Flight or Fight (toilet water)

A few mornings ago, I left the Montana with both Ians sound asleep (Yes, big Ian was to work that day, too, but he needed a bit more beauty sleep just then.) and went over to the office to start my day of work. Just as I was setting my water, banana and Diet Coke on the desk, Ronna came down the stairs (her family's living quarters are upstairs) and said, "Kathy, I have other plans for you and Ian today." For a terrifying split second, my mind whirrled - did she want me to clean bathrooms? After all, I had told her I'd do anything except clean toilets unless it was an emergency. Was that emergency now circling like a buzzard?

No, it was much better than that. Ronna proceeded to tell me that Natron Air, one of the small tourist airlines on the Peninsula, had some empty seats on a bear watching flight and if we could be at the Soldotna Airport within an hour, we could go! "How much?" I asked, knowing those flights aren't cheap. "It's free," she replied. "If you have a good time, just suggest them to our guests."

"Yes, we can be there in less than an hour, no problem!" Of course, in the back of my head I knew Ian was still asleep, but I'd get him up one way or the other. We would NOT miss that flight!

"Oh, what about little Ian?" I suddenly remembered him. We couldn't leave him home alone. Maybe the two Ians could stay home while I go. Maybe I could stay home with him and let big Ian go. (Could I really be that generous??)

Ronna suggested calling Natron and see if maybe he could go half price, but if not, she would watch him for us. I called them, standing right there at the desk, and believe it or not, the lady said yes, they had a 3rd empty seat available, and no, there would no charge for him either - she would just throw him in with us! Wow, unbelievable. Between the three of us, that would have been well over $1,000 if we had had to pay for the experience.

Well, you can imagine how I rushed back to the Montana, ran inside, yelling to the Ians to get up, we have to be at the Soldotna airport in 1/2 hour (they would have taken a few more snores if I told them we really had an hour). "We're going to ride an airplane to go see the bears! For free!" That woke them up. I swear I've never seen either Ian move so fast! I'm sure we were in the truck within 15 minutes and only a few minutes later walked into the small office/waiting area of Natron Air. Another couple, from Australia, was also waiting to board the same plane. By the way, as we drove around the parameter of the small airport serving the locals who owned small aircraft rather than a second car, little Ian was eyeing all the little planes, then said, "I want to go on one with the wings on the bottom, not on top like those." I pointed out that he wouldn't be able to see the ground then. A few seconds later, he said, "I want two engines on our plane." I told him I'm sure we'd only have one for the reasons that popped into my head - the weight, gas usage, not necessary, etc.

Anyway, the pilot, tall, youngish, and smiling and wearing no uniform, but jeans and an ordinary plaid shirt, as if he'd just come back from the store, eventually came from another room, introduced himself, and led the five of us outside to our little plane. It was a 7-seater, and we all piled in, chose our seats, donned our earphones and tested them so we could talk to each other and the pilot. The pilot made some calls to get clearance, and before we knew it, we were propelling down the runway. It didn't take long at all to be airborne. I don't know how high we went, but it was thrilling. Seeing things from high above sure puts a different perspective on them. The Kenai river that runs behind the ranch looked like a crooked blue ribbon, the forest of pine and other trees of the Peninsula looked like a rough green carpet. Within minutes we were crossing over the Cook Inlet. I asked the pilot what the orange things in the water were, and he said they are the bouyies on the nets the commercial fishermen put out. The white caps and the varying shades of blue water made me want to be in it, but knowing how cold the water would be put a damper on the thought.

The pilot was talking to his contact on the ground when he was told the beach area we were to land in was fogged in. We went a bit further in hopes the fog would lift, but eventually the pilot told us there was no sense in trying to land in the fog. He had been told that the fog descended all the way down to the beach. Not only would it be unsafe to land in those conditions, but if there were any bears, we wouldn't be able to see them anyway. So, the decision was made to turn around and go back. It was disappointing to us all, but what little time we had up there was thrilling, so it wasn't a total loss.

On the flight back, my mind wandered and imagined my older brother Mike, the airplane mechanic, asking me things such as what model the plane was, what size engine, how many screws in the right side wing, what brand of tires it had, etc., etc., etc., all of which I don't know and really didn't care about. As long as it got us there and back safely was all I cared about. But, next time I'll try to get that info just for him.

Anyway, once we all were back in the Natron waiting room, the pilot asked if we wanted to go the next morning. It was fine with us, but the Australians were leaving Alaska later that day, so it was agreed that Ian and I would wait 'til we hear from Natron again as to when they had some extra seats and there was no fog. We're still waiting.....

By the way, diesel is now $5.25 a gallon. We have no choice but to pay it, but I try to make myself feel better about it by saying it's the electrical/water/garbage/oil payments we'd be making if we lived in our house. There's always a trade-off, and so far it's worth it. Ian will just have to play Santa again this winter to get us home!


Yesterday morning the two Ians and I went along with some of the guests and Carroll, the patriarch of the ranching family, to visit a commercial net fishing operation. We learned they are only allowed to set out their nets twice a week, and for 12 hours each time. We watched as several small silver metal boats with 2-3 men in each one checked the nets owned by BEACHM Fishing Co. If the fish in the net were dead, they were thrown into a refrigerated compartment, but if they were still alive, the men pulled their gills out, causing a quick death, and they were added to the cold storage. A company truck with several very large ice chests met the boats at the water's edge to transfer the fish which were then quickly taken to 30 degrees, wrapped, then flash frozen before being shipped via air all over the country. The first truck that brought fish up had over 3,000 pounds of salmon and flounder in its back. We had a contest to see who could guess closest to the number of fish on the truck - I had the lowest guess at 250, and it went on up to 1800. Guess who won? As my prize (there were 283 fish), I got to chose for free from the flounder, so of course I chose a large one, which was a good thing because once Ian filleted it, there wasn't a lot of meat left. We went ahead and bought a good sized salmon from the catch just brought up, as did everyone else in the group. Couldn't really pass up the opportunity at $2.50 a pound. We had some salmon that night for dinner, and I must say it was delicious. Haven't had the flounder yet.

