Getting ready for winter...

This is Alaska and being prepared is still an important part of living here.  The weather is getting crisp, fall is here and winter is near.  Getting ready for winter will be happening in earnest.

For some people this is a sad time that marks the end of summer.  But, others will celebrate the change in season with a flurry of activities.  Harvesting is now in full swing.  Wild berries are almost done for the season with lots of jams, jellies and syrups in the cupboards.  Fish are being brined, smoked, dried, canned or frozen.  Vegetables are being picked, pickled, chopped, cut, blanched and prepped for storage.  And, depending on your location, hunting for the meat that will sustain you through the winter has started or soon to start.

Making sure you have enough firewood to make it through the winter, that is if you have a fireplace or woodstove to help you heat your home.  Checking for heat loss problems around windows and doors, and generally preparing for the cold that is coming.  Staying warm is the main goal, but cutting the cost down as much as possible is the second. 

The main goal, and what makes a lot of these efforts worthwhile, is being able to eat good food and stay warm, but cutting the cost down as much as possible is an added benefit and staying healthy is another.  And, getting things done just plain makes you feel good.

Next – wax those skis, tune up those snow machines, get out the ice auger and break out the winter gear!

--- Sandy Shacklett

Navigating North in November

 Twice a year I travel home to Fairbanks, usually for a month. Up until recently, hubby Don and I always went separately because of commitments in New York that kept one of us here while the other happily flew on their merry way north. This year we can finally travel together; our local commitment’s a thing of the past.

Originally we’d planned on a summer filled with mosquitoes and endless sun. When our NY friends found out we’re both going up together, they all expressed envy that we’d be spending summer in Alaska.

Yet when asked, we found ourselves replying,

 “No, we’ll go up in November.”

The looks that remark netted ranged from disbelieving to confused and back to disbelieving.

“But it’s cold up there in November!” they said. Then we got a few tentative queries of, “Isn’t it cold up there in November? With a lot of snow?”

“Yes. It’s cold in November. And there’s snow,” we replied serenely.

Still no true comprehension. “But you already live Upstate! Why not spend winter in warmth, maybe go to Florida? You may as well stay in New York,” they reasoned.

“Nope. We’re headed north.”

“Well, you’re both crazy.” The conversation usually ended there. Or something similar, depending on which family or friend we spoke to.

I can’t recall the last time I saw a true Fairbanks summer, where the days lengthen so deliciously and the sun’s up and beaming after midnight. It seems I always go up late in the fall or early in the year.

But I discovered something about myself when I was in Fairbanks this past February:

It’s more comfortable there at twenty below than in New York at twenty above.

Winter in Interior Alaska has winter in Upstate beat by a landslide, and all because of two factors:

Wind and humidity. As in - Fairbanks doesn’t have either during most of their winters. And Upstate does. And it makes all the difference in comfort.

When we lived full-time in Alaska it was easy to complain about the winter. Six months of snow will eventually get to anyone, including the avid outdoorsman who owns every winter toy on the market. Cabin fever is real and everyone gets stuck with it sooner or later. But at least for me, I found I missed Alaskan winters even though we ended up in ‘Four Seasons Central,’ otherwise known as the Northeast.

I longed for the Aurora. I missed the utter calm of snow that falls so very silently and clings endlessly to tree branches in a lacy white drape incomparable to anywhere else. Until I’d moved to New York I had forgotten what it’s like to have that bitterly frigid Upstate wind cut through layers of clothing and chill to the bone; damp and just nasty. Not the entire winter in Upstate, of course, but enough. And not even a clear night of dancing Northern Lights as recompense for that wet, windy freeze. It seemed three months of Upstate winter could trump six months of Interior winter, hands down . . . and not in a good way.

But see, family and friends here in New York wouldn’t understand it. Given a choice of region for those wintry months, they’d go to Hawaii, Mexico, Florida, Las Vegas; anywhere south or west that has no snow and winter temps higher than sixty degrees. What would be the point of going north? It’s just more snow.

I simply smile, and say, “Why, yes. Yes, it is.” And I pack accordingly.

This year we’ll head north, stay a month, probably over the holidays. Christmas morning in Fairbanks sounds pretty good to me. As for the rest of the winter, we might just hop in the motor home and drive to Florida. A few months on the beach could be completely doable. Ah, but that month right in the middle? It belongs to Alaska. I’m looking forward to it.

