This Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta is simply huge.  During the summer, there is more water than land; I believe there is a 60/40 split.  A couple of days ago the water portion increased its percentage as just about everything was flooded with snow-melt – the water was absolutely everywhere.  Houses looked like they would have fit just as easily into rice paddies during the rainy season, as many houses were on their poles above temporary ponds.

With the temperature now consistently above freezing, I would estimate that a couple of days ago the area was 80% standing water, 15% remaining snow and 5% tundra.  Yet just 72 hours later, most of that water had either been sucked up by the tundra or evaporated; taken away by the strong and steady wind.  Most of the tundra is exposed now, in the neighborhood of 80%.  

The 60% of the area that will be water throughout the summer, the ponds, have standing water on top of the remaining ice.  I’m not sure how deep the ponds are generally, but I am fairly certain they were frozen solid 21 days ago.  Now the neighborhood kids play on the ponds even though the top foot vacillates between ice and water daily.  I am not used to that.  Being from the Midwest, I am used to one layer of ice, and if there was water on top of it, the ice was not safe to walk on.

And I’ve learned why snow machines are still in consistent use: they puddle-jump.  They simply use their momentum and skip across the ponds, looking a lot like a jet ski.  I was video-taping one do it the other day fully expecting failure, as the person seemed inexperienced.  It is quite safe right now as the most they could sink would be about a foot, and so it makes sense that this is the perfect time to practice.

There are still plenty of trails packed with snow in which to navigate the snow machines, but crossing roads is necessary regardless, and the roads are only rock or pavement at this point.  Hondas are being put into regular use now as a result; I see about as many of one as I do the other.  (“Hondas” is the term here; not ATV’s or quads or 4-wheelers.)  I have even seen a motorcycle in use, a dirt bike not a street bike obviously.  People are coming out on their bikes, even though the mud on the roads is quite formidable.

It’s not the warmth that seems to be propelling people outside, but the sunlight.  The mode in which people are outside is diversifying though, as the temperature allows.

Yesterday I was walking home from work, and saw my adventurous girl, along with her friends, underneath the boardwalk.  They had found red berries poking up from the snow.  That certainly was surprising, considering that the snow still covers 98% of the tundra.  The girls had found red berries, which are extremely tart, but must be quite resilient.

I was told just an hour earlier that once the tundra starts to show itself in little spurts like this, that it doesn’t take long at all before all the snow is gone – with the exception of the snow that has been packed down from the snow machines.  I was told likely within the week there will be very little white, except for the well-traveled trails.

What sold our Number Two child on coming to Alaska was the berry-picking.  I was so glad to see her face lighten up at her discovery yesterday, and how she and all her friends were jumping up and down screaming at the discovery of blue berries.  I understand blue berries to be less resilient to the fluctuating cold, so I’m thinking they simply found unripe red berries, but I’m not an expert in either berries or the tundra, so I simply enjoyed their excitement.

The daylight is extensive now.  I hear many things regarding how much official daylight we have, but whatever the official word is, there is more.  Sunrise is official when the sun peaks above the horizon and sunset is official when it drops below.  However, the sun stays just under the horizon for such a long time both before it comes up and after it goes down, that there is no practical line to be drawn.  Before six this morning there was enough sunlight to not need any lights turned on in the house and last night there was enough sunlight to read a book at eleven in the evening.  That gives us an easy sixteen hours of daylight, with 5½ minutes continuing to be added onto each day.  This is how the berries knew to come out, even though it is still below freezing most all of the time, even still.

Likewise with the ravens.  The ravens have been collecting windshield wiper blades and whatever else works to make their nests for the past month.  It was still winter, as far as the cold was indicating to me, however the sunlight was speaking differently to them.  I would not have known what they were up to if I hadn’t been told by a friendly passer-by on that same trip home from the office.

The honeymoon seems to have ended, and I have settled into routine.  Slowly I am getting to know more people and friendships are growing.  One family that we have gotten to know is moving away, too.  New friends, with whom the roots could have grown deep, are moving closer to their family and friends.  I am happy for them, but realizing also how time runs differently here, because of the frequency of change.  Although I tend to operate methodically, and even though the Natives and Seasoned Transplants seem to do likewise, there is a sense of urgency in friendships that does not lend itself to operating slowly and steadily.

