Murphy Dome Diaries

A journalist observes life in the far north.

As for me …

I am enjoying my cozy cabin on Meadow Mouse. Next door, Al’s dad is in the grip of a complete overhaul of the main house. A carpenter comes over every day, and the house hums for hours with the drone of power tools.

I occupy myself fetching water, making baby food and yelling at the dogs. A copy of “The Alchemist” is waiting to be read. I am familiar now with where the trails lead in the woods behind the property. I’ve gone garage saling, to a birthday party and ballroom dancing.

I went up Murphy Dome to feed the chickens yesterday and Stubby was dead. Stubby is the hen that lost a foot last winter. It was bleeding the last time I was there, and I wonder now if the hen bled out. I had to hurry up and hide the corpse because my friends were coming with their two children to see the chickens. I used bbq grill tongs to grip the chicken so that I could place it in a Hefty bag. I almost couldn’t do it. I felt squeamish. After I thought about James Gandolfini from “The Sopranos,” I managed to grab the body by its good foot and pull it out of the pen only to drop it on the ground. I screamed even though I was alone on six acres. Once full, I put the trash bag in the back of the Subaru and threw it away in a public Dumpster.

The kids were cute, climbing into the cage and plucking eggs from tufts of hay. I have pictures but no way to post them because I left my camera-to-computer cord in Anchorage.

I miss not only Alec but his mom, the Bottle Washing Fairy, who spent the month of April here. We used to have morning coffee on the days she watched Jade. Being the grandmother, she has a high tolerance for my blathering on about the baby’s development, and she showered the baby with love.

I don’t watch the evening news or the celebrity scandal shows that follow since Alec has been gone. It’s no fun by myself. I went over to Don’s for awhile tonight but he had on “Antique’s Roadshow.”

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One comment on “As for me …

  1. Margaret
    May 20, 2008

    The picture in my head of you getting rid of a snuffed out chicken will carry me through my day with great humor. I mean, it’s sad the chicken died, but you with BBQ tongs trying to nab the thing into a trash bag…that’s precious. You’re a tough chick (no pun intended.)

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This entry was posted on May 19, 2008 by .
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