 Char Chaffin is a member of AKRWA and CNYRW, a die-hard displaced Alaskan, and has just published her third novel, Jesse’s Girl. She goes home to Fairbanks when she can, hangs out on a sixty-acre farm in Upstate New York when she can’t, and divides her time between writing her next novel and being an Acquisitions Editor for Soul Mate Publishing.

website: http://char.chaffin.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/char.chaffin

Twitter: http://twitter.com/char_chaffin

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5337737.Char_Chaffin

Book Trailer for Jesse’s Girl:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5UBBoAqbWE

Long Cold Lonely Winter?

After my second head-cold, I decided to blame winter on all my ills, bad moods, inability to sleep at night and everything else I could toss on the heap. In the grip of frigid and windy nastiness, it was easy enough to do. I got out the makeshift desk I use when I want to work in the living room, and huddled there with my heavy down-filled blanket wrapped around me. Right in front of the pellet stove. And still froze my knuckles off. I hibernated even more than I usually do, refusing to go outside for anything other than shoveling, haunting the barn for bags of wood pellets to feed the stove, and tromping out to the mailbox. I grumbled, a lot.

This has been the worst winter on record for many regions across the US. Record lows. Record snowfalls. Record winds. Record yuck. Nobody seemed to escape the mess; reports would come in from various family members all over, and it was the same everywhere. Slush in the streets, cars spinning out on the freeway, ice coating the trees, inches of snow on the patio, breath-stealing winter air. And that was just in Atlanta.

Twice a year, I go home to Alaska. I have family in Fairbanks; darling daughter Sue Ann, handsome son-in-law John, and my adorable granddaughter, Faith. I spend at least a month playing Mom/Grandma catch up, and one of my trips invariably hits in mid-winter. Just the luck of the draw, I suppose. Friends and other family members always ask me why on earth I don’t travel north during the summer when Interior Alaska is at its most glorious. Well, this winter I finally had an answer that made them shut up in a hurry:

“My winter in Fairbanks was better than your winter, anywhere else!”

And I wasn’t lying even a little bit.

I landed at Fairbanks International Airport on February 9, mid-afternoon. I’d left Albany, New York early that morning wrapped in a heavy winter coat that I barely took off even on the plane. I wore my Uggs instead of packing them (my feet never got overheated during the entire trip). And thinking ahead to what February in Fairbanks usually meant, I steeled myself for the worst.

I spent the next thirty days with my coat unzipped, my hat abandoned and my gloves tucked in my pockets instead of on my hands. Oh, I’d have had to bundle up if I’d spent any amount of time outside, of course. Yet I took Faith outside sledding one day with no hat and never even noticed the lack.

I basked in the windless calm of a standard winter day in Fairbanks, secure in the knowledge that some things don’t change regardless of what kind of crud “Ma” Nature can splat on the rest of the world. I returned to New York refreshed, energized, and warm.

But not for long, because immediately I caught a cold. Then after I fought it off, I got sideswiped with bronchitis. I’m still coughing and blowing my nose. Go figure.

I guess what I brought back from all of this has less to do with the vagaries of winter and more to do with attitude. I think in some ways you can persuade your body to accept and then believe the opposite of what it expects to accept and believe. I lived in Fairbanks for many winters and I know what February is going to bring to my table: forty below, ice fog, black ice on the roads and the need to plug the car into the nearest available hot box so the engine doesn’t gag and die. What I tend to forget it also brings: calm, clear, crisp, gloriously bright albeit short days and long, snuggle-in-your-jammies nights. In that respect, my month of Arctic was blessedly, familiarly normal.

It’s all the other junk this winter that tossed me for a loop and made me want to stab Mother Nature with the nearest icicle I could break off the rain gutter.

Attitude is everything when dealing with unseasonably weird weather. Maybe you’ll catch the flu anyhow even if you were diligent and took the shot. Maybe this summer will be just as disappointing when it finally decides to show up. Whatever we all get, I’ve decided I’m not going to let it bother me, because we can’t control what mean old Mommy Nature dishes out.

But mainly because I’m headed back to Fairbanks this summer—sometime after RWA and San Antonio—and this time hubby Don can break away long enough to go with me.  ::Happy Dancing amongst the mosquitoes::

We’ll take some time, soak up the long, long days, enjoy our family; marinate ourselves in DEET so we can spend lots of time outside. Maybe we’ll stay longer than a month. Maybe we won’t come back until break up, 2015.

