Northern Vista

Yesterday a black bear got into our chicken coop. I was at work, and Ashlee came home from dropping Elias off at school to see the black bear in the chicken run with a chicken in its mouth. She grabbed River and drove down to her mom’s house to call her brother-in-law. He came over, grabbed a gun, and went up the hill to our property and shot the bear.

In that fifteen minute span, the black bear (who was pretty small) got inside the coop through the chicken door. The carnage was indescribable. Truly awful. The bear killed or maimed 22 of my chickens. Only five survived: two meat chickens and three of the laying hens. The meat birds were only days away from being butchered, so I spent yesterday afternoon putting well over 100 lbs of chicken meat into the garbage can — a waste of hundreds of pounds of chicken feed, and months of work.

Needless to say, I’m disheartened. It’s the second troublesome bear we’ve had hanging around this year. Between our steep lot, our bear problems, and the short growing season of living in Alaska, there’s a whole extra layer of difficulty added to the passions I’m trying to pursue, and it’s hard not to get frustrated…

Worse, Elias called me while I was coming home from hunting last night, crying and telling me how much he misses his chickens. His heartbreak was, in many ways, the worst part of the whole ordeal.

When I got home last night, I petting the three remaining laying hens as I closed the coop for the night. We’ll be fixing the fence this weekend, making the chicken coop entrance significantly smaller so that bears cannot get in, and looking for a few replacement layers.

And I echo Elias’ words: “I really miss my chickens.”

Elias and I headed out on his first salmon trip this morning. Waking at 4:30, Elias was groggy but excited. We drove an hour south to a creek that a neighbor friend had suggested as a kid-friendly salmon fishing hole. Arriving by six, we situated ourselves above an emerald-colored side stream teeming with salmon.

Elias hooked is first fish on the third cast. It was all Elias could do to keep his rod tip up and try to reel the fish in at the same time; eventually he gave up reeling and just started backing up the bank. The look of determination — and fear — on  his face was priceless. Surprised that he caught one so quickly, I grabbed the net and hoisted the fish onto the shore. Elias beemed with pride.

Over the course of the morning we caught several other pink salmon.

(While not as good of eating as sockeye or coho, Elias was extremely proud to be bringing home fish for his family. In fact, on the walk back he commented, “We have so much meat for the freezer. We’ll be in good shape for the winter.”)

A couple of hours later, it was clear Elias’ arm was getting tired from so much casting, and we had caught his limit of fish. We headed back to the car, stopped at a local bakery for donuts and coffee, and headed home. Elias fell asleep within minutes.

Season of Plenty

Tonight we’re eating Elias’ salmon with home-grown dill, as well as broccoli and salad from the garden. It’s the season of plenty here in Alaska. It seems to last only a few weeks, but there is a feeling of abundance in the air. In a couple weeks it will be time to go moose hunting, butcher the chickens,and watch as the snow line slowly descends from the mountains.

Last week Ashlee came out of the house, face to face with a black bear about 15ft away. Needless to say, it surprised her. The next night we heard the dog barking her “bear bark” whenever a bear is in the yard. We got up, but couldn’t see the bear. The next morning, I left the house to get some coffee and fill up the gas tank. Once I got back, I came inside for a about twenty minutes and then went out to check on my chickens. In the span of those twenty minutes, the bear had gotten into the trash (which had not been properly latched) and had spread garbage everywhere. Understandably, I was on edge to have the black bear visiting in the middle of the day.

About two hours later, I came outside again, and there was the black bear, sitting in the yard looking at me. I ran inside, grabbed the gun, and shot him as he sauntered up our driveway. (Black bear hunting is open year-round where I live.) It was a clean shot and he didn’t go far.

The neighbor came over and helped me drag him into the driveway where I could butcher him.

The boys looking tough next to the unwelcome guest.

This bear had been harassing the neighborhood for weeks. It had killed another neighbor’s chickens and had been getting way too close to humans. Upon skinning him, I found that this wasn’t the first time this bear had gotten himself into trouble either. I found 80-90 pieces of bird shot in his face and one of his front quarters. It had been there a while, so this bear had taken a shotgun blast to the face and had still not been deterred from eating garbage and killing chickens. Needless to say, a number of neighbors are glad to see him gone.

The meat is really good too! It’s the first bear I’ve eaten and it’s very mild, if a bit chewy. Above all, it’s nice not to have to worry about a troublesome bear in the yard with my kids.

In other news, we’re done fishing for the year. I went dipnetting on the Copper River (with only marginal success) and spent a week dipnetting on the Kenai River, which is enjoying a record run. The freezer is getting full, the garden is starting to produce nicely, and there’s a tinge of fall in the air.

Next up: berry picking in order to make my annual currant-raspberry mead.

School got out last Friday, and I haven’t stopped moving since. Summers here in Alaska are way too short — and there’s far too much daylight — to slow down. I rented a big excavator this weekend to improve our yard and parking on our outrageously steep mountainside lot.

