Across the great divide (well, a divide anyway)

Between Miles 13 and 14 of the Old Glenn Highway lies the divide separating the Matanuska and Knik valleys.  It has been more defined at times but in the same place on other days.

Several posts on this blog mention that at times the temperature here at the house will be 10 to 20 degrees colder than in town just 10 miles away and today was no exception. Fifteen below at the house, just about zero in town.  The geography of that circumstance has slowly been revealing itself over the years and today a distinct border was blatantly obvious.

But first a bit of geography.  That geography of the Matanuska-Sustina Borough is first defined by two valleys, the Matanuska River Valley and the Susitna River Valley.  It has always been an irritation that people and most of the area media refer to it as the Mat-Su Valley or just "The Valley."

Having lived in the Upper Susitna Valley (that's where the East Pole is) where the residents take the distinction seriously, I have always tried to use "valleys" or the specific valley.  Since moving here, I have discovered there is a third valley, the Knik River Valley.  Each of these has distinct weather patterns.  Most often, it will be coldest in the Knik Valley but with little snow and even less wind.  To the west, the Matanuska Valley, in the middle, suffers hellacious wind storms and receives very little snow.  

What there is usually blows away in the next wind blasts.  To the west and north, the Susitna Valley often is warmer and it receives more snow.  No mountain ranges define the distinctions between the valleys  at their lower ends and most of them are on relatively the same plane.  They are more defined by drainages.

For instance you would have to work at it to define the divide between the Matanuska Valley and the Knik Valley.  I doubt there is 20 feet difference in elevation along the road between the two.  Still whatever that difference is, it creates different weather patterns.

All that is to get to the discovery recently of the actual dividing line, a line made subtlely obvious as seen in the attached photograph which I took today.  Note to the right of center (east) the hoar frost in the trees.  And then the left (west) while there is some snow on the branches there is little or no hoar frost. 

The National Snow and Ice Center defines hoar frost this way:

Hoarfrost A deposit of interlocking ice crystals (hoar crystals) formed by direct sublimation on objects, usually those of small diameter freely exposed to the air, such as tree branches, plant stems and leaf edges, wires, poles, etc., which surface is sufficiently cooled, mostly by nocturnal radiation, to cause the direct sublimation of the water vapor contained in the ambient air.

 At the divide, at least two elements could create the phenomenon of the diffence on each side of the line.  One is that it is colder to the east, which is the Knik Valley, and that most likely creates conditions more conducive to the formation of hoar frost.  The other is that it is windier to the west in the Matanuska Valley and what hoar frost does develop is whipped off the trees.

Why bother with all this.  Curiosity.  Fascination.  Perhaps a need to understand.  What's next?  Explore and find one spot with the calm of the Knik Valley the warmth of the Matanuska (when the wind isn't blowing) and the snow of the Susitna.  Perfection.

An eve of Christmas past

For the first time in maybe eight years, I sat  down at a bar tonight.  For most of my adult life a drought even eight days long probably would have been unheard of.  I had arrived early to meet my son, daughter and son in law for a Christmas dinner, meeting in a restaurant because we were all going our separate ways for the holiday.

As I pulled the stool back I might have stumbled a little and it created some motion in my peripheral vision.  That sort of vision used to be vital for any foray into a bar in younger days.  And, this time it had not failed me because there on a stool just one empty one removed from mine sat a beautiful young woman who had turned and gave me a bright smile, then turned back to what she was doing.  The old habits of that peripheral vision had not failed me.  I hesitated for a moment thinking I might take the stool right next to her, laughed silently to myself and sat where I had originally planned.

I ordered a single malt on the rocks to sip until my kids showed up and had the first sip of scotch in nine months.  The slight familiar burn and then warmth felt good and, relaxed a bit, I turned to take in the surroundings. 

It was then I discovered just how much my old familiar world had changed.  Where in a past incarnation I might have tried to strike up a conversation with the woman, maybe offer to buy her a drink, that was not going to happen this night and not just because I was probably at least twice her age.  The thing she had turned back to look at was a Smartphone and she was avidly typing in some text.  A couple of stools farther to her right, another nice looking young woman was doing the same.  To my left a young man also was staring into the light of his phone.  Pretty soon I was doing the same, texting my daughter to let her know I had arrived early and had settled in at the bar.  And then of course I had to check email, and why not see who's been on facebook and pretty soon I was as mesmerized with my phone as was everyone else along the bar. The smartphone had taken over what used to be, well, more social.  How does a guy break into that to say "hey, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

It was such a far cry from times I had spent in other bars at other Christmases.  I liked to wait until the last possible day to shop.  I would go downtown, shop for a while and then head for a favorite bar; in Buffalo it was Jew Murphey's and Anchorage the Club Paris. Both  are or were in the case of Murphy's located in the downtown shopping area in their respective cities. I would wander stores with my list buying things until I couldn't stand it any longer.  At that point I went to the bar.  I had a couple of drinks, enjoyed the atmosphere until I relaxed, then asked the bartender to keep my parcels behind the bar and ventured out again and shopped for a while.