That sense of urgency applies to the shifts in the weather as well: certain types of fish here, other types of fish there; certain types of berries now, other types of berries just a little later.  The time to move isn’t worried about or fretted over, it is simply acted upon.  I have this fault of over-thinking things: I want the house to be clean and comfortable, I want the food to be prepared and ready, I want options established of what can be done before anybody arrives.  With all of that perfectionism holding me back, I can easily miss so many wonderful opportunities.

I am also learning, though, to be observant in a way that is new to me.  I am aware of details and nuances in my office, however once my work-day is over I easily turn off that level of awareness.  Asking questions is how I have learned things.  I am quite good at getting people to talk about something that I need to know; either professionally or personally.  I am a good listener, but this culture does not value a lot of words.  They value teaching and learning, through their actions.  It is a lot like surgeons learn, as I understand it: see one, do one, teach one.  Observing is the first level of learning; not asking questions or sitting through a lecture or gaining a theoretical understanding.  Being watchful first and then trying to do it second.  Even while trying to accomplish whatever the task may be, continue to be watchful – a question or two is quite acceptable, but don’t stop the action in order to ask a question.  Talking is not completely irrelevant, but it is certainly minimal in the learning process.  I can feel myself changing.

It’s Resurrection Day in Bethel.  When we woke it was 7 degrees below zero and quite sunny.  We have of course gotten used to the idea that clear skies means cold weather, but we have this old nature that says that we expect this time of year to be warmer than the winter, so the temperature was somewhat of a shock.  Not a complete system-wide shudder, though, as walking to church this morning was quite natural without gloves, even.

When we went fishing a few weeks ago we were shown, very quickly, how to prepare the Pike for drying.  We weren’t able to make it work, though as after we had prepared it, we put it outside to dry in the cold, and it blew away in one of the many nights of wind.  This basic error is one that no Native would ever make and it brought laughter and successfully dried fish to us.

Dry-fish is like beef jerky.  It is tough, chewy and doesn‘t need refrigeration.  It’s preparation is quite simple in that the two halves of the fish are still connected at the tail, then inverted, scale-side to scale-side, and hung in the cold for at least one week, preferably two.  It is then cut into strips, as is, and eaten throughout the year.  It is a staple -- it is unthinkable that a person would not have an ample supply of dry-fish.  After all, it is quite portable, light-weight and doesn’t spoil on berry-picking or hunting excursions into the tundra.

I’ve heard repeatedly, ever since I was a child, that fish ought not smell like fish.  It is quite okay that it smell like the ocean, but that certainly it ought not smell like fish.  In this area, the smell of fish is the smell of home.  Fish smell is common and loved.  When fish are dried, it smells strongly of fish, like it‘s concentrated.  It is not considered bad; but makes people’s mouths water, much the way the smell of bacon makes my mouth water.

On the walk home from church today, I noticed the tire-tracks in the ice as I was walking.  I am used to tire tracks in snow; very detailed.  Ice was new.  I imagined that in the blink of time when the ice on the road was starting to turn into slush, and then it decided not to, that it was driven over.  I’m sure there is a metaphor there, but right now my brain is somewhat foggy from this ongoing sickness.

Alaska really does have Daylight Savings Time, and I'm thinking that it's in the category of flabbergastingly inane.  It is not even the equinox yet, and before they decided to Spring Forward, the sun was rising around 8:00 in the morning and it was getting dark around 7:30 in the evening.  That worked out quite well, but then the week passed adding almost 40 more minutes of sunlight to each day, and then AKDT has been implemented, and the sun is now setting close to 9:00pm.  My girls need to be in bed by 8:00pm, and with the sun glaring through all the windows, and their bedroom window in particular, they now have quite the large obstacle to their sleep.  Of course we knew that long days would be coming, and we were very much looking forward to it, but we weren't expecting it the first week of March.  If ever a place didn't need to add an hour's daylight to the end of the day, it would be here.   I can see falling back in the Spring actually making sense here, as the sun would rise closer to the start of the day.  Of course, if you go above the Arctic Circle, it doesn't matter either direction, so where we are, just below the 66th Parallel, is perhaps the most noticeable.

