Also, I baked a very tasty chocolate cake.

I know I can be very tardy getting back to comments, but I could really use your feedback, friend-readers.  After a 15-year hiatus, I'm going to regularly spend time in a gym.  It felt really good to get the fan whirring on the rowing machine, but I broke down in confused laughter several times because I just couldn't find the right tunes.  In normal life I'm pretty picky and, I'll be honest, judgmental about music.  But the rules don't apply for kitchen jobs or the gym.  I had a good streak of Lady Gaga songs, and a bit of luck with remixed-for-120-140bpm-90s-pop-hits, but dozens of workout playlists were ridiculous and/or awful.  I'll stand by my No Rap, No Country policy, but otherwise I'm desperate for your suggestions.  (Or maybe I'll just loop "Born This Way" for 45 minutes.)

That's really my only problem.  Otherwise, life is good in the way north.  I mean, stumbling across the snowy path to the rickety pallet you stand on to dump the old fryer oil promises to continue being a weekly issue for me, but there are some basic solutions I can employ, like letting it cool off first, and walking slower.  Ditto with cold hands while skiing: bring extra gloves.

Looking over a few notes from the past weeks, two fantastic things happened that restored my faith in civilization -- the election results, and my friend helping me obtain a space heater for my room.  I'm fairly self-reliant (and experienced with wearing several sweaters at once), but being able to count on and contribute to our communities and shared resources truly strengthens us.

This is a really charming cabin the summer forest service people live in.  Look at the snow!!!

Dusk is now happening about 4:15pm, and it is lovely.

Interior

Rather than feeling on the outskirts, the edge of habitation, Coldfoot has the sense of being at the center.  Of course, yes, it is a hub, the only coffee around for 250 miles in any direction, but it's also in almost a bowl, surrounded by mountains, the sun revolving around it in a low arc.  And in the camp is a den of repurposed construction trailers, and in that den is my room, and in my room is a pile of clothes semi-successfully insulating a human.

It's actually pretty nice out (10-20F), often sunny and rarely even a breath of wind.  That stillness adds to the centrality of interiority: my snow-crunching steps generate the only sound, and that sound radiates out.  I mean, there's the occasional bird flitting past, a stream burbling nearby, the weary farting of a truck engine braking along the highway -- but you don't have to go far into the woods for triangulation points to melt away and a little sphere of "you are here" to reorient where the median is.

This all sounds pretty ego-centric; rather, I mean it in the way of my old pal Emerson and his transparent-eyeball theory (you'll have to google it, hyperlinks are beyond my ability on the phone).  I'm certainly not the center of the universe, nor is Coldfoot.  But here is accessible a sense of the center, the interior of the interior.

And evidently this generates in me a strong desire for tuna melts.  With an entire diner menu at my disposal (they're feeding me while I quarantine for a week), that is the sustenance my soul yearns for.

a very winding river

some very frosty fireweeed

some sunny peaks behind some fog

Fallin'

Well ok, then.  The twists and turns and reversals of fortune that this year has brought upon us have shaken out at long-last to take me to Coldfoot, AK, for the winter.  Wherefore, thou enquirest?  Because cold and auroras and another stint as Egg Lady.  Fingers crossed there won't be any oatmeal to-go at this job...

So I will have to continue to live vicariously through friends lucky enough to be in Antarctica this go around.  (Kelly, make sure to pat the tiny frog on the troll bridge for me, for good luck.)  -However, I will ski and listen to lots of Ween at work and be mostly cut off from the rest of the world, so there's plenty of similarities.

There is no way to overstate how wonderful it is that allergies are done for the year.  Not only can I reliably breathe without liquid trickling down my face, but being able to smell things and not wake up dry-mouthed and headache-y from drug-addled dreams really puts the spring back in one's step.

Cute guy we foraged.

St. James and harbor, Beaver Island, on a little impromptu trip with mom and dad

P.S. - Blogger is fucking everything up so I can't format anything.  I know the first paragraph is justified but I can't undo it; the pictures don't belong at the end; the captions are mismatched.  But nothing I do will fix it.  Boooo.

Fun With Fungi

After a multi-day journey to New Zealand, 14-day quarantine, and two-week weather delay, the first new crop of people to arrive in Antarctica since February finally made it.  At about the same time, the mainbody crew of summer people left the states to follow.  Alas, no last-minute spot opened for me (the usual 1,000 has been trimmed to 300, and my position was cut).  So, I will contrive my own version of cold, remote, idiosyncratic life.  Hardly any mail, let alone packages, will make it to my guy working there, so if you'd like to enjoy the spoils of my compulsion to produce baked goods and postcards, just say the word.

It actually tastes like chicken!

The mosquitoes are finally gone and these wet woods are ideal for exploring.

