How will I bear it, when 200,000 more people live in this valley?

Recent news reports advance the claim that by the year 2030, the population of the Matanuska-Susitna Valley will rise to 300,000. The thought, to me, is unbearable. When we first moved into the Mat-Su 27 years ago, the population of the entire valley was about 30,000, but exploding fast due to the influx of money and jobs that poured across Alaska as a result of the oil boom that followed the construction of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline. 

At that time, the same sorts of folks who put together this latest prediction were forecasting a population increase to 90,000, right about now. From what I gathered from listening to and reading the recent stories, about 100,000 people now live in this valley.

Way too many for me.

Naturally, there are many who get excited when they hear of such potential growth, as they see new opportunities to make money. Above all else, above open, wild, free country, the right to bear arms and freedom itself, money has been the force that has driven and ruled Alaska during the time that we have lived here. I am certain that it will continue to be.

Were it not for the much-loathed restraining hand of the federal government with its national parks and wildlife refuges, this place would have been ripped apart. Nothing that bore the potential of yielding a dollar would have been left unscratched.

To many, money equals quality of life, but to me, each time a new family moves into the valley to the increase of the population, the quality of life diminishes - perhaps imperceptibly with just that family, but devastatingly upon accumulation.

Please do not misunderinterpret me - I need money too and I do not begrudge any of these families who move here, hoping to improve their circumstance. I welcome each one. We did the same 27 years ago and yes, we diminished the quality for those of like-mind who preceded us.

For example, there was an old trapper's trail that cut right through our back yard. The trapper who had made it had long since disappeared from the country, but many recreational snowmachiners used to buzz up and down that trail and it was a real battle to convince the most bull-headed among them that, now that the trail not only went through a subdivision but directly through yards where children played, they could no longer use that trail.

When the population here hits 300,000, where will the recreational snowmachiners go? Their prospects will be greatly limited. Look at Anchorage right now. How much recreational snowmachining do you see going on in that town? Anchorage is about 300,000. Smaller area than the Mat-Su, true, but the reality will be largely the same.

Perhaps our arrival did increase the quality of life for the developer of our subdivision, who was a bright, energetic, ambitious, enthusiastic man in his forties - a jogger and a musician. We put more money into his pocket.

"I'm really not interested in the money," he told me one day as we drove through the newly burgeoning neighborhood, "what I want is just to be able to drive through here one day with my daughter and be able to tell her, 'when I first came here, there was nothing but trees, but your dad built this - and look at all these families who now make their lives here!'"

His heart killed him, not long afterward. They named a ball park after him and my boys all played American Legion baseball there.

As for the above series of pictures, I took them after I dragged Margie up from her position of convalescence upon the couch and drove her to Taco Bell, where we could eat in the car, just to get her out of the house.

There was no Taco Bell back then, no McDonald's, no Arby's, No Carl's Jr., no KFC-A&W, no fast food of any kind.

As ought to be apparent to anyone who has read much of this blog, and to the chagrin of my oldest daughter, I enjoy my fast food. 

After we ate, I stopped at the Tesoro Station on Seward Meridian and Palmer-Wasilla Highway to gas up the Escape. I damn near froze - not because it was that cold, it wasn't. It was about 18 degrees F., having warmed up from the -5 (-21 C) of the morning. But the wind was brisk and I was protected only by a light jacket.

I then climbed back into the car and took Margie on a good, long, drive. I thought about the cost of the gas and the added pollution and greenhouse gas that I was throwing into the air, but I drove anyway, because I really wanted to.

I need money, too, I really do. Maybe when they start the gas line up, some of the new dollars will land in my bank account. If I can get enough to buy, maintain, and gas-up another airplane, I can still escape the maddening crowd.

Even if by chance these two break all records for feline longevity and are still around in 2030, they will not be bothered by the population increase.

If the economy stays bad in the Lower 48 but the gas line becomes real here - wow! It will get completely crazy! People from all over will pour in up here looking for jobs, just like they did during TAPS construction and the oil boom. Most of them, probably 70 or 80 percent, will not find jobs, but they will still need to eat, they will still need a warm, dry, place to lay their heads and country to play in. The influx will be disproportionately male; they will need females, however they can obtain access to them.

Everyone here seems to be excited about the prospect of a gas line; it just can't happen soon enough.

This picture of Royce and Chicago is one of a series of pictures from yesterday that appeared on Grahamn Kracker's No Cat's Allowed Kracker Cat blog.

