Standoff with skinny moose; buried truck, the train rumbles past Subway, etc. and so forth

I photographed this truck in early May in Point Hope. I include it in today's post just to assure interested readers that, although the rest of today's post will be devoted to Wasilla, I am continuing on with my series from my recent Arctic travels.

I spent two weeks on that trip and by the time I put yesterday's post up, I had made my way through just a little bit more than a day-and-half of that two weeks. I have been moving very slowly on that edit, because I have a different project that I must have proof ready by June 15, so I would do a little bit of editing on the Arctic trip, then put it aside and get back to work on my project.

But I want to get this blog series done, so I decided that today, Saturday, I will put my project aside and see if I can make my way through the entire take, then hopefully do a bit better job planning for the remainder of the Arctic Spring 2011 posts and get them ready so that they can appear through next week while I do nothing but concentrate on my project - and maybe drop in a picture or two from Wasilla here now and then, just to make it clear where I really am.

Despite appearances, it does not really snow that much in Arctic Alaska, where annual precipitation is about the same as Phoenix, Arizona. But once the snow falls, it does not melt for a long time and the wind blows it all about, so, whenever it finds anything to drift up and pile against, or even bury, it does.

And so it buried this truck. Looks like someone decided it was time to start digging it out.

Now, here I am, solidly back in Wasilla, driving home the long way after stopping at Metro Cafe. I see a kid on a bike out the window, so I quickly lift the camera and take a blind snap to my side through the dirty glass as I look straight ahead at the road. A moose could walk onto the road.

Yesterday morning, Margie and I decided to have breakfast at Subway, where it is pretty cheap but still good. As we were eating, I was thrilled to hear the whistle and rumble of the train, coming down the tracks. So I got my camera ready and.... sure enough, the train rolled into view! And, employing all my skill, talent, and experience as a hard working photojournalist, I caught the exact moment that the train rolled into view.

The exact moment! People will now marvel at this photo from now until the end of the world. Hmmm... according to some, folks won't get to marvel all that long, so look at it now and enjoy it while you can.

I love the train and yet, you know what? I have never ridden on the Alaska Railroad - not one time. I have never even been on a passenger car or in an engine, either. Nor has Margie.

Someday, this must change.

As it turned out, the Alaska Railroad engine was towing passenger cars, operated by Princess Tours. I could only wonder what these people were talking and thinking about as they rolled through my now famous/infamous home town.

I suspect some were basking in perceived glory and glowing in adoration. Others were probably discussing US history, Paul Revere in particular, and wondering if our schools could really be that bad.

They're not. It's an individual thing.

On my walk, I came upon this adolescent moose. As I approached, I was searching for its mom. One never wants to step between a mom moose and her calf. I saw no mom. Maybe the adolescent had been turned out on its own.

Maybe the mom had died.

Who knows?

Then the moose came walking toward me, looking at me. I looked at its bristles and they were up, but not dramatically so. I was not quite sure what to think. My first thought was that maybe somebody had fed this calf and now it was hungry and coming to me in the hope that I might give it an apple or something.

Or maybe it saw me as threat and was warning me to back away or it would stomp on me. Or maybe it was saying I am one mean moose and I am coming to get you and I will jump on you and there is not a damn thing you can do about it.

It can be very hard to know with a moose.

And, despite all our bear stories, in Alaska, moose afflict more damage upon human flesh than do bears.

"It is okay, moose," I calmly told it. "I mean you no harm. You have nothing to fear from me." I started to walk slowly to the side. I did not back up or retreat in the opposite direction, because I did not want it to think that I was afraid of it, either. I just moved away to the side.

Finally, the moose turned away. See how skinny it is? I felt badly for it. I did not feel optimistic for its future. I doubt that it will make it to hunting season, but I could be wrong. Maybe it will eat, thrive, and grow strong.

In the afternoon, Margie drove to town and brought Jobe and Kalib home with her. Once again, they are spending the weekend with us in order to allow their parents to work on their house.

Jobe wants to be friends with Jim.

Jim is still trying to decide if this is a good idea.

And for all my readers who have become fond of Charlie - who has not been in this blog since before I went traveling - his family dog, Rowdy, who was a genuine smiler, died this past week.

Condolences, Charlie, Jim and Cyndy.

Kalib bounced on the bed.

That plastic is up to give better insulation against the cold of winter.

I suppose we could take it down now.