While the rest of the country smolders in forest fires or drowns in tropical storms, northern Michigan chugs along with autumn's changing leaves and prolific mushroom fruiting.  We've found scads of oysters, huge florets of chicken-of-the-woods, and legions of tender puffballs.  Dad wants to find honeys, and it's about time to check the spot where we've found lion's mane.  Mom has the sharpest eye by far, and the sometimes-sly half-smile hints she's waiting to see if we'll spot our quarry.

ventus aestatis

As someone who generally eschews technology, I have been surprised by how much I appreciate video chat. I prefer my newspapers in physical form, I stubbornly whip cream by hand, and I am writing this with a pen.* But being able to not only converse but also to see the myriad shading of expressions -- the familiar mapping and choreography of facial features -- is wonderfully connective.

*Ok, I did get a new phone, and a functioning phone number.  Limited time offer, call me now!  This is my third phone in 16 years.

The lake levels are historically high so I walked the Suburban where the river meets the bay.

I've also been connecting with wind and water, cycling the coastal roads, paddling parallel to the shore, walking alongside orchards and vineyards when I think no one will see me trespassing, and checking out the far north of the UP with mom and dad.  My little tent and rainfly did great in a thunderstorm, and though we later retreated to a hotel, we swam in Lake Superior and ate pasties and foraged for firewood like you should.

rock islands near Copper Harbor

The driftwood didn't burn so well but there was plenty in the woods.

Houghton is surprisingly similar in style to the towns around Pittsburgh.  -Joanna, I thought of you and your "sisu" shirt here in Finn country.

Grand Junc Railroad

Like my high school senior class motto, I'll say "It seemed like a good idea at the time."  Flying sucks.  Sitting around in airports with a mask on totally sucks.  I like trains, and despite several lackluster Amtrak journeys of yore, I decided to take the (historically) renowned Zephyr from Grand Junction, CO, to Chicago, and then the Blue Water Limited to Kalamazoo.

columbines perched on Crag Crest

Kelly perched on a big rock in the river at the Black Canyon

impossible-to-steer kayak perched on the shore of the Blue Mesa Reservoir

There are lots of canyons in western Colorado, and we were entreated by the conductor to savor the views as track work necessitated our creeping along at 20mph for hours at a stretch.  The rock walls were pretty, and my mind subsided to a depth of abstraction that is only achievable on trains, with their regular motion, white noise, voyeur window views, and simultaneous immersion in and detachment from the environments they pass through.

My coach car wasn't very populated, and the passengers were quiet nearly the entire time.  No one struck up a conversation with the lady that brought her own hard-boiled eggs, steamed broccoli and cabbage and black bean salad, with olives and dates for snacking.  (To be fair, I was also kind of sweaty.)  Perhaps I should have sprung for a sleeper berth.  I was able to pretzel-wedge myself on two seats to sleep most of the night.

And then, after the dissolution of undifferentiated hours of transit, the reconstitution of self and assignation of identity upon arrival.  How lucky am I to get picked up by my brother and whisked to a domestic haven of leafy trees, an excited nephew showing me where the praying mantises hatched, baby niece drinking from the cat's water dish, and sister-in-law picking just-ripe tomatoes.

And then family on steroids, helping my mom (some) with watching my nephew, back at our house.  Now mom is "grama," and fantasy and invention are prized over my pragmatism and matter-of-factness.  For some reason, the usually dormant strict moral stickler in me is awakened by small children, and generates sanctimonious praise of teeth brushing and neatly put away toys.  But we had lots of fun swimming, where the energy you expend in the waves is transferred right back to you.

A Little Bird

I never knew hummingbirds traveled with such a distinct sound.  At least, the variety that populate the high country of Colorado announce their presence throughout the daylight hours with a hybrid avian-insectile trill.  One imagines that if they perhaps slowed their frantic flitting their ceaseless search for calories needn't be so frenzied.  But then they'd have a completely different nature, and would forfeit what makes them so captivating.

I've been trying to be a responsible person, grocery shopping only occasionally, hand sanitizing, going on remote hikes with this guy:

panoramic Yankee Girl Mine ruins

still-icy Columbine Lake

I'm not sure how to classify an afternoon at the clothing-optional hot springs -- I maintained social distance, yet I can't help thinking these sorts of places are closed throughout the rest of the world.  I spent the 4th of July far (very far) from any crowd, and boosted my immunity with several infusions of s'mores.

It just so happens I recently had my lung function and capacity tested (for potential upcoming work).  Decades of choral singing and the last month of hiking above 10,000ft still left me seeing stars and choking on air from this weird little experiment.

Now for a final few days out west, I'll splash around in a big reservoir and play roulette with Antarctica staffing decisions.