Last week was a week full of neighbor obstacles and antics. I don't know how I even wind up encountering neighbors, when we have acres of land around us to buffer them out, but they seem to find us somehow.
We began the week by accidentally finding our that whenever we leave weird large objects at the end of our drive with a "Free" sign"--the magical place these items get "repurposed" to, is our neighbors clutter filled mountain lot. Great. I really didn't want to know that our old tires, tables and gasoline jugs have simply relocated themselves to enjoy an endless life as lawn ornaments up the road.
A few days go by and I encountered a different neighbor upon our property. An older gentleman that I have met before, as I have reluctantly given him permission to walk his dogs regularly on our private property. He told me he appreciated the access to our private trail, and I responded kindly-- stating it was all good, as long as his dogs were not making 'those holes'.
Now the mystery holes, are a scourge upon our land. Our property runs along a river, and at the lowest point, we painstakingly removed trees, stumps, moved rocks and brought up buckets of sand. All for the sole purpose of building ourselves a bench and open BBQ area near the water. Over the past two years, at regular intervals, I would go down to our picnic spot and find massive holes dug into the sand around the grill and surrounding areas. Dirt would be everywhere, scattered about amongst 5 to 10 ugly crevasses. I would curse the weird animal making these pits, but nevertheless would get the wheelbarrow and fill them up again with dirt, raking the area smooth afterwards. But alas! The holes always return! As the dirt is rock hard by the riverbed, this project takes about two hours to complete and I break quite a sweat. I then cover the soil with curry powder, Listerine and pepper flakes to discourage the digger. This works, up until the rain washes away my weird pepper souffle.
So imagine my surprise when the old neighbor admitted, that yes--his dog enjoys digging those holes. He assumed the river magically filled them up again. I was speechless and perplexed--I didn't even explain that I was the "magic river" filling the holes again and again. Apparently creating a moonscape on your neighbors property is simply a matter of differing perspective..
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
My Own Thermostat Challenge
I read about it all the time in various homesteader and eco-minded publications--"the great thermostat challenge." The gist of it is usually the same: how low can you go?? Can you handle turning your home's temp down from 72 to 68 or whatever? Can you put on more socks instead of heat?
Well I have my own challenge this year, and it's quite the opposite. Can I handle turning the thermostat up???
I propose this challenge for my own family not because we like to waste energy or money, but simply because we want to live through the winter. The family of Icy Jane would win the silly thermostat challenge almost every stinkin year. Simply because we reside in a sunless arctic climate, where the temperature is known to hover somewhere around -18 F for weeks at a time. We get zero solar / sun heat for the four coldest months, and have an old claptrap home, that is just plain futile to try and insulate.
The resulting situation is as follows: we heat with wood at night and turn off the "stove" (the only mechanical heat source in the house is one propane monitor stove in the living room). Of course by 7:00am, even with an awesome wood stove--the temp in the living room is back down to 48 by morning (or much lower--the thermostat indoors stops at 48). Not to mention the unheated bedrooms, which usually have ice in all the closets. It is quite amazing to include shaking ice off clothing as part of ones' morning ritual. Then we all jump up and down and complain for five minutes while huddling in front of the monitor stove. (including the dogs that run in frisky manic circles)
Getting too close to this little power house stove results in weird burns on my back, but it's a small price to pay, in order to actually feel heat.. After putting on two pairs of socks (one wool), long underwear and sweaters, we hop around the house some more times and continue complaining.
I do set the stove to 62 degrees--but that seems to be the temperature only in the living room. The dining room usually hovers around 52. We actually have friends in Anchorage who have told us point blank, that they refuse to come to our arctic hell hole for dinner. (they did try, bless their hearts, to pack slippers and sweaters a few times)
So our new lifestyle of choice is seeing if we can handle setting the monitor stove to 66 instead of 62! The thought of it seems so luxurious and foreign I don't know if I can handle it at all. It will certainly cost us more money, and even at 66, the bedrooms will still be icy....but if I have the gall, I may just try it this winter.
