Perhaps it is the former reporter part of me, but I love listening to and reading transcripts of government meetings.  Often they can be quite boring, but sometimes wonderful gems of wisdom or colorful stories emerge and it makes the entire experience worth it.

I’ll always remember attending a city council meeting in Nevada City, Calif. at which a citizen’s request to cut down a tree in the historic district was being considered.  During public comment, one guy stood up and said, “I want to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. I want to speak for the tree.”  He then stood there, silent, for quite a while.  It was wonderful. I’m not sure if I incorporated it into the story I wrote about the meeting, but if I didn’t, I should have.

While doing some research this past week on the thrilling topic of Alaska borough and city territory annexation petitions, I came across a really lovely piece of prose that was spoken during a public hearing.  I think it captures a special old spirit in the state – only with the modern twist of romanticizing the unorganized borough.

I don’t know anything about the man who said it, but his name is Peter Caffall-Davis.  He is from Hyder, a small community east of Ketchikan near the Canadian border.   The following is just an excerpt of the testimony he gave in an attempt to prevent Hyder from being annexed into the Ketchikan Borough.  I like to call it “Tribute to the Unorganized Borough.”

What is The Last Frontier?  That’s something that’s on every single one of our license plates, we hear it every single day, and I’d like us to stop for a second and think, what does that word frontier mean?

It’s a place beyond.

We know what it is; we could use a lot of words to describe it. You could say wilderness, you can say a lot of things. But what does the word frontier really mean?  A place beyond.

And I have to then follow with, naturally, a place beyond what?

And I would declare to you that it is a place beyond the niceties of a highly structured and organized society; that, I think, is what The Last Frontier means.

And I would also say that the greatest embodiment of that is the unorganized borough. I really think the unorganized borough is The Last Frontier.

What would the people who choose to live in The Last Frontier — or unorganized borough — be like? And it’s not uncommon; we all know them, or we’ve been them, or we may want to do it again.

They’re self-sufficient; they’re self-reliant individuals.

They’re people who pride themselves in doing without; they have almost no goods and services coming from the state. Anyway, I would say these independent, self-reliant, hard-working folks of pioneer natures are underappreciated.

And there’s another thought that comes to mind: They’re thought of and referred to frequently as shirkers of their responsibility to the state because they don’t pay their fair share. And I say balderdash to that, but that’s not exactly the point I’m headed at right now.

Why should the rest of us in the state care if the unorganized borough is protected and that a piece of it still remains?

And it’s going back to my first point: We’re not going to keep dividing up the unorganized borough — what I call The Last Frontier — until there is none of that spirit of freedom left.

That simple life that Walden talks about, we all know exactly what it is in our hearts. And if we go about dividing up the unorganized borough until none of it exists anymore, we will have killed its spirit, and I would say we need to not do that.

And you, as Commissioners, have got an incredible opportunity, in this petition and in others going forward, not to just organize — which is great — but to also protect and preserve that spirit. It’s really important.

And I do not believe we should divide up the unorganized borough and force it to have highly structured systems that they don’t need and don’t want in remote and rural places; we need to keep that spirit of freedom alive.

One of the ways that I continue to hear the unorganized borough referred to is with a little u, a lowercase “u”; it’s almost used like a pejorative. And I’m tired of it, because the people who live out there really are defending our spirit, and our pioneer status, it needs to be protected.

My last comment on this first half of my opening statement is, what you are hearing, I declare, when you hear people say to you in all their petitions, “Don’t make us do this, don’t make us join this borough, don’t force us to do this.”

When these people are speaking to you, what you are actually hearing is the spirit of The Last Frontier, and it is crying out to you for protection and preservation.

And every single petition that includes forcing a little town or village into — through annexation or any other formation — against their will, that’s what you’re hearing, and I would ask you to try and remember that in your heart, and take it into account in every single petition that comes before you, because you know what that Last Frontier spirit is as good as I do. And I would like to see you also try and help protect it for the future and not completely wipe it out.

These are still, small voices that you hear.  Sometimes they’re loud. Sometimes they’re coordinated well, and that’s great. But many times they’re not, and many of them will never speak up at all; they just go quietly away and are never heard.

