Paul left a message today.  His sister had just left Petersburg for home.  He said “She enjoyed just looking out the window.  She saw shrimpers go by, deer, charter boats, orcas, humpback whales, seals, sea lions, and all kinds of waterfowl and sea birds.  Who knew?  I should look out the window more often!” 

Yesterday, I made an appointment for a 5:30pm haircut. When the call came in to go get the road deer, I forgot all about it til it was too late. Today I called at 9:40am and apologized profusely and got another appointment for 10:30am. I almost forgot again but luckily remembered in the nick of time at 10:25 and rode my bike the 3 minutes to the shop.  When I got there I remembered they only take cash. So I headed to the grocery store in the same lot to get money from the machine. I got 50 bucks out, then went inside the store to get some gum, and back to the salon. My haircut took all of about 7 minutes. When I went to pay, I could not find the money anywhere. Not in my wallet or my pants pockets. I retraced my steps across the parking lot to the store and asked the cashier if I’d left $50 bucks there and she said no (I paid for the gum with my credit card).  So, took out another $20, paid the barber, and back to the office. I figured $70 for a haircut was still less than Sara’s doo. I was hating being 53. When I got back to work, I took off my pants thinking I somehow missed the money going into my pocket, hoping it would be in my pant leg. No dice. On a whim, I emailed the store telling them I thought I dropped $50, and described it as two $20s and an $10. Not long later, I got an email from the store manager. Their employee had found it and turned it in. Back to the store and they were glad I was glad. IGA has good people. But I’m still hating 53.

Call for deer number 3 came in a little after 3 pm today. The dispatcher said the officer was on his way to put the injured deer down, and could I come salvage it. I said sure. I headed home, put on my coveralls, grabbed my knives, and asked Sara if she wanted to go. She said sure, and she got her work clothes on. The officer had dispatched the deer then moved it up gravel drive and put it in the shade and out of sight. We arrived to find a nice buck. Sara helped me put it in the truck. We stopped at our friends to get the key to the food bank area.  When we got home, I parked uphill, and dressed the deer on the tailgate, dropping the organs into a big round tote I got at a garage sale. I hosed out the body cavity of the deer, then dragged the tote of organs up the hill into our woods. We’ve got an eagle trained, I think, and I’m guessing he or she soon found it. Not much damage to the deer meat. I hung it by the head in the garage, skinned it, then cut off the hind quarters, then the tenderloin, the backstraps, the front quarters. Then cut off each rib cage with the reciprocating saw. I cut the back bone with the meat remnants into two, then cut off the neck roast. I hosed off the deer hair from the meat. I headed over to the food bank and got the meat separate into bag lined boxes and into the freezer to cool. Sara had, in the mean time, made a big salad and pulled out some venison meat pies for dinner and it was all ready when I got back. It’s satisfying volunteer work and good practice for next fall.

Good times at the North Douglas boat ramp yesterday.  It was the lowest tide of the year – nearly -5 ft – and we were going to the cabin to fix the “easy out” clothesline set up that is an anchored pulley on one end and another pulley on the beach with a line through it where you can pull up to the beach and tie the painter to the line and pull it out to the anchor.   The parking lot was packed and overflow truck/trailers were parked up on the road.  Not unusual for Memorial Day weekend and 60 degree dry weather.  What was unusual was there wasn’t a soul in sight fishing because king salmon season is closed due to poor return.  Where were all those boats.  Sara and I launched the boat and about 100 yrds from the ramp everything quit.  Outboard, electronics – everything.  Thought there was a main fuse that blew.  I thought the positive cable was loose but tightened it and that didn’t fix anything.  With the tide so low, it was already below the end of the ramp at the dock, so I thought I’d just drive down the beach and put the boat on the trailer from the beach.   It didn’t take long to bury the truck to the axles on the beach.  This was at about 8 am, and low tide was at 9.  I called every towing company in town and couldn’t raise one of them.    Next I made a 911 call to Jeff and Kurt. They got Erik and showed up with Ben’s Suburban.  Kurt took me home to get our Yukon and some heavy houser line.  Kurt also called Frankie the Eraser, who showed up with his 3/4 ton pickup.   We took the boat off the trailer and tied it off the dock, then unhooked the trailer from the truck.  Try as we might, the truck wouldn’t budge with the other vehicles pulling.  The vehicles just spun trying to pull me out.   Sara noted that the trailer was worth more than the truck (so true), so we pulled the trailer up the beach with a line to a truck.  9 am came and went and things started getting serious.   Finally the tow company called back. Said they’d be there in 15 or 20 min. 945 came and went.  No tow truck.  A crowd was building up on the road. My best friends were taking lots of photos and sending them out.    We’d tried everything I could think of and thought this might be the end of the old truck.  Just as the water was under the back bumper, the tow truck showed up.  Pulled me out in 5 minutes with his winch.  I tipped the young driver and his girlfriend $200 for good karma and coming out on a weekend holiday just in the nick of time.   When we got home I figured out the boat problem in about 5 minutes.  The ground wasn’t tight enough on the battery.  Sometimes I sort of dream about living out in the bush again on my/our own.  But how would I get by without a constant, it seems, little help from my friends. Today, I mostly watched Jeff and Erik put new shingles on Jeff’s garage.  I helped where I could.  I learned a lot.  Another day of free tuition.   