This morning the two Ians went clam digging with some of the other campers. The weather was not cooperative, very cold, rainy and windy, but they came back with their limit of clams. I think I'll try making clam chowder tonight. I spent the morning working on the ranch float for the 4th of July parade tomorrow, as well as doing tons of laundry, brought on by the fact that the toilet ran about 5 hours during the night, flooding the bedroom and hall, the laundry shoot, and the entire basement, and on outside to flood the area around us. I heard it about 4:00, but thought little Ian was going to the bathroom, so didn't get up 'til I decided he'd been in there an awfully long time and should have been depeleted of all that milk he drank last night. When my feet hit the floor, they sank in an inch of saturated carpet. Yuk. No way was I going to deal with that alone, so shouted enough to wake big Ian out of his dead-like sleep. He checked the faucets outside while I dug out every towel, Ian's terrycloth bathrobe, etc. I could find to try to soak up some of it. Thankfully, it was the in-coming water, so it was clean. Still, though, it was no fun. I was able to get a carpet cleaner out by 11:00, so now it's just a matter of getting them dry again. We have the heaters going, as well as a fan borrowed from Ronna. If it was a nice sunny day like yesterday was, they'd probably be dry by now, but since it's probably only in the low to mid 50s, and rainy, it'll take all day at least! Oh, well, it could be worse! It could have been the black tank.

Music, Bears, Fish, Family - what else matters?

Can you believe I'm feeling a bit homesick for Destin, or Florida in general? Mallory, one of the housekeepers here, who is from New Smyrna Beach, Florida, on the east side of the state, and I were talking today about how pretty the water is here, but you can only look at it, whereas in Florida you can look at it, then go in it and really enjoy it. She said that she used to think she wanted to come back to Alaska to live (she was last here when she was 10), but now that she's here, she wants to go back to Florida. We both agree that so far, what we've seen of Alaska is a nice place to visit, but we'd rather live in Florida.

Anyway, Friday and Saturday the Diamond M Ranch hosted the 7th annual music festival in support of the local public radio station. It was better than I'd expected, as our meeting with the owners to decide on who was going to do what to set up for it didn't amount to much. Ian and Larry were to set up the picnic tables, but there really wasn't anything for Janet or me to do. At least, not after I said I'd do any thing except pick up turkey poop when JoAnne thought it would be fun to play poop bingo with turkey poop. After all the chicken poop I've picked up from the front of our Montana, I'm not about to do it for someone's entertainment!

So, Janet and Larry worked Friday while Ian and I worked Saturday, so we'd all get to attend the festival on our "off" day. The purpose of the festival is to celebrate the summer solstice, which was last night when we were supposed to get about 2 hours of darkness. Bands played from noon to midnight both days, 12 each day, and of all styles of music. There were even a couple guys playing the Australian digereedoo (I'd guess that's how you spell it.) There were some good rock & roll bands, and some blues, etc. Even a Polish oom-pa-pa band. I kept waiting for "Proud Mary" to be played, but never heard it. Venders sold commerative t-shirts, cheap plastic toys, clothing made from hemp, pop-corn, various foods, including reindeer hot dogs, which are quite good. I like them better than regular hot dogs, as they are very lean and crunchy.

The ranch offered horse rides and llama rides, except the llama kept running from Blair and would not allow himself to be caught, forcing the prospective llama riders to get refunds. Little Ian was disaapointed, as that's the one thing he hasn't done here, and he was really looking forward to that. Speaking of things he has or hasn't done, both Ians assisted in the neutering of two male calves last week. They held down the legs while the deed was done, and of course men being men, no one bothered to explain to little Ian what they were doing or why. You can imagine what was going through his mind, and the look on his face as the proceedure proceeded! When the Ians got back to the Montana and told me what they'd been doing, and after I gave my full female extent of "yuk!" and "poor calf!" little Ian then asked what exactly it was they were doing. Leave it to Grandpa to let Grandma explain that one!

Another side note - the night after the neutering took place, the owners had us and the other campground hosts to dinner for their delicious deep fat fried halibut and other kinds of fish, and this night in particular, some small round things, battered and deep fat fried. Luckily, I asked what they were before tasting. Carroll said, "You ever hear of Rocky Mountain Oysters?" "Yesss," I said hesitantly. "This is the Alaska version," he replied. "From yesterday's calves." Thanks, but no thanks, I thought, and left those little balls right where they were!

Oh, one of the bands at the music festival was a small group singing folk-type music. We had heard them the previous week when we were at a little coffee shop in Kenai with Bill and Jean, Ian's nephew & wife from Virginia. It was open mic night, and these two women and two men blended their voices, guitars and mandolins so well, it's a shame they don't have CDs out. The coffee shop, called "Veronica's" is quite unique. Just two rooms, obviously not built at the same time, seats maybe 30 people tops, the bathroom outside, not really great service, but the mochas and root beer floats we all had were delicious, and we could have sat all night just listening to the music.

