The Alaskan Mushroom Hunt: Chanterelles

I awoke at night to pee.

Stumbled out in the new darkness, barefoot and barely clothed. I hardly took notice that I was in fact peeing outside in Alaska.

It wasn’t the dark, the bears, nature’s toilet, or being without clothes or shoes that surprised me—this was nothing new to me. It was that I could walk outside with no coat, pants, or shoes and not feel cold. The shocker was that I was completely comfortable.

And I had just declared this my last adventure in cold territories, but, somewhere through the season, I acclimatized to not just the weather in Alaska, but to all Alaska. I find myself plotting a return.

I spent a better part of my morning shift of work tiptoeing atop the bladderwack, slippery rocks, starfish and various other sea life at extreme low tide. We were having 15 Japanese high powered business men as guests that evening and it was my task to collect as many mussels as I could before the tide came back up.

I walked toward “cellphone” beach, normally unreachable via shore unless the tide is extremely low and I can walk around the point, as was the case on this particular day. There was a spot that Nelda had told me about, high up on the rocks where the mussels attached themselves and supposedly collecting them straight off the rocks gives you a cleaner, less sandy, mussel.

I couldn’t help but stop en route to the point to pick up as much vibrant green sea lettuce as I could hold. It was everywhere this low tide and has become my favorite new breakfast—steamed with two eggs on top.

The point was almost directly below the Eagles nest and as I approached, I saw him perched proudly on a tree stump atop of the point surveying his territory. We stood a mere fifteen feet apart eyeing each other curiously. I stood still in awe of the actual grandeur of his size and admiring his Zen warrior energy. He was peace as much as he was strength and I now see why the emblem of the Eagle is so sought after.

I had been in my own Zen-like bliss the past couple of days from all my moments of foraging for local edibles.

The night prior, as I was walking home through the damp woods, I stumbled on a patch of chanterelles sprouting from decaying pine logs.

It is hard to believe it was a year ago that I spent countless hours scanning the forests of Limousin, France in search of fungal delicacies. Until I started spotting mushrooms here, I had not realized how much I had learned in France by way of books entirely in the French language and what Norma, Paul, the pharmacists, and the farmer brothers could tell me.

But the Last Frontier lacks the competition of France where all the grandmeres and grandperes knew the appropriate spots to find the best mushrooms. You had to wake up before sunrise in order to get your harvest.

Here in Alaska, I have noticed, the land is covered by mushrooms I could sell at high prices in a European market. They are sitting there in the misty forest, like magical little hermits that no one can see but me.

I picked the chanterelles and inhaled their apricot aroma deeply—the last confirming detail—and laughed gleefully as I lowered my hands and knees into the wet earth and delicately picked my delectable, edible treasure.

As I picked the last of the chanterelles, I saw or perhaps felt a presence in my periphery. There, camouflaged in the fallen tree stumps, sat squatting a fat- gnome of a mushroom, the largest Bolet (cepe) I have ever seen. I started talking and squealing to myself at this point. Alaska was becoming a dream spot of this forager.

When I approached the Eagle, I matched his calm and we were both observers and foragers in this wild land. I continued on to collect hundreds of mussels. When two hours had passed without notice to time or tide, my hands had been rubbed raw by barnacles and cold. I sat on the edge of the shore and soaked my hand in the frozen ocean waters—again oblivious to cold. There is nothing so grounding as to washing your self in fresh frigid waters.

This was one of those days, where I could state in all certainty, “I love my job.” For this is all I need—connecting with land, food and people.

the last couple of days...

Dinner with a glacier view @ Wasabi's in Homer

I awoke to low tide and fog-- a perfect bliss for foraging and exploring

And yes, it is berry season: wild blueberries, strawberries, salmonberries, currents and more. I have been making some tasty chutneys!

And this berry tastes like watermelon and/or cucumber and has a laxative effect to boot!

The flourless chocolate torte gets decked out and dressed up in berries!

The Spit- Homer

Fishing on the Spit

bears and bathrooms

I won’t go into details.

I will hold myself back from describing to you about the composting toilet mishap.

Let’s just say for a girl who is disgusted by very little and actually finds it fun to clean the chicken coop, do colon cleanses, slaughter animals, eat bugs, a girl who has happily traveled through third world aromas—I proclaim the day I emptied and cleaned our composting toilet as “the most disgusting day of my life.” Yes.

It was even worse than swimming in Lake Michigan when they opened the canal locks and let Chicago’s sewage flow into the lake. Somehow, everyone got the memo but me.

