 10 - 14 hours of shopping, driving from Anchorage/Wasilla to Willow, shoveling off the trailer and loading the sleds.  Plus, they saved us fuel and wear and tear on the snowmachine and car and an occasional overnight visit when the weather changes. Their charges of about $800 / 50 hours = $16/hr.  Does Bryan values his opportunity cost more than that?  The answer is YES!  He was able to use that time for business, pleasure and exercise here.  We are very grateful for their services. Obviously we live a lifestyle of doing many things ourselves, but it is prudent to evaluate what can be outsourced. This is one that others can do better than we. 

In order to deliver everything in one 7.5 hour trip instead of two, Roger hauled two 11 foot long sleds filled with 10 big totes full of food supplies, plywood, gasoline, and propane tanks, and hired a man to haul a third sled similarly loaded.  He thought of several clever time/cost benefits, regarding the fuel. I love creative time management solutions like his!

Many of the supplies, like 150 lbs of flour, will last us for a long time.  Others were treats that we were out of, like yogurt and bacon.  Sadly, the expediter was not able to send out any fresh produce on that trip.  I miss crunchy veggies.  Those that I have canned and pickled for winter are pleasant, but...  To Roger and his wife I gave a box of books and videos that they might enjoy.  My home is small enough that I operate on the logic that “for anything new that comes in, something old must go out.” So maybe that delivery will be fun for them to open, too.   

Roger's arrival was well timed, because prior and subsequent weeks delivered white-out snow storms.  Heavy winds followed his visits and swept away evidence of trails other than our only neighbor's prescient trail stakes. 

Here the wind blew down at least one dead spruce tree (which ejected two 3-4 foot sections of top trunk dozens of feet away from where it fell).  Smaller branch debris litters the pristine snow.  For the first time in a decade, we found a layer of snow inside our outhouse (not from boots) and even blown between the screens and glass of our windows.  The food shed door is STILL buried by three feet of the white stuff.  Wind whistled between logs upstairs, creating a 13 degree temperature difference from bed to kitchen table.   As I write, I see snow blowing across the lake, etching and carving the surface until it looks like the craters and dunes on the moon.  

When skies are clear, it is a treat to notice the days getting longer.  Each afternoon we observe where the sun drops each day behind the mountains as it crawls north.  A date we mark with delight is when the sun is high enough in the sky that it crests above the mountains to the west of us, rather than dropping behind them.  Suddenly, we have longer days.  In mid-March, we have enough light at 7 am and 6 pm to see across the yard - quite a contrast to January, when daylight started at 9:30 am and ended at 3:30 pm.  

In February, I start seedlings under grow lights on shelves in our south facing windows, mostly slow growing herbs and cool weather greens.  By March I can start snipping small quantities of mustard leaves and cresses to top deviled eggs and sandwiches.  Because of our short growing season, I start hundreds of plants, with the goal of setting them out in the greenhouse and gardens after our last frost date, in mid-May.  The longer days, warming temperatures, and high winds all mean that our solar array and wind turbine provide all the electricity we need for our modest uses.  

A spider hole on the lake

One  intriguing weather phenomenon we have been observing up close is a large spider hole in front of our cabin.  If I understand correctly, the central hole is formed by a vertical tube of warmer water arising from a methane seep of decaying leaves in our shallow lake.  Snowmelt and overflow form long “arms” that drain into the central hole.  We see these on the lake every winter, in different locations each time, but this year one is so close that we have been able to watch it change.  We see the arms lengthen, and watch snow fill in the center hole after which the water warms and opens the hole again. Despite four foot thick ice all around it, the central hole is liquid as far down as I can reach with a seven foot avalanche probe.  This is obviously unsafe for people or machines, but it is an interesting reminder of of vigorous acts of life and decomposition beneath a frozen landscape.

Remote living in Alaska - How Long?

Now that we are in our early 60's, friends and colleagues ask us more often “what will you do when you are older?”  