We had gone to Veronicas after having dinner at Louie's, now the one restaurant we must always take visitors to. It's so typical Alaska, with stuffed dead animals hung on the walls so they are peering down at us and our food. They hang out from all directions, the caribou's antlers pointed directly to the second seat at the bar, the grizzly's large brown brow and protruding teeth smiling anticipatingly at the person eating the baked salmon at the round table, the trophy King Salmon smiling at the fisherman in the room, eating restaurant-bought salmon, the moose jaw languishing lazily into the dining space, the black bear's eyes asking, why?, why?. Anywhere in the lower 48 I'd not be able to eat sourrounded by dead animals, but here in Alaska, it just seems right.

Before going to Louie's, Jean, little Ian and I had ridden out to Russian River to pick up big Ian and Bill. They had gone there to get "the big one." They cast their lines out enough times, but came up with only one salmon, courtesy of Bill's rod. Big Ian is getting a big discouraged with the fishing around here - it's certainly not proven to be the fertile fishing grounds he'd heard of. It's still early in the season, though, so I hope it picks up for him. Anyway, on the way to the Russian River, just as we left the city of Soldotna (the Diamond M Ranch sits between Soldotna and Kenai), we approached several cars pulled over to the side of the road, which in Alaska means a wild-life siting. So, I pulled the truck over, Jean, Ian and I jumped out and across the road, to join the other 50 or so people to watch a grizzly in the field. It was laying down, sometimes lifting its head to pear at us, probably wishing we'd just leave it alone. Word got around that she had a baby under her, so we all waited for her to move so we could see her cub. We took lots of pictures, and were so happy for Jean that she got a good look at a grizzly bear. The bear never did stand up, though, and after a while, we gave up on seeing her baby, so ran back to the truck and headed once again toward the Russian River. (As a side note, a couple days later I read in the local newspaper that the bear had actually been shot in two places and apparently was too injured to get up. The Fish & Game people eventually put her out of her misery, and they found no cubs with her. One observer was ticketed for harrasing the wildlife after he threw stones at it to get it to stir. I hope the ticket was a big one.) On the road again to the Russian River, we got way-layed once again, this time by a massive log cabin souvenier shop. It wasn't the typical junk store, but sold only top quality artfully hand crafted items by the Native Alaskans. Each item was extremely unique and beautiful in its own way. Using whale bone, indiginous trees, Alaskan jade, and other local materials, the Alaskans created expressive carvings of local wildlife, native peoples, their families, homes and activities. I fell in love with a carving from a tree in the shape of a Bald Eagle's nest holding the mama Eagle protecting her two chicks, while the papa flies in with food in his mouth for them. The expressions on their faces told the story of their devotion to each other and their chicks. If we lived in a house that had room for it, and if we had $5,000 just laying around, I would have owned it. Jean fell in love with a wall hanging made from whale bone. It apppeared to be soft and pourous, but it was quite hard and a light black color. The carving depicted a mother holding her child, displaying the family bond within the Native Alaskan culture. Lucky for Jean, she does live in a house with room for her wall hanging and it didn't cost $5,000, so I'm sure by now she has it hanging in her dining room to remind her of her trip to Alaska.

So, we finally made our way to the Russian River, found the guys not too happy with their paultry catch, but happy to have had the experience of the great "fishing line" of men standing nearly shoulder to shoulder, casting and reeling in tandem, all in hopes of catching the big one. Little did they know that he was already hanging on the wall at Louies, just waiting for them to sit down to a platter of restaurant bought salmon! The joke was on them.

What a great day!

Finally, we have internet again! It's been off for a few days here at the campground. The owners have a man in Homer on retainer to come fix it whenever it needs fixing, however, he works on Alaska time, which is whenever he can get to it. It looks like he got to it sometime today while we were gone, thank goodness!

Anyway, Ian's nephew Bill from Virginia, along with his wife, Jean, arrived yesterday and are staying in the B&B here. I guess Ian and I are kind of used to things done the Alaskan way already, so by the time I showed them their room, I wasn't taken aback to see the old claw-foot bathtub right in the middle of the bedroom and the toilet stuck in a corner with a knee-high book case separating it from the rest of the bedroom. JoAnne, the matriarch of the family that runs this campground lives at the B&B with her husband Carroll, and had no hesitation to tell Bill and Jean that the TV in the room doesn't work, they were free to watch the one in the "common" area, but not during her taping of her soap opera (unless they wanted to watch the soap opera itself). She showed us the skin of the musk oxen she killed years ago. The hair supposedly is the softest of any animal, and she pulled off a pinch for us to feel to prove it. The guest in the other room, Ray, was very talkative and we couldn't tell if he was drunk, just a happy guy, or what. Lucky for Bill and Jean, Ray was fast asleep by the time they got back to their room last night.

