The snow fence is a constant. A comment on a previous photo of the fence was that it was lonely. After seeing the snow fence live through the seasons, I see it as a steadfast guardian. It is a protector. It stands through high winds and snow drifts. It holds its ground as the tundra softens around its feet.
A nice long walk today resulted in some interesting sights. It was in the 30s. Amazing how former Californians can adjust so easily to the weather up here. At the beginning of our walk, we were swaddled in hats, parkas, and gloves. By the end, our jackets were tied around our waists. Hats and gloves were stowed.
It is phenomenally beautiful here. The sun warms our souls. The skies are wide open and expansive. Spring is beginning to shoot up in the grass giving thoughts to newness, growth, and promise.
Northern hawk owls (Surnia ulula) are typically found in boreal forests but are visitors to open land as well. Although primarily visual hunters, their keen sense of hearing allows them to locate prey up to a foot below the snow. Lots of voles here on Sarichef Island. Day by day, more new species of birds are arriving–gulls, geese, ducks, sandpipers, songbirds. Here and there amidst the snow melt and winter-brown vegetation, a few shoots of green are poking up.
Looking like a lab specimen on glass under a microscope, this 3/4 inch long predacious diving beetle was photographed where it was found in a vernal pond swimming in a few inches of very clear water over a bed of ice. These beetles suddenly seem to be everywhere, scooting through the myriad clear, shallow, temporary ponds with their oar-like back legs.
As the snow melts, interesting things are being uncovered.
These days, temperatures are in the mid to high 30s with no change in sight. Roads that were only recently hard-packed snow have turned to long, slushy puddles. The latest fashion trend is muck boots…the higher the better.
Today the sun rose at 5:31 AM and will set at 12:28 AM–19 hours of sunshine. Between sunset and sunrise, the skies remain lit with twilight. There is no dark now.
I think it was Agatha Christie who stumped me with a story of a body which had been found lying by a puddle of water with no murder weapon to be found. Though I puzzled over this, I couldn’t figure it out.
Today as we walked around our village, we heard a loud crash, almost like thick glass shattering. We turned to see fragments of a large icicle smashed on the ground next to the school. Looking up, we saw clear, sharply pointed, pendant masses hanging menacingly. These icicles were substantial–their girth the size of pop cans. Hung next to each other, they resembled monstrous fangs ready to devastate.
Yesterday, we participated in a walk for life, which was a community event to remember those who have passed and to celebrate life. We walked from a community building out to the cemetery and back. When we returned, we had an opportunity to share with others the people we were remembering. This annual event happens in many communities all around Alaska. One of the themes is the celebration of life in order to help prevent suicide.
It made me think not only about those people who have passed in my life, but also the people who are gone from my life. I also reflected on the many people who have died in recent tragedies and the many lives which have been touched by the loss of those people.
The thoughts turned from melancholy to appreciative as one person in particular came to mind. Olga died several years ago. Since my childhood, I remember her as an older but vibrant lady. She had adventures her whole life. She told me stories of been stationed on Hawaii before it was a state, and other stories of adventures with her friends. Although well along in years, she always took care of her home herself and was fiercely independent. She is my image of what growing older will be about.
These days, the world has become smaller; there aren’t many places people haven’t been or things that people haven’t done. I won’t be the first to do anything. But I am having many adventures that are firsts for me, and Jack and I have many more planned for the future. When I measure my life up to Olga’s, I feel like I am living a life she would be proud of.
It was a good experience to walk around a cemetery and watch the children place flowers made of brightly colored tissue paper on the graves of the ones they have loved and lost. It felt good to have a connection from sadness of loss to happiness of life and living.
(Ready for summer!)
As the end of the school year nears, I think about my first graders and what they have accomplished this year. When I first accepted the job in Shishmaref, I was told I would have a special group of first graders. That’s about the extent of what I was told. For a variety of reasons, my students had to master many kindergarten standards in addition to their scheduled first grade standards. It was a tall order for six-year-olds. I feel like a very proud mama. I’ve seen amazing growth in my ten young charges. They have blossomed into readers, writers, mathematicians, scientists and artists. I can’t help but wonder about their futures. At the beginning of the year, they couldn’t contemplate their future (or articulate it). Now they talk about becoming teachers, pilots, operators of large machinery, hunters…
The end of a school year encourages me to wonder about former students as well. This year in particular. The very first class I bonded with was my first 6th grade class at Sutterville. They were a special class for a few reasons. One of the strongest reasons was that they were so tightly bonded. Did they stay in touch more than any other class? I wonder. They were already very level-headed young people. Many had a maturity about them that is unusual for that age. I’ve heard through the grapevine that a couple of them are going to UC schools next year. That makes me so proud. I’m sure that I represent a fleeting time in their young lives and have little importance any longer…which is healthy. But I wanted to send the message out to the world that I am thinking about all of them and hope that they all are on a path toward whatever they define as success. With much love…
We did it!
Last year, I told my students in Sacramento that I would post a picture of myself standing on the frozen sea. When the ice first covered the Chukchi, I was tempted. It looked safe enough, but there was no evidence that anyone else had ventured out. Shortly thereafter, the ice broke open, providing evidence of how unreliable early ice is. But that was months ago. Now there are snowmachine tracks on the ice parallelling the coast, and seal hunters talk about going all the way out to the edge in search of their quarry.
For the past few months, each time I’ve looked at the frozen sheet ice stretching beyond the horizon, I’ve been tempted. It’s starting to warm up and I know my chances are diminishing. I half kiddingly asked Jack to walk out with me today and take my picture. One of our students was hanging around with us. We saw fresh snow machine tracks and decided today was the day. Part way out, we came upon a crack, which we stepped over! Ok, that was far enough. Our young friend took our photo to prove our kept promise. We did it!
CutterLight 