But this is the spirit of The Last Frontier that we’re talking about, at least in Meyers Chuck, and in Hyder, which I believe is being constructed and annexed today. And in my closing comments, I will talk a little more pointedly about two other issues, and that’s all I have.

Thank you.

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary.

I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan- like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.”

- Henry David Thoreau, Walden

(I took these photos in Craig the day before my dad died.  The passage in the center is from Thoreau’s Walden, a book that my dad had ordered online sometime last month.)

Alaskans love to complain about the weather.

In Juneau, it’s too rainy or too hot. In Fairbanks, it’s too cold or too smoggy  or… too hot. But I have to admit, it IS hot, which means that being outside necessitates being close to water (preferably a body of water suitable for swimming).

Yesterday was a lovely Fairbanks Sunday, chock full of heat, water, dogs, people….  The morning was spent lazing around the cabin, eating blueberries and vanilla yogurt (my all-time favorite breakfast combination though a slice of sausage would have rounded it out nicely too).

Late morning, my neighbor, Diana, and I loaded up the dogs and headed to Pioneer Park for the annual Mutt March – a fundraiser for the shelter.  It was also Diana’s birthday (happy Birthday, Diana!).  There were probably a couple hundred dogs in attendance… and lots of water bowls filled with water and drool.

Between Diana and myself, we had three pooches – Sadie, Panda, and George. Here is Diana with the crew:

George is an older gentleman (14 I believe), but had a very active libido, which did not endear him to other dogs. Panda, a 13-year-old darling huskey girl was probably the hottest dog – and loudest panter – in the crowd. I’ve never seen such thick fur, but she made it to the end without any sudden detours to the shade like a few other beasts. Sadie was happiest when we reached the banks of the Chena and she beelined it to the water. Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything different.

And here we are starting the 2.5 mile march. As you can see, there were loads of dogs:

Water quickly became critical.

And very enjoyable for the swimmers in the bunch:

After the march, it was naptime. I then went to the Beluga Nights concert on the lawn at UAF… But it was too hot to sit outside (even at 7 p.m.), so my friend Sam and I went down to the Tanana and went swimming for a few hours. Actually, it was less like swimming and more like playing in the mud and floating. And drinking beer… and worrying that my energetic little swimmer would get swept away in the currents.

Unfortunately, I left the camera behind for this excursion – next time I think I’ll remember to bring it.

All in all, I would say it was a pretty nice way to spend Sunday. Even if it was a little too hot (not that I’m complaining).

Coming back to Alaska after any length of absence is always a bit of a shock, simultaneously serving as a reminder of why I love being here and why it is so hard to be so far away from family and friends. This time it has been particularly shocking, however, and if it weren’t for the hot weather (a few hours ago, I saw a thermometer that read 87 degrees) and days like today… spent fishing with my friend Brian… I think I’d maybe be back on the first flight to Colorado.

As most people out there already know, three weeks (and one day) ago, my dad died unexpectedly. He was too young and too full of curiosity and excitement about life to go… we already miss him terribly and I think my sisters, my mom, and I are still trying to understand the enormity of our loss. In the past weeks, however, I’ve had the good fortune of seeing so many people who knew my dad – several of them I already knew, many I did not. Best friends, colleagues, neighbors, cousins…  My dad wove a truly diverse life, and he will be remembered for it.

I was torn about whether to stay in my lovely home state of Colorado for the rest of the summer or returning North.  In many ways, it would have been an easy decision – Colorado is one of the prettiest places in the world during summer and Coloradoans are a special blend of city weekend warriors and midwestern friendly neighbors. But I decided to come back to Alaska.  I am now in Juneau, a place that isn’t even my home right now, but is as good a place as any to fly into.  It seems a veritable heat wave in Juneau, which takes some planning for outdoor adventure time.  I flew in Friday night, just in time to catch the midnight fireworks display over the Gastineau Channel with my friend Garold.  I left him downtown, driving out to my friend Emily’s sweet little cabin out the road, falling asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.

I slept soundly. Actually, it was probably the best sleep I’ve had since mid-June and I woke up more than refreshed the next morning. Saturday I opted against journeying back downtown for the parade (though somewhat intrigued about whether Sarah Palin would show) and instead spent a wonderfully lazy morning drinking coffee and devouring my newest favorite book, The Alienist by Caleb Carr.