Kalib at daycare - he seems kind of sad; scenes from the car - life as viewed through the rearview mirrors; the young mother who used to serve us coffee and her sleepy, handsome, new, baby boy

Yesterday, I dropped Margie off at the Alaska Native Medical Center for X-rays and followup orthopedic treatment, then journied elsewhere to take care of some business, returned for Margie, went and got Lavina and then the three of us ventured over to the daycare center where Kalib now spends his days.

It was sad for me, because he looked so sad. Given the nature of Margie's injuries, his parents had no choice but to enroll him in daycare. And he is learning new things and meeting new toddlers, but he is missing the love that his grandmother drenched him with everyday, after his parents went to work.

I kind of miss seeing him around the house, too, getting into cupboards, banging pans together, pouncing on Royce.

This shot is also through the door, as we had to try to keep out of his sight. If he saw us - particularly his mother or grandmother - he would likely cry, and beg to come home with us. In the morning, when dropped off, he tends to cling to his father's leg, and to cry; he struggles to resist the imminent separation.

His mother soemtimes comes by and when he spots her, he immediately starts to cry. In the evening, he is overjoyed when his parent's pick him up.

He is separated from his peers here because he is on a different diet than they, and so is placed at a different table.

Earlier in the day, after we drove to Anchorage and found ourselves stopped at a light on the way to ANMC. As you can see, the scene behind us was quite intimidating - yet, I felt no fear.

Boniface Road, Anchorage.

After I dropped Margie off, I found myself parked at another red light, with a red car behind me, to the right.

This guy jaywalked. The evidence is right here.

These big wheels aren't even rolling, but they soon will be. I am not stopped at a light this time. I am stopped because there is an accident ahead of us. Margie and Lisa are in the car with me and we are drinking coffee, purchased at a kiosk. We are taking Lisa back to work. Her break was short.

We pass slowly by the accident. I see no signs of injury, but it's possible.

Back in Wasilla, headed down Gail Street, on the way home.

In the evening, I drove to Carr's to buy a chicken, salad, rice, oatmeal, berries and such so that Margie and I could continue to eat. It was there that I met this baby for the first time. 

I first heard about this baby early in January, when a bunch of us went to IHOP for Sunday breakfast. There, the young woman pictured above asked me if I noticed anything different about her. Her name is Melanie, and she works at IHOP now, but we first got to know her well before, when she was a coffee barista at the kiosk across the street from the Post Office, the one that looks like a red caboose.

Melanie was always friendly and vivacious, and it only took a couple of visits before she figured out what Margie and I wanted every day. She knew how to make coffee, too - her brew was always good. That's not the case with all baristas.

I tipped her accordingly. 

Of course, I tip the ones who serve bad coffee equally well.

Then one day Melanie left to go work at Prudhoe Bay and we did not see her again until late last year, when we went into IHOP one Sunday and discovered that she was working there and that she was expecting.

And that is what was different about her in January - she was no longer expecting. She had her baby, and this is she and he. She told me his name. I guess I had better start writing these things down, because I have forgotten it. 

It didn't use to be that way, but it is now.

She gave me her phone number and I just called her to get the name and to let her know this post was going up, but I did not reach her.

I will try again later, and afterward I will put in the name.

At least, this is my intent.

February 22, 11:26 am: Donovan. His name is Donovan.

I prepared several images for tonight's entry...

...but then I watched a movie with my wife. Now I am going to bed. 

The old, internal, battle that I must always wage: home vs. home; Wasilla/South Central vs. Barrow/Arctic Slope

I have written before about this battle that forever causes turmoil and tumult to boil within my calm exterior - this battle of home vs. home. And now that I have just returned to my wife and family home in Wasilla after having spent nine wonderful days in my communal home of Barrow and the Arctic Slope, that battle rages.

My desire to go back is strong, to live again the life represented by the mask worn in this dance performed by my friend, Steve Oomittuk of Point Hope, during *Kivgiq. It is a life where people dwell with whales, polar bears, seals, walrus, caribou, wolves, ducks, fish and other creatures in the most intimate sort of way; in a land and seascape that is stark, harsh, and so bitterly, bitterly, cold, yet so abundant and all this binds people together in a way that I have seen nowhere else.

I find something there that I can find nowhere else.

So I want to go back to this home.

