October 25
October this year already appareled in white, after weeks upon weeks of peaking autumnal pyrotechnics. We are finally installed in the new cabin at Skeeter Creek, with thirty-seven dogs of the highest caliber outside our back window. I went out with Kristin a few days ago during ATV training around the Inter-tie, & it was nothing short of amazing to see these dogs work—heads steady, gaits set on smooth repeat, focus palpable in each of them. Twelve miles an hour & one or two among them still in a steady trot, which is ludicrous. & Kristin is back in the throes of dog ecstasy again, looking anxiously at the clouds as if to will them into rupturing forth in billows of snow. It’s a wonderful thing.
I went around the Inter-tie two days ago in the same speed as the dogs, which was curious & informative, since it means I’m apparently running quite a bit faster than I thought. I have officially signed up for the Little Susitna 50K down in Big Lake this February, to be run along snowy trails beside bikers & skiers & heartier souls trekking a full 100 miles as well. I’m laying out training tables for myself now, calibrating my running for winter, nerding out on all things distance-related.
& otherwise with winter comes winter community again. The summer’s relentless pace & exhausting activity tend to drag you away from seeing your closest friends in any environment not also populated by seemingly dozens of strangers. So the restfulness & settling & comfort of quieter visits is something we look forward to throughout the summer & fall. It’s hard to describe—something like a collective hunkering down against the cold, a kind of lovely, aggregate reconnect.
& in the woods the winter has begun its work, which is a fine thing. The tracks in snow along the trails tell you what company you keep, the bears have mostly hit the high country for their good sleep, & it’s too early for the peeling whine of snowmachines, so the space is empty & still & hushed. In that peculiar Alaskan way, it is entirely your own & at the same time entirely apathetic to your presence, & in that odd space I find perhaps the most distinctly compelling version of meaning-making. Something about humility & awe, I’m sure, in equal measure, but something that fills me full to brimming.
I went around the Inter-tie two days ago in the same speed as the dogs, which was curious & informative, since it means I’m apparently running quite a bit faster than I thought. I have officially signed up for the Little Susitna 50K down in Big Lake this February, to be run along snowy trails beside bikers & skiers & heartier souls trekking a full 100 miles as well. I’m laying out training tables for myself now, calibrating my running for winter, nerding out on all things distance-related.
& otherwise with winter comes winter community again. The summer’s relentless pace & exhausting activity tend to drag you away from seeing your closest friends in any environment not also populated by seemingly dozens of strangers. So the restfulness & settling & comfort of quieter visits is something we look forward to throughout the summer & fall. It’s hard to describe—something like a collective hunkering down against the cold, a kind of lovely, aggregate reconnect.
& in the woods the winter has begun its work, which is a fine thing. The tracks in snow along the trails tell you what company you keep, the bears have mostly hit the high country for their good sleep, & it’s too early for the peeling whine of snowmachines, so the space is empty & still & hushed. In that peculiar Alaskan way, it is entirely your own & at the same time entirely apathetic to your presence, & in that odd space I find perhaps the most distinctly compelling version of meaning-making. Something about humility & awe, I’m sure, in equal measure, but something that fills me full to brimming.
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