A journalist observes life in the far north.
In a funny little house on top of a tall hill sits a woman with ratty hair (where is that hairbrush?), a 4-month -old baby and a laptop. That woman is me. I hope to amuse you with my stories of life on Murphy Dome in central Alaska. Or at least I’ll keep myself occupied during Lucky’s nap time. That’s my kid’s nickname, by the way. Her dad gave it to her after she was born weighing exactly 7 pounds, 7 ounces.
I should introduce you to the rest of our brood. There is Lightning, Rose and Ruby, our three bull terriers, and Monique, the elderly, obese mutt. Also, we have eight chickens. I didn’t name them because I figured they would be killed by a fox, which is what happened to the first eight chickens. There is talk of getting a pig this summer but so far it is just talk. I keep waiting for PETA to come knocking on our door. One of the chickens lost a foot a couple of weeks ago during a cold spell.
I work part-time at a newspaper and my partner has a tombstone and countertop-making business. In less than a month, he leaves for Nepal to climb Mt. Everest, and I will be posting to this blog from a tiny cabin on his dad’s property closer to town.
Where I live now is sparsely-populated and about a 40-minute drive from civilization. I have already wrecked one car on the icy, windy, steep road.
I hope you enjoy this blog. I’ve been thinking about starting a blog for many months, but I felt too shy. Today, I just decided to hell with it and I did it. I’ll try not to get too trivial or to dwell on the baby too much. But I can’t promise not to post a lot of pictures of Lucky because she has a bit of a following.
Dad taking a break from work to feed his girl.
The view yesterday as I drove home.
Baby at play.
Big Al modeling the snowsuit he will wear to the top of the world.