I'm still delighting in feeling so much better than I had been feeling for far too long, and welcoming my totally new-found ability to be gentle and accepting of myself when my energy is low. I haven't been having cravings for several days: in fact, my appetite is pretty suppressed by various die-off sensations. If I can sleep through the night, I avoid many of the worst ones: if I wake up, I often get the thought: 'you're not supposed to be awake for this part!'
But here is my amusing snapshot: as part of helping with the detox/die-off process, I am taking an enema every few days. I intended to do it Thursday, but it was snowing, so I postponed. Friday - same story. But on Saturday, when it was _still_ snowing, I was really feeling like it would be helpful - lots of headachy, stuffy, die-offy feelings. So, then, imagine you take an enema in the warmth of the cabin, lay up close to the heater for a while massaging belly and thinking healing thoughts - and then when the time comes, wrap up in a blanket, don a down jacket and boots, and shuffle out through deep snow to the outhouse, where the seat is all powdered over with snow! It might be chilly, but it must be one of the best views anyone ever has when they purge out like that!
This morning, I had to take the snow shovel with me to get to the outhouse at all! Great for pelvic floor control practice!
Showing posts with label location. Show all posts
Showing posts with label location. Show all posts
Monday, March 8, 2010
This Amazing Alaska
The Place
I have to digress, to say something about the backdrop against which and within which and in the midst of which I'm living this life right now! Since I would never, in my wildest dreams, have chosen even to visit Alaska of my own volition, let alone make my home here, I regard it as an amazing opportunity for growth, and a blessing, that I find myself living here at present.
It is the 'frozen north,' and it has the lowest population density of anywhere in the US: it is a place for pioneers and wildlife enthusiasts, gold-diggers and coal miners, stakers of claim, seekers of bonanza, misfits, marginals, people who 'don't want to be messed with.' But down here in Homer it is also home to permaculturists and environmentalists, as well as many artists and writers; and whilst the term 'banana belt' is a gross overstatement, the 'frozenness' of this north is remarkably tempered by the maritime location. Having spent many hours last summer out on the Kachemak Bay over which Homer presides, cold, cold, cold, I had no idea that the presence of this expanse of water would mitigate the harshness of winter so much.
Journeys and Colors
We have made the four-hour drive to Anchorage leaving Homer sunny, temperature right around freezing, to encounter blizzards, fog and deep cold on the road. On those drives, the snow, and the stark, tenacious spruces, with the mountains rearing away from the road, create an intensely black-and-white viewscape: it is as if all color has been washed out of the world and there is only the white of the snow, the black of the spruce, with the occasional moose on the roadside (or barging out in front of your vehicle) in shades of gray. The occasional colored road sign or taillight is a shock. Such a contrast to this same drive in the late summer, with daylight shading the mountains indigo, and acres of crimson fireweed blossoms and blue lupines. And the colors of the sunset in the fall here, psychedelic striations of orange and purple, still look unreal in photographs: truly, have to be seen to be believed.
I had anticipated a hard freeze from October through mid-May. It turns out instead that we have had a series of hard freezes and heavy snowfalls, punctuated by periods of warmer weather, which means: above freezing. For three whole weeks in February it was mostly above freezing - got up to 45 degrees at one point! Almost all the snow went away, the drab browned grass and dead reeds all that was left; insects woke up and some trees even started to bud. But here we are now in the 4th day of a blizzard. It snowed 16 inches the first night, after pounding rain for three days. A magical contrast between lying awake listening to the pounding rain one night, and sleeping soundly the next night to awaken to a world newly whitened. Then the wind came up, visibility went down, roaring blasts buffeting our cabin. Yesterday was a reprieve - blue sky, still around 22 degrees but bright and light - and it's getting light at 7am now! Today, though, the wind was driving from the north, which is unusual, the snow teeming down as if being pursued.
Home Amid the Wildlife
Our cabin is 30ft from the edge of the bluff, facing south to the ocean with windows all along the south face and a couple big ones on east and west too, so I can sit and look out at the ocean, gauge the strength of the blizzard by whether I can see it or not. This morning when I came down from the sleeping loft, there was a yearling moose right outside, eating on our trees. A hasty reminder to Phil to finish caging one of the mountain ash that he doesn't want the moose to eat. They are amazing animals, standing out there up to their hocks in the thick snow, munching on twigs. (It's when they start on the bark of the trees that we really want to watch out. It takes trees so long to grow up here.) And I just looked out and saw a rooster pheasant looking hopefully under one of the mountain ash trees for the berries that he was eating there back in November. He is so picturesque, with his bright plumage on this monochrome day.
I have also looked up from sharpening knives to meet the eyes of a black bear outside, back in the fall before they went to sleep! But the bald eagles are probably my favorite of the wildlife that we constantly get to view from this home of ours. Perched on the edge of the bluff as we are, we often get to view them from above as they fly past. There's something ineffably noble about looking down over an eagle's shoulder. And then we see them soaring impossibly high, riding the currents without moving a feather, sideways sometimes, covering huge areas in no time at all. Oh, to be able to soar like that, and to see with those eyes… Aloof and haughty as they are, I feel like we achieve a certain distant intimacy with them. In fishing season they perch closer, and wait, and wait. We have been vociferously scolded if we leave the cabin to go to the outhouse and don't put anything out! Ah, and those voices of theirs - that's what dissolves the arrogant, haughty pride of the rest of their demeanor. Unless they're really riled up, at which point they emit a repetitious, grating dragon shriek, they make these tweeting, whinnying high-pitched cries that are quite laughable in juxtaposition with the rest of their affect.
