Can-can holiday in the sunflower bed

Tonight, after the lawn was mowed and the dahlias transplanted, those little chianti sunflowers that I planted as seeds back on Tax Day finally landed in the ground. They’re in good company with a few strawberry blondes, two valentines, several mammoths and one moulin rouge. Sounds like a fun group. Makes me wish for a millisecond that I was a sunflower. But I bet that if they do actually know the significance of their names they’re probably too busy growing roots and photosynthesizing to go on a hot date or have any parties. Soon their bright faces will be shielding my living room window from the rest of the world and gracing me every morning with sunshiny petals of happiness. Grow speed racers! Grow!

Commodore Orpington (a.k.a. Sir Elton Hercules John) coming to Squarebanks

Yes, it’s May, so don’t let the sun go down on me. That yellow brick road has faded away like a candle in the wind. So much for the crocodile rock that I used to visit with Bennie and the Jets. Yes, Rocket Man is on the way.

Why fly all the way to Atlantic City to see Elton John in concert, when it’s so very hot there in July. All you need to do is mosey over to the Carlson Center on May 29th. Yes, it really is true. He’s making three stops in the U.S. this summer and one just happens to be in fabulous Fairbanks, “Destination Superstar,” Alaska.

Of course, anyone who’s experienced the Pump House for Wednesday night karaoke knows that Fairbanks does have a certain mega-star appeal, so it makes complete sense that Elton would count our lovely town as a must-stop.

So, don’t go breaking my heart. Buy a ticket tomorrow. They go on sale at 10 a.m. via ticketmaster.com.

Elton, see you soon!

Waiting for the fourth spring

If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result each time, then around here we have all pretty much flown the coop. This craze is mainly due to weather. Spring has shown up three times in the past month, stayed for about a week and then been blasted out each time by a stubborn snow that just doesn’t want to stop. And this whole cycle is simply cuckoo.

During these consecutive springs, the temperature melts most of the snow, and stays just long enough to turn my driveway into muddy ruts. I packed up my skis up a few springs ago, putting them in the basement until next season. Coupled with the little sprouts of green grass that appeared beneath my lilac tree, these were all welcome signs. They show that we’ve made it through another winter and so the expectation is that, naturally, summer should soon take over in full force. But then it snows again, and everyone’s spring fever plummets.

So we are left to play a game of make believe for a few more weeks, or a few more days. Who really knows. We bide our time, waiting for spring to finally get so sick of snow that she kicks him out for good, like a bad boyfriend. Then we can finally wash our mud-crusted trucks, revel in the seemingly mundane chore of raking last fall’s dead leaves, and wear shorts beyond the confines of the gym.

While waiting for the real spring to come out, come out, wherever you are, I scoured the blogosphere to see how others could inspire Fairbanksans through this borderline seasonal disruption. Undoubtedly, this path turned to a theme of food. Maybe that’s because I haven’t eaten breakfast yet this morning and I’m really hungry. Regardless, there is something comforting about a big bowl of pasta during trying times.

Until summer restores our sanity, Food and Paper suggests making a batch of tagliatelle with chive oil and cremini mushrooms. Perky Rachel Ray recommends her spring pea-sto with whole wheat penne pasta. The Wednesday Chef actually draws her food, as in her spring fever risotto. Finally, Luisa Weiss makes a list of things to eat, drink, learn, plant or pick before you go. I find this activity rather hopeful. It suggests that there is something beyond the dingy gray slush of yet another break up. I think my list might be called To Do, To See, Before I Go. Certainly in response to the bleak snow-covered affect found in my present location, it could start out like this:

1. Bake a chocolate torte.
2. Sip malbec while staying at Bodega Salentein.
3. Eat more vegetables from the farmer’s market
4. Learn Spanish.
5. Walk in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.
6. Run a marathon.
7. Eat chocolate in Belgium.
8. See Jack Johnson in concert.
9. Bone fish in the Bahamas.
10. Sleep over the water in Bora Bora.