Cutting dead Spruce

This is a fair question for anybody, in any location.  In our case, we live a physically active life in which our health determines the amount of firewood and food we produce, as well as things like a medical license to fly to and from home or the stamina to drive a snowmachine 7.5 hours cross country to retrieve a sled load of supplies.

Fortunately, we are both in fine health: no medicines, no chronic or acute ailments, but I don't take this for granted.  Many people we know in their 50's and 60's take daily pills for pain, anxiety, depression, shots for arthritis, and have undertaken surgery for joints, ligaments, eyes, and spine.  The only person I know older than me taking NO medicines is my 78 year old aunt, who controlled incipient diabetes with diet, exercise, and clearly, lots of will power.  We realize that unexpected health problems derail many people's best laid plans.

So I demur when I hear from readers who say that they plan to move up to Alaska and live like us “when they retire” or when people start a physically challenging business at age 60, or even buy a bigger home than they had when they raised kids.  I hope that those decisions work out.    

Our approach to “aging in place” , such as it is, is to contemplate what can we do NOW to reduce effort when we are 70 or older.  What tools, equipment, construction, plantings and time commitments CAUSE or SAVE wear and tear on aging people, structures, and machines?  We want to SHED the former.  EMBRACE the latter.   

Some of this is as simple as doing a cost/benefit analysis, just as we do in business.  “Do we want to do this task by hand, by ourselves, or with tools or with the help of other people?  Or is xxx a bad idea altogether?”  

Hauling supplies

My husband has been a serial entrepreneur who has started some businesses that worked for decades and others that “seemed like a good idea at the time” only to turn out to be far more time consuming and far less lucrative than he anticipated.  He kissed that time and money goodbye and moved onto other things.  Life is like that, too. There are some things we have done already that will yield GREAT benefits in the future (like planting perennial food crops and building with steep, snow shedding roofs).  Other decisions or lack of attention caused problems or delayed solutions (like (a) not paying attention to a builder who constructed a plywood food shed flat on the ground, without treated lumber or elevated footings.  (b) not planting fruit trees sooner and protecting them better). 

 

 Below are some of the aspects of living remotely that are likely to get harder as we get older, and for which we either have or have not yet figured out alternatives to enjoy living out here longer.  

WINTER CHORES:  Shoveling, snowmachining, and flying

Roof raking

I can understand why many northerners flee south, part time or full time when they reach a certain age.  Winter chores are tougher than most summer ones.  

Shoveling:  We have 9 buildings.  The main ones all have 45 degree roofs that shed snow easily.  No problem.    The 33 degree roofs need more attention, especially after wet snow or sleet which can build up to a dangerously heavy load.  Reaching overhead to shovel off roofs is exhausting to me NOW!   I pity people with flat roofs (or more roof space) in cold climates.  For the future, I wonder if we might steepen the shallower roofs (what an expensive “do-over”) or if we can figure out easier ways to access the tops of the roofs.  So far, we have experimented with rope as a sort of windshield wiper of light roof snow.  Feasible.  We also plan to screw in  bolts and a chain to hold a ladder in place on the high side of shallow roofs, to push off snow with a snow rake.

Shoveling out the fire pit

Snowshoeing and snowmachining:  Because the snowmachines we bought (Bearcat 660) have narrow skis and low bellies, they tend to tip over or get stuck in deep, soft snow, especially on angled terrain but are fine on firm snow.  Therefore, we have to pat out the paths we want in snowshoes after every deep snowfall.  This may be good exercise now, but I don't want to have to do this to walk to the outhouse and chicken coop  all winter when I am 70.   I would like to buy a snowmachine better suited to the grooming we need – either riding high and light or plowing through soft snow.   