So! Today is a goal-setting day for me and writing all this to share makes it imperative that one of my goals for this week should be to figure out the whole camera thing and get some pictures up on this blog! Again, folks, I apologize: I'm just not a very visual person.
I have to digress, to say something about the backdrop against which and within which and in the midst of which I'm living this life right now! Since I would never, in my wildest dreams, have chosen even to visit Alaska of my own volition, let alone make my home here, I regard it as an amazing opportunity for growth, and a blessing, that I find myself living here at present.
It is the 'frozen north,' and it has the lowest population density of anywhere in the US: it is a place for pioneers and wildlife enthusiasts, gold-diggers and coal miners, stakers of claim, seekers of bonanza, misfits, marginals, people who 'don't want to be messed with.' But down here in Homer it is also home to permaculturists and environmentalists, as well as many artists and writers; and whilst the term 'banana belt' is a gross overstatement, the 'frozenness' of this north is remarkably tempered by the maritime location. Having spent many hours last summer out on the Kachemak Bay over which Homer presides, cold, cold, cold, I had no idea that the presence of this expanse of water would mitigate the harshness of winter so much.
Journeys and Colors
We have made the four-hour drive to Anchorage leaving Homer sunny, temperature right around freezing, to encounter blizzards, fog and deep cold on the road. On those drives, the snow, and the stark, tenacious spruces, with the mountains rearing away from the road, create an intensely black-and-white viewscape: it is as if all color has been washed out of the world and there is only the white of the snow, the black of the spruce, with the occasional moose on the roadside (or barging out in front of your vehicle) in shades of gray. The occasional colored road sign or taillight is a shock. Such a contrast to this same drive in the late summer, with daylight shading the mountains indigo, and acres of crimson fireweed blossoms and blue lupines. And the colors of the sunset in the fall here, psychedelic striations of orange and purple, still look unreal in photographs: truly, have to be seen to be believed.
I had anticipated a hard freeze from October through mid-May. It turns out instead that we have had a series of hard freezes and heavy snowfalls, punctuated by periods of warmer weather, which means: above freezing. For three whole weeks in February it was mostly above freezing - got up to 45 degrees at one point! Almost all the snow went away, the drab browned grass and dead reeds all that was left; insects woke up and some trees even started to bud. But here we are now in the 4th day of a blizzard. It snowed 16 inches the first night, after pounding rain for three days. A magical contrast between lying awake listening to the pounding rain one night, and sleeping soundly the next night to awaken to a world newly whitened. Then the wind came up, visibility went down, roaring blasts buffeting our cabin. Yesterday was a reprieve - blue sky, still around 22 degrees but bright and light - and it's getting light at 7am now! Today, though, the wind was driving from the north, which is unusual, the snow teeming down as if being pursued.
Home Amid the Wildlife
Our cabin is 30ft from the edge of the bluff, facing south to the ocean with windows all along the south face and a couple big ones on east and west too, so I can sit and look out at the ocean, gauge the strength of the blizzard by whether I can see it or not. This morning when I came down from the sleeping loft, there was a yearling moose right outside, eating on our trees. A hasty reminder to Phil to finish caging one of the mountain ash that he doesn't want the moose to eat. They are amazing animals, standing out there up to their hocks in the thick snow, munching on twigs. (It's when they start on the bark of the trees that we really want to watch out. It takes trees so long to grow up here.) And I just looked out and saw a rooster pheasant looking hopefully under one of the mountain ash trees for the berries that he was eating there back in November. He is so picturesque, with his bright plumage on this monochrome day.
I have also looked up from sharpening knives to meet the eyes of a black bear outside, back in the fall before they went to sleep! But the bald eagles are probably my favorite of the wildlife that we constantly get to view from this home of ours. Perched on the edge of the bluff as we are, we often get to view them from above as they fly past. There's something ineffably noble about looking down over an eagle's shoulder. And then we see them soaring impossibly high, riding the currents without moving a feather, sideways sometimes, covering huge areas in no time at all. Oh, to be able to soar like that, and to see with those eyes… Aloof and haughty as they are, I feel like we achieve a certain distant intimacy with them. In fishing season they perch closer, and wait, and wait. We have been vociferously scolded if we leave the cabin to go to the outhouse and don't put anything out! Ah, and those voices of theirs - that's what dissolves the arrogant, haughty pride of the rest of their demeanor. Unless they're really riled up, at which point they emit a repetitious, grating dragon shriek, they make these tweeting, whinnying high-pitched cries that are quite laughable in juxtaposition with the rest of their affect.
So! Today is a goal-setting day for me and writing all this to share makes it imperative that one of my goals for this week should be to figure out the whole camera thing and get some pictures up on this blog! Again, folks, I apologize: I'm just not a very visual person.
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