You can, alas, ski too much. Or rather, if you ski for three hours and then go to work several days in a row, you will likely grow quite fatigued. But it's tough to let warm days go by without enjoying the snow. The sun has rebounded with shocking speed, we've traded pink-fringed sunset mountaintops for bright midday glare, and (lately) you don't even really need a jacket. A few of us crossed the frozen Koyukuk to snowshoe-flail a path up the base of Coldfoot Mountain, and upon return found a bit of slush in our footprints.
We've started meeting in one coworker's room to listen to jazz and drink home brewed blackberry hooch. Club 26 features a string of xmas lights and a few fake succulents for ambience. Tonight we burned incense and pretended it was sophisticated cigarette smoke. We're also planning a "funeral" for a departing coworker, to celebrate her time here, to have an excuse for a good dinner and party, to maybe read aloud some poetry and build a small igloo of ice blocks that another coworker has been carefully molding and stockpiling.
Aaaaaand...I'm getting pretty jazzed to go to France. In about three weeks I'll leave this diesel-soaked boreal paradise of endless deep-fried delights, and have a crack at la vie en rose.
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