I promised myself, a long time ago, that I was going to knit Jerry a sock-hat made from “Libby fur”. More precisely, made from the washed, spun, downy undercoat of the much-loved Great Pyrenees dog that saved Jer’s life back in 2009.
Libby and one of her tiny charges.
I have several bags of “Libby fur” patiently waiting for the right project – already washed, dried and gently stored away. I came across this beautiful fiber (and an equally big bag of Abby’s soft sable undercoat, which I absolutely cannot bring myself to even open just yet), this week while looking for my next spinning project.
I haven’t forgotten Libby, but I had forgotten my plans for this hat. I think it will be the perfect Christmas 2022 gift for Jerry.
The problem is; although Jer wants a “Libby” hat, he doesn’t want a white sock-hat. He likes dark colors like black, brown or gray.
Sure, I could dye the white dog fur, but that sort of takes the fun out of it (for me, anyway), and would be less likely to evoke wonderful memories of this special dog every time Jer wears the hat.
Besides, from a purely practical viewpoint, dog fur has absolutely zero “memory” or elasticity. Whether I went with white or not, I’d still have to blend the dog fur with wool. Otherwise, his new hat would hang down the sides of his face like … well, like wet dog fur.
So, I’ve pretty much decided to create a darker wool hat with white Libby stripes. I have some expresso brown/black Shetland sheep roving, some brownish-tan Targee sheep roving, white Cormo wool, and a ton of Libby’s soft, luxurious white undercoat.
So, I started blending …
After blending on the drum carder, my “white” batt is now about 50/50 Libby undercoat and fine, white Cormo wool. The white stripes will definitely be the softest, most luxurious yarn in this [mostly] wool hat.
The first thing I did was to measure out my available fiber by weight – white (dog fur and Cormo wool), tan (Targee wool) and dark (Shetland wool) – and then divide each in half.
I left half of the black/brown Shetland roving and half of the Targee as is, to spin into yarn for solid stripes.
The other half of each of my colored fiber was then divided again. One section of Shetland was combined lightly on my drum-carder with an equal amount of Targee for a variegated dark brown/tan batt.
The other section of tan Targee was blended with white Cormo, just a bit of Libby and random streaks of dark Shetland for a (mostly) lighter variegated tan batt.
I currently have five batts ready to spin, varying in color from white to blended tan and white, to blended tan and brown, to dark expresso.
I’m not sure yet what order the colors will end up being knit, but I think Jer will like it. I have plenty of time to figure the pattern out. My first priority is to spin it all up, and since my summertime spinning is sporadic at best, that may take a while.
A couple of the drum-carded batts have now joined my wheel in the RV, so that’s a start. Hopefully, by the time I have to bring the wheel back into the house in the fall, I’ll have a bunch of yarn ready to knit with. If not, I’ll just keep spinning my wheel.
Don’t worry. Libby won’t mind waiting a little longer. 💗
Summer Solstice in Seward, Alaska, was bittersweet this year, as usual. As midnight approached and I could still clearly see the beauty and vast magnitude of Resurrection Bay and the still snow-dappled peaks of the Kenai mountain range beyond, I felt both blessed and depressed.
Truly the land of the midnight sun.
Mt. Alice, the photogenic peak featured in so many of my shots of Resurrection Bay, is 5,318 feet tall and stole my heart five years ago on my first trip to Seward. It seemed only right for her to stand front and center in my midnight Solstice photo this year.
Admittedly, I can tire of the Seward waterfront pretty quickly when the weather turns rainy, the mountains are shrouded by low, dark clouds and the wind whips in bitterly from the mouth of the bay and the unrelenting Pacific Ocean beyond.
But oh! When it’s sunny, bright and clear, it’s got to be one of my favorite places on earth to be. I could sit and gaze at the bay, mesmerized by the movement of the water, the gulls and cormorants swooping and soaring above the surface, being periodically jarred from my happy trance by the appearance of otters or Stellar sea lions cavorting and fishing just beyond the surf line.
I’ve spent more than a few sunny mornings sitting at my spinning wheel in just such conditions, barely aware of spinning as I immersed myself in the scene in front of me. The ever-present Kenai range is always a stunning backdrop to the sometimes peaceful, sometimes restless mood of Resurrection Bay.
When the afternoon wind comes up, as it often does even on warm, sunny days, I simply move my wheel inside the RV and continue my reverie.
Spinning in Seward, Alaska.
But what, you may be thinking, does this have to do with my blog title?
It’s all about summer, you see. Here in Alaska, summer is flat-out glorious. Bigger than life, with up to 22 hours of daylight at its peak. Further north, the sun doesn’t set during the summer at all.