Yet, look at this! My two daughters, Lisa holding the cat that she just adopted, Melanie kissing that cat, my wife Margie looking on from inside the car. She is healing, yet her injuries still make it difficult for her to get up and walk about. This was the first time that she had been out of the house since February 2, but she felt she had to stay in the car.

This is my family of marriage and creation; my blood and my soul mate. They are never going to live on the Arctic Slope. Each winter now, Margie's longing to return to her Apache homeland in Arizona grows stronger and stronger and even this southerly part of the north bears down harder and harder upon her.

Do you see the dilemma?

I took this picture yesterday. Anyone who wants to know more about how this kitty came into my family can find a more complete account here, on the No Cats Allowed Kracker Cat blog.

Here I am, walking down Momegana Street in Barrow, the night before I left. 

And this is from today, as I headed down Lucas in Wasilla.

Back in Barrow, looking towards Osaka Restaurant. Just beyond that is the Chukchi Sea, frozen, broken, and jumbled. Bowhead whales will soon pass by, swimming through the open lead.

And this is Lucas again, from the other side of the same hill.

Once, maybe 100 years or more ago, an Iñupiat Eskimo who delivered the mail by dog sled all along the Arctic Coast built this house from the timbers of a wrecked, tall-masted, Yankee whaling ship. He raised a daughter here, who grew up to become a school teacher. 

McGee was a gracious Elder when I met her, and she kept her door open to people like me and always there was hot coffee, cake, cookies, and both Eskimo and Taniq (white man's) food waiting behind that door.

She lived with a tuxedo cat and a blue-billed parakeet and if ever I got to feeling lonely, all I had to do was drop in. She is gone, now, and so is the cat and the parakeet.

And this is my neighbor from across the street, right here in Wasilla, earlier today. He is plowing the soft, warm, snow that fell this day.

I do not even know his name.

I knew the name of his dog, though, "Grizz." I have not seen Grizz for several months, at least. I assume he, too, has passed on. There is another dog there, an Irish Setter, just like Grizz, but I do not know that dog's name. And there are two orange cats. I am quite fond of them. They used to come over and visit me, as did Grizz, but then a woman moved into the house and after that the animals were no longer allowed to leave the property. They visit me no more.

*More than 48 hours ago, I wrote that I would post a series of Kivgiq pictures within 48 hours. Maybe I will still post a sample series, maybe I won't. It will take me weeks, maybe a month, spread out over how long, to edit that four day take. I am working on a book on Kivgiq, starting from the first of the modern events, held in 1988, through this one. Plus, although there is no funding for it yet, I will probably get to do a Uiñiq magazine specifically on this year's Kivgiq.

I will post at least one more Kivgiq picture, because one night when i stepped into the Teriyaki House to have dinner, I met a 12 year-old boy who danced at Kivgiq and he had a couple of pretty good stories to tell, about adventures that most 12 year old boys could hardly imagine. So, if nothing else, I will post his picture.

I fly south, drinking cranberry juice as I go; Summer stays behind in Barrow

Here I am in Alaska Airlines Flight 52, sitting in seat 20 F, watching the Stewardess come down the aisle, serving soft drinks and pretzels, and selling alcoholic drinks and "snack packs" that are not at all worth the cost. She cannot take cash, but only credit or debit cards. That is why she holds the glowing device in her hands - it is a credit card reader.

She and her partner reach my row, which is empty except for me. "What would you care to drink, sir?" she asks.

"Cranberry Juice," I answer. I feel quite inflated with myself - she called me, "Sir."

Her partner hands her the cranberry juice and a plastic cup.

The stewardess hands me my cranberry juice. I am thirsty and it tastes very good. I want more, but she never offers me more. Not enough time, I guess. This leg is from Barrow to Fairbanks and only takes a little over an hour to fly.

I become curious as to who sits behind me. I turn around and see a baby. It is six-month old baby Noah of Barrow, with his mother, Bobbie.

 

But Noah and Bobbie are not traveling alone. Sister/daughter Nancy, five years old, flies with them. It is not right to leave her out of the picture, so she joins in.

There is one more sister, Summer, age 2. She has stayed behind in Barrow. I have no choice but to leave Summer out of the picture.

After Fairbanks, we fly on to Anchorage, where I am greeted by 30 degree air - that's above zero. It feels shockingly warm. As I stand on the curb waiting for Lisa to pull up and pick me up, I find myself standing by a guy who flew in from Portland.

He thinks it is cold.

A warm front has blown into South Central from off the Pacific.