Winter Logistics with No Electricity or Roads

Anyone living in a cold or variable climate spends a judicious amount of time planning supplies and logistics.  This is not only for seasonal changes, but for the all important Plan B when those changes are extraordinary and when things go awry!  In Alaska, it is not a facile statement to say that the seasonal changes are always extraordinary.

Planning is particularly important for those of us living far from roads and community services, where you can't say, “We're out of eggs, dear.” Bryan and I have whole files devoted to inventory, shopping, future construction projects, and fuel needs. We have back ups for everything we have been able to anticipate so far. What if the propane stove breaks down in winter? (Cook on top of the wood stove). What if the freezer or refrigerator breaks in summer? (Smoke all meats, stuff the cold hole with other foods) What if we run out of food? (We have 128 lbs of long term tofu substitutes, and supplemental freeze dried foods). What if the generator breaks? (I'd say that we'd be screwed, but actually, our wind and solar panels are our primary sources of power, and our heaviest usage is in the summer, when we have more leeway.

An Early Autumn

Autumn is a short season here, and, in a place already rich in light and temperature dependent “now or never” opportunities, fall welcomes seasonal activities that we enjoy only this time of year.

View of home from the kayak

This summer gave clues that winter might come early, and indeed it did. By mid-August, the last fire weed flowers bloomed. That final flowering is our “old wife's tale” warning that winter is 6 weeks away and autumn is upon us. The 6 foot grasses and fireweed die back, revealing the red, yellow, and brown leaves of shorter ferns, cranberry bushes, and devil's club. The berries of the ash, elderberry, and cranberry bushes start orange and turn red and, in some cases, attain a gorgeous burgundy. The birch and aspen trees turn yellow, reflected along the lake edge, reminding me of many a Japanese screen. Over time, they shed their starry seeds and heart shaped leaves along the brown woodland paths, as though ready for a blushing bride to walk upon them. On a short shopping flight to Anchorage in late August, I saw a beautiful sight: miles and miles of yellow birch and aspen, looking, from the 500 ft vantage point of a de Havilland Beaver, like bouquets of giant daffodils as far as the eye could see.