Up a river with a paddle and some swans

For your information, interior Alaska’s Clearwater Lake is ready for paddlers. I know this because Saturday I was part of a friendly flotilla—four boats, eight humans and one dog—that put in at the Clearwater River just below the campground, then paddled approximately five hours down the meandering river and onto a small section of the Tanana, where we took a sharp turn at a sign with an arrow pointing left and the word “Lake.”

At this point we were forced to paddle like escapees from Alcatraz, working our way up through a rapid current, that eventually led us to Clearwater Lake. Here we used the bows of our canoes to crunch a jangled path through approximately 100 feet of relatively thin ice that sat between the middle of the lake and the far shoreline, where we would soon disembark.

And when we chanced upon the lake for the first time, we were greeted by two enormous swans, trumpeter or tundra varieties and certainly mates for life, who I swear cackled over and over again, “It’s spring! It’s spring! It’s spring!” And they were absolutely right.

About forty of their swan friends and double the number of Canadian goose socialites lingered atop the remaining ice shelf that lined the shore of the lake. A harlequin couple, overdressed as usual, were the wallflowers of the bunch, loitering along the edge of the affair. Regardless, it seemed we had caught them all in the middle of a somewhat segregated cocktail party, with swans on the left and Canadians on the right. All were reconnoitering, reflecting on this year’s long journey north. And behind this gaggle, two lackadaisical moose stood on the shore, silently munching on willows, and paying no attention to this energetic flock. Surely they’d seen this all before, spring after spring after spring.

If you’ve never heard a couple of swans on take-off, they’re the bird world’s version of a 747, and if they’re ascending from a lake, their gigantic wings beat against the water, the tips especially slapping against the surface, until just airborne enough to be free. Amidst the grace of their flight, a subtle downward motion juts down awkwardly from their lower neckline with each wing flap. This balances out the downward thrust of their giant wings, and makes it possible at the same time for their elegant heads to surge forward with each flap, as if they were each their own winged victory of Samothrace.

In addition to this live rendition of Winged Migration, one of the day’s highlights took place after we stopped along a bank on the Tanana and had lunch. Here we all fell asleep in the sun. It was a rare kind of warm, unbothered sleep where one immediately goes to a heavy, relaxing place of pure dreamy content. I could have happily stayed here for a few hours, but our crew’s squirrel hunter and canine alarm clock, woke us all up with a raucous in the woods, and as the squirrel chattered away for dear life and the bad dog was scolded, we all came to and knew that it was time to paddle along. This was okay though, because that cozy rest in the rays was just the glimpse I needed to know that summer’s incoming laze will surely usher in more of the same.

Growing my own chianti

Okay, forget the little waltz called spring from last week. Two nights ago a snowstorm with the grace of a clunky giant stomped into town and, with stealth precision, dumped another four or five inches of heavy, wet snow, eradicating every indication of spring.

People everywhere have been thrown into temporary seasonal affective disorder and I even heard someone today tell me they were thinking of moving to the lower 48 for the summer and finding a waitress job, in order to get away from it all. Even though this should melt away this weekend, when it’s expected to be in the upper forties, the snowfall was a truly unwanted surprise for April.

While it may be too soon, in healthy reaction to this seasonal mayhem, I was prompted to plant 24 chianti hybrid sunflower seeds yesterday. I’ve decided to take up planting, rather than drinking.

Last year I planted five varieties of sunflowers in front of my living room window, and by far the most amazing of the bunch were the chianti hybrid. A deep burgundy flower, some with flecks of gold and others a solid mass of deep midnight red, the plant has multiple stems and is the perfect length for cutting. The unusual color of the flower makes it a hit when giving to friends as part of bouquets and at $2.95 for a pack of 24 seeds, starting from seed is a total bargain. My plan is to give some of the plants away to people and grow a bunch more for my own enjoyment.

So if you’re really nice to me, I might give you one when they’re ready. But just in case, you could try planting your own seeds. It’s a rewarding way to make it through the melt until summer and they’re all your own.

The TNT tipping point

A little waltz called spring sashayed its way into Fairbanks last week, melting the top few layers of snow with its graceful gait and subtly persuading the light to linger for at least 14 hours per day. But this weekend was a shock, as winter returned like a Puritan preacher and insisted that the dancing stop—at least for now. It’s started snowing again and Sunday afternoon the thermometer said twenty-one.