Margie did open it up at the bottom, to let fresh air in.

View images as slides

Budding artist in school bus; Wasilla's quiet condos on the edge of the Alaska wilderness; four kids walking

This is one of those days when I had a fairly extensive post planned, but I can find no time to post it. So I will hold off on that material and post it tomorrow, by which time I may or may not have my car back from the shop, and do short, quick, simple post.

Who knows when I can get my car back?

For those of you who fear the economic impact I will face by having my car in the shop for major repairs - don't worry. It is all under warranty.

Anyway, yesterday, as I waited in the Kendall Ford temporary replacement car at the left-turn lane at stoplight, this kid rolled past in a school bus and looked right at me.

I am quite certain that this kid is an artist with latent talent of the highest calibre. I am equally certain that, one day in the not terribly distant future, he will be enrolled at the nationally prestigious Girdwood School of the Highest Kind of Hiigh Art and, as instructed, he will open up his electronic textbook to page 32 and there, he will see this photo highlighted as the supreme example and the highest Highest Kind of High Art.

He will look at it and say,

"I find something oddly familiar about this picture - almost like I was there when it was taken."

He will get a large print of it, hang it on his wall and it will inspire him to endure the trials of a long and tormented life in pursuit of art and to go on to create the second-greatest Highest Kind of High Art ever produced.

Wasilla's most exclusive, quiet condos, built on the edge of the Alaska wilderness, directly across the Parks Highway from Dairy Queen, McDonald's, Pizza Hut and Wasilla Lake.

If only I could afford to join them, I would live here, too!

Four kids walking, as seen in passing from my Kendall Ford temporary replacement car. More on this tomorrow. It is an exciting and earth-shaking story - one you will not want to miss.

The Railroad Condos - the most elegant, pleasant, exclusive neighborhood in all of Wasilla*

Not so long ago there was a big plot of vacant land by the railroad tracks across the Parks Highway from Wasilla Lake.

We all knew that such vacant land could not be allowed to stand. When we saw the contruction begin, we wondered what someone could be building, right by the railroad tracks and the highway.

Of course. A huge condominium complex. I am quite certain that it is the hugest in all of the Matanuska-Susitna Valley.

I actually took this picture on September 17, when I was riding my bicycle back from Kendall Ford, where I had dropped the Escape off for an oil change and routine maintenance. I didn't use the picture then, so I will use it now.

I wondered why anyone would want to live here and why it is that developers insist upon doing this kind of thing to Wasilla.

Have you ever driven down the Parks Highway through Wasilla?

Truly, it is an appalling sight. And it just keeps getting worse.

One of the most beautiful locations on earth, and this is what they do to it.

And then a few days ago, I passed by at the same time as the train and I understood - at least the part about why anyone would want to live here.

A straight line from our house to the railroad tracks is about 2.2 miles. Sometimes at night when I am lying in bed, not quite asleep, I hear the train clattering down the tracks. I hear the whistle blow. And I like the sound of it. It is pleasant, dreamy and soothing.

My mind drifts off to that train, and travels with it to far away places, even beyond the reach of the Alaska Railroad. I am a child again, hoping freight trains in Montana.

And that's from 2.2 miles away!

Think how much all that pleasant, dreamy, soothiness must be amplified when you are lying in bed and the train passes by just outside your window and the engineer blows the horn.

Maybe we will sell our house and move into these condos ourselves.

As long as I'm posting pictures from September 17, I might as well post this one, too. I took it immediately after I photographed the man driving by the Railroad Condos on his motorcycle. I liked the moment so much that I was tempted to pull off the bike trail, go a little closer, stop, get off the bike and practice some careful composition - but here's the thing - when you set out to see what kind of photos you can take with a pocket camera while pedaling a bicycle it destroys the whole project if you stop, get off the bike and carefully compose.

You can only do such a project while pedaling a bicycle.

It's kind of like being a quick-draw artist on horseback as opposed to a sharp-shooter lying prone on your belly with your rifle braced on a tripod.

So I photographed the motorcycle and the condos and then, still pedaling, swung my camera 180 degrees and photographed this scene, too.

Just like Clint Eastwood, swinging his Colts from atop the back of his mule.

And just ahead was this guy. It was the first time I ever saw a person who, instead of a human head, had two dogs growing out of his neck. Can you imagine what life is like for him, when he must walk upright and there is no table for him to support his dogshead on?

I never want to see such a sight again.