The day would progress like that, shopping in between interludes at the bar.  Toward afternoon as offices let out the places would fill.  At Murphy's, particularly around Christmas, somebody high from an office party would take up the piano and soon enthusiastic song would fill the place.  Club Paris was quieter but with the same sort of crowd.

One year  in early evening Christmas Eve I was sitting next to a woman who also was sipping a drink.  We started talking a little and she said she was having trouble finding something for her father.  She said he lived Outside and  she liked to send him something that said "Alaska."  I wrote down the name of a book of mine and told her to go next door to the book store and buy a copy.  If she didn't like it I would make it right.  To my surprise she did it.  When she came back she showed me the book and asked me what was so special about it.  I said, "How about if I sign it for your father."  She had a proper reaction.  We talked for a bit more and then she thanked me and said she had to leave.  All the while she had a wrapped package on the bar next to her.  She handed it to me and said Merry Christmas.  Later on it turned out to be  a box of matching wine glasses. 

After she left I went shopping again, but I had run out of steam and returned to the bar within an hour, knowing shopping was over for the day.  It being late evening, the bar had filled and I sat down on the only open stool which happened to be next to another woman, this one closer to my own age.  We struck up a conversation and she was lamenting the fact that she couldn't find a nice red sweater for Christmas.  It just so happened I had noticed a display of them on my last tour.  I told her I had seen some in JC Penney right across the street and where they were in the store.  She said she was desperate and would go look.

The bartender laughed at me.  "That's the second one you talked to who ran out of here," he said.

But this one came back.  She was quite happy; she had found a sweater she liked.  She sat down and bought us both drinks.  We talked for some time as the conversation turned personal heading for intimate. Being who I am, I considered, but I could be fairly certain my new wife was not going to appreciate me giving myself this sort of Christmas present.  So, when the woman very seriously invited me to leave with her, well, I declined as graciously as I could, given how sorely tempted I was.  Live to shop another day, I guess.

Thinking back on it now, I have to wonder how that interlude would have gone in the age of smartphones.  Frankly after what I saw tonight, I doubt any of it would have happened. It just doesn't compute.

JUST A SIDE NOTE:  My son is coming here for Christmas dinner.  On the way home I got to thinking about him driving the same route and came to a realization.  Good grief I am the one now who lives over the river and through the woods.  Literally.

How do monks who have taken a vow of silence perform the Hallelujah Chorus?

Just to start the season off with a smile:



Hint: It shows better if you make it full screen.

Wait, did I dream I lived in a gingerbread house?

Home, sweet gingerbread home. The blue roof, the orca cutout on the front, moose in the yard, and yes, there is usually some wood to be split right about where she put it off to the left.

Another view with
the artist's cousin on his
snowmachine.

The front of the house with the
Orca cutout on the door.

My niece is halfway through her second year in a school for chefs.  

Slowly as I was coming awake this morning and checking facebook this note showed up and then the ensuing conversation.  Her project is a gingerbread house which I recognized almost immediately.

She and her significant other had visited there a couple of years ago.  She built this scenario mostly from memory (but admitted to a few peeks at the Internet) and the detail is pretty amazing.  I am putting explanations in the photo captions, so bear with us.

Here is a portion of the conversation as it went on facebook:

Niece: go look at pics i just put up

11:26am

The north side of the house.  The wood stacked under the house is
right where i put it. The design in the large window is
supposed to be the reflection of Mount McKinley.

Me: Love it.

do you mind if i share?

11:26am

Niece: go for it

11:27am

Me with a wiseass comment or two about my influence on your tender young mind

11:27am

Niece: well of course!

11:27am

Me the blue roof is the giveaway

11:27am

Niece: not the orca?

11:27am

Me  OMG i hadn't noticed that

11:27am

Niece: the blue roof almost didn't happen...  I had to look at the pics you have up on the web last night to make sure the colors were clos-ish

11:28am

This is the view of Mount McKinley from that window.

Me closish enough

wow that is just amazing.

11:28am

Niece: eh, there was some artistic license in there

11:28am

Me I am going to have to look for a picture with the orca on the door to compare

11:29am

Niece: everyone else was doing more traditional gingerbread houses...  I wanted one that told a story

11:29am

Me of course there always is......  but the story of a reclusive uncle?

11:29am

Niece:  or the Uncle who lives far away and has neato adventures

I almost hid a bear in the outhouse but decided against it

The back of the house. I love the candy cane pilings
supporting it.

Then there was this exchange about the quality of the work.

Niece:  i am way too critical

judging is tomorrow morning

11:32am

Me: ok let me know

11:32am

Niece:  mine is the most lively, but not the most clean

 11:32am

One of those chores that has to be done when we have
a heavy snow winter, shoveling the roof.  One winter
there was seven feet on it. Isn't the smoke 
coming out of the chimney cool?

