My phone’s camera roll is peppered with hundreds of photos of closeups of ice on my car window, flowers, mushrooms, wildflowers about to bloom, wildflowers just bloomed, wildflowers past their prime, strands of bear fur on tree bark, more tree bark, so much tree bark (the patterns in tree bark are stunning), and the wild irises that stop me cold on trails at the start of every summer.
While I live down the road (or a flight away) from towering mountains and icefields and other large-scale this and that, it’s the small things that really catch my attention here in Alaska. The things that don’t beg for attention—though they deserve the attention. The large things—bears and bison and moose and mountains—would be nothing without the tiny building blocks that make them up.
(OK, I will admit that wood bison are my long-time large-animal obsession. And I’m keen on moose and bears too. But on any given day or hike, it’s the little things that stop me in my tracks and send me on a mini photo flurry. You can ask any friend I wander with. I go on dog walks with my friend Traci four or so times a week. I am, I’m pretty sure, exhausting during mushroom season but…she’s nice about it. She knows I’ll eventually stop taking photos and rejoin the conversation. Eventually.)
This attention to tiny details is nothing new for me. A conversation with my closest friend (hi, Kathryn) reminded me that, when it comes to Alaska, I’ve been fascinated with the small things for a long time. Long before I moved here (and before Kathryn got married and moved off to NJ—ha ha, who’s the Jersey girl now?*), she joined me on a few of my reporting trips to Alaska.
On one of those trips, maybe 15 years ago?, we went heli-hiking. That, basically, means we got to skip out on the hard part of hiking on a mountain. A helicopter dropped us off so we could go all Sound of Music twirling around in fields of wildflowers. (There was no literal twirling. That would be somewhat to incredibly dangerous on top of a mountain. The way down was…long.) Anyway, we didn’t earn the joy atop that mountain but we sure did revel in it. When you’re on a mountain above the treeline, the wildflowers are somewhat small—they have to hold their own again sun and wind with no trees to shield them. But they are just as vibrant as their brethren down below.
Kathryn is also a writer so she can talk tiny details too. That’s a good thing cause I am sure I would have annoyed pretty much anybody else.
That’s all to say, this newsletter is about to take an exciting shift. We’re going small for the summer. Maybe longer. While icefields and mountains and tails of encountering massive brown bears or bull moose with 75-inch racks might be the first things that catch the attention of people when thinking about Alaska, they are far from the only interesting things about this massive land. The land and the waterways and even the bear are made of so many tiny bits. And that bear spends a lot of her energy trying to catch one of nature’s great heroes: the ground squirrel. (OK, ground squirrels are really an underdog kind of creature. But, as you might guess, I love an underdog. I love ground squirrels.)
So, two weeks at a time, I’m going to focus on a series of topics that all lean small.
Some of what you can expect: a grouping of amanita muscaria, a square-inch of soil, a tuft of spongy tundra, wood frogs, strands of bear fur, bits of bone, shrew scat, an inch of ice in the midst of a glacier, a narrow crevasse (size is relative, of course), earrings made by artists who usually work on a massive scale, spruce tips, the tiny wildflowers that grow above treeline, or the newborn trees that emerge from a crack in a massive rock hundreds of yards away from the coastline, no mammals or sea creatures larger than a marmot. Can marmots swim? Would be cute. A single color on an artist’s palette, the seed of an idea for an Alaskan writer.
My heart is all fired up thinking about these bits.
So, unless enough of you write to me to say you’re over it, I’m going to focus on all things ranging from nearly-invisible to small (with small remaining an ever-flexing outer boundary—I make the rules here). You’ll get to meet scientists who sweat the small stuff and artists who spend hours on wee works (or large-scale works of tiny things). I’ll take you out on hikes and in boats and into restaurants to meet chefs cooking with foraged goodies.
And it’s all going to start in two weeks with black-capped chickadees. Yup. Chickadees. They were the first ones to show up for the job interview—and then they stayed. A birdhouse I’ve been hanging wherever I hung my hat over the last years finally took on some tenants. First there were two and now? I have no idea how many are in there. But if all goes well, I’ll have some photos of some fledglings for you soon.
My trailcam is on the job.
Links of interest (mostly about Alaska but may stray if of interest on little things, big things, art, nature, science, music, books, this and that and the other)
11 p.m. on Chichagof Island by Mary Emerick begins “11 p.m. on Chichagof Island is when the bears begin to move. In the blur between dusk and darkness that passes for a Southeast Alaska night, we sit next to our tents and watch.” Now go read the rest…
Birds, Art, and Conservation: How does art influence attitudes to nature, and how can it help to create positive outcomes in conservation? — Go for the art, stay for the information.
Seeds, the Gateway Drug to Gardening — ‘tis the season.
From the Alaska Beacon: Amid Alaska’s permafrost areas, more soil is staying thawed year-round, UAF scientists find
Beneath the surface of Alaska’s partially frozen landscape, permafrost is being replaced by what might be considered its opposite: soil that stays unfrozen, even in winter.Taliks are sections of year-round thawed soil that are wedged in areas with permafrost, generally between the lower layers that remain in freeze and the active surface layers that freeze and thaw with the seasons.
Now talik formation is speeding up, thanks to warmer winters, increased snowfall and the combination of those factors, according to research by permafrost experts at the University of Alaska Fairbanks.
Scientists examine Gulf of Alaska sea floor to see effects of bottom trawling
The world always has some cruel things going on but it seems particularly fierce right now. So, a little hope from Portugal. The Man, a band that got its start in Wasilla (yes, some good things came out of Wasilla). The band may live in Oregon now but they remain incredibly loyal to people here and show up to help out with all kinds of stuff. Total respect for them on that front.
One Fine Alaska Dog Rabbit
OK, lovelies. That’s it for today. See you in two weeks with many things chickadee. Want to see what the little buggers are up to in the meantime? I’m posting almost-daily updates on Instagram. Sometimes on Twitter too. Also, if you enjoy your time Here in Alaska, please share with your friends and encourage them to subscribe. They can pay me if they want (or not, it’s free for now). Oh, you can give them a paid subscription as a gift. That would be nice of you. You are so nice.
Jenna
*Kathryn — Apologies for making that Jersey joke in such a public way. Couldn’t help myself.
Going small in Alaska