Now, in hindsight, I could have evaded the whole rotten scenario had I called the company prior and gotten proper instructions on how to empty it. But, our home smelled like an outhouse and I was irrational. The stink took away all logical thinking and I emptied it in a furry. I later learned from the company that you can not use it for 24 hours prior to emptying and it takes months and months for the entire toilet to turn to soil, so it is impossible to empty the entire bin of waste—which I was determined to do.

Enough said. I cleaned and sanitized every corner of the bathroom and we locked the toilet away in its chamber, never to be used by us girls again.

Our refusal to use the toilet, to ever go back to that smelly world again, leaves us with the lack of a bathroom. Ah… but the forest is right out our front, back and side doors!

There are a few discomforts in this. First of all, we are drinking 98 to 128 ounces of water a day on the detox and somewhere along the calendar the day came where there has been a few hours of darkness. This was all very confusing the first time I had to wake up at 3 AM to pee. I stumbled out into the darkness feeling rather misplaced as I squatted in the dark forest. Where had my beloved Alaskan never-ending light gone to?

I had just made this adjustment to natures toilet and the dark when Megan came running home the other night and rushed in the cabin with excitement.

“There’s a bear over here. We tried to radio you to warn you. Have you seen it?”

Ironically enough, I had just unplugged the radio for when I when I was beating egg whites with the electric mixer, the electricity trigged it to make an awfully loud scratchy noise.

I have learned in my time here in Alaska that black bears are more afraid of us then we are of them. They don’t care to be around us humans. They will attack if caught by surprise and scared. The trick to living out in this forest is to make a lot of noise on the trails, so they hear you and run off.

We have taken to singing “Hey, Bear!” over and over.

When I awoke to pee at 3 AM, I stumbled out into the dark forest nearly forgetting of our new friend roaming about. As I started to squat, I remembered and got a little scared. “What a way to go,” I thought, “getting killed by a bear as I relieve my bladder at 3 in the morn.” So, I started the Hey, Bear! Chant as I squat and pee in the dark forest. What an adventure.

Everyone had seen the bear except me and I had wanted to see one before I left Alaska. So, when I heard a guest say “look, there he is,” this morning I sprinted to the railing and there he was walking the trail to our cabin. Just then I remembered that Lauren was probably on the trail coming to work. They were about to have a head on collision. I yelled through the cove, “Lauren, the bears coming!!”

Lauren and the bear heard my call. She stopped dead in her tracks and he, startled by all the noise, ran of in the other direction. She was a mere fifteen feet away. When she emerged into our view, she nonchalantly yelled back, “yeah, I saw him.”

He is lurking, our new friend. So, maybe it is time to stop drinking so much water or maybe I should just but a bucket in my room. But, if you know me, you know, I’ll take my chances and continue as I was…

Maritime-forager Alaskan detox diet

Perhaps not so gourmet-looking, but oh so comforting: congee with sea lettuce and egg

My roommates/co-workers impress me.

For months now I return home with handfuls of seaweed, local edible plants like dandelion greens, mussels, just about anything I can get my hands on that is edible.

This is a hobby I take with me on all my travels, foraging for local foods, and rarely do I expect anyone to be interested in joining in my little gatherer and ethno-nutritional interests.

But the girls, Megan and Nancy, they pulled the detox diet out of me and now I have a moment to write this as I sit and wait for low tide to reveal the bountiful and healthful treasures of the sea.

Being trained in nutrition at an alternative medical school and having done my fair share of detoxes, the girls plummeted me with questions the night we had a string quartet play here at the lodge and gave us plenty of bubbly, cheese and chocolate.

Pumped up on bubbly and chocolate, the girls excitedly took notes on how to do a light detox. We work too much to do the full on detox which requires a lot of slowing down and relaxing. And we always have the problem of town being only accessible by boat with limited supplies anyhow being small town Alaska.

So, Why not try a local food detox plan? The seaweeds have far more nutrients than the vegetables imported from South America and the protein is lean, fresh and additive free. To make it even more perfect-- the land is bursting with batches of wild blueberries, currents, salmon berries and strawberries. What more do we need?

The plan is to eliminate all caffeine, sugar, corn, peanuts, soy, dairy, wheat, refined foods, processed foods, and alcohol. We are basically eating rice, quinoa, fruit, vegetables, halibut, mussels, seaweed, a ton of water, cider vinegar, lemon juice, and flax seeds. (that's what we could get our hands on)

I've taken to making one of my favorite standbys-- congee, which is basically a rice gruel. It is used in Asia as a healing soup and is also a common breakfast item.