Before.

After.

It’s tough to see, but we ended up terracing the whole yard into four large terraces. We finally have flat space to someday put in a garden, build a chicken coop, and build a greenhouse!

A couple of the terraces

Lowest and second-lowest terrace

As if that weren’t enough, I put in my garden over the past two days…I may have gone a little overboard. I planted far more cabbage and broccoli than I ever have. I also planted more corn and pumpkins than last year, and tilled a large area to plant 60lbs of potatoes and some acorn squash.

The bees are doing well: I checked up on them a couple weeks ago (and again on Sunday) and the queen is laying eggs, which is a huge relief. The first flowers (dandelions) have blossomed, so the bees are busy gathering what nectar and pollen they can.

Notice the bee with the bright yellow balls of pollen on his back legs. They feed the pollen to the young.

Ashlee and the boys are fascinated by the bees. It sounds as if Ashlee is interested in being the family beekeeper next year. Elias wants to help too!

Because the adventures never end in Alaska, we’re in the process of packing up for our yearly halibut fishing trip: three days of camping on the beach and a year’s supply of delicious bottomfish!

I LOVE SUMMER!

Last Wednesday, I went to check on my bees. Confidently, I put on my makeshift beekeeping suit: my rain jacket, snow pants, hiking boots, leather gloves, and a cheap mosquito head net. Like a dutiful beekeeer,  I brought over 25lbs of sugar, lovingly filled up their feeder, and watched my 14,000 cute, fuzzy children wander around in the hive.

But I couldn’t help help myself.

I wanted discover if I could see any bee eggs in the comb to make sure the queen was laying, even though I had just introduced the bees four days earlier.

I opened the top cover to reveal a swarming mass of honey bees, clearly bother by my intrusion. The entire colony buzzed at me angrily and dozens of them began to shoot themselves at me, landing on my headnet, hands, and arms.

I tried to get one of the frames out of the hive to check for eggs. Using my pry bar, I began to lift the frame out of the hive. As I attempted to lift it out, it broke with a sickening crunch, and a comb full of bees fell angrily to the bottom of the hive. Because the spacing is so tight in bee hives, I had to remove another frame full of bees before I could reach the broken frame. Gingerly, I brushed the bees off of the first frame, hoping I had not accidentally killed the queen.

Then I felt it: the soft tickling of insect feet on my skin. All of a sudden my confidence turned to cold truth.

Beekeeping books say that as a beekeeper, one is supposed to move slowly and methodically when working around bees. All such zen-like thoughts completely left me as I felt bee feet moving up my back. They had got in. Milliseconds later I felt the sting. And I did what any other rational person would do: I dropped everything and ran. Fast. Brutally punching myself in the back where I had been stung. I ran across the yard — a grown, bearded man in snowpants fleeing in terror from bugs. My sense of imperviousness (to say nothing of my sense of pride) had been shattered…

I think I’ll go back tonight, ask them for forgiveness, and offer them some sugar water.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the last year of my life. The past 12 months have brought a lot of exciting changes to my family and I, and something about the long daylight hours and the feel of spring is making me reflective.

This time last year, we were just moving into the house. We spent three long years building. My hand has touched every piece of wood, every wire, every nail that holds this house together. And although it seemed like an impossibly long project, I’ll never forget the feeling of sleeping in our house the first night. In our home. That we built.

It was about this time last year that I graduated from grad school. After a long and very intense year that took me away from my family and away from my passions, I remember the feeling of relief and accomplishment that I had made it through, and that I had met some extraordinary friends along the way.

Finally, it was about this time last year that we found out that Ashlee was expecting our third child…talk about a big surprise! I remember, before we found out she was pregnant,  feeling that our family had finally come to a place of stability: I was going to be starting a career, the boys were no longer toddlers, and we were finally in our house. Everything was coming to a culmination at once.

Aurora Grace

Well, I guess we’re a family that needs adventure, because our third little adventure came into this world this past January. She’s amazing. I’m incredibly excited (and terrified) to have a daughter. She fits perfectly into our little family, and is such a sweet, sweet little baby. More than that, it’s amazing to see my wife with her. Ashlee’s calling in life is to be a mother, and there is nothing more pure and good and real in this whole world than the sight of my wife singing softly to my daughter. The other day, I watched them for an hour from the other room. The sunshine was falling over Ashlee’s shoulders and dark brown hair as she sat on the bed folding laundry. Aurora lay on one side of her and her laptop on the other.  She kept playing “Tiny Dancer” on her computer, singing it softly to Aurora. I’ll never forget the way she smiled as she sang, love shining in both their eyes.

It’s been a really good year.

It’s still gray and lifeless here in AK, but one can tell that the earth is almost trembling in anticipation of spring. So am I…

Sweet corn starts

Rhubarb sprouts

The seedling rack