This morning Bill and Jean came for breakfast (oh yeah, JoAnne also wasn't too enthusiastic about making breakfast today at the B&B since Ray would be gone early to go fishing, and why bother for just 2 people??). When we finished eating, little Ian took B&J out back to see the chickens and check for eggs. I heard some traffic out front, so glanced out the door. A Fish & Game Law Enforcement van, pulling a boat, drove by and stopped in front. I thought that was a bit odd, but odder still was a second Fish & Game Law Enforcement van, pulling a boat, following the first one, and stopping in front. I mentioned to big Ian that Fish & Game police were out front, getting out of their vans, wearing flack jackets, and one was walking towards our Montana! "What in the world? I wonder if it has to do with little Ian's bald eagle feather, " I said. "No," big Ian said, as he watched out the window, the menacing Fish & Game policeman coming closer and closer. "It has to do with that feather!" I said. "We haven't done anything else!" At that point, Ian non-chalantly walked out the door, faced the "force" head on and said as if the man was his new best friend, "Hey, how you doin'? What can I do for you?" "We're looking for the Martin's," he replied (the Martins being the owners, our bosses). Now, we're in a dilema. Does Ian stall them while I call Ronna, warn her so she and Blair can grab their five kids and duck out the back door, or act like we never heard of the Martins, or fess up and reveal what we know about the where-abouts of the Martins? We chose the latter, but as soon as the policeman (I don't think they're really police, but some obscure branch of law enforcement allowed to wear flack jackets) turned his back to head to the Martin's house, I hit Ronna's speed dial number on my cell. When she picked up immediately, I said, "Ronna, Fish & Game police are up on your deck!" (I had a quick reminence of years ago when I worked for a road construction company in Ft. Walton Beach, Florida, and my boss, the owner of the company, was expecting the feds to show up, and told me to warm him when "the coats" were coming. Sure enough, one day a dark car drove up, men looking like their nick-names would be "the coats" emerged, I yelled to Cloyce, "Cloyce, I think "the coats" are here, and Cloyce headed out the back door. The "coats" came in the front door as he drove off, they asked for Cloyce, I said they just missed him, they left, and that was the end of it as far as I knew. I never did find out whay "the coats" were looking for him in the first place.) Anyway, back to Ronna and her deck. In the moment it took to warn Ronna, 5 animal policemen were on her deck, and Blair was already out there, talking to them. Ronna then told me that they probably were going to get a citation for letting the cows go down by the river. Now, that's the Kenai River, one of the famous ones that get the salmon running in it, fishermen will be lining the banks before long in hopes of hooking one of the thousands of the great fish, but it also has sweet grass lining it's sides, and the cows love that. Like parents who can't refuse sweets for its child, the Martins can't refuse the sweet long grass to their cows. So, they'll pay the citation, wait a while, and the cows will "get lose" once again, but hopefully not in the fishing season when anybody really cares.

OK, so after that bit of excitement, we five (two Ians, Jean, Bill, and me) piled into their rental car and headed to Cooper's Landing where we would take a raft ride down the Kenai and Russian rivers. We were a bit early, so took a side road to show Jean and Bill the lake we found last week when just the two Ians and I went for a ride. It was down a dirt road about 10 miles, and last week we had the thrill of having a black bear run across the road just in front of us. Of course, just seconds before the bear appeared, I had shut my eyes for a short snooze, so by the time big Ian yelled "Bear!" and my eyes flew open, the bear was already 3/4 of the way across the road. It was still a thrill, though, and luckily, little Ian got a good look at him. It was his first real bear siting, as when the same thing happened to Yvonne, Don and Ian a couple weeks ago, Ian only got to see the bear's rear end.

Anyway, we got to Alaska River Co. just beyond Cooper's Landing, had a good look around before it was time to get our water boots and life jackets on. We were to be part of a group of 12 people, plus our guide, who was a 20-something girl who has been a river guide in various places including the Grand Canyon, Colorado, etc. She was well toned, to be polite, and wore a pair of those leotard-like pants, skin tight, with no underwear. Unfortunately, for us women (the men in the group didn't seem to mind), it was obvious whenever she bent over in front of us that no one informed her that she was in a "no crack" zone. Once under way, though, her rowing skills and managing the large raft full of people from different countries, all throwing questions at her, little Ian wanting to "help" her row, big Ian trying to be the comedian of the group, we forgot about the attributes we could do without and were grateful for her upper body strength and patience! She even passed out chocolate chip cookies mid way through the trip, allowing us women to completely forgive any lack of modesty.

As we approached the Russian River, where the salmon have just begun to swim in the last couple of days, we came upon hundreds of fishermen and fisherwomen lined up along the bank, 5 to 10 feet from each other. It really was an amazing sight. Each was either throwing their line in, reeling it in with a fish attached to the end, or patiently standing in the waist-high water, wearing waders up to their chests. What an astonishing sight, knowing the majority of them would leave with a trophy fish in their cooler. Bill is an avid fisherman and was just itching to be part of the line-up, so plans to return Sunday to do just that. As we floated dreamily along, the sun finally beating down on us, my eyes focused on two round, brown lumps that moved. I rose from my seat on the side of the raft, pointed, and yelled, "Bears, bears!!" Sure enough, two brown bears were approaching the fishermen! As our blond tour guide shouted, "Stay calm, don't panic!" we boat people, being safely out of the bears' reach, all grabbed our cameras and started shooting. My shouting had alerted the fishermen, who now were run-walking backwards into the water to get away from the bears, while shouting at them and making any noise they could to scare them away. Our last sight of the bears as our raft drifted around a bend was as they seemed to head back away from the water. Tour guide/crack woman (she chose to not ask us our names because she said she couldn't remember them, anyway, so I don't remember hers even though she did tell us) proceeded to tell us that she thinks they were 2-year old cubs that have been seen several times in that area, still with their mother. We didn't see the mom today, but who knows - maybe she sent then ahead to scout out the "feed." It was exciting, and now we've all had a brown bear siting - we've been told the brown bears are more dangerous than the black ones. It was great that Bill and Jean got to see them, too, on their first full day here!

