It has been raining so hard and long that Noah would have had most of the Ark finished by now — but luckily we won’t need it (or at least not now) the rain finally turned to snow and the sun came out (and the stars) and it’s 22 degrees and the north wind feels good. We are down to seven hours of daylight– actually today there will be a few less minutes– but the sun does not rise and set here like in Mexico. It’s not as if someone pulls the shades up at 8:22 and down at 3:15. This was about a half an hour after sunset last night:
In between my walks, I used the daylight hours to shop for Thanksgiving. Maybe it’s all the mindfullness of a nearly silent week of days in the woods hunting along Tenakee Inlet waiting, watching, and listening for deer ( we just came home) but my own timekeeper seems to have slowed to match the season of early-to-bed nights.
My old friend was out of her prescription diabetic cat food, and what with the governor’s cruel cuts to the ferry system (a disaster for travelers, and people and cats dependent on medicine and special diets) and the weather delays that kept the already packed little planes (and all that mail) from hop-scotching up here from Juneau, Betty was in a spin. She had hoped there was a case of it hiding in her suite at Haines Assisted Living. I searched from the top of the closet shelves to underneath the bed (that’s where the cat was) with no luck and headed to Howser’s IGA to find something that might do until her special order arrives, that won’t kill Cuddles. (Grain free, high protein,Google said.) One of the clerks helped me, and then I kept shopping– potatoes, carrots, dairy, organic eggs (my hens need more light to ovulate.) Next I headed to Mountain Market to pick up the turkey I ordered a month ago and since the weekly freight was just being sorted, sat down and visited with old friends, for about an hour. Before leaving, I bought a couple of nice bottles of wine as Thanksgiving gifts — and was helped by the clerk, who just happened to know which were their favorites. She’s part of a progressive Thanksgiving party, and since her cabin is tiny ( someday, she said she will have an oven big enough for a turkey) is doing drinks. Chef Travis is preparing the entree, and wasn’t she lucky to have a friend that is such a great cook?
It was nearly two when I returned to Betty’s with the cat food and found her in a good mood since the crisis had been adverted.Cuddles was sleeping on top of the bed, and Betty was watching a Hallmark movie, enjoying the break from the impeachment hearings.
I still needed to pick up rutabagas and Josie’s bread (she bakes the best sourdough) at Olerud’s Market Center, and I grabbed more apples, an English cucumber, and tomatoes. The celery looked good, and the bananas, and… Two more big bags. The clerk commented on my cuke and said she likes them too, but was not her cheery self. I asked what was up, and she said some people are really grumpy around the holidays and blame her if they can’t find an item on their list– and I said honestly, if it’s not in Haines, maybe they don’t need in anyway. She had a trailer fire last year and lost everything, including her pets. We talked about how grateful we were to be warm and safe, and able to both have such abundance in a small northern place (even with the freight and travel delays) and to be able to afford to purchase fresh parsley and bright oranges. (And cat food, I thought.) She does not like turkey, and is roasting lamb and serving it with Scottish mint sauce that a friend flew in for her as a surprise– a case of it arrived yesterday! “Oh well, I’ll have a lifetime supply,” she said. I told her that deer reminded me of lamb, and thought not about the ways they both die before we can eat them, but about that flock of sparrows that descended all around us– hundreds– as Chip and I stood completely still watching a doe walk through the bare blueberry branches. The tiny birds hopped on my boots and hovered inches from my face before just as suddenly, flitting off.
At home, finally, I unpacked the groceries and took the dogs for a sunset walk. When I returned the lights were all on. I’d forgotten it was piano lesson day. My daughter teaches music on Tuesdays at the piano my mother gave us. Her daughter, my granddaughter, Silvia Rose was coloring in the kitchen and whispered that I should be quiet. We had chocolate milk, tea, and toast and listened to the scales, her mother’s gentle prompting, and the little student’s sweet singing and plinking. My heart was so full– please don’t call me sentimental– this is real life– that I fell in love with this moment, this day, and this place. So much was right that I could have fallen on my knees, but instead Silvia Rose and I baked a pumpkin pie.