Despite the flurries and drop in temps, many people are convinced that it still is spring. For instance, I was at the grocery store yesterday and saw a woman walking in with an above-the-knee dress, bare legs and spike heels. Maybe she was in some sort of season-induced haze, not noticing that the parking lot that melted last week had frozen into an ice rink, but I doubt it. Scenes like this are common around Fairbanks this time of year.

You see, we are in the middle of a seasonal tipping point. For women this is more specifically referred to as the TNT. That’s short for “tights or no tights.” The point at which every woman switches is different and it’s a purely personal decision, but influenced strongly by weather. When I decide to wear a skirt without tights is usually when I feel we have officially passed into late spring or early summer, and most of the time those two sub-seasons fall within a day of each other here.

I haven’t reached my TNT tipping point yet, but I will tell you that I’m close. All the signs are there. I’ve been eying my summer clothes box that’s stored on the top shelf of my closet. I took the leap from skate skiing to running outside last week. And yesterday I tried on some of my sandals, anticipating the day my white legs can reveal themselves to the world, and blind anyone within 50 feet. So start wearing your sunglasses, because that day is coming and I don’t want to cause any collateral damage.

And just a reminder, after you find your sunglasses, step outside and close your eyes for a minute. What do you hear? In Fairbanks there are little birds chirping loudly everywhere, groups of chickadees and snow buntings, insisting that we hold on until the real spring comes clean and we can lose the tights for another six months or so.

Grow some equity, plant a dahlia

It’s spring and since some surmise we’re in a recession, this historical combination makes it the perfect time to consider growing a garden. Including vegetables in the mix for sustenance seems practical, but for aesthetic reasons flowers, especially dahlias, are essential. My thought this season is that instead of buying a house, plant a dahlia tuber. Regularly watered, they’re virtually risk-free and, in less than a year, build easy equity consisting of cut flowers and typically, from year to year, a 75% increase in tubers.

Alaska’s plants, with our short summers, often follow the live fast and die young motto, so if they’re not given some extra love inside prior to the official Memorial Day start of the season, flowering can begin late. This is especially true of dahlias. Once started, our long days of continual sunlight create amazing conditions, where sometimes a plant’s growth in one day can visibly be measured on a yardstick. With that in mind, my green-thumbed mother called the other day and reminded me that it’s time to pull my tubers out of the basement, as April 1st is a good deadline for planting dahlias inside.

Dahlias are very economical. At the end of the season they leave a tuber that carries all of the nutrients for next year’s plant, and this can be divided into three or four more plants. Below is a video of a woman from Scotland planting dahlia tubers. She pronounces the word dahlia like dale-ya. Americans typically pronounce the word dal-ya. Dal like Hal. Here she shows just how easy it is to plant a tuber:

After I plant my tubers, I set each one in a sunny window and after a few weeks they sprout and reveal the beginnings of a plant stalk. In early June, I move them outside into a full sun location and transplant them into larger pots, where they’ll grow up to four feet tall, producing many brightly-colored flowers. The dinner plate dahlia varieties are my favorites, with blossoms the size of their namesake. There are also decorative dahlias, great for cut bouquets; cactus dahlias, with petals that curl on the ends resembling cacti; and smaller varieties used for bordering flower beds. Since mature dinner plate dahlias in Fairbanks usually cost around $30 each, I typically treat myself to one greenhouse grown plant per year. Last year The Plant Kingdom’s dahlias were the healthiest in town, and I recently bought a bag of dinner plate tubers at Lowe’s for $5.98.

At the end of the season, after a frost that is hard enough to turn the lower stalk of the plant a dark black brown, I cut off the top of the dahlia plant, about two inches from the bottom of the plant’s stalks, and carefully dig out the dahlia tuber that has been expanding beneath the soil during the summer. The tubers are typically packed densely with soil, so I hose them off, let them sit for a few days to dry out, before dividing. At this time I also attach with string or wire to each tuber a piece of sturdy paper with the color and variety name, for the next season. Then I plop them all in a large tote of cat litter. The cat litter helps them to stay dry and keeps them from mildewing during the winter. They sit in a dark, cool yet above-freezing place until March, when each tuber is planted in its own pot and the cycle of begins all over again.