It is one cup of brown rice to 6 cups of water which is then simmered for 4-5 hours until all the liquid is absorbed. I like to throw in grounding root vegetables such as burdock, ginger, carrot, and dandelion root, healing herbs and here in Alaska I have added a variety of seaweeds and mushrooms.

Fortunately, we have a Crockpot here so I can put everything in at bedtime and wake up to a hot, healthy breakfast.

I like to steam a little sea lettuce and egg to top of the bowl of congee. As the steam rises from the seaweed bits, I feel as if I am in the Japanese country-side eating what they have eaten for centuries and feeling grounded by this simple meal with ingredients I gathered the previous day.

The girls have never done anything like this and their excitement and commitment to give up their diet and try new and strange foods revives my love for healing and the power that a deep connection with your foods actually has.

I feel more energized than I have in months and have taken to sprinting up and down the hills of the lodge when going from point A to Point B.

I radiate a giddy bliss and don't feel weighed down when the clouds roll in and rain pours down.

This detox has giving me a purpose to forage, rather than quickly retiring to the cabin after work-- I wander through trails and pick berries or scavenge for newly uncovered sea treats.

One of my truest joys in eating is to harvest the food direct from its source with my own hands--Oh! How satisfying to have seen the land that it came from and to know it didn't have to pass through several hands and machines and get sprayed, packaged and shipped.

This is as fresh as fresh can be! When your food is this fresh, who needs extra ingredients and unhealthy foods for it is packed with flavor!

And with that my friends, my tide is low and my treasures await...

Alaska Pictures

I finally found time to upload an album. Have a look:

alaska

Click on the boat for the album

I have so many stories to tell about our maritime-forager detox diet (think seaweed and sea creatures), an amazing hike, meeting great folks in town, and picking blueberries!!! Oh yeah-- and the sun came out. Alaska looks good in sunshine!

and then we kayaked to the bar

Blogs to come, but for now I will leave you with pictures of Nancy and my ambitious kayak to find civilization and a bottle of wine.


We got off at 5 and made it there by 8-- paddling through the calm bay amongst fisherman and ferries going to and fro and otters with their babies swimming along side us.

A bottle of wine and conversation with strangers never felt so nice...

reflecting on a rainy Alaskan day

Alaskan rainy days bring back memories of Seattle rainy days.

I was longing for chocolate, hot beverages-- a hot mug of egg nog could perhaps warm me from the inside out and compliment the constant gray skies we have been having.

Living on a remote Alaskan peninsula with five other woman (and 1 man of the house) was enough to induce a cabin fever silliness in me-- that few others have had the opportunity of experiencing.

Instead of sulking about the weather (I was to later find out that this has been the worst summer in Alaska since 1917!) I found refuge in folding laundry and listening to National Public Radio.

When Saturdays come-- we fight for the chores that are near a radio so we can disappear into Garrison Keillor's soothing voice and almost feel as if we were living the hot, humid Midwest summer that is far from these cold and salty sea shores.

The Banya (sauna) has also become my savior. On days were the rain seems to never let up, I like to get it hot, 200 degrees will do the job.

I turn off the lights and lay, sweating in repose as I listen to the pitter patter of rain drops upon the roof.

I sweat myself into euphoria and after an hour, the misty rain and gray skies have turned from the burdensome dull drums to a crisp and alive purity. I now hear the sounds of Alaska amplified-- I hear every eagle, the sound of their wings flap. I hear a splash-- a fish jumping.

The heat from the banya has quieted my mind and made me acutely aware to the sounds and sights of my surrounding Alaska. Utter brillance, vibrantly three dimensional clouds, looming- present mountains and electric green bush.

I walk home slow-- no longer power walking on rocky shores and muddy trails. I stop and look at what the tides have brought in-- mainly seaweeds of all shapes and sizes that I pick up and take home for dinner.

As I walk, I notice rain drops on the tall grasses, slowly rolling off like delicate glass beads. I haven't noticed that I am completely soaked for I am happy.

I watch smoke billowing from all the rustic cabins planted in cozy little spots, scattered throughout the cove. I take comfort in knowing that everyone is finding therapy in a warm fire this day.

When I return to the cabin in the woods, I pull out a few pieces of rationed chocolate-- bars I have broken into pieces, individually wrapped and thrown into the freezer. I must do this, for left to my own, I would eat all the dark chocolate friends have sent from far away places in a quickness.