Well I have my own challenge this year, and it's quite the opposite. Can I handle turning the thermostat up???
I propose this challenge for my own family not because we like to waste energy or money, but simply because we want to live through the winter. The family of Icy Jane would win the silly thermostat challenge almost every stinkin year. Simply because we reside in a sunless arctic climate, where the temperature is known to hover somewhere around -18 F for weeks at a time. We get zero solar / sun heat for the four coldest months, and have an old claptrap home, that is just plain futile to try and insulate.
The resulting situation is as follows: we heat with wood at night and turn off the "stove" (the only mechanical heat source in the house is one propane monitor stove in the living room). Of course by 7:00am, even with an awesome wood stove--the temp in the living room is back down to 48 by morning (or much lower--the thermostat indoors stops at 48). Not to mention the unheated bedrooms, which usually have ice in all the closets. It is quite amazing to include shaking ice off clothing as part of ones' morning ritual. Then we all jump up and down and complain for five minutes while huddling in front of the monitor stove. (including the dogs that run in frisky manic circles)
Getting too close to this little power house stove results in weird burns on my back, but it's a small price to pay, in order to actually feel heat.. After putting on two pairs of socks (one wool), long underwear and sweaters, we hop around the house some more times and continue complaining.
I do set the stove to 62 degrees--but that seems to be the temperature only in the living room. The dining room usually hovers around 52. We actually have friends in Anchorage who have told us point blank, that they refuse to come to our arctic hell hole for dinner. (they did try, bless their hearts, to pack slippers and sweaters a few times)
So our new lifestyle of choice is seeing if we can handle setting the monitor stove to 66 instead of 62! The thought of it seems so luxurious and foreign I don't know if I can handle it at all. It will certainly cost us more money, and even at 66, the bedrooms will still be icy....but if I have the gall, I may just try it this winter.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Survival of the Fittest
So the Tea Party finally let their true colors show during the Republican debate. Cheering loss of life, due to lack of health insurance, was the sort of thing I knew they were up to all along.
They already unabashedly support Ayn Rands writings, who has no problem whatsoever proclaiming that the incompetent and weak should just go away and die already.
Yet what still puzzles me is this --why is the Tea Party mixing it up with the Right wing? How can you be pro-life and anti Medicaid and Medicare?? Who do you think pays for unwanted, uninsured children? Especially those with complex and expensive medical conditions? It makes no sense at all. Religious anti-abortionists, insisting disabled persons should just suck it up and pay their own way. I heard Ron Paul expressing the idea that charity and doctors in general could somehow cover the medical costs of the uninsured-- but I'm sorry to say, anyone who thinks that hasn't got a clue.
Not that I don't think people wouldn't offer to help the sick and disabled--it's just that they don't seem to understand that this population is increasing (and fast). With advances in medicine and technology--people are living with substantially more complex medical issues and costs they can't afford. There is a compassionate segment of society that understands this, and is willing to pay their share through taxes. But obviously the Tea Party has come up with their own budget minded solution: just let them die.
They already unabashedly support Ayn Rands writings, who has no problem whatsoever proclaiming that the incompetent and weak should just go away and die already.
Yet what still puzzles me is this --why is the Tea Party mixing it up with the Right wing? How can you be pro-life and anti Medicaid and Medicare?? Who do you think pays for unwanted, uninsured children? Especially those with complex and expensive medical conditions? It makes no sense at all. Religious anti-abortionists, insisting disabled persons should just suck it up and pay their own way. I heard Ron Paul expressing the idea that charity and doctors in general could somehow cover the medical costs of the uninsured-- but I'm sorry to say, anyone who thinks that hasn't got a clue.