I also learned more about driving on the river.  Although the ice is quite thick, in the category of three feet thick after all the melting that has been occuring, and I'm sure that a 747 could land on it without a concern for the weight, there are other concerns.  The Kuskokwim River is extraordinarily wide; far wider than any part of the Mississippi River of which I am familiar.  I am not familiar with the Mississippi Delta, which I believe is only slightly larger than the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta, yet this one freezes.  Even still, there is a tide, and the ice bends and flexes and cracks and bows as the tide moves the ice four times per day.  Add melting water on the top of the ice, into pools of water the size of small ponds, and there is very real danger.  The safest place to drive therefore is close enough to the edge, where the ice can rest on the bottom of the river, but not so close where the tide causes large cracks.  While this is ideal driving for a snow machine, with its track and sleds and light weight, it is only manageable for a truck.  Although safe when following others who know what they are doing, I don't think we'll be going out on the ice again until we have the absolutely perfect method of transportation.

When we moved from Iowa to Tennessee, the drive into town was reduced from 45 minutes to five minutes.  The ability of the kids to sit still seemed to have evaporated at that very moment.  Since our arrival into Bethel three months ago, our children have not been in a vehicle for more than ten minutes, and that is the bus ride into school.  I was amazed at how frequent the, "How long until we get there?" questions were asked on our first trip out of town, when all it took was 45 minutes to get to the fishing hole.

 

The daylight has been increasing by 5 minutes per day, or more, since the solstice.  It is surprising how quickly the length of day increases with that steady amount.  Today the sun came up around 9am, and it'll go down around 7pm, and it won't be long before we'll have have 14 hours of sunlight.  What an odd occurrence that will be.

For most everybody who lives here daylight is rather not a factor.  I had the thought prior to making this relocation, that the long nights in the winter caused the depressions, which I have found to not be the case at all.  Certainly it is a different way of operating than I have been used to, however my 80 days' worth of experience is having me formulate a different idea; which we'll see how true that may be later.

I'm thinking that there are two issues that occur here, and when they do so simultaneously, symptoms of depression increase.  The first is lack of purpose.  I don't mean "job" so much in the way that people understand a job in the paycheck sense, but I mean a reason for getting up in the morning.  That purpose could just as easily be getting wood for heat or going to school in the morning.  Those that do have jobs here, tend to have their purpose clearly established and depression seems to be staved off.  (There is a flip-side to that:  others in the community attribute that role as belonging only to that one person, and therefore the weight of the community is felt by that one person, however that is a different topic, entirely.)

Identifying a purpose is rather false, unless that purpose is clear and has simply been avoided.  Having a person get up before the sun rises for the sole purpose of having something to do, is clearly circular and at best not helpful.  That purpose needs to be self-evident, not contrived.  Survival needs are clear, yet outside of that most "purposes" are perceived as doing something just to do it.  School, for instance is certainly something to do, yet the longer term reason to attend and graduate is lost as there is no population in their home-villages to support an industry or anything professional.  Which brings me to the second co-occuring contributor to depression.

Lack of people with which to interact is stifling.  Friends are family; cousins in one sense or another.  There are few people who can be looked up to as models of what can be achieved for others.  AA has little sobriety overall.  There are professionals in the area, but they are perceived as outsiders therefore they are not personal role-models.  This deprivation of forward-thinking is typically referred to as having lost the Native culture, and although that may be accurate, it is not enough for me to understand.  When the population was small, survival was the only option.  As the population has grown, more options have certainly become apparent however not viable, for a thousand different reasons I haven't yet identified.

