There are stars whose light reaches the earth
only after they themselves have disintegrated.
And there are individuals whose memory lights
the world after they have passed from it. 
These lights shine in the darkest night and illumine for us the path.


–Hannah Senesh

Ecuador 2006. Photo taken by Dad

It’s pretty darn cute and the most perfect size (~650 square feet), but it does push me back to early 20th century and the era of no indoor plumbing. I’ve been there before. Since October, I’ve become reacquainted with the 5-gallon blue jug, the Water Wagon over off Chena Pump Road, and the urgent need to refill so the dog doesn’t go thirsty.

I used to think that owning my own place would be a burdensome commitment, a terrible harbinger of the end of my restless youth. Oddly, now that time has come, I don’t feel that way at all. This means that either I’ve grown up a bit… or that the rental market in Fairbanks is so outrageous that even something such as commitment has suddenly become less scary than the amount the average renter doles out each month for a roof over her head.

Maybe a bit of both?

All I know is that I’m pretty okay with my new situation.

Fishing companions on the Klawock River.

Prince of Wales Island.

Early September.

It was a perfect day. I did get lost at one point, not too shocking, but I was with the dogs and they didn’t seem to notice – or care for that matter. I figured that if I walked 15 miles, they must’ve walked/run at least 40. All three of us returned back home that evening a little tired and very happy.

Starting out:

Nearing the top:

Sadie: “Oh my, look at that view, Echo!”

Echo: “Yes! We could run forever!”

Sadie: “Holy shit, it’s hot up here.”

Reaching the top. There is even a rainbow.

How did I lose track of these painfully obvious trail signs?

Sadie: “We’re not tired, not tired at all.”

Echo: “No way, we want to run another 40 miles.”

All in all, it was a pretty good day.

I took this photo when walking home from Ausdahl Mercantile in Kalskag at about 9:30 p.m. one evening in mid-April. I’m not a religious person by any stretch, but I’ve found that faith is an important part of life for many in the villages I’ve visited on the Kuskokwim.

Believing is beautiful.

I love eating jam and I love to cook, how could I possibly refuse an offer from someone who promised to teach me how to make something so tasty in less an hour?

I couldn’t!

Annie Lou lives in Kalskag, AK. She’s got more energy than most people I know who are 20 – and she’s 70 years old. I admire her! It was a real treat to get a jam-making lesson from such a pro. I tried my best to follow the steps she taught us, but undoubtedly I missed a few.  Here is what I remember:

The first step – cleaning the jars to be used for canning – Annie Lou did before we even arrived.

Then, we measured out the sugar.  The recipe we were using called for 7 cups of sugar.  Sometimes I like sweeter jam and sometimes I like jam that is a little more tart. I could imagine altering this part of the recipe quite a bit until I figured out the right ratio (for me).  Here is Michelle, carefully measuring each cup.

The berries! Annie Lou had these berries frozen in her freezer from last summer. She said she thought she’d pulled out three bags of blueberries, but as it thawed, she realized it was one bag of blueberries and two bags of red berries. I love both, so I wasn’t about to complain.

Annie Lou’s advice: Always check and double-check the recipe.

Measure out the berries carefully. We used 4.5 cups of berries – and supplemented the other half cup with water.

Then, bring the berries to a rapid boil. Start adding the sugar.

Don’t forget to check the recipe!

Oh, and prepare your jars for pouring. Place them in a spot near the stovetop, removing all the lids.

Add two pouches of pectin and stir for another six minutes. Keep time!

Now, quickly pour the jam into the jars. QUICKLY! Before it jells. Make sure the ribbons around the tops of the jars are clean before you screw the lids back on.

Flip all the jars upside down so the heat can seal the jars!

Before we left, Annie Lou told us that she wanted to teach us how to make jam “because something isn’t yours until you give it away.  If I die tomorrow, I know that you can teach others what I’ve taught you.”

Not only is Annie Lou good at making jam, but she’s good at teaching the kinds of life lessons that make life worth living.

My immediate response: “Because he’s the man! He’s amazing!”

