An Artistic Mystery in Anchorage

I stumbled across an artistic mystery this week in Anchorage. Very early one morning, I walked from the cold and dark into the brightly lit office of the Central Middle School of Science. The first thing I noticed was a painting on the wall that was locked inside a glass case. The painting style looked very familiar to me as did the subject matter - a close-up of huskies running in the snow. It looked exactly like something that Fred Machetanz would paint except for one thing. The dogs were running against a crimson red background. A very strong colorist, Machetanz didn't normally use red. It isn't an arctic color. Machetanz's paintings are iconic in Alaska and he achieved international recognition for his bold landscapes, Alaskan animals, dog mushing, and Alaskan people. Most people recognize his work by the very cool palette he used of teals, violets, purples - the kinds of colors that snow-covered mountains reflect. This painting, "Where Men and Dogs are Small" is a perfect example of his work.

So you can imagine why I was puzzled to see the use of red in this painting on the wall of the Central Middle School of Science office. I looked more closely at it. It had his signature. It was an original oil. And the back ground was RED.

When in doubt, always ask. The school secretary told me that it really was an original Fred Machetanz. Here is the story. Fred Machetanz actually gave the school two paintings; however, the first one was destroyed in the 1964 earthquake. He returned to the school in 1967 with another painting under his arm, similar to the first one. He stipulated that the Parent Committee use the painting for whatever purpose they chose to support the school. He painted the team of huskies because Central's teams are the Huskies. And that mysterious red background? Central's school colors are white and... red.

Weather Permitting

Several years ago, I found a bit of doggerel, attributed to Anonymous, entitled "Weather Permitting" and kept it because, although crude, it expresses a state of mind that is always with us in Alaska. Here is part of the first verse:

"Way up in Alaska wherever you are

If you're headed out close or you're headed out far

When you go to the airport, you may need your knitting

For you'll only be flying, weather permitting"

This past week when I was weathered in in Tyonek, I remembered this verse. I had left Anchorage's Merrill Field with Spernak Airways on a gray day with plenty of visibility. Spernak has a reputation for safety and has served Tyonek well for many years. (Note in the corner of their business sign in capital letters, it says: BEAR SPRAY IS NOT ALLOWED IN ANY PASSENGER AIRCRAFT. I had to wonder what led to that notice.)

So we left populous Anchorage behind and had an uneventful flight (the best kind) as we crossed Cook Inlet, where I could see ice forming. Eventually, we landed on the airstrip where someone from the school picked me up. 

I had a great time with the kids and their parents, but when it came time for me to return to Anchorage in order to fly back to Juneau, it was snowing in Tyonek and the ceiling was far too low for planes to fly. In winter, the light starts going by mid-afternoon, which meant I would be staying another night. So I helped the Student Council do a fundraiser and discovered that it is easy to go through a 25 lb. sack of flour when making the dough for 34 pizzas.

Here are our orders:

The next morning, it was beautiful in Tyonek, but the fog had settled over Merrill Field in Anchorage so that no planes flew from Merrill all day. As the poem says:

"There's no use in fuming or fussing or snitting

You always face this, it's weather permitting

So don't get disheartened in the far golden North

Just learn to relax without fretting or quitting"

Surprisingly enough, at Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage, just across town, the visibility steadily improved so that in late afternoon, I heard that Reeve Air had sent a charter. There was room for another passenger so I hopped on and flew back. 

I did make it back to Anchorage in time to catch the late plane to Juneau. 

And so here is the last verse:

"And when the grim reaper comes I can see it all clear

I'm alone in my shroud, Happy Heaven is near

I'm coming, St. Peter, this old world I'm quitting

And I'll be along soon,

Weather permitting."

Despite the funereal sentiments of this final verse, I like the message. I will get where I want to go eventually, but only with "weather permitting."

Smoked Black Cod

How did I get so old before discovering smoked black cod? It has an exquisite buttery texture and a rich smokey taste that is sublime. At parties, guests race to consume everything but the skin. Even up against smoked salmon (which is almost a state dish), the black cod will win out. Most people love it at first bite. My husband is one of the few holdouts. Because cod (or sablefish) lives in very deep water, it is an oily fish. That reminds me that people have taken cod liver oil for decades for health: I wonder if eating smoked black cod daily could be considered a daily vitamin supplement? It does make me feel good to eat it...  There must be some kind of biological mechanism related to craving oil in cold weather. I know I do eat more of it in winter.

A close friend who introduced it to me makes a simple dish by mixing it with wild and brown rice. Despite its simplicity, or maybe because of it, this dish is delicious and a perfect "10" when it comes to satisfying.

A few weeks ago, I talked to a gentleman who has worked in the meat and fish industry for a long time here in Juneau. He said that 20 years ago, his company produced 300-400 lbs. a year of smoked black cod. That was the market for it then. Now, he said, they produce that much every month! For a town of 32,000.