In recent years, I have found myself trying, at times rather frenetically, to fit as many summer activities as possible into what is sure to be too short a time.
We’re past the Solstice now, which inevitably means we are losing more daylight each day as the countdown towards winter begins. I know, I know … it’s not even July yet. But still.
Shudder. I don’t mind a rainy day or even a rainy week. But then I want the sun and warmth to return. In a week or two – not five months later.
I have come to a point in my life where I need to either make peace once again with the fact that winter inevitably follows these sun-drenched Alaskan summers and just know in my heart that summer will return eventually … or I need to pack up and drive south.
I did not used to feel this way, and it concerns me.
You see, for nearly forty years (counting living in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan as well as here in Alaska), I’ve thoroughly embraced the four distinct seasons we are blessed with in these northern climes.
Spring, summer, fall, winter. Each was magical, each had its own unique beauty. It was all part of the never-ending kaleidoscope that was my life.
I’ve always LIKED the changing of the seasons. It was such a vibrant difference from the non-stop sameness of Southern California, where I spent my first thirty years.
I remember with great nostalgia the many times I bundled up in my insulated snowsuit and trudged through the snow in the dark morning hours to feed my Pygmy goats. Heck, I hauled two five-gallon jugs of warm water on a sled twice a day, all winter for nearly twenty-five years – and I loved my life.
Catching sight of the first crocus buds peeking through the snow in late winter or early spring would send me flying to my seed catalogs to start enthusiastically planning my summer gardens.
The onset of summer meant the annual blooming of first the cheerful pink wild roses, then the soft purple of Alaskan geraniums along the driveway and roadsides and lastly and most anticipated, my favorite brilliant tall fireweed stalks bursting bottom to top pretty much everywhere with the most beautiful deep pink blossoms.
But last week, when I noticed fireweed beginning to bloom in my yard, my first thought was not appreciation of its beauty. Instead, it was, “Oh no, not fireweed already! It’s not even July yet!”
I also used to anticipate with glee the first hints of changing colors in early autumn, looking forward to the spectacular yellow, reds, golds and oranges soon to come. While I still appreciate autumn, it didn’t used to be dimmed by thoughts of the darkness soon to follow.
A gorgeous Alaskan autumn day.
When did it all change?
I think perhaps buying my Winnebago motor home in 2017 might have been what inadvertently tipped the scales.
I suddenly had the means to travel, and almost immediately found myself wishing to drive south. I wanted to experience driving my RV through Canada and then on to my son’s home in Oregon for an extended visit.
I’ve harbored this dream ever since, and it has altered my perception of what used to be the best part of living in this ever-changing, spectacular landscape. I no longer look forward to winter.
It’s not that I no longer love Alaska, or that I’m sorry I met Jerry and moved here in 1997. I’m not sorry. Not in the slightest. I’m also not sorry I bought “Roada”, even if she has caused me some conflicting emotions.
But with the end of each summer and the onset of each new fall, the dream of packing up and driving south grows dimmer along with the fading light. I’m not getting any younger.
I don’t have to STAY south. I just want to GO south for at least one winter. Is that so much to ask?
I think Rhonda left out a few key details in her “story”, so I’ll start a week or so earlier and perhaps fill in a few gaps.
A couple of days prior to Father’s Day, as I was wrapping up the silly Father’s Day t-shirt I’d bought Jerry as a gag gift, the local news was running a weather segment.
They were talking about the extended high-pressure system about to hit south-central Alaska and the expected 80+ temps we were likely to see in the Anchorage and Matanuska Valley areas. I groaned.
All right; laugh if you will. We’re Alaskans. 70°F has traditionally been t-shirt and shorts weather. Folks flock to the lakes, turn on the house fans (keeping in mind its Alaska and few houses have air-conditioning because it hardly ever gets to 70°), and complain about the heat.
If the thermometer actually hits 80°, we melt like the wicked witch of the west.
Adding to the discomfort is the current omnipresent smoke haze from massive wildfires in south-western Alaska. Between the heat index and lightning strikes, the Alaskan tundra is literally going up in smoke.
We live in the spectacular Matanuska Valley, surrounded on three sides (almost four sides on a clear, crisp day, with Sleeping Lady – aka Mt. Susitna – visible beyond Cook Inlet) by massive mountain ranges; the Chugach range, the Matanuska range, the Talkeetna range, and beyond that the vast Alaska range.
Just driving to the grocery store or Home Depot often leaves me filled with gratitude for the sheer beauty around me.