This picture was really hard for me to take, but I took it.

And here's a shot I took from my bicycle today. As you can see, the leaves are pretty much down now. As I noted yesterday, by this time last year the snow had set in for good.

But it was warm today. Really warm. The temperature rose into the 50's. Maybe it was a record. It felt like it. I was sweltering. All day long I sweltered. It made me wonder if it will ever snow again.

*I'm still officially in cocoon mode: it's just that I'm feeling really lazy and burned out tonight.

Cocoon mode,* day 22: Update: Old Girl is lost no more! The 17 year-old dog is home!

I just talked to Carol Shay on the phone. The dog has been reunited with its people. After Carol drove the 12 miles to the Borough animal shelter, the good folks over there dug a little further back through their "lost dog" report records and found that a report had been filed that they had earlier missed when Carol called on the phone.

Hallejuah! This meant that the poor old dog had never been abandoned to die, as I had feared, but had somehow wandered off and hobbled two miles into the marsh. She had survived for five days. And she is 17 years old. She is loved and cared for.

Carol returned Old Girl to her "mom," and even learned her name, but she could not think of it when I talked to her.

"Senior moment," husband Dodd apologized. That's okay. Happens to me all the time - as frequent readers of this blog know. Carol did not have an address or a name, but she described how to get to the woman's home, so I will try to find her and see if I can get a photograph of the two of them together. I haven't time for such an activity, but then I take a bike ride just about every day, so I might as well bike over there and see if I can find the dog and her mom.

As for the train, my reason for including it in this post should be obvious.

Let us all be thankful that the dog came here instead of going the same distance in the opposite direction, which would have brought her to the railroad tracks. Being an adventurer, she would have undoubtedly hopped into a freight car. She would have wound up in Fairbanks, where she would have had to eat nothing but Spam, and tough out a very cold winter as she huddled by her hobo fire.

Of course, I hope to get to Fairbanks before too long. Perhaps destiny would also have brought us together there. We could have sat by the fire and shared some Spam, on Pilot bread, with mustard and cheese, washed down by Pepsi that would have turned to slush the moment it left the can and poured into our mouths.

We would have laughed and barked happily. Then one of us would have said, "pass the cheese, please," and the other would have answered, "woof, woof," just before she passed it.

I photographed the train through the window of Family Restaurant this morning. I was thrilled that it happened to pass by just as I was finishing off my ham and eggs, over easy, hash browns on the side, with coffee to wash it all down.

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.

That Momma Pitbull that gave me the big scare until I discovered that she is really a sweet American bulldog named Tequilla

I saw Tequilla on the second-floor deck of the rocket house as I walked today, so I stopped to introduce myself to her people.

Tequilla, who I mistakenly described as a pitbull is really an American bulldog and her primary caretaker is Malia, and that is her in the background. The pug-nosed dog at left is Lolita, the cat is Mellow and the little boy is Gabe.

While Malia notes that Tequilla is protective and will raise a fuss should a suspicious person come around, she describes her both as a sweetheart and a Houdini, as she can be locked in the house or in a pen and then she will appear outside, at the bottom of the stairs.

Tequilla is most affectionate and so shares a kiss with Malia as Gabe looks on. 

Sadly, Rocky, the black pup, is no longer here, but has passed on. Malia only recently adopted the two dogs. Right after she did, the father of her children died. In the midst of such tragedy, Rocky contracted Parvo.

How does a Mom and her children deal with such loss, back to back?

They just go on living. That's what people do. It seems impossible, but they do it, anyway.

Gabe and Mellow.

Tequilla and Mellow.

A little further on my walk, I found Mary in her driveway. I had not seen her for a long time but today she was out. We talked for quite awhile and she told me many stories, but I am tired and need to go to bed soon, so I will not attempt to relate any of them.

Suffice it to say, she has led an interesting life and grew up in Florida, where her sister would like her to return. She did visit recently and the jet ride there and back was pretty miserable.

As we visited, her poodle and cat came out to join in.

Miss Rita, Mary's cat.

Then I was in downtown Wasilla where I had just parked when the train came along. Naturally, I was thrilled.

The Alaska Railroad engines were pulling Princess Cruise passenger cars and one of them had a picture of a giant grizzly bear on it - probably to scare the real bears away so that they will not frighten the tourists inside.

Nobody likes it when the tourists get frightened. 

Well, the bears like it. They think its great fun.