Being alongside the rest of Americans who come here because they are professionals hasn't resulted in a mindset of, "let me do that too," but that of, "I'll never be able to do that."  I don't know where the fault lies, in the air of superiority of those who are professional, or the sense of helplessness of those who are not.  Either way, the long-timers have not been able to connect as equals with the newly transplanted professionals, and so their equals and friends are still their family.   The variety of people-groups in this area has not yet resulted in a large population though, and so industries are virtually 'assigned' to various ethnic backgrounds: Albanians are cab-drivers, Caucasians are professionals, Natives are substistence, Koreans are restaurant-owners.

Being acutely aware that there are innumerable choices yet still seeing only one option as realistic, has resulted in a perception of learned-helplessness -- depression.

Those that have a sense of purpose and are able to connect with others outside of their family seem to have less depressive symptoms.  In fact, these are the people that thrive here.  These people are able to see how the whole world is open before them if they set themselves up for it, and the opportunities here are seen as a spring-board into untold options all around.

I have never worked among more professional people than I do right now.  From doctors to therapists to admininstrative people, from those who do the initial screening to those who do the medication managment, nobody does more -- even though the resources are far less.  Even so, nobody runs around like a chicken with their head cut off.  Nobody is so busy that they can't stop to chat, and nobody is so stretched thin that they are unable to be personable.  The culture of the whole delta is this way: doing the job right by seeing it through to the point of everybody's satisfaction while not appearing to be busy.  My previous cultural experience was virtually the opposite: appear to be busy in order to justify the position, salary and resources.

Here, much is being done yet the first-impressions and outward appearances would seem to say otherwise.  In my earlier experiences, little was being done yet the outward show was enormous.

Previously I had felt as though I needed to justify every one of my actions.  I had this sense that I needed to look as though I was working hard, no matter what.  If something came easily to me, or if something got done efficiently and well, I was supposed to then talk everything through with others in order to justify my having taken the 'shorter' route; thereby nullifying any time I might have gained by being efficient in the first place.  How asinine.

The culture here is not one of show, but one of substance and relationship:  do the job right and do right by the people.  Bragging and stressing doesn't help relationships, and it uses up the energy that would otherwise be put into the job.  Drop everything and fish when the run is on, or you will be hungry in the next few months.  If the birds are flying, stop and collect the eggs or they won't be found.  If the caribou are in the area, get a few -- right then and there.  Take advantage of the opportunities or they will be lost to you.

The jobs here have not historically been professional jobs, dependent upon a clock and a legal contract, but ones of rather straight-forward survival now referred to as subsistence living.  To those coming in from outside this way of thinking, it could easily look as though these people aren't in a hurry and couldn't care less.  After all, if they're able to see a Native and have the time in which to hold a conversation, that person obviously isn't gathering wood for the next season.  Hunting in the Lower 48 isn't a matter of survival: it's a sport.  Even if a family was to live solely off the land in the Lower 48 (I've never met one), they would still have the option of affordable food from a grocery store.  Not so here. 

I live in the booming metropolis of Bethel, a town that is now about 7,000 mostly Native people.  One hundred years ago there were less than one hundred people here total, while fifty years ago it had expanded to about 1,000.  Even with the population explosion there are only two grocery stores, three if you really want to be generous -- all of which are extraordinarily expensive.  People cannot feasibly afford to shop locally for their food, even still; survival remains the issue.  Bragging and stressing simply doesn't help, as everybody has to do the same things.  Being prepared to go when the moment arrives, doing it well and then enjoying time with the people afterward is what has always been important -- and still is.  The appearance of being busy is not only not valued, it is considered selfish and vain -- being busy in reality doesn't require stress; it requires action when the time is ripe followed by the reward of being prepared for the future, which means real rest can now be had.

Nothing has been written in the past few weeks, as I have been waiting for inspiration to arrive, or maybe for my internet service to speed up.  As neither has happened, I am now motivated by a sleeping wife, three children thankfully quiet as they watch a movie and a thermos full of freshly brewed coffee.

It has been a quiet day, however productive.  I made breakfast and dinner, both with the help of the younger set.  Lunch was inconspicuously absent, due to the timing of the other two meals, and the arrival of the cake and ice cream.  The chocolate cake recipe was downloaded from the internet ... I have found and appreciate allrecipes.com.  Val suggested that I use a box ... well, that just won't happen now that it's been suggested.  Also, she wanted some of the vanilla butter cream frosting that I made for Eliana's birthday two weeks ago; having come directly from America's Test Kitchen.