I take a few squares, pour some wine and settle in with a book and wool blanket-- completely oblivious to time. Is it July? Is it 10 at night? Because it is cold and still light out-- a complete enigma.

I am also oblivious to the rest of the world: my family in humid, busy Chicago, to the high season and long summer dinners outside at Montautre in France, to Maddi busily planning her September wedding in Seattle, and to Bec and Pascal staying inside, cuddling their newborn child in the winter of New Zealand. They all seem worlds away from this wildness that is Alaska-- this completely foreign and strange world that America has claimed as their own. The road signs might be the only thing this place has in common with the lower 48, the rest is up for grabs-- the last frontier.

A place where natures elements are still in the drivers seat and man is merely a passenger.

a day out

Days have been busy, well worn in consistency and rhythmic coziness settles under layers of clouds. It is past mid July and I awake at 5:30 every morning.

It is a little darker now which means now we get 17 point-something hours of day light. It is still light when I fall asleep and still light when I awake. I don’t even notice it now. It might even seem strange the next time I see a black sky.

I am looking forward to romantically gazing at the stars and returning to that thought I have had since I was a little girl, “who else is looking at these same constellations, thinking the same thoughts and dreaming the same dreams—under this wide dark, sky—we are all the same.”

As I walked passed Jill, one of the Chef’s, trimming herbs from the greenhouse she commented, “Hey Lace. Go read the board when you go inside.”

What could it be? I rushed in and peered at the wipe board: Staff lunch in Soldovia tomorrow departing at the dock at 10 AM.

I hadn’t left the peninsula in days. Though, I was appeased by the luminous mountains and the nesting eagles, I nearly jumped out of my skin in excitement to be going some where new.

Compared to the summer of rain, on our special day, I was awoken by a bright sun and calm, glassy waters. Being on the morning shift gives me that opportunity to own the world, if just for a moment. For I like to wake up first to hold the early morning stillness all to myself, as if I am the only person in the world to observe the world awakening and coming to life. (I know I have blogged this passion before).

From 7 to 10 AM, I drove the four wheeler up and down the hill; hauling brush and feeling the long lost sun penetrate my soul. It was a good day to be in Alaska. Everything was brilliantly bright and 3D and when all us girls boarded the skiff at 10 AM—happiness abounded.

I was most amused by how Nelda seemed to know the entire town of Soldovia. I suppose you would too if you lived here 26 years. It really was like an episode of Northern Exposure. Everyone knew everything about anyone.

Nelda recognizes our waitress, “oh, how’s your dad? Didn’t your brother spend a year walking to Alaska from the lower 48?”

The taxi driver tells us personal details of every person whose property we pass.

The coffee shop owner refuses to make tourists a dry cappuccino, claiming “I am a coffee drinker, I don’t drink that stuff, so I don’t make it, you want something fancy, go to one of those other places.” This coming from a guy whose coffee shop is one of the main tourist destinations in town.

I like this lack of etiquette in Alaska. It seems to be a land where anything seems to go. If you can handle the elements and live here, you can do as you wish.

It was a great day out with my co-workers and every little piece more I see of Alaska, ignites a wish to see even more...

unreachable except by bush line

If I absolutely must use my phone, this is the only place it works.

Getting here requires rubber boots, time and motivation but once here, I don't really want to use my phone.

I just want to soak in the different sort of silence (that is not silence at all) that is on this side of the peninsula-- waves lapping on shore, seals blowing air out of the water and eagles landing on branches.

Out here, in the seclusion of the Alaskan wilderness, it is best to be reached by bush lines.

I thought it quite charming when I first heard it on Homer's National Public Radio-- people calling messages in and having them read out on the air.

"It used to be 25 years ago, that was the only way to get in contact with people. When guests were coming to our lodge, they had to leave a message for me on the radio. You were always listening, because if you missed it, you would have people would just show up and no one would be here to greet them," said a local wilderness lodge owner the other day when we hiked to his place for a cup of tea and conversation.

It is rustic. I happen to really enjoy it. Being one who is not found of the telephone, I think messages via bush line sounds like a brilliant idea.

In the afternoons, I turn on the radio and listen, as if by eavesdropping, to all the quirky messages sent out to all us unreachable's "out in the bush."

Tom, Sue says it was great seeing you and she will see you next week. Bob, you forgot your halibut in our freezer, we promise to keep it safe for you! Joe-- Sarah and I will meet you at the Salty Dawg at 7...