Me: ok here is how to express that.   this is a rustic scene.   when building in the bush nothing is ever square and level lol (especially if it has stood there for almost 30 years and endured several earthquakes)

It is to be judged for her class work and then if she wins there, it will go to a city-wide competition, a cheffy thing as the artist says

And last, the raven in the spruce with a snowmachine
standing by.

To be honest I was knocked over.  How neat is all I can think of to say.

  

Thank you, Celeste, you just put a smile in Christmas.


AN UPDATE: This from the artist a few days later:  "End of the story I did not win.  Not sure of how the judging went down but a friend of mine did win so that was a happy thing.  Our Chef instructor said we all got A's and it was the best group of houses they have had in years to choose from."

However, she won with an A+ with a tougher bunch of judges, the Jones Family.

Winter warmth in the age of recycling

 One of the drawbacks of the layoff from the newspaper last February didn't become evident until just a few days ago when the pile of fire-starting newspapers dwindled to nothing.  There was always a ready supply of discarded papers to bring home for that purpose, but the pile hasn’t been replenished since then.  It actually takes more newspapers these days.  The shrinking of papers in the era of electronic journalism led one old Alaska hand to complain, "there ain't enough paper in one to start a good fire."

This seemingly endless period of days when the temperature stays between zero and minus 20, ate up the supply left over from last winter pretty quickly.

Faced with building one of those Boy Scout fires with a little teepee of sticks and some tinder made of crumpled up tiny spruce twigs, which was not going to happen, the search began for a new supply.  So, with the temperature up to a warm minus 10 the first stop was the neighborhood transfer station.  The lady there was very helpful, saying, no, no newspaper there, but try the recycling center to which she furnished the map.  A quick perusal showed it was an old map and the center hadn't been where the  map showed for at least three or four years.

A 15-mile trip to the borough landfill led to the center which was just down the road, fortunately. At the center a very pleasant woman said, yes, indeed, there was newspaper available  She pointed the way, produced  a pair of noise suppression ear protectors, a bright orange safety vest and indicated a door that opened into the main plant.  In there after a few shouts back and forth with an also ear-protected forklift driver, he pointed out a pallet filled with already bundled throwaway newspapers.  Better than a treasure chest!

Two of those bundles looked sufficient especially now that a ready supply was just a few miles away, but on the way out that nice woman called and said you have to pay for those.

What?

She must have picked up on that first reaction because she called out the person responsible for the collection.  He quickly began explaining why they charged, mostly, he said it was to keep track of how much material the recycling center has kept out of landfills.

A dollar a bundle didn't seem all that bad, particularly when it was going to such a worthy operation.  What followed was a conversation about all the uses the people had found for recycled materials.  But he hadn't thought of the use of newsprint for starting fires.  He seemed open to the idea of getting one of those rollers and producing newsprint logs.

But he did point this out: From January to September this year the recycling center diverted and processed 1,132 tons of material, sold another 8 tons through the reuse store, like those two bundles of newspaper; and, kept another 300 tons of recovered resources out of the landfill by indirect means.  One of those was material for making building insulation. All in all this little recycling center hidden away in an obscure part of the group of valleys in the borough, kept 1,440 tons of all kinds of refuse out of the landfill.

That and making the fire now warming this little house much easier to build.

END NOTE: For those in the area, the (Matanuska-Susitna) Valley Community for Recycling Solutions plans an open house beginning at 1 p.m. Dec. 21 complete with Santa and Mrs. Claus to explain recycling for the kids.  The date also celebrates two years since the center opened.

Creeping white death

It's been zero or below it seems like forever now, probably a month.  Today it has been 20 below just about all day.  Might have gone up to minus 10 for a while,  all of it leading to literary inspirations like this one:

Cold crept across the land like a misty white shroud of death, leaving only a mortal silence, a silence similar to what a man must leave at the moment of passing.  But unlike the man whom others would take away, the cold stayed, its frost coating the tree limbs and twigs, a hole in one trunk frosty all the way around as if the tree exhaled there and its breath froze. A slight covering of snow provided the only music and that only when one stepped on it. That crunch of shattering flakes of ice and the frozen leaves underneath signaling the passage of anything heavy enough to crush the crystals something that seldom happens in the immobilization of the world at this temperature.

How much wood could a woodpecker peck if a woodpecker could peck wood

 Ten below zero today but still had a new visitor.  Well, not new, but he stuck around today and I went outside and stalked a little.  It is either a hairy or a three-toed woodpecker.  They look very much alike.  I noticed on the earlier shots with the downy on the feeder and now this one, look how they stabilize their position on the tree with their tail feathers.

Here's a gallery of more shots of this one today plus others that have visited this winter so far.

On an unrelated note: There's a new gadget on this blog at the bottom of this column.  Take a look and if you want to see whose writing yours resembles, click the link.  I am all OK with who I resemble.  My friend who writes a lot of nonfiction wildlife and adventure books, got Rudyard Kipling.  See what yours is like and post it as a comment.