The past 20 hours: three scenes from Wards Road

Jacob and Muzzy, top of Wards Road, last night's walk.

Car coming down Ward's Road, noon walk.

Van off the road, today's walk. Jacob and I first spotted this van on last night's walk. A car was coming down the hill, so I focused on this vehicle to see, if by chance, the reflection of the headlights of that car off the snow might cast enough light on this vehicle for me to take a photograph.

As I stood there, camera pointed at the disabled van, a car pulled up and stopped. Sitting at the wheel was a middle-aged lady with silver streaks in her hair and beside her, a young man - maybe late teens or early 20's, his features slender and sharp.

They looked at us with what appeared to be a mix of hostility and suspicion.

"That's my vehicle," the young man stated emphatically, "I slid off the road earlier today."

It was clear to me that he suspected that we might have some kind of evil intent towards his vehicle.

"You slid off the road, huh? That must have given you a thrill."

He assured me that it had not; that he had been calm and collected through the entire descent and that it was no big deal. He had even managed to drive the car enough to reposition it a bit so that it would be easier to haul out.

"Looks like you're a little short on manpower to pull it out right now," I noted the obvious.

"We're going to come back and get it tomorrow," he said.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," I told him. "It should be safe. Nobody but a pedestrian could see it and there won't be many of them, maybe just us."

I wished him luck. They went there way, we went our way.

I do not blame him for being suspicious. Cars left alongside the road overnight out here often greet the next morning with their wheels and tires gone, their windows smashed, anything of value removed.

But now it is day and the car is still there, in view for all who pass by to see. Hopefully, they will yank it out of there before dark.

This time of year, if it isn't dark, it soon will be.

A wreck at Parks & Main; another in the kitchen

Tow truck driver. He has just arrived at the scene. Locked in traffic, I drive by at a creep. I had just dropped Margie off at work and now I was headed home.

Police officer, walking towards truck driver. Looks pretty minor. Driver of car peers out sheepishly. I do not know anything about this accident other than what is in the picture. That's how it is when you drive - you get all kinds of glimpses of other people's lives: happy moments, sad, tragic, routine, mundane, and most often that is all the information about these people whose lives crossed yours that you will ever have.

The wreck in the kitchen. Kalib has discovered a new musical instrument. Oddly enough, wherever he wanders in the house these days, this is what it looks like behind him.

The street man: what his Alaska Native peoples fed me; what I gave to him

I saw him standing on the corner ahead of me as I drove toward the green light. I hoped it would stay green, but the traffic ahead of me was moving slow and when it turned yellow, I knew that I would come to stop on the corner, right beside him.

I did. He came walking toward me through the zero degree (F) air, a friendly smile on his face. I could not turn away as if he were not there, so I smiled back and rolled down the window.

"God bless you on this good day, sir!" he said.

"You too," I answered. "Where you from?"

"Mountain Village," he said. "Yukon River. It's located on the Lower Yukon."

"Yes, I know," I told him. "I've been there."

I've been in villages all over Alaska, which is different than going to villages in any other state. Mostly, you fly to these villages, as very few are on our limited road system.

The people out there have treated me good. They have put me up in their homes and they have fed me: moose, caribou, salmon, bowhead whale, beluga whale, seal, duck, goose, swan, beaver, sheefish, whitefish, crab, blueberries, salmon berries' berries of many kinds, seaweed, walrus, bighorn sheep, musk ox, mountain goat...

Food does not get better than what they feed me.

I gave the man a dollar. I don't know how he will spend it. The light turned green. I drove away.

The incident described happened in Anchorage. This is the kind of day that it was.

And here I am, a bit earlier on the Glenn Highway, passing through the East Side of Anchorage. I should replace the cracked windshield. But soon, it would be cracked again.

Passing by Merrill Field.

What it looked like when I reached downtown Anchorage.

This is why I went to Anchorage. I had something that had to be mailed today. The only Post Office that was open was the Airport Post Office. I took this picture, looking backwards, after I had been in line for over an hour. I still had quite a wait ahead of me.

I suspect that most of them were mailing Christmas gifts.

As I drive away from the airport post office.

The Marriott Hotel, with Conoco Phillips rising behind it.

And this is from earlier in the day, when a bunch of us gathered at IHOP for the usual Sunday breakfast. Tots always pick each other out of the crowd.

I took a series of pictures for you today, but this isn't one of them

I wanted to give folks who have not wintered in Alaska an idea about the lack of light, and to tell you what that does to me, so I took a few images just before 11:00 AM, when the sun was just edging up to the the southern horizon, at 3:25 PM, by which time the sun had disappeared behind the southern horizon and then again when I headed for a coffee shop at 4:45, when the sky looked as if the sun had never been in it.

But, except for those little breaks when I took those pictures, I have been furiously busy all day and into the wee hours, for even though the day that I have been living is Friday, it is now 1:53 AM Saturday.

I have been making prints and will continue tomorrow. The last print that I made is of an image I took on October 15. At the time, I intended to post it on this blog, but things can get hectic for me and they did and I did not.

So here it is.

And it happened in the evening of October 15, 2008, right here in Wasilla, Alaska.

Martigny and Baby Kalib march in lockstep

For today, this is it. Just this picture of baby Kalib and Martigny, marching side-by-side past Muzzy.

I am feeling very lazy, that's why. Plus, I'm sick. Got a bug. Maybe I got it from Kalib.

So this is it - a tiny glimpse at a tiny moment in a tiny slice of life, right here, in Wasilla, Alaska.