Perhaps, instead of hiking here, I, too will be reachable only through the bush line.

Yeah, I like that.

A localvore's Alaskan eating exotic adventure

Bladderwack seaweed I harvested and stir fry for breakfast

I sit perched high on the jagged gray cliffs of rock overlooking the bay, numerous pine tree swamped islands and off-the-grid cabins billowing smoke from their banya’s across the way.

I sun myself like a seal, in direct light, draped across the rocks. It is nearly nine o’clock at night and the brightness of the sun is blinding.

I sit watching the high tide, the highest I have yet seen. It’s so high that the trail to my cabin is submerged under water—all the evidence of the black bear, his tracks and fresh scat, washed away.

I am forced to go deeper into the forest, into his domain, in order to get home on dry land.

I haven’t seen him yet, the baby black bear, but he is around. We are careful to rid our kitchen of any delectable aromas so he doesn’t burst down our door.

I was sure he had broken in the other night when one of my roommates decided to “agitate” our composting toilet at 4 AM.

I had not known any of them to wake up at night to pee and every time you use the composting toilet you must pull a bar in and out to turn all that human waste into reusable, fertile soil.

The raking of the compost produces a loud knocking sound, which, at 4 AM, in a sleepy haze, one could very well think is the sound of a bear breaking in.

Jon warned me as I was taking home the salmon eggs and salmon testicles, that the chefs were going to just toss in the bay, to be very careful of the odor of these exotic ingredients for salmon is a beloved delicacy of the black bear.

The instant I got home, I turned the eggs into caviar by curing them in a salty brine.

But the testicles???? Do you remember my post about the sheep testicules in France?

From sheep to salmon, testicles have the common trait of being mushy. Sure, the flavor was mildly tasty but just imagine a savory, fishy flavor with the texture of an over-ripe banana and that is what a salmon testicle tastes like.

I took one bite of the testicle and took the pan to the trash, hovering for a moment, I thought, “On the slight chance the roommates are interested I will save them.”

Interested, they were! I told Megan, one of the chefs, and Nancy the kayak guide and they excitedly spread them on sourdough pancakes left over from the previous breakfast. They both agreed that they were edible but not really yummy. For a strange, exotic food with high shock factor, it was palatable.

We brainstormed of how to make them tasty and the best we could come up with is blending them with a ton of butter and making it a pate.

“What did the Eskimo’s do?” I asked. “They had no cows. No butter.” That is where we decided that perhaps they would taste good in a sushi roll, nestled close with a stick of raw, crunchy carrot and perhaps cucumber and sesame seed for added crisp.

Until the next boat of fresh caught salmon arrives, I think it is best that I dump by previous batch in the bay, to keep away Mr. Bear and in the meantime try to find a way to make them edible.

As I sit, sun drenched, on the rocks, the tide gradually migrates and I scan the freshly uncovered grounds for more local edibles. I see that the Bladderwack still in red bloom—a seaweed with a great source of iron, vitamin C and A and protein. When it is red, it causes red tide, a bloom that creates a toxin fatal to humans. I will have to wait to harvest this seaweed I have been enjoying stir fried for breakfast. I also have to wait to harvest clams and mussels.

As I walk back, through the forests and over the bear scat, I pick dandelion greens for tonight’s dinner. This is the only way to get fresh greens here.

I pause to watch an eagle desperately attempting to swim to shore. I had never heard of this until I saw it here in Alaska.

An eagle weighs approximately five pounds and has the capacity to catch a salmon twice its weight (10 lbs). When they dive down to the water and catch their fish their talons clutch the fish and lock on it until they hit solid ground which enables them to release their catch. Sometimes, like tonight, they underestimate.

Tonight his fish must have been twelve pounds, too heavy to fly off with. With an over weight fish and the inability to let go, he is pulled into the sea, attached to this monster of a fish.

I thought they were all joking when they pointed out that the black object in the distance was an eagle doing the breast stroke. But it is true. In these instances, the eagle must swim to shore to press his talons on solid ground and release the fish.

No wonder the eagle is the symbol for our country—majestic, stoic, strong and unstoppable—this particular eagle swam, with salmon in tow, for 45 minutes into shore and survived. That salmon must have been the best meal of his life.

I make it home and the halibut Nancy caught is defrosted. I smother it in cilantro, herbs, salt, soy sauce, ginger, garlic, limes and wrap it tightly in a sheet of Nori seaweed. We happily stuff ourselves with our locally caught fish, from these very waters we live on, after a long and hard day of physical work.