Sadly, this past week or so, tourists driving through the Matanuska Valley have periodically (depending on the direction of the wind) seen little more than a mediocre-size town with seemingly nothing in the way of memorable features. They would have no idea of the towering mountains hiding behind the smoke haze.
So, there I was, splitting my attention between the t-shirt and the weather report.
What can I say …? 😂
A plan hatched, full-blown and complete down to the tail feathers (I don’t recall which family member used to say that). A t-shirt was not enough, not after the winter Jer had put in caring for me and my new knee.
I was going to take that man on a Father’s Day vacation! But where … my handy cell phone weather app showed the extended forecast for all my favorite destinations within Alaska.
Which looked best? Valdez? Seward? Homer? It pretty much needed to be on the water, preferably with ocean breezes, if we were to avoid the incipient heat wave.
Surprised, I noted right away that Seward, right on Resurrection Bay, showed three of five days being bright ☀️☀️☀️. YES! The other days showed partly cloudy, which for Seward was still a brilliant forecast.
I immediately clicked on waterfront campgrounds in Seward, noting that the price “with hook-ups” was substantially higher AND two rows back from the water. Huh.
Without batting an eyelash, I reserved five days right on the waterfront – right where I most wanted to be. All innocence; I told my dear husband that all the sites with hook-ups (water and electric) were already reserved. That’s what happens when you do these things last minute. But we’d be right on the water – yay!!
The view from our campsite. ❤️
Hey, don’t be feeling all sorry for Jerry. Our RV is equipped with everything we could possibly need for five days of boon-docking along the edge of Resurrection Bay in Seward, Alaska. No electric hook-up simply means no television. Better yet!
Jerry made up for the lack of a microwave breakfast (definitely no generators are allowed to fire up at 5:00 am!) by walking about a mile into the small boat harbor, where they cater to fishermen. By the time he was ready to come home (to the RV), the City of Seward’s free shuttle bus was running and happy to bring him back. At which time, I was just up and starting to make coffee.
He repeated several times this early morning routine of [first] walking Baxter, who always gets up when Jer does and needs urgently to go out, and then walking to the harbor. He obviously enjoyed this quiet, early morning stroll.
Jer also discovered that listening to his audio books with a dog in his lap while watching fishing and tour boats motor by on the ever-changing bay was both relaxing and entertaining. Add in huge cruise ships, the occasional sea lion or otter playing in the surf just off shore and he was hooked.
Being the gregarious sort, Jer also enjoyed spending a good deal of time walking Baxter, who has a typical old-dog bladder at the age of twelve. Baxter seldom made it past the big rock directly across from our campsite before relieving himself, but he was happy to accompany Jer up and down the walking path as he (Jer, not Baxter) struck up one conversation after another. I’m sure many more rocks, logs and clumps of sea grass were christened, at least briefly, along the way.
We often began these walks along the paved walking path as a family, enjoying the sights and sounds along the waterfront, but Ronni is more particular about her toilet habits than Baxter and much prefers grass when it’s available.
So, the four of us would walk along for a while together, then Jerry would pause to chat with someone while I continued on with Rhonda, following her ever-active nose until she found an appropriate grassy spot to do her business.
Jerry and I both had to be aware of our surroundings when walking two active dachshunds on leash along a paved path shared by walkers (many with their own dogs), joggers, bikers and children. It was sometimes more like running an obstacle course than taking a walk, but we somehow managed not to take down a single person.
We ate out at restaurants a couple of times, easily avoiding the $99 crab legs (seriously?!), smiling like naughty children indulging in forbidden fruits as we munched on grilled halibut, scallops and sea-food chowder (we don’t allow ourselves expensive dinners out often, much less a couple of times in one week), and were always careful to finish our meal in time to catch the last shuttle bus back to the campground.
After one particularly resounding failure (see “A day in the Life” for Ronni’s side of the story), Rhonda pretty much got on board with being left, along with her quieter brother, in the RV while Jerry and I wandered around town, doing tourist things and visiting the Sea-Life Center. I checked in with our neighbor to be sure – she assured me there had been nary a peep.
Carved wood sculpture Jer at the Sea Life Center Sights from Seward.
At the end of the week, Jerry rather sheepishly admitted to me that he’d had a really good time, and that he was surprised how little he’d even thought about his TV or internet – both of which I’m pretty sure he thought he couldn’t live without for 24 hours, much less five days.
My brother, Baxter, woke me up at 4:15 this morning by walking on top of me to get to where the Mom was sleeping.
I sleep under all the covers with the Mom ‘cause I sleep happiest when I’m touching her. Baxter prefers to sleep under just his one special little soft blanket up on top of the bed, right between the Mom and the Dad.
