A journalist observes life in the far north.
I don’t know how we crammed all of the people—our best estimate is 50—into our house but we managed.
They all drove up here despite a temperature of 30 below zero.
It was loud, especially downstairs where the children blasted the boom box and held a ping pong tournament.
Only one dog fight erupted, and it took place in the bedroom so no one saw, thankfully. (On Sunday, I told Alec that I wasn’t sure we could continue to live with two dogs bent on killing each other.)
I kept losing my beer, or maybe I kept drinking it down without realizing it. Later, after the party, I lay in bed awake thinking of all of the alcohol consumed—enough to fill a few trash bags. I hoped everyone made it home OK.
My friend, Judy, took the pictures below.