Do I sound like all the other bloggers writing about what they put into their gullet?  I have previously threatened to write about what I excrete afterwards, but now that it's before me, that just won't happen.

The other day Samara was walking out of the doctor's office and made the comment, "This feels just like Tennessee".  At that moment, Bethel was ten degrees below zero, with a very slight breeze, while Chattanooga was at 50 above.  I absolutely loved her comment ... she has acclimated well.  The day earlier Eliana made the comment, "How come you wanted to move to Alaska where it's always fun?"  My kiddos make me proud!

We have practically figured out how to use the webcam, utilizing Skype.  It is almost as easy as a regular phone, and it would seem has a quicker response time than the people who have called in on their land line to ours.  When that has occured, the delay has been more signifcant than from computer-to-computer or computer-to-land line.

Yesterday warmed up to above freezing for a few hours, and everything started to melt.  It was nice to be able to make some snowballs, rather carving out chunks of ice from the ground to throw at each other.  The down-side to the short time of melting, is the layer of ice that forms on top of every surface when everything refreezes.   Ice cleets are simply an essential during those times.  I never had them previously, even though they were just as essential in Iowa and Nebraska, yet a person can walk or run on ice without an issue with the cleets, and even right up a frozen hill that has no foot holds.

The kids found Val some presents of which we wouldn't have thought previously: a fleece lined hat with ear flaps and a neoprene face mask with holes for breathing.  Winter still will be in effect for the next two months here, and Val is quite pleased to have these.  We very well may be traveling down-river (or up, I can't remember), to go ice fishing one of these next few weeks.  I was given a tremendous compliment by one of my coworkers.  They had mentioned that I didn't look cold on one of the 20-below days, and I mentioned that as I kept walking I was fine.  Her comment?  "You must be a real Eskimo."  It was at that point that she invited me along with her family to go ice fishing with them.  Although the invitation is present, the time and date are not, so I am not sure when that will occur.  I will not go on the river for the first time without a guide; probably the second, but even then only when listening to their wisdom.  She reported one-time having caught 200 fish over the course of eight hours.  I'll be happy with the experience alone.

We bought a truck:  a 1992 Ford Bronco with 4-wheel drive.  It's an official "Bethel Beater".  We know the history in full: a repo from Anchorage, barged over here to be run on the river during the winter.  So, exactly what I bought it for.  It runs, and holds our family.  Gas is still $6 per gallon here.  When the barge brings the final gas of the season in, sometime in September, the price is locked until the next barge is able to get here, sometime in May.  $25 put in about 1/8th of a tank, but we've been running around on that for two weeks now.

With the truck, Val is now looking at a job.  There are many jobs available, however it is not so much the job issue, as the Eliana issue.  Daycare/school will be needed for her.  The summer will start before too long, and arrangements will need to be identified for all the kids.  This phase of life will be different for us.

There have been more days missed in school this year due to the weather, than budgeted.  The school year does not get extended here, as the days get long and the salmon start to run.  Therefore, there will be a few Saturdays of school to make up for them:  Aidan's bane.

 

If I could live anywhere in the world, I'm sure it wouldn't be here.  But here is good.  I'm sure most people wouldn't choose to live where they currently are, if other factors weren't holding them in place.  Finances, I'm sure, prevent many people from relocating.  Family and loved ones close by I'm sure root many people to their geography.  Weather for others, and no place or reason to move for even more.  But what actually brought us here?

There is an easy answer: a job.  We were losing the one we had to the economy and so we went looking for another.  When money is tight, people don't go running to counselors, as paying the bills is always the priority.  As such, the entire field was shrinking.  This place in Alaska was looking to grow their outpatient department as other, more costly departments, were being shrunk.  When having a job is the goal, and the field is being whittled away, any job is a good thing.