Sometimes a meal is best, when worked for and especially best when local.

in town

I think I might drink this bottle of wine right here.

I’ll probably finish this bar of chocolate, dark chocolate—88 percent dark to be exact.

Food has been minimal; I thought it would be great to not bring wine or chocolate to this secluded bay in Alaska. I think the lack of sugar and the constant movement has made me shrink in size.

But you wouldn’t be able to tell for the overgrowth of hair overpowers the bodies’ shrinkage. I have turned into a woodsy woman—scruffy, knotty hair and worn in, dirt covered clothes like so many of the women I have seen out in Alaska. There is no room for pretty here. I find this liberating.

Nancy, my roommate, started laughing at me today when I put on the Cubs cap Danielle sent me. She apparently found it funny how boyish and outdoorsy my look was becoming.

I have been so darn healthy—the pinnacle of healthy. The water challenge? To my luck the water that runs out of the faucet is water tapped from a spring right behind my cabin. Crisp, cold and refreshing, the kind of refreshing where it hits the back of your throat and finally quenches the never ending thirst. It has the essence of glacier—pure, clean, fresh.

I have gone far beyond the 64 ounces of water I was challenging myself to drink—drinking twice or three times that amount and my water-adjusted body loves it.

Going into town one wants to consume just a little. But with only two bags, no car, and hitch hiking as the mode of transportation there is no room, literally, for indulgence. This also makes me happy. When wandering through the store, I think “do I need this enough to carry it on my back? Do I need this enough for it to take up the space of other things I might need?”

Nancy and I hopped the boat to town late Tuesday night after watching the tide come in-- the highest I had yet seen creating a pond for massive fish to get stuck in near the cabin. We sat watching a seal play with a fish nearly equal to his own size as a majestic eagle made swooping dives down in attempt to take this fish home for dinner. This is typical activity in my backyard here. I am living in an episode of the Discovery channel—HD couldn’t give you the feeling I felt that night.

The next two days were spent staying at Nancy’s friend’s lock-less house built circularly around a tree trunk with walls of windows that looked out at the snow capped mountains backdropping Katchemak Bay.

I thought I wanted society. Maybe go flirt with those cute Alaskan boys I had heard so much of or drink espresso in a coffee shop—but when I finally pulled myself from the cozy, comforting blanket of silence the next morning—all I wanted to do was drink a hot cup of French pressed coffee and sit with my book, soaking up the view and bathing in quiet.

I was pulled out of my solace when Nancy called from town. She had been halibut fishing all morning, since 4 AM and caught us enough food to keep us satiated for quite some time. Later that night I stuffed my self with pounds of garlic drenched baked Halibut—c’est la bonne vie.

Motivated and with a purpose to meet up with Nancy I hitched into town.

Hitch hiking is one of my truest of true pleasures in life. All possessions on your back, no time frame, no rush—you walk on the open road and extend yourself to a new and unfamiliar world. A world where you give up all in graciousness and enter someone else’s domain and for a few miles you learn someone’s unique life story, having no idea who you are about to meet. On the road is where you meet the variety and true people of the world--- for on the road is the real people, the everyday people. On the road is where you have access to all walks of life.

My first ride was a Rasta man who claimed he wasn’t going too far but could take me a little ways. But, conversation was so stimulating, I soon found myself getting door to door service. He was a seasonal fisherman whom loved to travel in the off season. His most recent trip was hitchhiking from Cape Town to Mozambique where he fell in love with hammocks and fresh roasted cashews.

The more I hitch hiked, the more traveling tales I would hear and my gypsy soul would vibrate with the excitement of hearing tales of lands yet traveled and meeting people who understood the need to wander. I would have never guessed that Alaska harbored people so much like me—hunters, travelers, minimalists, freedom lovers, nature lovers, adventurers…

I sat out on the cold, wet deck with a new sturdy set of sea legs on my way home. I watched the rough waters and surrounding beauty and felt a sense of belonging. I had nothing but a bag full of groceries, a bar of chocolate, a bottle of wine and mind full of stories and future dreams and a deep, penetrating reassurance that The Road is Life.

I have been a little busy, enjoying a few days off and in the big city of Homer, I have some good posts brewing in my head and hope to give you some stories here in the next few days. In the mean time I will share with you a couple photos of my Alaskan home.

I try to wake up before all others to enjoy this serenity and quiet calm all to myself.

The long dock in which all arrive at the lodge. The tide can get so high that the floating dock hit the top of those posts!

