How Does a Remote Home Get Mail?

Almost home!

Living 42 miles from the nearest road, we receive no mail service.  A frequent question we hear is, “How do you get mail?”  The short answer is “infrequently.”

Maybe in the future people will receive deliveries by drone, but in the meantime, we maintain a P.O. box in a nearby town and check it every few months.  For several years, when we acquired frequent products on-line, a UPS type shop was convenient because it would send us a note when a package arrived and hold it for us for several months, if necessary.  But their price doubled from $150 to $300 per year and we decided to switch to a local post office that charges only $95/year, since our purchases had declined.  However, I did not realize at the time that their policy is to return any packages too big for our box after 14 days - and not notify us.  The first year, a friend called to say that her birthday gift to me had been returned!  I felt so bad.

Unfortunately, one type of bulky and time sensitive purchase can ONLY be shipped to me during the fall and spring months - a time of year when we have NO means of transportation to town.  These are the live roots, rhizomes, and bulbs of vegetables and fruit that I grow.  I missed a entire year's season when we first switched to the Post Office box because I did not know their “return without notification” policy.

Since then, I made arrangements with a dear friend and fellow gardener who will take delivery of such seasonal plants as asparagus crowns, seed potatoes, horseradish root, and garlic bulbs for me, in exchange for a few of the items.  I am grateful for her assistance.  And the purple asparagus and blue potatoes are great!

Do I miss mail service?  No.  Important items, like checks, taxes, and correspondence with clients, friends, and relatives are all conveniently done by email.  Most of the paper that fills my P.O. box is  a plethora of unsolicited catalogues... which I repeatedly call to cancel.
The only personal mail we receive there tends to be from older friends and relatives who send thoughtful cards for birthdays and Christmas, which we retrieve... eventually.  Plus seed catalogues, which I do love.  Any untreated paper is transported home to start fires in the woodstove or hot tub. 

 

Twelve Homesteader Live Gifts that Keep on Giving

In the spirit of the season, I offer a “Twelve Days of Christmas” list of LIVE gifts that keep on giving to us here, at a remote homestead. 

1  Gallon of red wiggler worms, divided among my food gardens.  They eat the kitchen scraps I toss there and rapidly improve the soil.   

2 Years' worth of seeds (many degrade after that: check with a float/sink test each year).

3 Rabbits (1 buck and 2 does).  They can be mated at about five months and over the year, fill our larder.

Winter Snow Challenges at a Remote Home

We had to dig out the hives so the bees
wouldn't suffocate

Many people who do not live in Alaska are leery of our long, cold, dark winters.  Others flock up here for winter sports, such as races for dog mushers, snowmachines, hikers, cross country skiiers, and even fat tired bicycles (!).

We tend to say that “There is no such thing as bad weather, just poor clothing.”  I respectfully disagree.  To “There is no such thing as bad weather” I would add that there is also poor construction, poor judgment,  and inadequate (or inaccessible) tools.

Variable Food Production Results at a Remote Alaska Home

Please click on this link to an article we published on survivalblog.com.

Summary: 
Raising (including hunting and fishing) food (meat, fruit, vegetables, herbs, and honey) yields highly variable results from one year to the next so we are not cavalier about a good harvest.

Here are some of our successes and failures, lessons, and mistakes.



Photo: Nasturtium vinegar.  So beautiful, and tasty, too, with a horseradish like bite. 

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.