The float lasted a couple hours as we drifted around bends, through light rapids, past Bald Eagle nests high in the trees (we even saw an eagle sitting in one), got buzzed by a v-formation of some kind of small, beautifully colored bird, watching hundreds of seagulls sunbathe on their own little island, all while being surrounded by the still snow-capped mountains reaching to the blue sky above. Tour guide/crack woman told us the water was glacier water, accounting for its color of tarnished copper. (I thought that was a great description of the color, as both Jean and I had commented on how hard it would be to describe its color, but tarnished copper is exactly right.) (So, now whenever we get our belongings out of storage and I come upon all my copper which will be very tarnished by then, I'll think of the Russian River in Alaska.) The rafting trip ended by a van from Alaska River Co. picking us up at their "take out" site and driving us back to our cars. It was really a wonderfully relaxing way to spend the afternoon. We were blessed with the excitement of the bears, eagles and seagulls, intrigued with the site of hundreds of fishermen lined up to catch the big one, blessed once again with the gentle quiet of the river and the beauty of the mountains that could only be God-given. As we drove away from Cooper's Landing, we thought it was the end of a perfect day. But, it wasn't over yet!

After we got home and were putting stuff away, Blair called out to little Ian. I opened the door as Blair was saying to have little Ian come to the pasture with him and the other kids, as a new llama had just been born. Of course, I had just finished telling Ian that he had to get a shower and get to bed early since the men are going fishing in the morning and have to get up at 4:00 a.m. to get going. Well, I didn't want him to miss seeing a brand new little being, and I knew how exciting it would be for him, as a llama was born the day after we first got here, so I told him to come right back after seeing the baby. An hour later, I went looking for him. Naturally, he'd been riding bikes over by the barn with the other kids and ended up helping Josiah, the oldest Martin son, do his chores. Couldn't get mad at him for that, but let him finish up putting the cows in the barn, then herded him home. Got him his shower, let him eat the dinner he didn't want earlier, big Ian was already sound asleep, got little Ian in bed with his eye covering on (yes, it's so light until after midnight now that we have to cover our eyes to get to sleep!), and Mallory, the young housekeeper from Florida came over to get a drink of her milk. She lives with the Martins, but they only have the cow-fresh milk there, which Mallory doesn't care for. So, she keeps a half gallon of the real store-bought in our refrigerator and sneaks over here to get a drink now and then. Of course, little Ian was wide awake once again, and had to ask Mallory questions, but once she had her fill of milk (it never tasted so good until you can't have it), she left, he rolled over and finally fell asleep, I got on the computer, and here I am. So, the day has ended. Tomorrow Jean and the men are going halibut fishing from 6 am to 12 noon. They're leaving out of Ninilchik, about 45 minutes south of us, and returning there. So, I'll meet them there at noon and then take Bill and Jean and little Ian on to Homer while big Ian comes home with the many huge halibut they will have caught. That's the plan, but we've learned, you just never know........! (As a postscript, the raft trip today for Ian and me was free, as a freebie from the Martins for working here. We and the other campground hosts have been given many freebies from them, such as our glacier cruise and B&B stay in Seward, as well as the Ididerod Dog Race tour, a couple dinners and lunches, and even tomorrow's halibut fishing trip will be free for Ian. We are expected to "suggest" to our customers at the campground these various vendors in return for these free trips, but that's a very small price to pay. Especially since every one so far has been outstanding and worth every penny that a regular paying customer would pay. It's really a great perk with this job! Good night, all!

Eagle's Landing

Yesterday, Janet was manning the office, but I wandered over there to tell her something. I found her standing at the window that overlooks the Kenai River Flats which lead to the Kenai River. That's one of the great rivers for salmon fishing, and is where Ian better be when they start running! Anyway, Janet turned, saw it was me, and waved for me to come over to the window. "Look at that eagle up in that tree, right over there, right on top!" she exclaimed. Indeed, this huge eagle that looked quite proud and regal was perched on the tippety-top of a huge tree (I'm not sure what kind, just very, very tall) that was swaying in the wind. We were amazed at how well it kept its balance with only an occasional flutter of its wings. Our friend had the typical white head and tail that all eagles over 5 years of age have.

While Janet kept her eye on the eagle, I ran back to our 5th wheel and got the camera. I rushed back, hoping he was still there. Sure enough, he was still at the top of the tree, just hanging out, observing his kingdom below. Janet and I sneaked quietly out on the deck, fearing we'd scare him away, as he was quite close (I'm no judge of distance, so can't say he was 50 feet or 100, but believe me, he was closer than I've ever been to any huge wild bird perched on a tree other than in a zoo!) In between taking pictures and exclaiming over his every move (his head swiveled nearly in a full circle, every time he heard a noise or thought he saw something.) A few times it seemed he was looking right at us, sizing us up as to whether we were friend or foe, or worthy of any kind of judgment in the first place.

Suddenly, another large eagle, again with white head and tail, came swooping up from the right of us, being chased and harrassed by a small white bird. We had to laugh, as the small bird was about the size of the eagle's foot, but he kept buzzing the eagle from the side, appearing to nip his wing tips. Finally, the eagle landed at the top of tree far to the left of the first eagle, just to have the small white bird sky dive at him. Once, twice, three times that little white bird showed the big bald eagle who was boss in their jungle. Every time he got attacked, the eagle buried his head in his shoulders, flapped his wings a bit, then straightened up once the attack was over, as if to say, "That wasn't so bad. Hopefully, no one saw it, though!"

As soon as the small white birds flew away, we heard various calls from unseen birds in the trees. I think they were passing the word that there were fish heads and fish scales down in the valley by the ranch. (Whenever they butcher a cow or pig, or fillet fish here, they throw the carcus out in the valley, and the eagles and other birds make short order of it in no time. I think they call that the circle of life? Or death? Definitely takes care of the old question, "What do we do with these old fish scales?" Anyway, suddenly, another huge black bird, this time a raven, came whizzing past, right in front of Janet and me. Right behind him were two more small white birds, again buzzing him and dive bombing from both directions. He flew a bit further over the flats and landed while the white birds flew off. We figured the white birds either had a nest where the larger birds were threatening it, or the white birds had staked their claim on the fish heads thrown out there yesterday and were letting the word out that they were not in a sharing mood.