I couldn’t stand the idea of letting the rare, clear sunshiny Juneau day slip too much away, however, and so I hiked up to the top of Mt. Juneau… I think it is about a 2 or 3 mile hike up the 3,500 foot mountain. As I ascended, I spent a lot of time thinking about my parents last visit to Alaska about two years ago. I was living in Juneau then and we had a great time visiting bears on Admiralty Island, eating fish and chips at the Sandbar, and taking walks on the docks in the harbors around town.  My legs were hurting as I went up, but I was encouraged by the boundless energy of little Sadie, who often appears exhausted only to get a second (and third, fourth, and fifth) wind as soon as she hears the squeeking sound of a rock creature or the flapping wings of a bird in the bushes.

The view at the top was stunning and I sat on the north side of the peak for about fifteen minutes, looking up the channel and toward the rest of the state. Sadie rolled in the snow and chased some small creatures. I ate a Snickers and wished myself a very happy Fourth of July. It was perfect.

Today was another perfect day (though I doubt Brian would think so).  We went fishing for halibut and did catch one – rather small, but I’m not picky. It was a wonderful day on the water despite the choppy water and the (as it turned out) relatively minor mistake we made in hitting a hidden reef.

It was the kind of day my dad would have loved.  And I’m not quite sure why, but it makes me happy knowing I know that about him.

I’m boarding the ferry to Juneau in a few hours, getting ready to fall back in love with Southeast Alaska (as if I haven’t already during my few days hanging out in Haines).  I will be there for the next few weeks and am curious whether it’ll be the place that I end up returning to in a few months.  Big questions that I’m not read to answer yet.

So far the weather has been so pretty it is hard not to stare at the mountains around this sweet little fishing village.  I wish I had taken some photos, but sometimes it is nice to just have a pleasant memory.

It was a great trip up the Dalton to Toolik. We made quick stops at Coldfoot and Wiseman and were blessed with an extra day in Toolik because of windy drifts.

A few photos will have to suffice. We made a brief stop in Coldfoot for breakfast all day.  A slew of truckers were already there. It was muddy, sunny and nice.

At the top of Atigun Pass, we were stalled for about three hours in the avalanche safety zone. An avalanche come down the mountain just in front of us and a truck was stuck.  The rest of us waited until DOT cleared the way. Our little van is on the right in the second row.

We arrived soon enough, enjoying a game of 80s Trivial Pursuit and waking up to yet another clear, sunny day.

Then the wind started to blow….

And the drifts piled up. We were stuck for a third night.

We watched movies, read books, played a game of Pictionary… and enjoyed the stunning surroundings.

And on the way home to Fairbanks, we made a slight detour to Wiseman.

A small crew of us from my department is headed on our first class field trip this weekend.  It promises to be good times, though a long ride in a 15-person van.

We are going to Toolik Field Station - the university’s research station on the Dalton Highway just beyond the Brooks Range.  We are all social scientists, which doubles the adventure for us.  Most of the time, our research involves nestling into archives, books, or harassing people for their opinions and knowledge.

We’ll be just a smidgen closer to the North Pole at 68°38’N, 149°36’W and we’ll be 170 miles north of the Arctic Circle.  Of course, neither the North Pole nor the Arctic Circle mean much, but there is something compelling about being able to orient yourself in relation to them.

Here’s a map of our destination:

I’ve driven by Toolik before so I have a picture of what it looks like on the tundra, at the edge of the foothills…  That was a year and a half ago while on a hunting trip with some friends.  I’ve been curious about the place ever since. I’ve heard that there is great food there and a splendid sauna. People have called it the McMurdo station of North.

Toolik lies just to the west of one of the eastern borders of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.  We’ll also be closer to the oil fields of Prudhoe Bay (but unfortunately, not close enough that polar bears from the Beaufort Sea would wander down).

It should be a memorable trip.

Taking advantage of daylight isn’t difficult when the skies are so clear and the temperatures aren’t below freezing. I headed out with dog this morning for our daily stroll in the network of trails behind the house.  It was a little slushy, but not too bad since it was still early in the day.  Perfect.