It’s March 28th. Have you planted a dahlia yet?

IKEA hits the Al-Can

My bedroom is about to undergo an extreme makeover. Before all of this spring sunlight, its cracking off-white walls, with strange patches of soot-looking gray lining the ceiling, blended right into the dark haze of winter. I chose to look past my century-spanning collection of furniture and threadbare bed linens (including two mismatched flower pillowcases that were my parents during the sixties) towards the hope of a brighter day. No longer can I ignore.

To clarify, this mix is not a hip fusion of shabby meets chic. Rather, it is a depressing cacophony of funky hand-me-downs meet beyond the bargain basement. And this season I would prefer that these so-called furnishings follow the ice flow of the Chena right out to the ocean, or at least to one of this town’s transfer stations. I have decided that since I spend more that 1/3 of my life in that room, it needs to sparkle with glee, sing out with soul, and simply be a welcome beacon for refuge and rejuvenation.

While an extreme makeover is in order, my tastes are much more grandiose than my bank account, and that’s why I’ve decided to spruce up with the affordable help of IKEA. A total face lift, including two bedside tables, two duvet covers (each with matching pillow shams), three throw pillows and a rug, will cost less than $250, including shipping, a fraction of what I would pay for the same stuff at any of the home furnishings stores here in Fairbanks. Plus, the clean lines and distinctive designs found in IKEA products, for me carry a more aesthetically pleasing style. So prepare for the purple cylindrical cushions, cerise quilt covers and Swedish fish, because IKEA is hitting the road.

Since online IKEA orders to Alaska only ship via UPS, calling IKEA’s phone order department and having them deliver the order to a freight forwarding company in Seattle is key. Here are some tips:

• To share delivery and shipping charges, combine IKEA orders with friends.
• Request or borrow a current IKEA catalog. Combined with the website, the catalog is very helpful for making decisions related to colors, size and style.
• Prior to placing the order, take time to make a list of items being purchased, including weight and dimensions. This information is found on the website for each item under a link called “package measurements & weight.” The freight forwarder will need to know the weights and dimensions of each pacakge being shipped.
• Lynden Transport (currently my favorite freight forwarder) ships out twice a week to Alaska. Place the order 2-3 days prior to the freight shipping date, so items can be gathered and delivered on time by IKEA.
• Call the Seattle IKEA phone orders department at 425-656-2980 or 1-800-570-IKEA, then press option 3. They’re open everyday from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.
• Know the exact local address of the freight company. From IKEA expect a handling fee of $15 and a delivery fee ($55 for orders with fewer than 30 items). At the end of the IKEA call, make sure to find out when the order is scheduled for delivery to the freight company.
• Then call the freight company and let them know that your order from IKEA will be arriving. Tell them how many packages it includes, and the dimensions and weight of each package. They will then give you an estimate for shipping. In exchange, you give them your credit card number.
• The order should arrive in seven days, and at that time you can either pick it up at the freight company or arrange for home delivery.

113 degrees later…

So it’s been two weeks now since I returned from Hawaii and I’m well into my embrace of winter. The crazy thing is that on the evening of January 12th I left Honolulu where it was 75 degrees and 8 hours later I arrived on the tarmac of Fairbanks International Airport where it was a frigid 38 below. This was a 113 degree temperature change! And the transition was brutal. This is where serious brain tricking comes into play.

You might want to consider one of the following if you are in the middle of any sort of temperature transition. First, immediately trick yourself into thinking you’re going back to the tropical locale and order a new bikini (or trunks if they’re your thing) from Boden. Then trick yourself into thinking that you’ve actually flown from Honolulu to Thailand instead of Fairbanks, and so go out to lunch for Thai food at Lemon Grass three times in the same week. And finally, trick yourself into thinking that you are living near the ocean, by taking a trip to the Hamme Pool where, if you’re lucky, you can learn how to do a “wet exit.” What is a “wet exit” you ask? Well, tune in later for all the details…