Speaking of eagles, little Ian had a lesson in life that involved the eagle. He and Grandpa had walked down to the Kenai River to try their hand at fishing. Unfortuantely, the tide was out and the mud was too deep and like quick-sand to even attempt crossing it. On their way back, little Ian found a beautiful eagle's feather laying on the ground. It must have been a good 18 inches long, black along one side, and a beautiful shade of light gray down the other side. By the time they got home, Grandpa had him all excited at the prospects of taking it to school in the fall to show the kids, using it for reports, and just keeping it for a very special reminder of his time in Alaska. When I saw it, I was excited for him, too, and made a big deal of it. That evening the owners of the ranch were having a fish fry (the fish that donated to the food bank for the birds), so Ian was going to take the feather with him to show everyone. I explained the proper etiquette of showing it, like not tickling someone's nose with it, and we were off, excited to be the center of the party for a little while. But, as soon as we entered the deck, a woman about my age, with a short gray "bob" hair cut hurried over to us and asked Ian where he got the eagle feather. Of course, Ian thought she was really interested in hearing his story, so he said he and his grandpa found it down by the river. The bearer of bad tidings then asked, "Don't you know it's against the law to own an eagle's feather unless you're a Native American?" "No," Ian said. "It's OK. I found it." "Doesn't matter," said the authority. I truly thought she was joking around, so said something like "Yeah, right" and started to laugh. Then, a man, probably her husband, joined the conversation and said she was right. "That doesn't make sense," I said. "He didn't kill the eagle. There was no eagle, just the feather!" "Doesn't matter," he said. "He can't keep it." By this time, little Ian was nearly in tears, watching his grandma and other adults argue over his eagle feather and seeing the possibilty that someone may try to take it away from him. (Actually, I was afraid that these people were going to try to do just that!) So, I told him to take it home and I'd look into it later. After he was out of earshot, the lady apologized, said she didn't mean to upset him, but she didn't want to see him get in trouble. She also said she doesn't agree with the law, but that's the way it was. I thanked her for telling us and moved on in the room.

Later that evening, I looked it up on the internet (so much easier than dragging around a set of encyclopedias) and found there is a Bald and Golden Eagle Law that allows only Native Americans to possess the feather or any other part of the eagle, as they can use it for their religious and ceremonial activities. Anyone else can be fined up to $25,000, depending on how and why they came into possession of the feather. I guess it mainly keeps the number of poachers down, as eagles were on the endangered list at one time. So, anyway, the next morning Grandpa Ian called the Game and Wildlife Dept in the town down the road to double check the info from the internet, and sure enough, they requested Ian turn the illegal feather in to them. Now, you'd think at that point, we'd say the heck with it, no one will know he has it, and anyone in Alabama won't care, but by the time Ian actually talked to someone, they'd already gotten his name, address, phone number, so they knew where we were! Poor little Ian was beside himself - he didn't want to be a criminal, he didn't want Grandpa to go to jail, but he didn't want to turn in the feather, either. What's a 9-year old kid to do?? Once we got to the Game & Wild Live Preserve, the official games keeper spoke very kindly with Ian, explained why the law was in place, told him she was proud of him for turning it in, that the feather would be sent to a central depository (can you believe it??) in S. Dakota from which Native Americans can retrieve the feathers to make their headdresses or ceremonial paraphanalia. We took pictures of little Ian handing the eagle feather to the lady, her handing him a Junior Ranger pin. By that time, Ian felt the importance of what he'd done, so wasn't feeling so sorry for himself any longer. Of course, he still doesn't think it's fair, and either do we under the circumstances that he found the feather, but the law's the law.

So, we'll just be content on watching the antics of our beautiful national bird, take pride in his stature as he poses at the tops of trees swaying in the wind, and let our dreams soar with them as they command the skies over this little part of Alaska. Well, command as long as the little white birds don't see him!

Catch 'em, fillet 'em, bag 'em, eat 'em!

(I found this in the "Edit & Publish" list - apparently, the plan was to go back to it at a later date, finish it, and post it. Now so much time has passed that I don't know what happened next, so I'll just go ahead and post this as is. I'd imagine the next thing we did was get the grill going...!)


This evening the owners had a fish fry on their deck. The reason for the fry was that their son-in-law had gone fishing night before last and caught nearly 1,000 pounds of fish, most of which he had no need for. He brought them over here yesterday, and next thing I know, both Ians and I are at the fish cleaning station as part of the all volunteer fish cleaning and packaging team. At first I turned my nose up at the thought of filleting them, so said I'd do the bagging. (Later, I kind of wished I'd learned to fillet, except for the fact that once Ian knew I could do it, his days of cleaning and filleting would be over. Anyway, Glenn, the fisherman, had a huge box of zip-lock baggies and he told me to put about 2 pounds in each bag. Then he started emptying the containers on his truck. Rougheye came out by the dozens. Huge rougheyes - over 300 pounds. The two Ians, the two housekeepers, Glenn, and Carroll (the patriarch) drew their knives, put on their Bennihanna (is that right??) faces, and dug into the fish. Mallory, one of the housekeepers, instructed little Ian on how to make a horizontal cut at one end of the fillet, hold the fillet at that end with one hand, while digging the knife down to the skin, then pushing the knife along the skin while pulling the meat away. He did pretty good, but obviously it takes practice. We were proud of him for at least trying and not turning his nose up at it. While they all filleted and skinned the fish, washed them and put them in a stainless steel bowl, I bagged the fillets. When we finished the rougheye, Glenn poured out hundreds of pounds of halibut. The assembly line made short work of them, and then the salmon came out. I've never seen such a bright orange salmon, and Glenn said it's the best there is. When I asked if I could buy a bag from him, he said I could take a bag of each of the fish for free for the help! Man, I didn't argue with him on that!