Supply Runs:   Even in cities, winter driving hazards can be challenging as people age.  We are alert to our transportation issues, too.  Winter maintenance of the plane involves snowmachine grooming (and regrooming after each snowfall) a landing strip on the lake ice, sweeping snow off the wings and fuselage all winter, preheating the plane before departure, and tying and covering the plane on return.  (in short winter daylight).  Shopping by snowmachine, across country and two rivers, the route is 42 miles and 3.25 hours one way, on short, cold days in January – to about the first week of March, when the rivers are safely frozen and the snow route across bogs and lakes is firm and not slushy or soft.  Winter temperatures and transportation wear down both machine parts and people.    

Applying our cost/benefit calculations, we analyzed whether to buy a beefier snowmachine (about $12,000) or hire a professional snowmachine hauler to deliver supplies (that we have pre-ordered and pre-positioned for him) once or twice each winter.  The latter won.  Roger's machine is much more powerful than ours and can haul 2 sleds, carrying 3-4 times as much as Bryan can haul on one long day's trip.  So this saves time, gasoline, wear and tear on the machine and my husband, so he can spend his time on other endeavors (like shoveling!).  I am sure that our machine would have died an ignoble death somewhere along the route by now, rather than limping along on local projects.  Heck, we know of two people with strong and expensive machines that had to buy new transmissions two winters ago because of terrible (icy hard?) conditions.   

Flying:  Another cost/benefit analysis resulted in leaving our plane in town with our airplane mechanic during the winter.  If we need only one air taxi trip, this decision is cheaper than changing out the undercarriage from floats to skis and back again.  If we need two trips, it is about break even.  On the one hand we lose the spontaneity of flight on spectacularly clear winter days.  On the other, we shed all the work and worry that accompanies an unhangared plane and landing strip on an icy lake during and after storms of wind, snow, and sleet in Alaska. 

SUMMER CHORES:

Gardening:  Gardening is emotionally and physically satisfying but the first several days of constant bending over to transplant hundreds of seedlings is getting uncomfortable now.  Five gallon buckets of water hauled here and there will start to feel heavier and heavier, as will stringing together five hoses from lake pump uphill to the back gardens once or twice a week.  At the end of the season, dragging heavy tarp loads of fallen birch leaves to mulch each garden and fruit tree/bush could become burdensome.  I can envision hiring seasonal help twice a year to help with beginning and end of season tasks for gardening as well as fuel production (below).  We have done a good job of planting many low maintenance edible perennials (like berries, apple trees and cherry bushes, mint, horseradish, rhubarb, sorrel, and asparagus).  Also, our raised bed gardens will keep getting higher as we add to the soil.  I plan to add a triangular seat/table on the corner of each raised bed for resting tools... or me.  We also placed 50 gallon water drums close to each garden.  I sewed a fabric bag that hangs over my neck to hold a plastic bin for berry collection, so I can use both hands and not have to bend down to a bowl on the ground.  Each year we figure out little improvements like these.  I find this sort of practical creativity fun to think about.    

Tree cutting:  Bryan labors throughout the year cutting down trees, limbing and bucking them, lifting them in and out of the deep ATV trailer (or I do that on the lower and open sided winter sled), splitting them, and filling the wood corral with about 11 cords of logs.  Chainsaws have a very uneven weight distribution. The work inordinately impacts one's non-dominant shoulder/back.  Bryan's left shoulder tends to stay sore for several months in the autumn, so that is unsustainable.   This year, he decided to stop after one tank of gas.  Next year, he is going to use my little, lighter 20 inch chain saw for limbing.  Both should save his shoulder.  In the future, it might be useful to hire short term help.  Unskilled labor could load and unload the ATV at the wood splitter. Skilled help could cull the trees.   Still there is a lot that has to happen before cutting, like paths to trees and culling the surrounding devil's club.  I am not sure what we will do about that in our dotage, but we are becoming more attentive to placing our winter snowmachine paths near trees we plan to cut. 