I would have flipped burgers if it took care of the family.  Nothing in the middle of Tennessee opened up, nothing south into Tampa presented itself, and nothing northwest into Des Moines became available.  That corridor was where our focus was, and Alaska's position was the only opportunity out of that area where we put out feelers.  We had previously identified it two years earlier, prior to moving to Tennessee.

I think we were being emotionally prepared for the severity of this jump by that initial contact.  When our house finally sold in Iowa, we squatted for the winter close by, and kept everything as stable as we could.  It was then that we threw open the sashes and let in all of the options.  This position was one of them, however we chose the option half-way between the in-laws, and right close to Val's sister, in Tennessee where the hills start.  It was a very good choice, and we were blessed to have had that time.  We visited my folks three times, which is three times more than we had been able to since they themselves moved down.  We were able to work in two visits to see Val's mom during those 18 months as well.  We were able to connect with Val's sister at least twice monthly, and oftentimes each weekend out of the month.  All in all, it was a great location, and a wonderful time; a tremendous extended vacation.

Sure, Alaska was the only option this time, but I believe that was purposeful on God's part.  I think we probably would have taken another option closer to those that we love.  When you look on the globe, Bethel is as far from Tampa as is Spain, western Africa, and southern Brazil.  We are in The Far Country, not just spiritually but also physically.  The ability to get back to family is our main concern; not the weather, not the culture-shock, not the dark.

We believe that Jesus Christ is not just our Savior, but also our Lord.   He is Sovereign, and we have choices, which can be boiled down to obedience or disobedience.  I would rather be going where God wants to me go like Isaiah, "Here am I.  Send me," than Jonah, as he willfully took off in the opposite direction.  With this being our one option at this time, I think the choice is not so much in the coming, but in the attitude with which we come.  He answered our prayer by giving us Tennessee for a time, which was certainly the desire of our heart.  As Christ has prepared us for Alaska, I am sure that He has prepared Alaska for us.  I see us as having a job to do while we are here.  I don't know His overall purpose yet.  I certainly would like to see the big-picture that He is painting, yet living with faith only gives me this daily brush-stroke.

I think the changes we had to go through as we moved to Tennessee helped in the transition to Alaska also.  At each point we down-sized.  We have thought that we were minimalists, yet with each move we have given away so much.  We haven't been living with nothing by any stretch of the imagination.  We have been blessed, and we want to be a blessing to others.  There is tremendous joy and freedom in knowing, better than we ever have before, the difference between wants and needs.

When people ask why we moved here, I have all sorts of pad answers.  I say that many people vacation where they want for a week or two, while we do it for a year or two.  I say that we wanted to show our children that there is more to life than middle-class, middle-America.  I say that we wanted to work in the third-world, yet still provide some stability for our children.  I say that we wanted a different culture, and there are more cultures mixing themselves up here than anywhere.  I say that the opportunities for ourselves and our family are greater here than anyplace we have found in the Lower 48.

All of these things are true.  What is the most true?  I am a therapist, and I was offered the position of a therapist.  Val has said that it is my calling; I certainly recognize it as my gift.  Will I always be a therapist?  Here am I.  Send me.

I went to the hardware store again today.  It was 20 below, but no wind.  It was perfectly fine.  The air is different in the cold, and somehow the moon is also.  It was quite striking: the full moon in the middle of the day, while the sun was shining bright.  There were people driving all along the river.  There were many people ice fishing, and a few people traveling here from the towns close by.  It was interesting in that there was actually water alongside the banks; not ice.  The radio brings frequent weather forecasts, and part of the forecast is information about the tide.  Because we are about 20 miles in from the sea (not the Bering Sea itself, but the Kuskokwim Bay), there is an actual tide that still occurs even up here.  My guess as to where the non-frozen water comes from is simply the tidal surge.  So these cars and trucks that travel on the river find spots where there has been enough ice and snow pushed together to travel from the very fozen inner parts of the river onto the actual ground.  They all act like that's normal.

