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.