foundations

When I was trying to write an essay in McCarthy in August, I had to get outdoors by myself to think. Just down the hill from the old hardware store the river was flowing fast. I was drawn to the rocky shore where I discovered someone had placed stones to look like a Mr Potato Head. It inspired me to begin stacking rocks.

sorry... can't get mr rock-head to rotate

Rock stacks can be trail markers, cairns to help you find your way. They can be joined by mortar to make a fireplace and chimney to warm a home. A wall, holding things in or keeping creatures out. They can be art. A process. A meditation. Before I started stacking the rocks, I selected some that were flat, some that were rounded. They had to all work together.

And when I started stacking these rocks out on the creek bank in McCarthy, I began thinking about my house. I thought of my sloping floor and about how things need a solid foundation. If a foundation isn't sound, it doesn't matter what goes next, the structure will eventually fail. My tower was somewhat precarious, and a more skilled rock stacker would have made an arc. Instead, mine reminded me of a temple, with a shelf for leaving offerings of smaller rocks. I talked for a bit with a passerby, then returned to the hardware store, my notebook & pen and the various activities in each room.

I returned to my rock stack a couple hours later. The water had risen with the day's rain. It was still standing. I thought it was because I'd built it well. But by the end of the evening it had been toppled by the rising water and I imagined the rocks tumbling downstream in the silt and mud-filled torrent.

Just over a month later, Jon and I learned that part of our foundation needed to be replaced. The concrete blocks under the front of our garage had deteriorated to the point of not even being recognizable as blocks.  It was unexpected and set us back several days, but when we started the process of expanding the garage and fixing the rift in our floor, our contractor mentioned there would be surprises. This is just one of them. We told him to do what it would take to make it good; to make it last. We expect to be here for awhile.

missing block & sunken concrete

 

Jon applies sealer to the concrete.

writing life

On the Root Glacier!

I returned Tuesday night from a week-long writing workshop in McCarthy where my only contact with the world outside the Wrangell Mountains was the phone call I made to Jon from a pay phone outside the bar. Disconnected from Anchorage, I felt more connected with the world of that valley, my thoughts and the community of writers there. After an eight hour drive, I was back to my world of hot showers, store-bought bread and the internet.

Kennecott Mine

Back online, I scrolled through a the stack of emails to find a note from Deb Vanasse at the 49 Writers site. Though none of my entries was chosen as a finalist in the Ode to Dead Salmon contest, one entry stood out to anthologist Michael Engelhard. Michael is taking submissions for Cold Flashes: Literary Snapshots of Alaska, which will be published by the University of Alaska Press.

I'd marked the deadline for submissions on my calendar but hadn't thought of what I might write. When I wrote the piece that he liked, I was just having fun, playing around with words, stereotypes and a familiar expression about the Alaskan dating scene. I hadn't seriously considered it would have a life beyond the website, but now it will. It will be published in the anthology. Wow! How about that?

When I couldn't build with words, I could build with rocks...
until the river rose and wiped it away.

Opportunity comes in so many places, but some of it we must seek out. Playing with words and ideas will expand where we can go with our writing. I see that I need to give myself the freedom to write in different forms than I normally do, allow myself the fun of adding details I think are silly or over the top, and give myself permission to let my words run wild with metaphors before I tame them into beautiful, thoughtful prose or poems.

Late summer by the Root Glacier.

Where I go with my writing is up to me. Nobody else. That idea is both exciting and scary. Oh, to be alive!

to McCarthy

I'm headed off to McCarthy tomorrow for what I hope will be a creative week. Mentally expansive is what I'm looking for. It's a long drive, maybe eight hours. I'll have a passenger, another writer from Anchorage who I've never met. Is it a good idea to take that long a drive with someone you've never met? Well, all the stories will be new and it's better than taking an eight hour drive with a friend who you didn't realize would drive you nuts in two hours (which is what happens in movies; it has never happened to me). I'm looking forward to it.

It's been 15 years since I was last in McCarthy. At that time I was a newbie, a real Chechako, having just moved to Alaska, not knowing whether I was staying, yet hoping I was. I didn't have a full-time job yet, so when I wasn't doing temp jobs or taking up space in my sister's basement and eating her food, I was traveling around with my dog and a couple of guys I'd met on the ferry between Prince Rupert, BC, and Haines.

Back then, you'd drive the 60-mile gravel road between Chitina and McCarthy, park in the gravel parking area at the end of a road, climb onto a hand tram and shuttle yourself across the river. Sometimes, for a fee, a local would ferry passengers across on the tram, but often you were on your own. I remember sitting in the tiny cage, my dog at my feet, one of the guys hanging off the outside of the swinging cage while the other handled the cable. For a girl who doesn't like heights, it was a bit scary watching the river tumble beneath us. But, it was the only way to get there so there was no choice. I don't remember much more than hiking a bit on the glacial moraines (I think that's where we were), making our way to the Kennecott mine buildings and strolling around the town. We didn't really take the time to settle in and get the feel of the place before continuing to Valdez.

I don't know how much has changed, but a bridge spans the river now, so I won't have to brave the tram to get to McCarthy, home of the Wrangell Mountains Center, which puts on the event. I got the schedule today and now have a better idea of what to expect: writing, some hikes, some discussions, writing some more.

A change of scenery usually inspires me. Hiking in new terrain; among different mountains; a group of people all focused on getting their creative juices flowing. I'll emphasize focus. Because while I just said a change of scenery inspires me, I'm often busy doing other things when I'm out there. Maybe I'm biking, hiking or berry picking, and by the time I pull out my notebook at the end of the day I'm so tired that I can barely start putting thoughts on paper before I nod off and the pen drags to the bottom of the page. Even when I carry my notebook on a dayhike, I am restless in the moment and often don't take the time to write down all the thoughts and clever lines I came up with through the inspiration of a little fresh air. Hell, I might have had the health care crisis solved if I had only taken the time to write it down!

This evening, I've been gathering my gear, rereading the info and hoping for a little bit of sunshine while we're there. I also hope this helps me continue the journey of banishing my fears and honing my creative voice. That's a big expectation. But why not?

I'm not sure if there'll be any posting from McCarthy. If not, I'll be back in a week. Carry on!