It didn't take long for this smoked black cod to disappear. It turning cold so it's time for me to support my local smoked black cod industry again.

We Have Plenty of Room in Alaska

Alaska is vast. But it is only at certain times that you realize it. With a total area of 591,004 square miles of land and water, and almost 700,000 residents, that works out to 1.1 person per square mile. Contrast that with the entire United States, where there are 79.6 people per square mile. That is something to ponder.  And ponder it I did last week when I flew on a small plane to Kake, a village about an hour south of Juneau. Here is what I saw during that hour.

What I didn't see was any sign of human habitation: no curls of woodsmoke rising upward, no roads, no boats bobbing on the whitecaps. That doesn't mean it is untouched wilderness. When we came closer to Kake at a lower elevation, I did see clearcuts and logging roads. It is true that the closer you get to the ground, the more you see where people have been. Erin McKittrick and her husband, Hig Higman, found that out when from June 2007 to June 2008, they traveled 4000 miles from Seattle to the Aleutian Islands solely by human power. See their story here.  http://www.groundtruthtrekking.org/ They found plenty of evidence that people had been there before them. Plastic lasts forever. 


But from the air, flying south from Juneau, you can see forever - until you get to Kake, a community of fewer than 500 residents on the northwest coast of Kupreanof Island. Most places in Alaska have no road access, and Kake is no exception. It is a tiny jewel. 

After more than 40 years in Alaska, I still am stunned by the beauty everywhere. I think most people are. But with all of this magnificent landscape, people here can still get complacent about taking care of it because there is just so darn much of it. We have to continue to remind ourselves that despite its size, it is precious and rare.

Ski Tracks

When the weather turns cold enough to freeze the lakes around Juneau, classic skiers and skate skiers alike head for Mendenhall Lake. Blue icebergs from the Mendenhall Glacier that calved earlier in the year are frozen in the ice and the Nordic Club lays a beautiful track that loops around the huge lake. As long as you stay in the tracks, skiing is smooth and fast. Every person who uses the tracks packs it down a little more and it gets faster and faster. Your rhythm gets regular and strong and sometimes you feel as if you are flying on the tracks. Once you leave the tracks, however, the snow is uneven and you have to pay more attention and the glide isn't as long. On the other hand, when you wander away from the pack, it gets very quiet and you have the thrill of setting your own track. But when you step out of the track where others have gone before, you have to be vigilant about where you ski. Even though in most places the ice is very thick, every year someone miscalculates and breaks through into the icy water. It happened just the other night. He was lucky enough to get out and rescuers took him to the hospital to be treated for hypothermia. No matter where we are, no matter what we are doing, no matter how old we are, we will always have choices presented to us. And lessons to learn. This is particularly true in Alaska where nature is always the teacher.

Christmas Jam

True confession: I love other people's homemade jam (OPJ). Mine is good, but there is a little extra something that comes with other people's. So, last week when Christmas was approaching, the Wild Blueberry Jam from Christmas 2009 was almost gone. The few last berries were clinging to the bottom of the jar. Sadly, there was just enough left for one last piece of buttered toast. And after that? We have frozen berries from last summer, but hadn't made them into jam yet. The alternative was store bought jam made with high fructose corn syrup. Christmas Eve couldn't come soon enough.

I don't know why OPJ is so much better. Although I bought Rosehip Rhubarb Jam from the Montessori students and Salmonberry Jam from the Audubon Society, what I was really craving was the jam that my longtime neighbors make. Not only are all of their preserves heavenly, but they are generous with the fruits of their labor too. Every Christmas I look forward to my Christmas jam.

And when Christmas Eve finally arrived and I held the precious jar in my hands, I was happy. This year, it's a luscious mixture of healthy blueberry, hard-to-pick nagoonberry, and delicate thimbleberry. I won't open it right away. There's a lot of love in each jar: hours of picking, sorting, cleaning, cooking, and canning. That must be the little extra "something." Thank you, dear neighbors!

Thanksgiving in Juneau

 We tried something new this year. Instead of talking about what we were thankful for, we drew pictures and hung them on a branch. Talk about fun! We set up an "art station" in the living room with markers and index cards and while we chatted, we drew and colored. Our drawings ranged from stick figures to three dimensional recognizable people. Before we sat down to dinner, we hung the pictures up. I've posted some of them here. What I loved about this is that it creates a place where gratitude can be visible and that gratitude is different for everyone. Some researchers maintain that  the feeling of gratitude and appreciation can light up areas of our brains in positive ways. Others say it is a way of increasing our positive feelings.  I suspect that the more we focus on gratitude, the more we will have to be grateful for.