Simple and rustic-- this is all I need for a living space. I can even make plywood cozy!

The main house where all the dinners and cooking take place.

From the Backyard: Fresh Mussels

I am off of work. It is dinner time and all other staff are busy in the kitchen—complete and total solace.

In my beloved rubber boats again, I walk the rocky shore at low tide. How perfect is it that I am off of work right at low tide?

With the tide pushed back, I scan the sharp black rocks, covered in seaweed (that I will later find is all edible) there are so many of them speckled between the rocks that I almost miss them. Wedged in between and attached to the rocks are thousands of blue shells! Yes, I am collecting tonight’s dinner of fresh mussels!

It is so silent I can hear the eagles wings flap as he passes overhead. I stop and watch him as I prepare for my great harvest.

From time to time, I forget to look up. I know it’s unbelievable that I don’t see the water that is as smooth as glass and the jutting luminous snow capped mountain that is right in my view, absolutely impossible to miss. I breathe in and chant to myself, “I am in Alaska! I am in Alaska!” and return my eyes to the beach.

I remember when I traveled in SE Asia how the Thai people would squat on the beach and scavenge with their hands. I choose to do the same pose for it seems the best way to maneuver.

I squat down and begin pulling the damp shells off the rocks. They are attached by tiny, little strings called a beard and take just a little bit of effort to pull off.

I am in the groove and the repetitive motion grounds me. I am at the most peace when my hands are near the earth. I feel connected and am in utter bliss to be harvesting my own food and eating the freshest mussels that I have ever had for dinner.

With a full bucket, I stand up and look at the mountain once more and walk to my cabin in the woods.

In the kitchen, I do not have my usual ingredients I like to use for mussels—white wine, fresh rosemary and thyme, capers, and fresh tomatoes. I can not just run to the market—it is a thirty minute boat ride from here and I don’t have a boat so I have to hitch a ride.

I make do with what I have. It shall be a gourmet Alaskan-camper meal. I chop garlic and sauté it in a pan and then open a can on diced tomato, throw it in the large sauce pan and then add a dash of balsamic vinegar and dried herbs left-behind by the previous staff. I throw in my bucket of mussels and steam it all until the shells open.

It is the simplest and best meal I have had in a long time. Now if only I had a glass of white wine, a glass of crisp white Soave from Italy would do nicely. Alas, it's a little out of my reach.

My dinner guest is a book on Alaskan edible plants and seaweeds. To my delight, just about every seaweed on the beach is edible and filled with nutrients like vitamin A, C and full of protein. I decide tomorrows local food adventure is a seaweed harvest.

Town and the market may be far away, but I seem to have all I need to fill my belly and make me happy right in my very own “backyard.”

the place, the job, the activities

It is the Alaskan version of my time in France; Working at a small lodge, in an obscure place, cooking, cleaning, full range of fun burly activities that I enjoy like weed whacking and being in charge of the burn barrel, more nature than structure, and foraging for local foods like seaweeds, clams and mussels.

The owners, Jon and Nelda, have to be the most sincere and easy going people on the planet. I am fortunate two have these two as my employers. They are also more organized than anyone I have ever met and you would have to be to undertake this sort of business.

Hospitality is hard but hospitality in a remote part of the country which is only accessible by boat takes a special amount of organization, patience and understanding.

Take yesterday for example, Jon and I had to boat across the bay early in the morning to the town of Homer to buy groceries for next weeks family reunion: 35 guests staying for four days and since it is boat access-only three meals must be prepared and supplied to the guests.

Besides the fact that we are in Alaska and produce is pricey anyhow add in the rising food costs and gas prices (to take the boat back and forth and drive the truck to hold all the groceries.) This is no easy feat—physically and financially.

Getting to and fro, buying enough groceries, lifting them from the store to the tall truck to the dock to the boat and to the lodges dock and storage is quite a challenge—but the super challenge was to get it all done by three so Jon could go pick up guests who were on another beach somewhere finishing up a day trip.

I live for this stuff: impractical, out of the ordinary, physically challenging with a side of adventure. So when Jon told me I was his “right hand person”, I was enthusiastically up for the job.

Back in March when I was interviewing for the job Nelda called a list of people I had previously worked with. They all told me she asked them whether I can handle being outside and being physical. All of them told her a similar reply of “Oh yeah. Lacey strangely actually adores physical labor and being in the middle of no where; she’d be a great fit.”