Not that I don't think people wouldn't offer to help the sick and disabled--it's just that they don't seem to understand that this population is increasing (and fast). With advances in medicine and technology--people are living with substantially more complex medical issues and costs they can't afford. There is a compassionate segment of society that understands this, and is willing to pay their share through taxes. But obviously the Tea Party has come up with their own budget minded solution: just let them die.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Crazy Busy Post Office
The depressing news of the United States Post Office becoming obsolete (not to mention bankrupt) is everywhere today. I can certainly understand that some people have no need for it anymore--I too have suffered annoyance at opening my rural P.O. box, only to find boring bills and ridiculous political fliers inside. What's the use??
But alas, there are a few Alaskan post offices worth a visit if you don't believe they are still being utilized.
Example one: the Wasilla Post Office. Holy chickens! You can't even find a parking spot at this place, the line is slower than a snail, and everybody chats it up. Once you get through the grueling line of about 30 people, be prepared for the friendly but overly-thorough postal clerks.
Another Post Office: Palmer, AK. Palmer is the Mat-Su borough seat, so for some reason all the rural mail from Matanuska Glacier to Eklutna seems to go through here. (an area roughly the size of West Virginia)
Nevertheless, it is a common joke to meet up at the post office, especially at Christmas time --as everyone, and I mean EVERYONE will be in that line. It's the nuttiest thing ever, the line goes out the door, down the hall and the last unlucky person is smashed up against the emergency exit. I once cried at this post office, when a postal clerk told me to go to the back of the line, after I had filled out the wrong customs form.
Of course the reason for these crazy lines is due to packages. Everyone in Alaska is always sending some sort of box or receiving weird shaped items from mail order catalogs. At times, I do hear people mucking up the line by asking for money orders, or processing their passport papers to get into neighboring Canada.
If you really want to help out the Postal Service and their budget woes, buy something online that's made in Alaska, and have it shipped via USPS. Most Alaskans will begrudgingly endure hours of lines and post office chit chat, just to get you your package on time....
But alas, there are a few Alaskan post offices worth a visit if you don't believe they are still being utilized.
Example one: the Wasilla Post Office. Holy chickens! You can't even find a parking spot at this place, the line is slower than a snail, and everybody chats it up. Once you get through the grueling line of about 30 people, be prepared for the friendly but overly-thorough postal clerks.
Another Post Office: Palmer, AK. Palmer is the Mat-Su borough seat, so for some reason all the rural mail from Matanuska Glacier to Eklutna seems to go through here. (an area roughly the size of West Virginia)
Nevertheless, it is a common joke to meet up at the post office, especially at Christmas time --as everyone, and I mean EVERYONE will be in that line. It's the nuttiest thing ever, the line goes out the door, down the hall and the last unlucky person is smashed up against the emergency exit. I once cried at this post office, when a postal clerk told me to go to the back of the line, after I had filled out the wrong customs form.
Of course the reason for these crazy lines is due to packages. Everyone in Alaska is always sending some sort of box or receiving weird shaped items from mail order catalogs. At times, I do hear people mucking up the line by asking for money orders, or processing their passport papers to get into neighboring Canada.
If you really want to help out the Postal Service and their budget woes, buy something online that's made in Alaska, and have it shipped via USPS. Most Alaskans will begrudgingly endure hours of lines and post office chit chat, just to get you your package on time....
Monday, August 29, 2011
Telephone Book Woes
One day they just appeared. Our homes' strange circular driveway, with three different exit points, doesn't necessarily look conventional or make any sense. Nevertheless, that is no excuse for GCI Yellowpages to deposit two telephone books at the end of each of these driveways!
But there they were--6 telephone books total, all officially dumped and unwanted on our private property.
First I called GCI directly--they explained that they have nothing to do with telephone book delivery, and directed me to another number. (seriously, nothing to do with your own book?)
So I proceeded to call the phone book delivery agency, and they too directed me to another number. This 3rd number was actually more productive, as the lady on the other end apologized and said they would be by in a few days to pick up the unwanted 'materials'.
So I stacked the phone books neatly at the end of one driveway to await their departure.