Lt Lance from the Salvation Army emailed yesterday.  He and his wife Dana are transferring to Fairbanks soon. Did I want to take over being the one the authorities called if a deer is hit by a car so it gets taken care of right away and the meat gets to the food bank?  Sure I say. First thing this morning, it’s Lance.  Deer down on N. Douglas.  Can you help?  On my way, I say.  I drive home, put on my coveralls, and head to the location.  I pass the 7000 block and don’t see it.  I call Lance for the house number again and turn around.  There it is.  Blood still fresh mixing with the water in the ditch.  I pull the young buck up, grab front legs in one hand and back legs in the other, and swing him into the truck. Lance meets me at the house.  We carry the buck up into the woods behind the house, remove the innards, drain the body cavity, then carry it to the garage and hang it up on the lines that are through a pulley from the ceiling just for this purpose.  We decide to hang it by the head since the rear leg was where he was hit and might not hold if we hang it from the hind legs.   I rip from under the hide up to the chin and immediately notice the hair flying.  Lance comments about shedding and I realize – the deer are shedding this time of year and I’ve never skinned a deer at this time.  Try as we might, there’s hair everywhere until we can get it turned under as we work our way from the neck to the hind quarters.  The two of us skin the deer and I start to cut off the quarters, then the tenderloins, then the back strap.  I then cut through the neck and put the ribs and neck on the table.  I take the cordless reciprocating saw and cut off one rack of ribs, then the other, and then the neck roast.   Lance takes each piece and rinses it with the hose, and I notice the hair seems to rinse off alot easier than it does in the fall.   Lance fills clean buckets with the meat.  That’s all the processing we need to do.  He has elders salivating, he said, for the deer and all he has to do is deliver it as it.   That’s my kind of butchering. I take off my overalls and notice a spot of blood snuck on my shirt.  I put some water and soap on it, and put on a new shirt.  I’m back to work shortly after 10.  It’s a good day already.

People committed to going fiddlehead picking. Then as usual, one by one, they drop out. But not Samuel. He’s in. I pick him up at 530 and we head to Eaglecrest. This is his 3rd annual trip. It’s a beautiful day. Clouds are moving in and gonna rain tomorrow. But today, partly sunny still and 60 degrees. Perfect weather. We head across the muskeg to the creek. Samuel is talking a mile a minute. Asking all kinds of questions about where we’re going, how long till we get there, will we find the waterbottle he lost last year. I turn around and point to the peak of a mountain that’s behind where we parked the car. I tell them that’s what we aim for when we come back so we come right to the car.  We hike down to the creek. We walk upstream till I see the tree across the creek I crossed last week. A hand hold here and there so not trying to balance beam the whole way across. I cross. He struggles to get up the side of the root wad to the tree trunk, then makes it, and crosses without trepidation. Samuel knew there’s be devils club galore but forgot his gloves. I’m all about experiential learning. He complains about the devils club, as I press on with my gloves, moving it aside and heading up hill. I clear most of the devils club and wait to be sure Samuel sees me. Then I continue. Soon, we’re up in the alder patch on the hillside. The fiddleheads have grown 8 inches high in places, but in the shady spots, they are still just coming up through the dead grass. I show Samuel what to pick. He continues talking while I pick. I fill one nut jar. Then a second. Samuel is still talking. Soon, he’s off to a patch of snow up the hillside.  Then he announces he has to go “number 2”. On Samuel’s first trip 3 years ago, he didn’t know how to take a leak in the woods. Now he’s veteran of all bodily functions in the out of doors. He asks if I have any toilet paper. I say no. I usually use a piece of devils club to wipe. I can’t see him, but am guessing he’s using snow or moss or whatever is handy. In no time, I’ve got my nine jars filled and ask Samuel where is his jug. He says it’s up here. I climb up to get it and he comes down to meet me with it. I tell him I’ll finish picking the last jar. I get in front of him far enough that he can’t see and dump the few fiddleheads he’d picked in case he picked any post “number 2”.  I start filling it and he asks where are the one’s he picked and I lie and say I added them to my other jars of fiddleheads and he accepts that and I continue to pick.   Soon, all 10 jars are filled and we head back. I find a better path to the creek with not so many devils club and Samuel is happy for that. We cross the same tree, and then back up the hill. I ask him where we’re supposed to be heading and he says the mountain peak.  Good boy, I think. Soon we’re in the open heading across the muskeg. We talk about the scout trip and I ask if he apologized to his friend Oliver about a rough housing incident and he said he did. I hope he gets it. We drive back talking about whatever. He plays with the GPS map in the electric car. I show him how we gain miles to go as we descend the mountain.  I drop him off and then head home. I’m dying to try a new way to clean fiddleheads my boss told me she saw on Facebook. Put them in a game bag and put in the dryer. Sounds about right. I get home, and Sara finds me a pillow case to use. I pour in 5 of the jars and put an overhand knot in the top and into the dryer.  Worked like a freakin’ dream.