It was hot that morning, the first morning that I didn’t require an armor of fleece. I foolishly thought I could ride the boat with a light jacket, fortunately, Jon warned me of the arctic ride I was in for. I took my Carhart coat that Norma and Rini (of Chateau de Montautre) gave me—and I find myself thanking them everyday for that coat for it suits Alaskan life to perfection.

Cold ocean spray upon my face and ice cold air pushing on my back enlivened me. I felt as crisp as the brilliant Alaskan landscape surrounding me. We could see every snow covered volcano looking as if they were about to fall off the edge of the earth. Beside us otter play, above us eagles soar and in front of us town awaits.

Once in the town of Homer, we were greeted by small town cheer. Jon seemed to know the whole town on first name basis. Every time I was alone and probably appearing lost and confused some one would strike up a conversation with me. I have hardly spent time in this town and already have friends to hang out with there. So friendly this little fishing town is or as their motto says, “Homer: A tiny little drinking town, with a fishing problem.”

It was like Super Market Sweep, Jon and I loaded with three dollies and a four page list. We scrounged through the sorry looking produce for the best we could find (for it is quite a trip for fresh produce to get all the way here) and when finished we filled the entire truck with boxes of groceries and one massive cooler (which was to later be lifted on the boat) filled with all things frozen.

By the time we were at Tutka Bay and unloaded my body was broken. To my luck, the guests had fired up the Banya and I was off of work!!

The Banya is a sauna that the Alaskans used to bath themselves. Inside is a wood stove with a pile of wood to keep the heat going. Surrounding the wood stove are stones to pour water on for steaming and on top is a huge soup pot filled with water that is heated by the fire and used for bathing.

I stripped off my clothes, did hot-yoga, relaxed and yes, did my bathing. I was lying on the wooden bench thinking of how the Alaskans used it to bathe when it dawned on me that I could do the same. I ladled the hot water over my head and body, soaped up, and then ladled some more. It was the best bath/shower of my life. I felt cleaner then I would have in a normal shower. Once finished, I let the heat dry my skin and hair. I dressed and walked blissfully home through the misty woods.

This is just some of how my time goes and I am sure there are many new adventures awaiting me—oh, how will I be able to keep these posts short??!

That’s it for now; it is time to go watch the sun not set!

taggin'

I like to drink local: drinking my "favorite drink" in Friuli region of Italy

I was "tagged" for the first time by Gillian over at Confessions of a Young Woman. In the world of blogging, you are tagged by fellow bloggers and generally answer a list of questions. So, here it goes:

One thing I don't like: Pasta. Even before I knew I was gluten/wheat intolerant I detested the stuff. My brother loved it, on the other hand. He always pushed us to go to Dave’s Italian Kitchen and I would throw a fit. I always thought bread and pasta were so filling and tasteless. Perhaps it was all intuition for what did my body wrong.

Three of my favorite foods:
Olives

Feta

Anything Seafood

My favorite recipe: Lamb marinated in red wine, rosemary, sea salt, olive oil, pepper, mustard and grilled—I like simple and salty.

My drink: Wine is the only alcohol I like and I have adored it since a teen. I am quite found of the Grenache grape and tend to prefer Old World wines over New World.

The dish I wish I could cook: a whole roasted pig. I am dying to try that one.

My best food memory: This question has to be the story of my life. Is it hunting the largest rodent in South America? Or fresh bought fish in Nicaragua, cooked over an open flame and wrapped in a banana leaf while hanging out with Nica revolutionaries? Or collecting moths in Cambodia with a local woman and stir frying them up? Or eating a meal in a monastery with a table full of pilgrims in Spain? Or cooking an Italian style dinner with a Swiss boy for my friends in Florida? Or grilling ribs in the indoor fireplace in France? Or our “invite someone you have a crush one” vegan dinner party where I invited that musician boy I stalked? Or the wine tasting held on twelve ships in Zurich? Or old men in China throwing strange meat products (probably dog) in my bowl of rice? Or slaughtering Turkey’s in France with Pascal the farmer for Thanksgiving? Or eating French cheese in bed with Jimmy in France? Or making apple cider with Norma? Or getting the royal treatment in Crete for being a Bediz, family of Bâhâeddin , eating fresh grilled sardines and all things Mediterranean on the sea with local historians? Or roof top dining in Prague with my father? Or Mustard’s Last stand- -where for our entire lives the cook saw us and always new our order (for me a double dog with mustard, fries and chocolate shake)?

In short my mission in life is all about adventures in food and culture and it is impossible to pick one best memory…

I tag Kiara, Bec and Maddi.