Alas, three weeks went by, and nobody ever came by for the neglected telephone books. At this point, the relentless Alaskan rain had also soaked right through their crappy plastic wrap--resulting in a soggy, yellow mess.
I called the delivery/pick up number once again--and no real surprise here--a message informed me that this number was now out of service.
Ok, next plan. The dump would cost me $$ and wasn't the eco-choice, so I contacted recycling. They would of course take them, but again at a fee. They also rip them up into smaller pieces by hand, so the books needed to be dry.
Yikes, my books were wet and gross to boot. So on the next sunny day, I spread them out on the lawn to dry. The darn things started to dry, but not really. So I tried again, and again. But by the 4th try I realized these thick soggy suckers were not going to dry out. Instead they were developing mold and mildew--even better. These were not items I could conscientiously bring to our happy volunteer-run recycling center.
Now, our large rural property happens to have a strange sink hole. We don't know why, but it's about 4 feet wide and five feet deep. It's sort of off a trail, and not really noticeable. Nevertheless, it would probably be a good idea to begin filling it. Low and behold I happened to have 6 biodegradable telephone books handy.
I hauled the heavy, moldy books off to the sink hole---dumped them in and said good bye once and for all. I sort of neglected to tell my husband of this disposal plan, as I knew he didn't share my vision for what sort of items were "compostable" and thought paper goods should not be merrily hidden in the woods somewhere. Well I figured the leaves would soon cover up the contents of the sink hole anyway, so what was the point of telling him?
This past weekend we drove to Whittier to pick salmon berries. As we drove along the dirt road to the trail head, we dodged quite a few puddles and pot holes. I casually mentioned to my husband to maybe drive around the enormous puddles instead of through them, stating: "you know I get nervous going through deep puddles, as you never know what could be at the bottom". He turned to me and smiled, replying: "like a pile of phone books?"
But there they were--6 telephone books total, all officially dumped and unwanted on our private property.
First I called GCI directly--they explained that they have nothing to do with telephone book delivery, and directed me to another number. (seriously, nothing to do with your own book?)
So I proceeded to call the phone book delivery agency, and they too directed me to another number. This 3rd number was actually more productive, as the lady on the other end apologized and said they would be by in a few days to pick up the unwanted 'materials'.
So I stacked the phone books neatly at the end of one driveway to await their departure.
Alas, three weeks went by, and nobody ever came by for the neglected telephone books. At this point, the relentless Alaskan rain had also soaked right through their crappy plastic wrap--resulting in a soggy, yellow mess.
I called the delivery/pick up number once again--and no real surprise here--a message informed me that this number was now out of service.
Ok, next plan. The dump would cost me $$ and wasn't the eco-choice, so I contacted recycling. They would of course take them, but again at a fee. They also rip them up into smaller pieces by hand, so the books needed to be dry.
Yikes, my books were wet and gross to boot. So on the next sunny day, I spread them out on the lawn to dry. The darn things started to dry, but not really. So I tried again, and again. But by the 4th try I realized these thick soggy suckers were not going to dry out. Instead they were developing mold and mildew--even better. These were not items I could conscientiously bring to our happy volunteer-run recycling center.
Now, our large rural property happens to have a strange sink hole. We don't know why, but it's about 4 feet wide and five feet deep. It's sort of off a trail, and not really noticeable. Nevertheless, it would probably be a good idea to begin filling it. Low and behold I happened to have 6 biodegradable telephone books handy.
I hauled the heavy, moldy books off to the sink hole---dumped them in and said good bye once and for all. I sort of neglected to tell my husband of this disposal plan, as I knew he didn't share my vision for what sort of items were "compostable" and thought paper goods should not be merrily hidden in the woods somewhere. Well I figured the leaves would soon cover up the contents of the sink hole anyway, so what was the point of telling him?