In Memorium

Ian's mother died a couple days ago, in Glasgow, Scotland. She would have been 88 this August. Mum was an especially dear, exceptional woman. She raised 15 kids in not the best circumstances, yet never lost her sense of humor. Mum was the best mother-in-law I could ever have hoped for. First, she raised Ian for me. Well, she got him just so far, then handed the job to me. I remember asking her once when do men grow up, and, typical of her humor, she said they never do.

The first time I met Mum in person, Yvonne was just a couple months old, and I was quite nervous to meet Ian's family. I remember her going out of her way to make me comfortable and feel at home. One time I was cutting the cores out of tomatoes to slice them when it was either Ian's sister Yvonne or Isobel who said they don't do it that way. Mum cut right in and said it was perfectly alright for me to cut the tomatoes like that. I also remember the time when Ian's younger brothers doused her with water from the upstairs bedroom window when she went out the back door. I was expecting a huge row, maybe a whipping or two (that's what would have happened in my family), but she just shook her finger at them and said, "You'll get yours!" Sure enough, it wasn't too long before she was calling them from that same upstairs window, they went running out the back door, having let down their guard, and she poured a bucket of cold water right on top of them. I thought it was hilarious and such a great response. During that same visit, Yvonne wouldn't get to sleep one night, so Mum took her upstairs. It wasn't too long before she came back down with Yvonne sound alseep in her arms. I was surprised and asked how she did it. "Rub a wee bit of scotch on her gums," she said. Alright, I must admit I wasn't too amused at the time, but Ian assured me for years that that was a common remedy in Scotland.

The first time we spent New Years Eve with Ian's family, I dreaded their tradition of sitting in a circle and every person having to entertain with a song, a joke, a story, etc. I was mortified, as I was quite shy at the time and couldn't imagine entertaining that big brood all by myself. Mum must have seen it in my face, as when it came my turn, she said I didn't have to do it. Ian's brothers said that wasn't fair and kidded me about it, but she told them to be quiet and went on to the next person. Oh, I was so grateful for her empathy then! I felt like she had saved me from the lions.

For years I'd spelled her name with an "h" at the end. While in Turkey I had a bracelet made for her with her name on it, again spelled with the "h." It was only a few years ago that I learned she never spelled her name with the "h" on it, and that I was the only one who ever referred to her as Sarah, rather than Sadie. Rather than correct me all those many times I'd misspelled her name, she saved face for me, took it in stride and even said she thought it was prettier spelled with an "h" on the end, and even though she used to never like the name Sarah, she always thought the way I pronounced it was very pretty. Now, how can you get any more humble, accepting and loving than that?

Over the years, Mum came to my rescue time and time again. I always felt she was on my side and she always reminded Ian that he'd better treat me right! She needn't have worried, though, as she'd taught him well. I had worried for years that she would hold it against me that Ian married an American and never moved back to Scotland, and I finally got the nerve to ask her about that. She said no, that moving to America was the best thing for Ian to do at the time, there was nothing for him in Scotland, and that he and I getting together was the best thing he ever did. She always assured me that I was a good wife and a good mother. Mum was truly the ideal mother-in-law. She was my hero, my mentor, and I've always strived to be as much like her as possible.

I can't imagine being responsible for 15 children, yet Mum did it successfully and gracefully. No one is the perfect parent, as the kids don't come with instructions and you can't get the experience before they come along, but some have a knack for doing it better than others. Some parents who have every advantage imaginable produce children who are addicts, belong in mental institutions, end up in jail, abuse their families. Some parents who have nothing but their own perseverance, patience and limitless love manage to produce children who contribute to the good of society and make their parents proud. I know Mum loved all her children and was extremely proud of all of them.

Mum loved to travel and we were so happy to have her visit us in the U.S. and Turkey. She was always up for adventure. Once when she was in Turkey, we took her to a ski slope where Scot would be snow-boarding all day. Mum was content to sit in the restaurant, watching her grandson speed down the slope, then ride the tram back up the mountain, over and over again. She loved Istanbul, all the hustle and bustle, the clash of cultures, and having a McDonald's hamburger in the midst of it all. In Seattle, Mum stepped out onto the deck surrounding the top of the Space Needle and walked around it to get the 360 of Seattle.

When we were stationed in England we got to spend a lot of time in Scotland, and I got to know my mother-in-law very well. I saw how she was kind, thoughtful and loving to all her daughters-in-law. I admired that she could overlook our immaturities, our finding fault with her sons, our mistakes in raising her grandchildren. She loved each and every one of us. I also was in awe of her unconditional love for her children. I never saw judgment of them, only pride in all of them. It seemed that she thought she just got lucky, but I knew better. It takes more than luck to have that many kids and have them all make you proud.

Mum cooked some great dishes that I could never master. Whenever she visited us, I asked her to make mince, a dish of boiled hamburger with carrots, onions, and spices. It was so delicious I could not get enough of it. She never used a recipe, but just seemed to know how much to put in and when it all looked just right. I tried to make it several times, but finally gave up. It was inedible when we'd been spoiled by the best. She made the best lentil soup ever. Ian is a great soup maker, but his lentil soup will still take some time to match hers. Mum's tater scones were the first I ever tasted, and I'm sure I'll never taste as good scones as hers again. I do make them for Ian often, and he's satisfied with them, but I know they'll never measure up to Mums. Her meat pies - she made it seem so easy to make them, but I know better. I'll probably never even try those, as I'm sure they would go the way of my mince. On the other hand, Mum loved my cakes and cookies. At least, she acted like she'd never had anything so good. She was a joy to cook for, as she showed such appreciation.