Tower Climb

High work:  I feel nervous when Bryan climbs up to our roof tops on ladders that I am supporting as best I can on uneven terrain at the base.  He wears rapeling gear to climb the 120 foot power tower to adjust antennae and change out dated equipment, but surely there will be some point when such tasks are better handed off to someone more agile.  For this spring, I plan to (have Bryan) attach eye bolts on the logs below the roof wide enough to “enclose” the ladder with a length of chain for his spring cleaning of the chimney.  

As my father says (he may be quoting Bette Davis), “Aging is not for sissies.”  I hope that we can prepare ourselves with prudence and creativity for the challenges that will befall us.   I know that we will still be suprised.  But at least I hope that we will not chastise ourselves for ignoring something obvious that we could indeed plan for.

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?

Silence and Solitude at a Remote Home

Contemplating kairns on bench at lake

After living in the silence and solitude of our pretty little cabin in the woods, I find trips to towns something of an assault on my senses, so I routinely go four months without seeing anyone other than my husband, and sometimes six months without a flight to a town.  Bryan says that at home, if we want to hear a human noise, we have to make it.  We enjoy the quiet – no hum of electric appliances, no whiz of passing cars or blaring horns.  Instead, we hear the wind in the trees, the slap of water on the dock, the effortful wing work of a raven overhead. 

Some people find this quietude deafening.  One friend looked forward to “getting away” to a remote cabin but discovered that she needed to turn on her radio the whole time to fill the void.  A few of our visitors have talked constantly – perhaps they found the silence unnerving.

One disconcerting aspect of silence is the company of one's own thoughts.  Maybe we rely on various forms of entertainment to keep them at bay.  The first summer I painted and stained all of our buildings, I found my mind drifting toward topics of regret and recrimination.  At first, I, too, pulled out a DVD player and watched old Perry Mason episodes, in which, of course, all muddled conflicts are wrapped up neatly in 50 minutes.  Toward the end of that summer, it occurred to me that perhaps I SHOULD contemplate those issues that were bothering me, to resolve them in some way, rather than evade them.  I apologized to three people and, voila!, I learned that my misdoings bothered me more than the other people.  This allowed me to go a bit easier on myself and to avoid some mistakes of he past.  Silence helped me do this. 

Solitude puts the onus of entertainment on you.  Obviously, this can involve passive forms, like listening to music or playing games or watching TV.  My general impression is that the rural people I know tend to have more creative, productive, and outdoor hobbies than many of my urban acquaintances.  Military spouses are also exemplars of  embracing “making do” when alone for extended periods.  

Silent winter walk

Now that so many people are isolated, and social interactions are so limited, I can understand why extroverts, in particular, may find the constraints so emotionally challenging.  I have become more introverted, myself, since living in the boonies.  Some of the experiences and insights I have gained from silence and solitude are almost spiritual, especially those gained from a walk in the woods, or a kayak around the lake watching ducks teaching their fledglings how to fly and dive. These are not pleasures I sought much in the city, but ones I savor now.  I hope that readers find some peace and contentment, or creativity and productivity, from intentional choices they can make in their isolation, too.   

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.  

 

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.  

 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.

September at a Remote Alaska Homestead

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

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.  

 

July and August at a Remote Alaska Homestead

July is probably the best month to visit South Central Alaska.  Most of the mosquitoes are gone, weather is great (usually sunny, 60-80 during the day), flowers are growing in abundance.  Sunlight tops 20 hours, so I sleep with an eye mask.  

 

This year, though, our summer was unusually rainy (which benefited the berries but brought slugs to the gardens) and yellow jackets were unusually abundant.  We found hives under the front porch, in the greenhouse, and even in boots hung upside down outside the guest cabin.  In August, they attacked our bee hives, and we think may have moved into one hive abandoned by a colony that swarmed (departed),  leaving too small a group to defend itself from the aggressive predators.  Bryan duct taped the entrance and ventilation holes to suffocate the wasps.  Fortunately, because the two hives were so large and productive, he harvested the honey in several tranches in July and August, thus depriving the wasps of many gallons of that golden nectar.   