This past weekend we drove to Whittier to pick salmon berries. As we drove along the dirt road to the trail head, we dodged quite a few puddles and pot holes. I casually mentioned to my husband to maybe drive around the enormous puddles instead of through them, stating: "you know I get nervous going through deep puddles, as you never know what could be at the bottom". He turned to me and smiled, replying: "like a pile of phone books?"
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Alaska Slip and Slide
For quite some time now, we have been doing the Alaska homestead thing. Not to the point of cutting off our electricity and consuming only moose meat. But more like 'homesteading lite'-- berry picking, growing whatever vegetable may survive relentless rain, and heating our drafty little home with wood.
The problem is, the wood thing is getting tiresome.
I do have a foggy recollection of the previous occupants saying something about how nice it was to finally pull out the old wood stove and get some modern oil heat...but that just sounded like old timer talk, nothing to heed as we ran out and stuck a new wood stove back in the house.
To be frank --it's actually a beautiful thing--our modern stove, with low smoke & odor. It's also one of the nicest ways to spend those relentless 18 hour Alaska nights--cuddling by the stove, doing puzzles, watching TV.
The problem is-- those darn cords of wood. People who romanticize wood burning just don't understand how large a cord of wood is (I just looked it up--128 cubic feet). And you need at least that much wood if you want a full month of burn time in a drafty Alaskan house.
There is the process of wood cutting, measuring, splitting with a maul, etc. until you get to stacking. Stacking a cord of birch is like playing Jenga with 15 pound weights. The whole pile can easily topple over on your foot, hand or other body part--leaving you no choice but to start again, except now you have an injury. On top of that--this year's wood pile happened to have interesting molds and mushroom growths, along with the occasional weird ass giant bug. Speaking of bugs, the worst of course are the ubiquitous mosquitoes--stinging happily along your sweaty hair line, as you are stacking said wood.
Last Saturday we were partaking in this family fun fest, and the temperature actually rose to a balmy 72 degrees. On a sunny Alaskan day, 72 easily gets too hot to continue endlessly with wood work. Thus a diversion was set up--the Slip and Slide.
There really is nothing that unusual about setting up a Slip and Slide--just attach the garden hose and you are good to go. This particular model also happened to have a small wading pool that filled at the bottom of the slide--for added splash fun. I chose to sit out the actual sliding part--(heeding the warning about the risk of life long disability) -however I did stick my feet into the wading pool part. As usual I felt the shock of our well water take over, turn my legs red and force me to leap out of the frigid water. I was watching the others purposely slide repeatedly into this pool of glacial water--and decided it was time to measure the water's temperature. Our spring is fed from a glacial river, originating from a large prehistoric ice chunk just 11 miles upriver. We have often wondered, just what temperature was the water feeding the sprinkler, faucet and wading pool? Seemed unusually chilly. So I finally stuck a good thermometer into the Slip and Slide pool--and low and behold watched it drop to a nice and balmy 39 degrees F. Do they call child services for stuff like that in the Lower 48?
The problem is, the wood thing is getting tiresome.
I do have a foggy recollection of the previous occupants saying something about how nice it was to finally pull out the old wood stove and get some modern oil heat...but that just sounded like old timer talk, nothing to heed as we ran out and stuck a new wood stove back in the house.
To be frank --it's actually a beautiful thing--our modern stove, with low smoke & odor. It's also one of the nicest ways to spend those relentless 18 hour Alaska nights--cuddling by the stove, doing puzzles, watching TV.
The problem is-- those darn cords of wood. People who romanticize wood burning just don't understand how large a cord of wood is (I just looked it up--128 cubic feet). And you need at least that much wood if you want a full month of burn time in a drafty Alaskan house.
There is the process of wood cutting, measuring, splitting with a maul, etc. until you get to stacking. Stacking a cord of birch is like playing Jenga with 15 pound weights. The whole pile can easily topple over on your foot, hand or other body part--leaving you no choice but to start again, except now you have an injury. On top of that--this year's wood pile happened to have interesting molds and mushroom growths, along with the occasional weird ass giant bug. Speaking of bugs, the worst of course are the ubiquitous mosquitoes--stinging happily along your sweaty hair line, as you are stacking said wood.