Yep, attitude is everything.

Char Chaffin is a member of AKRWA and CNYRW, a die-hard displaced Alaskan, and has just published her third novel, Jesse’s Girl. She goes home to Fairbanks when she can, hangs out on a sixty-acre farm in Upstate New York when she can’t, and divides her time between writing her next novel and being an Acquisitions Editor for Soul Mate Publishing.

You can find her here:

website: http://char.chaffin.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/char.chaffin

Twitter: http://twitter.com/char_chaffin

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5337737.Char_Chaffin

Book Trailer for Jesse’s Girl:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5UBBoAqbWE

Winter Solstice 2013

To Alaskans, solstice is a big day. Our lives revolve around the environment,including the changes in weather and daylight. We notice how much sunlight we gain or lose each day. We celebrate the longest day of the year. My daughter had her wedding on that day this summer. On the shortest day of the year, we look forward to the return of sunlight.

People have been observing winter solstice since Neolithic times. This blog has hosted previous posts about the history, so I'll be brief this time.

The Saami, the Romans, and the Celts had mid-winter festivals that led to many of our winter solstice and Christmas traditions. There are also traditional celebrations on or near winter solstice in Pakistan, East Asia, and Mali, just to name a few. Many of us recognize it as a time of rebirth and renewal, or welcome good luck into our houses at this time.

The short days give Alaskans an excuse to stay inside and cuddle up in front of the fire. Some of us do extra reading or other indoor activities. Winter solstice is a good time to reflect, think about the past year and make plans about the future. While I'm not thrilled with cold weather, I do like the opportunity to wrap up the year and acknowledge my loved ones.

My husband and I are hosting a winter solstice party on December 21st. We'll celebrate with family, friends, good food and drink. To all of you, good wishes, wassail, and hoping you have a great winter solstice, how ever you celebrate this time of year!
--- Lynn Lovegreen

Lynn's first novel, FOOLS'S GOLD, was just released and can be found on most of the popular book sites. Check it out!

www.amazon.com
www.bn.com

Fishing in Alaska - A Winter Activity?

Our first trout of the day

The weather lately has been frigid – single digits or less – but today broke warm (18˚F) and windless, so my son and I packed up and hit the lake for our first ice fishing this winter. Ice fishing season in Alaska begins as early as October, and runs through March before the ice becomes too soft. Many local lakes offer not only rainbow trout, but landlocked king salmon, silver salmon, dolly varden (Arctic char), burbot, and grayling.

We have two lakes within a few miles of our house. One of them is full of pike, and Alaska Fish and Game attempts to purge it every few years without success. The other lake is stocked with lovely little rainbows, so we favor that spot. Our bait of choice is cocktail shrimp, the stinkier the better. I’ve known people to fish with small chunks of herring, last year’s salmon roe, even kernels of corn or cheese puffs. (And, of course, there is always Power Bait, but I’m cheap.)

The snow over the lake wasn’t deep, but it had the fine, sandy quality only weeks of extreme cold can create, with a wind-blown crust over the top. Walking to a suitable spot was like walking on sand, and I had to take off my parka before we stopped to set up. Sweating in cold temperatures is dangerous, because once you cease moving and cool off, if your clothing is wet, you can chill too quickly and develop hypothermia. Luckily, I wasn’t that hot, and soon had to bundle back up with a cup of hot tea at the fishing hole.

We don’t have an electric auger, only a hand crank, and the ice this time of year is around fifteen inches thick, which makes bringing along a robust teenage boy a must. The ice below the snow pack was nice, solid black-ice. We routinely drive our vehicles onto the lake without a second thought (although today we hoofed it.) For safety, ice should be a minimum of four inches thick for one person ice fishing, seven inches for a group of people, and nine inches for vehicles. The National Weather Service posts ice thickness predictions, and this time of year some places in Alaska may have ice as deep as 48 inches! I wouldn’t want to hand auger through that ...

We only fished a couple of hours, until our fingers were numb, but we brought in plenty of little trout. And we had a great time hanging out, which is rare these days now that the kids are older.

Tam Linsey is a lifelong Alaskan who writes science fiction romance. When she's not writing, she enjoys gardening, hunting, fishing, and foraging. You can read more about her on her website at www.tamlinsey.com