Are We Dependent, Self-sufficient, or Self-Sustaining?

 article posted on www.survivalblog.com

 

One of our goals each year is to decrease our dependency on others by increasing our skills and resources.  In the city, it was convenient to pay for services and products.  Living remotely, we learn to do many things ourselves or do without.  I evaluate aspects of our life on a continuum from dependent to independent:

*Dependent on others
*Self-reliant
*Self-sufficient
*Self-sustaining

Given recent news reports of coronavirus and the economy, tornadoes, wildfires, and power outages, perhaps readers are applying this sort of rubric to their situations, too.

a) DEPENDENT -  I judge us as dependent on items and skills/services  we have to BUY ONCE A YEAR or more often.  These include ANY rapidly depleted products made of petroleum (fuel, plastic) metal, glass, and paper (toilet paper!!!).  We are also dependent for  foods we enjoy but cannot grow, like tropical spices, coffee, citrus.  Finally, we rely on skilled service providers occasionally, too, for skilled construction, machine repair, taxidermy.

b) SELF-RELIANT - This simply means things we do ourselves, whether it is baking bread or cutting down a tree. 

c) SELF-SUFFICIENT - I define this as having the skills and products or resources on hand that will LAST 1 to 8 or 9 YEARS, before requiring replacement/renewal. These include our wind turbine, stored food (both homemade and purchased), annual foods that I grow from seed, most electric and gas tools, chickens, honeybees. (Hens lay for 3 years before aging out, and some years our honeybees overwinter but others they all die). A low cost of living is helpful to self-sufficiency, too.

d) SELF-SUSTAINING - This is the “gold standard” of independence.  It encompasses products and resources on hand that can conceivably last FOREVER, or at least a DECADE without outside servicing or replenishment.  Examples for us include our well and lake, accessible timber for fuel and construction, perennial fruit, herbs, and vegetables (both wild and planted/domesticated for  food and home remedies), solar panels, many hand tools and some long lasting gas and electric tools.  I also include black bear meat and the rabbits that we raise for their meat, fertilizer, and fur, since a buck and two does produce as many rabbits as we want, at a frequency and time of year that we can choose (by when we mate them).  Sadly, the lake is not a self--sustaining food source.  Voracious pike eliminated the prior tasty fish and are now eating each other to such an extent that the fish are vastly depleted in both number and size. To access other fish in nearby creeks, we need to maintain trails through the woods, which we have neglected. 

DECREASING DEPENDENCE:  Over the years, it has been something of a game for me to shave off a number of products we used to buy.  In many cases, this saves money.  In others, it increases our sense of competency. For example, I finally taught myself to sew and I find it more satisfying than I expected.  Previously,  I learned how to forage for wild foods for nutrition and medicine, and to make many staples such as hygiene and house cleaning products, condiments, and bread from relatively few, cheap, and versatile staples like salt, vinegar, yeast, or hydrogen peroxide.   My husband has become a more skillful carpenter.   

One “game” I like to play is to figure out how to repurpose something that previously was used only in one season or became trash.  Six foot x 22” metal grids variously function as bean trellises, rabbit hutches, and fur/potato drying racks.  The greenhouse houses our rabbits in the winter.  Plastic sleds haul wood in winter and hay, mulch, weeds in summer.  Tin cans become whimsical yard art.  Torn flannel sheets become comfortable pajama bottoms.  Kitchen garbage feeds the animals and gardens.  In such ways, we make fewer purchases, multiply the value of resources we already have, generate less trash, and preserve money, gasoline, space, and time.

In conclusion, we are certainly much more self-reliant than we ever were when living in a city, where services and products were so convenient to buy.  Except during hurricanes and floods, I did not think much about supply chains and accessibility.  Now, I certainly do.  We have sacrificed convenience in favor of increasing competence and a quiet sort of satisfaction.