It's a New Year

Rocking in the wind, the empty birdfeeder still draws the occasional nuthatch or chickadee, while daylight breaks at noon over the mountaintops in the distance, shading the sky between the peaks with a color not unlike a fresh Georgia peach which fades upward into a gray-green and then the cloudless deep blue with the shining star of Venus looking down.

The first day of the new year arrives in the embrace of winter, on the back of a 30 mph wind, bringing with it a fresh snow. Tiny birds weave in and out of the front porch posts, picking up overlooked throwaways from the hanging feeder which now lie in waste on the wood planks that form the base of the deck, planks painstakingly dug out of the tundra by hand where they were left after the World War II troops cleared out of the White Alice radar site a mile or two from our cabin. Heavy, treated boards are a rare treasure in this desolate country, especially at the sale price of a sore back and blistered palms. Alaska is truly a land of imagination. One must see things that aren’t there, see what will be in addition to what is.

Black Oil Sunflower Seeds. That’s what our little winter birds love the best. Sitting on the swinging birdfeeder, a gust of wind blows up from behind, and the little chickadee’s black head feathers get blown straight up by the wind, making it look like he’s wearing a pointed hat. He quickly gets what he came for and flies back to the trees, his jerky motions almost robotic.

With my first cup of coffee gone and the kerosene lamp burning low, it’s time for the day to begin. The generator needs an oil change. Traps need to be checked. River ice needs to be chiseled and buckets of water hauled to the cabin. The Raspberry Sweet Rolls won’t make themselves. Candles need to be made for the Market this Saturday and I sold out of potholders, pan covers, place mats, and the like just before Christmas.

Denali just nosed at my elbow, asking to go outside. Happy New Year.