Last Saturday we were partaking in this family fun fest, and the temperature actually rose to a balmy 72 degrees. On a sunny Alaskan day, 72 easily gets too hot to continue endlessly with wood work. Thus a diversion was set up--the Slip and Slide.
There really is nothing that unusual about setting up a Slip and Slide--just attach the garden hose and you are good to go. This particular model also happened to have a small wading pool that filled at the bottom of the slide--for added splash fun. I chose to sit out the actual sliding part--(heeding the warning about the risk of life long disability) -however I did stick my feet into the wading pool part. As usual I felt the shock of our well water take over, turn my legs red and force me to leap out of the frigid water. I was watching the others purposely slide repeatedly into this pool of glacial water--and decided it was time to measure the water's temperature. Our spring is fed from a glacial river, originating from a large prehistoric ice chunk just 11 miles upriver. We have often wondered, just what temperature was the water feeding the sprinkler, faucet and wading pool? Seemed unusually chilly. So I finally stuck a good thermometer into the Slip and Slide pool--and low and behold watched it drop to a nice and balmy 39 degrees F. Do they call child services for stuff like that in the Lower 48?
Monday, June 20, 2011
Gluten, Dairy, Egg Free Rhubarb Pie
I was recently challenged to harvest the vast amounts of rhubarb from our yard and create an allergen free pie. Somehow, to my own amazement, a very good dessert came out of it. Here's the recipe:
Ingredients:
One 8oz. package gluten free cinnamon cookies (we used Jo-Sef Brand)
2 1/2 cups minced fresh rhubarb
one 11 oz. jar strawberry preserves
1 or 1 1/4 cup sugar (more to taste)
1/2 teaspoon salt
Topping:
approx. 2 tablespoons shortening (whatever you like--butter, lard, oil)
1 tablespoon cinnamon
3 tablespoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons tapioca flour
Crush about 6 oz. or 3/4 of the box of cinnamon cookies into crumbs.
Spread these crumbs along the bottom of a pie tin or pie pan.
Mix together the minced rhubarb, strawberry preserves, sugar and salt.
Pour this mixture over the cookie crumb crust.
In a small stove top pot (cooking at low heat) combine shortening, brown sugar, tapioca flour and cinnamon. Let it melt and mix together, then sprinkle over the rhubarb filling evenly. It's ok if it doesn't coat completely, and add more sugar/cinnamon or flour to taste.
Cook in preheated oven at 425 F (uncovered) for 10 minutes.
Lower heat to 350 and bake an additional 40 minutes.
Let cool and serve with rice cream or ice cream.
Ingredients:
One 8oz. package gluten free cinnamon cookies (we used Jo-Sef Brand)
2 1/2 cups minced fresh rhubarb
one 11 oz. jar strawberry preserves
1 or 1 1/4 cup sugar (more to taste)
1/2 teaspoon salt
Topping:
approx. 2 tablespoons shortening (whatever you like--butter, lard, oil)
1 tablespoon cinnamon
3 tablespoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons tapioca flour
Crush about 6 oz. or 3/4 of the box of cinnamon cookies into crumbs.
Spread these crumbs along the bottom of a pie tin or pie pan.
Mix together the minced rhubarb, strawberry preserves, sugar and salt.
Pour this mixture over the cookie crumb crust.
In a small stove top pot (cooking at low heat) combine shortening, brown sugar, tapioca flour and cinnamon. Let it melt and mix together, then sprinkle over the rhubarb filling evenly. It's ok if it doesn't coat completely, and add more sugar/cinnamon or flour to taste.
Cook in preheated oven at 425 F (uncovered) for 10 minutes.
Lower heat to 350 and bake an additional 40 minutes.
Let cool and serve with rice cream or ice cream.
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