Anyway, he tromped across me and climbed up on the Mom to tell her he needed to go outside.
I don’t understand why Baxter doesn’t just go tell the Dad right off the bat and not bother me and the Mom. She just reaches a hand out, taps the Dad and mumbles, “Baxter has to go out”. Then the Mom goes right back to sleep.
Good thing the Dad doesn’t mind waking up early.
Normally, I sleep right through Baxter and the Dad getting up, but since my brother had so inconsiderately stepped right on my head, I stretched, groaned, peeked out from under the blanket and reached out to lick the Mom’s cheek.
We’re on what the Mom and the Dad call “a vacation”, so I guess that means we can all get up early! Besides, it’s daylight outside. Maybe it’s later than I think.
Well, I discovered that being on vacation does NOT mean I can wake the Mom up. She mumbled something that sounded like “Arrghh-urr ” and rolled over again. She even pulled the blanket over her face.
Lucky me, though. The Dad said I could come outside along with him and Baxter! But he didn’t put my sweater on and I was a little cold right there by the big water. I think I’ll wait for the Mom next time.
Early morning walk with Baxter and the Dad.
Later in the day, a great big floating building went right past our campsite (that’s what the Mom calls the fenced-in area where Baxter and I play while Mom and Dad sit in chairs and drink hot stuff while we all watch people walk by).
This is the floating building! The Mom called it a cruise-sheep, or something like that.
The Mom and Dad take me and Baxter on lots of walkies here. We mostly stay on the walking path or the grassy area because I don’t want to play in the cold water that splashes up on me. Baxter doesn’t like the splashes either. The Mom says we are both “wusses”, whatever that is.
A little while ago, the Mom and I were walking along, and Mom got real excited, picked me up in her arms and pointed at something out in the water.
She told me it was a sea lion. That sounded kind of scary, but it looked more like a wet dog. Maybe even a really big dachshund. It looked like it was having fun, even going underwater and coming back up all wet.
Sometimes, we watch and watch … and then this happens.
I still don’t want to go swimming. 🦭
When we are inside Roada, Mom’s house that takes us places, I like to sit on the tall cushions on the front seat so I can watch the people and especially the dogs that walk by.
I’m glad the Mom made our campsite right near the walking path. I don’t bark at the dogs because the Mom says if I bark I have to get down and not watch. I like to watch!
Ronni, on watch.And later … 😴
About the same time in the day that Baxter and I usually start hinting to the Mom and Dad that it must be almost dinner time (and they tell us no, it’s not for another hour – whatever that means), the Dad surprised us and fed us dinner early! It was delicious!
Then they put their going-on-walkies coats on, told us to be good, quiet dogs … and left us inside?! Baxter saw this as an opportunity for a nap and curled up on a blanket.
I did NOT. I barked, and barked and BARKED! Just as loud as ever I could! The Mom and Dad (OK, mostly MY MOM) had left and had forgotten to take me along!! It had to be a terrible mistake. “Mom! Mom! I’m right here! Come back! You forgot me!!”
It turned out that Mom hadn’t forgotten me after all. She and Dad left us home on purpose – Baxter and I were not invited. The Mom told me I had to get over myself, whatever that means. Probably that I talk too much. I think I should always go anyway, but the Mom says sometimes I can’t. I don’t think it’s fair, but it’s a rule.
The Mom did come back, but it didn’t go at all as I’d pictured. She scooped me up without a word and quite unceremoniously dumped me in my kennel.
I guess Baxter had the best idea. He got to nap in the sunny spot on his favorite blanket. I had to nap in my kennel.
Sometimes big brothers are right.
The Mom and Dad were only gone one nap, so it wasn’t all that bad. When they let me out of my kennel, Baxter and I each got a yummy piece of people food! The Mom called it “Hal-butt”, or something like that. It smelled real fishy and was pretty great. I’m glad the Mom was happy with me for napping instead of yapping (Mom’s words) while they were gone.
After that, Baxter and I got to have our leashes on, and we went for a long walk down the path by the water. We saw lots of people and some dogs. I didn’t bark, but Baxter did a couple of times when a dog walked too close to him. The Mom says Baxter has anxiety issues. I think he just gets cranky because he’s old.
Taking a walkie with the family.
Well, it’s bedtime now. Baxter is already asleep in a ball between the Mom’s and Dad’s pillows. I’m waiting for the Mom to come to bed. It’s hard to wait because I’m really sleepy.
Thank you for listening to the story about my day. Nite nite.
De & the Dachsies - Our Rambles 