When I started to think about it a little bit more, I realized that much of the reason that I’m such a Mackey fan is irrational, it’s a gut emotion, and it provokes a feeling of immense joy seeing him win. I’ve even gotten my older sister hooked on Lance Mackey, which is equally irrational because not only is she a mom of three, a growing self-taught expert in urban planning… she’s never before even been within a mile of either a dog sled or a sled dog.

At this point, Mackey’s not even an underdog anymore (my usual preference is the underdog, I vividly recall Detroit beating L.A. in the 2004 NBA finals and was absolutely ecstatic over it. And don’t even get me started on how I choke up every time I watch this video of Jason McElwain, the autistic kid who instantly became a youtube sensation after making all those three-pointers during a high school basketball game).

Right now, Mackey’s on his way to possibly winning his fourth Iditarod, not to mention four Yukon Quest wins. He is, frankly, the man.

But why?

After a few days of thinking it through, I think I’ve got the answer: he’s tough, he’s scrappy, he’s unpredictable.  He makes dog sled racing fun to watch. And somehow, after all this time, he’s still maintained the image of being the “wild card.”

Let’s break it down a bit.

He’s tough:

He IS tough. What the hell kind of person decides to launch a career as an athlete when they lack a few, basic critical physical attributes that make training hard a little bit easier?  Mackey cannot produce saliva.  Mackey does not have cartilage in his knees. He’s had muscles in his throat removed, his body is more susceptible to cold. From what I read, he is a physical train wreck.  Many people like him would simply resign, relax in front of a TV or learn to tackle a future that is more accommodating. I would. But I’m a wimp. Mackey is not, he is tough. I like paying attention to people who have characteristics I don’t.

He’s scrappy:

Mackey’s got gaming skills like no other competitor I’ve seen. He’s not afraid to pull a few unpredictable moves that might put him ahead.  The big question is whether they will work. So far and for the most part, they have. And he breaks all the rules… or at least it seems that way. I don’t even know what the rules of races like the Iditarod are, but he seems to make up his own race, plays by his own rules. If someone says you can’t, he does. This is fun to watch.

He’s unpredictable:

In this year’s Iditarod, I spent the first several days in mourning. Mackey was behind the lead pack and I thought he’d lost his mojo. I was sad, I didn’t even want to watch what was going on (but I did, there are several other mushers that are worth paying attention to!!).  Then suddenly, there he was, back in the front and vying for the lead position with another champion, Jeff King. How does he do this?

He makes sled dog racing fun to watch:

If you watch a few interviews with Mackey, especially those on the trail, you’ll see what I mean. He’s got a ruggedness, an authenticity, a real spirit that is pretty tough to match. He’s someone who’s constantly got a spotlight on him when he’s racing, but appears to be able to not only handle it, but also take care of what’s most important at the same time: his dogs. He  puts the spotlight on his dogs. I know more about Larry, Hobo, Maple than I do about any of the other dogs in the Iditarod or the Quest. These guys are stars (though I do very fondly recall Ramey Smith holding Babe up behind podium in Nome so she could properly be recognized as that year’s Golden Harness winner. She was 11. Phenomenal. He was crying).

He’s a forever “wild card”

This year there has been much speculation over whether the Iditarod committee’s crackdown on drug (marijuana) use would impede Mackey’s success. He’s an admitted medical marijuana user, a drug he uses to help ease pain and as an appetite enhancer. It is actually a rather compelling sports drug debate and one that has made quite a few headlines during this year’s Iditarod. I’m a bit torn on the topic since I lean more toward being a purist when it comes to sports, but it is painfully obvious that the stricter rules this year are a direct result of Mackey’s success.  Quite simply, a few of his competitors were looking for ways to bring him down from the heavens. Perhaps they thought that if he couldn’t smoke pot, he’d no longer have his godlike, pain resistant powers.

This year, all racers can be tested and Mackey has said he’s refrained from using. And yet, as of right now, he’s in the number one spot. I hope he maintains it!  What a glorious way to say screw you to those who complained… and those who thought there was a simple explanation as to why Mackey has been such a powerhouse.