A neighbor of mine is building some sort of structure next to the trail.  I can’t quite figure it out – nor can I figure why he’s put it smack in the middle of a confluence of trails, especially when there is so much space that is not near any trail.  But whatever, it is an interesting curiosity.  You can’t really see it below that well, but besides the trail in front, there is one perpendicular on the far side of the structure.  In the summertime, there is a lake beyond and is a nice area for seeing birds (if you remember mosquito repellent).

Sadie is wildly restless these days.

It is a serious chore to keep her exercised.  She is almost five years old, but acts like she’s barely two.

Sometimes I don’t act my age either.

I still have many (metaphorical) miles to go before I can say I successfully finished this semester.  Everything will hopefully be wrapped up within the next few weeks.

But I’m certainly looking forward to summer.

Busy times in this little cabin.  I’m eagerly anticipating the growth of my newly-planted basil seeds.  They are just peaking out of the dirt. Quite cute. I just want to pinch their little leaves.

There was some nervousness around here during the germination process because I was explicitly told by a gardening guru neighbor of mine that I needed to keep them in a warm place. I refused, instead preferring to keep them on the window sill with the idea that they would get light/heat best there.  Of course, we’ve been plagued by some cool nights still here in Fairbanks and as temperatures dipped, the area near my window was much cooler than other parts of the house. But those stalwart suckers prevailed and are popping up nicely.  I’m mulling the idea of making a time-lapse video of their progress.

I am still shocked! SHOCKED! that spring is here. It utterly unbelievable to live this far north in the spring. Some people thing it is a pissy time of year, with all that ugliness re-emerging from the snowy depths. But I look upwards at the sun and blue skies and celebrate.  Besides, we are getting something ridiculous like 15 hours of daylight and I just want to have a dance party all day long. So instead, I will channel the energy to planting a little garden.

It won’t be big. I’ve obviously begun with basil.  Last year I grew parsley, broccoli, and tomatoes. The only bust was the tomato plant, but I was pleased with the success of the other veggies. Hopefully this summer will be a bountiful harvest.

Also lovely are the frolicking white rabbits in my yard – which I believe might be a mating thing.  Sadie prefers to be outside on the porch and when these rabbits come out, she can hardly restrain herself (so I do, by tying her to the deck).  It is almost unbearable for her, but she loves to watch.  Doggy porn?

Ha. I don’t know why I felt so compelled to jump into the world of blogging politics, it is really not my style. So I apologize to my friends and family (the people who primarily read this!) for the small tirade.

I think spring might have  officially “arrived” in the Far North. We’re getting more hours of daylight than darkness… and it only gets better from here. As a result, the ice/snow combination on my deck is melting away AND I LOVE IT. Love it. This time of year is wonderfully refreshing in Fairbanks and every time I think about moving away from here (thoughts that permeate my brain during December/January) I am rejuvenated in March. Hell.

Since spring is about celebrating newness, I think I’ll write about two delightful parts of Fairbanks I’ve recently “discovered.” They both have to do with food. Yum.

1) Saturday night I went to dinner with a friend at a restaurant called Wasabi Bay. It’s on S. Cushman, but when she first mentioned that this is where she wanted to go I thought she was proposing a trip to the coast. No – it is a Japanese restaurant nestled in a strip mall. I ordered an eel roll and tuna roll and drank hot tea and slurped down miso soup. I think the both of us were in heaven, considering it was a bit of a surprise that we’d find a Japanese restaurant up here – and one that wasn’t bad at all! I was pleased. I would go back.

2) The second “discovery” happened a few weeks ago… again, I was with a friend, and again, we went to a place I’d never knew existed. I think I’m possibly in love with this place – Marty’s Bake Shop. It’s tucked in a corner of an office park/industrial area (don’t ask why we were over there to begin with). We split a turkey sandwich with provolone cheese and yum vegetables. I will say absolutely it is the best sandwich I’ve had in Alaska. Hands down. I rate my delis on their turkey sandwiches (sortof like I rate my breakfast joints on their eggs benedict). This was it – fresh bread, good ingredients, and surprisingly cheaper than most other places I’ve been in Fairbanks.

I’m happy. Food adventuring and the arrival of spring… what could be better?