Just a few years ago I asked Mum if she knew how many grandchildren she had, and she surprised me by naming them off, one by one, on her fingers. She missed none. If I remember right, there was something like 17 or 19 at the time. Then she went on to count her great-grandchildren. They counted around 37, I think. By now, who knows what the numbers are. I just hope that they all got to know Mum, Granny, Great Granny as well as I and my kids did. She was a wonderful grandmother, even from a distance. Yvonne and Scot always knew she loved them, could laugh with her on the phone, and felt a great affection for her. She passed along her pride of being Scottish to not only her children, but her grandchildren, too.

Sarah Steenson was a tough Scottish woman. She was proud of being Scottish. She was a smiling, laughing, tough, proud Scots woman. She was my mother-in-law. My husband's mother. My childrens' grandmother. She was many things to many people, but I only know first hand what she was to me. Mum was someone for me to look up to, to experience that unconditional love that we all need, to watch and listen to in order to be a better wife, mother and grandmother myself. She will not be forgotten, as she touched my life and so many others. She was the matriarch of the Steenson family, and the Steenson family was blessed to have had her at the helm for so long. God bless her soul, as He blessed us with her.

The Great Escape!

Yvonne and Don left today, leaving little Ian with us for a few weeks - we have King Tut all to ourselves! We had the day all planned out - get up, Y&D pack quickly, then we'd go to Louie's Restaurant in Kenai for breakfast before they head up to Anchorage to catch their plane. But, you know what they say - to see God's sense of humor, just make plans. So, I'm all ready, sitting outside about 9:30, waiting for everyone else to come on out so we can get going. I'm looking down the road that leads to the pasture in which there are cows, horses and llamas. Suddenly, I thought my eyes were going whacky and tried to focus better, hoping to see the fence in front of the two cows that seemed to suddenly be very happy and free. As my body bounded from the chair, with the realization that the cows were on this side of the fence, my voice involuntarily screached, "Cows are loose, cows are loose!" Running down the road, still yelling in hopes that someone, preferably Ian or any of the male persuasion since they should be more knowledgable in these things, would hear me, I kept my eyes on the black cow and the brown cow as they seemed to be getting acquainted with the outside world. Janet, one half of the other campground hosts, was the first to hear my pleas and joined in the race. By the time we got to them, we had sticks in our hands, the black cow was mounting the brown one, I'm yelling for it to get off, then here comes Ian and Don (perfect timing, right?), laughing (of course it's just funny to them), Ian pointing out that it's the female mounting a male.

Sometime during all the commotion, I realized that Yvonne and little Ian should witness the escape of the cows, so I started shouting on them, and eventually they showed up, Ian sporting his new Indiana Jones hat (he must have known there was excitement ahead!). By that time, though, the huge bull that had watched the entire goings-on from behind the fence, decided to join the fracus. So now we have two humping cows and a huge bull running amok. Oh, I didn't tell you that the campground owners had gone to church, so we were on our own. A bunch of city folks who knew nothing about cows and three cows tasting a bit of freedom and enjoying it.

Janet's yelling, "How did they get out?" I'm yelling, "How do we get them back in?" Yvonne's standing back, laughing. Little Ian is getting too close to the cows for my comfort. Don and Ian are non-chalantly wandering around the cows, grinning and acting like they know what to do. By the time Janet's husband, Larry, joins us, the cows have decided that they want to take their little taste of freedom a step further and run for the woods. We could almost see the grins on their heffer mouths and their snorts and moos sure sounded like giggles to me. They led us in and out and around low tree branches, through the brush, and back to the road again. Just when we think we have them under control, they head back into the woods. And, then back to the road again. So, we all have sticks, we're all trying to surround the cows and lead them somewhere - we just don't know where. Or how.

Finally, Carroll, the partriarch of this farming/ranching family shows up, not in the least bit concerned about the cows. I guess this isn't the first time this has happened. He gives a short, distinct instruction: "Get them to the barn!" Well, now, that's all fine and dandy except the barn is way on the other side of the property, down a winding road and across a pond. Some how we managed to get the cows trotting along the road, but at the first turn, two decide to go right rather than left. The other one decided to go straight into the yard of the B&B rather than left. All of us incompetants are still yelling at the cows as well as each other while the cows run wherever their fancy takes them. It was about this time that we noticed Carroll was no where to be found! He'd left us! With his wayward cows. By this time, none of us were worried about the trauma the cows must be experiencing - we were more concerned about the trama we were having!

Eventually, in what seemed to take forever, the bull looked like he was headed for the gate to the barn area. Little Ian ran ahead and manned the gate and opened it just in time to let the bull in while we're all yelling at him not to let the horses out at the same time! IN THE MEANTIME, the other two cows decided to cut across the pond, which was kind of inacceable to any of us humans unless we wanted to slide down the banks and enter the murky world of cow ponds. No one volunteered, but thankfully one cow, then the other, went across, both jumped the low fence into the pasture that surrounds the barn, and we were finished! Job accomplished. No problem.

On the way back, Janet found the hole in the fence that had allowed the escape and Ian quickly put a band-aid on it. All was well. We were now going out for lunch rather than breakfast, but with a good laugh and a new experience to finish off Yvonne & Don's visit to Alaska.