The race is not over. King, Neff, Gatt… others could still easily catch the lead in the next day or two as everyone gets closer to Nome. Whether Mackey wins or loses, it doesn’t matter, it’s a great race to watch!

Go Mackey Go!

Kyle Hopkins at the Anchorage Daily News sent back a great video of Mackey in Unalakleet this morning.

I took this picture standing on the river, looking back at town.  For some reason, I had thought the town would be flat, but it is actually rather hilly.  Behind town are the even bigger hills – the mountains. I’d like to explore those someday.

There was plenty of snow. There was also plenty of wind.  I’d been warned that Chuathbaluk could get windy.  This was no joke.

I went out to the village to talk to people, to learn about subsistence and the way subsistence resources are used in the area.  Funny how I came home with just a handful of pictures, and almost all of it of snow, icy rivers, windy drifts. I didn’t have to leave Fairbanks for these kinds of pictures.

Maybe it would have helped if I had brought my camera around more, but sometimes I get so caught up listening or talking to people that I forget about the camera.  I realize now all the interesting things I could have taken pictures of, the tasty food we were given, the school we visited, the plants and fish that people had gathered or caught and were storing in cupboards and freezers.  What was I thinking?

Here is something we don’t see in Fairbanks – a river ice road. I know people use the frozen Chena and Tanana, but I don’t recall ever seeing a road being grated on the icy surface.  This road connects Chuathbaluk to Aniak.  The day we left, we got a ride in a Ford Explorer. It’s about 10 miles. I don’t have a picture of that either.

I did take a photo of the village’s pretty Russian Orthodox church.  I don’t know if there is one in Fairbanks, if there is, I haven’t seen it.  I like the blue roof against the blue sky.  After I took the picture, I realized that the blue roof was from a blue tarp and thought that was a pretty clever way to brighten up a building.

I learned so much during my short stay. I am thankful to the people who live in Chuathbaluk, they were friendly and welcoming.  And they apparently kept me busy enough that I mostly only took photos of snow.

I guess I’ll just have to go back someday.

At 10 o’clock on New Year’s Day, they would meet at the 10th tee at the Country Club of Colorado and play five holes of golf.   They promised they would show up regardless of the weather, in fact, the more inclement and unbearable, the better.

They called it “On 10 at 10.”

Since that inaugural year in 1988, my dad rarely missed a “On 10 at 10.”  He loved to play golf, though I think he loved the friendships it fostered more than the game.

Like the wacky idea hatched by the original AdAmAn men, the “10 at 10″ tradition has held not only held steady, but has grown.

Earlier this morning, at just a few minutes before 10 a.m., Brooke, my mom, and I strolled up to the 10th tee at the country club.  There were about 40 men milling about, a few had already cracked cans of Coors and I saw one bottle of Jack Daniels. Though there was snow on the ground, the weather was nice and sunny (too nice and sunny for some, I think).

The game is played like this:

There are two teams, one team gets yellow balls, the other orange balls.  Age determines what team you play on – it’s older men vs. younger men (I believe the dividing age was 40).  They play what is called “Best Ball,” which means that while all team members hit a ball, they play off of the best one.  It takes about two hours for everyone to play five holes and then they all go eat pizza.  This year the older guys won, which I have a feeling happens less often.

In memory of my dad and the wonderful friendship they shared, one of his buddies had a marker made and installed at the 10th tee in time for this year’s “On 10 at 10.”  And while it was hard, it was also so heartwarming to see my dad’s friends do something so thoughtful to remember him.

Here are Ted Stringer and T Mahony, fellow founding members, with the marker just before the tee off.

The marker reads:

“On 10 at 10″

Inaugural Event – Jan. 1, 1988

T. Mahony

Dave Matthews

Jerry Retherford

Ted Stringer

In honor of our friend Jerry

January 1, 2010

And here is Brooke, me, Mom with Ted and T.