Many of the people were ice fishing.  What they do, while the ice is starting to form in the Fall and barely thick enough to stand on, is go out with a big poker and chip a hole in the ice.  A foot or two down the way, they chip another hole in the ice, and then they string a net from the first hole to the second, using sticks as they reach underneath the ice.  They go on down the line, making roughly ten holes all along the way, while their nets hang down.  As the temperature drops, they continue to chip at their holes; keeping them open and large enough to pull out the fish that get caught.  Naturally, they need to check their nets daily, but they need to keep the holes open too, which at almost four feet thick, is quite an endeavor.  They put up flags so that when people snow-machine and drive, they stay clear of the very significant holes in the ice.

Our house is almost a home, as silverware has finally arrived.  Samara has made a good friend in a neighbor.  There have been multiple sleep-overs that have occured in both directions in the past couple of weeks; mostly during Christmas vacation.  Her friend is in the third grade, while she is the second.  They are in different schools, however.  Our kids are now in public school, and try as Aidan might, he enjoyed his first day of school anyway.  Samara absolutely loooooved her first lesson in Yupik, while that was Aidan's only complaint, (which was very feabile, even considering his extraordinary talent).  The girls all went to a Slavik celebration yesterday (Russian New Year).  Many people all getting together, mostly speaking Yupik, singing Christmas carols and handing out candy.  The party goes on for a couple of weeks, or however long people want an excuse to play.

We got the web-cam operating today.  That was wondrous for the kids to talk with their cousins in Tennessee today.  Now we can branch out and talk with others in the mix.  Love the Skype!

 

It's 27 degrees below zero right now.  That's according to the mercury.  The wind is blowing hard.  I believe the wind chill brings it down to 45 below, or maybe even 50 below.  The cold, of all things, is actually quite tolerable.  I'll even go so far as to say that it is good.  The wind, on the other hand, is what cuts.  I remember Chicago being extraordinarily cold one winter, and it felt as cold as it feels right now, because of the wind of course.  When we walk from place to place, it is quicker than driving someplace in an unwarmed-up vehicle, sitting still and shivering.  Walking, of course, is moving, and in moving there is warmth.  Of course, we don't want to walk far, and thankfully we don't have to.  The farthest that we need to walk is really to the Post Office, which takes no more than 25 minutes.  Church takes 15, because we have Eliana who likes to walk extraoooordinarily slowly.

I was talking with the folks down at the hardware store yesterday.  They were saying that it is indeed cold, and that it has gotten colder earlier this year than any year in their memory.  It isn't supposed to be this cold for another 30-45 days.  Nobody is worried, though.  "Just use common sense and bundle up," is the thought.  Frostbite is the issue, of course.  As such, they close the schools around this temperature.  Of course, it is Christmas break right now.

The snow is certainly different here, than in the Lower 48.  It is so dry and so cold, that the snow has the look, feel and response of sand.  There are snow dunes.  The wind is quite strong here, too.  As we are on the tundra, there are not very many trees, and the ones that are here are simply too small to be a wind-break.  I imagine this might be a bit like being in the desert, except a cold one. 

Christmas was wonderful here.  There was snow on the ground and in the air.  We trudged through snow drifts up to our waist.  There were more people walking than there were cars on the road, due to the snowfall from Christmas Eve.  We went to the Moravian Church for the candlelight service, which was very sweet.  Roughly half of that congregation, perhaps more, are Native Alaskans.  They have a separate service which is done entirely in Yupik, and even still the English service is very well attended.  It is good to be with new friends, but we very much missed our old friends.  Skype is good for the free long-distance calls, yet it is certainly distant.

In fact, that is the only real complaint about being here: we miss our old friends and families.  We are certainly making new friends, and doing so is actually occuring quicker than previously.  The community is a really tight community, as well as welcoming and willing. 

On the day of Christmas Eve, our belongings arrived.  Being connected with our belongings at long last, was one of the best presents that we could have wished for.  We have only recently identified what didn't get on the truck, though.  We are missing a toaster, but that is en route, at this point.  Amazon is wonderful, especially when free shipping is involved.  We are pleased to see how many different items include free shipping.  The down-side, of course, is that we have to be patient.  We have always been patient people, I think, and now we are learning an even greater level.  That is good -- I like being transformed not just through the renewing of our minds, but also by using our ciricumstances purposefully to connect with Christ.