Ted told everyone that the marker should remind people to think positive thoughts about friendships and life.  He talked about how my dad always had a little kid in him and how important that was for maintaining a positive outlook on life.

He ended his remarks by saying that today, “Jerry would have wanted you to hit it straight down the fucking middle.”

T replied, “yes, but Jerry never hit it down the middle.”

My dad would have just laughed.

My grandpa turned 97 years old in September.  The past few years I’ve been telling people he is 97 so it is nice that his age finally caught up with the tales.  In my defense, however, sometimes it is difficult to know his age because his mind and memory is still so sharp even though his body is getting more and more frail.

Age aside, it is always fun times visiting him at his home in Rushville.  This time was no different.

Brooke and I left Monday afternoon in her new (to her) car (so jealous, btw).  Since my dog is visiting all the way from Alaska, I wanted her to have the chance to run in the Nebraska countryside like so many of the family dogs have done over the years.   So Sadie came too.  (Thanks Aunt Mary Anne!)

We arrived in Rushville Monday night and visited Grandpa at the assisted living center where he lives with his Jack Russell terrier, Jackie Girl.  He calls the place his “jail,” but this inmate seems to be able to escape pretty frequently.  Grandpa’s a night owl so he was wide awake when we arrived – and happy to see us.

A few of the best memories from this trip:

- Breakfasting in the morning with Grandpa at the assisted living… oatmeal, greasy eggs, bacon and toast. And yes, the cook makes a difference – one day breakfast was awful, the next, quite good.  Grandpa teased a woman in a wheel chair, joking about how they used to drink highballs together.  As the woman wheeled herself away, she turned to me and winked.

- Grandpa showing us Jackie Girl’s “tricks” with breakfast leftovers.  Basically, this means fiendishly seeking bits of bacon in hard-to-reach places.

- Brooke read from a book commemorating the 100-year-anniversary of Hay Springs (Grandpa’s birth town) and Grandpa opining on family history as told in the book.

- Seeing Grandpa’s new hair cut – or rather, lack thereof.  He said he’s done with haircuts. I think it’s a nice look.

- A visit to see Maxine, one of Grandpa’s three younger sisters.  She lives in a nursing home in Hay Springs.  Maxine’s room was much cleaner and more well-organized than her big brother’s room (which is not a difficult feat, even I am neater than my Grandpa!).  She showed us pictures of their grandma Katie, of herself as a little girl, and told stories of past vacations. She recalled getting locked in a bathroom in Hawaii and a cruise to Alaska.  She gave me a banana on the way out. Maxine is sometimes difficult to understand, but she always has a big Hollstein smile to share.

- Aunt Mary Anne’s homemade chicken noodle soup.

- Chasing my tiny second cousin Katie around the house and playing “I spy” with her brother and sister, Logan and Kylie.  Pretty adorable kids, if you ask me.

- A morning walk with Brooke around Rushville.  We walked out to the pasture where Grandpa used to keep the ponies when we were in town.  I have so many memories of those ponies! Blondie, Heidi, Chica, and Dagwood, RIP.  (This photo is actually of the pasture right next to the pasture I remember).

- An sunny afternoon drive with Grandpa, Brooke, Logan and three dogs out to the snowy countryside.

- We briefly got stuck at the Robins Place when we all got sidetracked by a herd of horses.  Thankfully, a truck was nearby and pulled us out of the ditch.  Here we are, getting unstuck.

After this, Brooke took over the reins driving the Cadillac and Grandpa and Jackie remained on the lookout for pheasant.  In the back seat, Logan got hungry and then mad, we made up band names (“The Panters”), and talked about what would happen if penguins invaded Africa.

Meanwhile, Sadie barked at all the cows and Gunnar (Logan’s golden retriever) restlessly tried to find a place to nap.  Here Logan and I are hanging out at a rest stop in front of my Grandpa’s Aunt Rose’s old house in the country.  Grandpa always likes to tell stories of spending time here in the summers and Aunt Rose’s garden with delicious strawberries.

I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the last few days of 2009 than taking some time to appreciate my family’s past.

Happy New Year!