It's been thirty years...

I recently turned thirty. I’m no longer in the ‘twenty-something’ age set. I’m absolutely within sight of the top of THE HILL. I’m thirty. Three Zero. Honestly though, I think this year will be better than any other year in my life so far.

To commemorate this milestone birthday, I'm writing down some of my most amazing memories from the last thirty years. I'll post them here as I finish them. Remember that I'm no author, and these are my memories, described faithfully as I remember them.

Enjoy!

CAMP DOGOYAMA
When I was 14 I went to Japan on a summer exchange through 4-H and the Labo program. During this time my host sister Mami and I went to a summer camp in the mountains called Dogoyama. The mountains in Japan are full of birds, insects, and bamboo forests. The first evening we had a huge welcome bonfire – fifty feet square of burning logs, and Japanese drummers hit enormous drums as we danced and whirled in circles around the fire. You grabbed red streamers from the adults, and you said a wish or a prayer into it, rolled it up with your wish inside, and threw it into the air. I remember the air being full of red streamers being thrown lit only by the flames of the bonfire.

After the bonfire, as we walked back to our cabins. The night was dark, with millions of stars, and the air was much warmer than Alaska’s. There were hundreds of moths as big as our hands, attracted to the huge bonfire light. Some of the moths were very pale, and in the reflected moonlight appeared to glow in the dark, and one of those moth’s landed on me – I remember that it only glowed on the top side of the wings, and when it closed its wings the glow was cut off.

LIPPIZANER STALLIONS
When I was a girl, I avidly read all of Marguerite Henry’s horse books. I was friends with Misty, knew King of the Wind’s true heritage, and could recite all the moves of the Lipizzaner Stallions of Austria. When I was ten the most amazing thing happened –the Lippizzaner Stallions came to FAIRBANKS, ALASKA. This was a miracle similar to Santa Claus making it around the world in one night. Our family didn’t have much extra then, so I was excited, but also knew deep down that I probably wouldn’t get to see these mighty horses in person. I remember how much jealousy I felt when my friend Charlie Jo on the school bus proudly told us all she had tickets. Fate stepped in though, and my dad, being on the maintenance crew for the building the horses were to perform in, somehow got us all tickets (good, up close seats too!) and we saw the amazing horses spin, jump, hop, pirouette and strut up and down the tiny Big Dipper ice arena. In my imagination they were in the fancy palace in Vienna, with the opera style seating and the crystal chandeliers pictured in Henry’s books. I promised myself then that if I ever made it to Vienna I’d see the horses on the stage they were meant to perform on. Many years later, when planning a trip to Europe, I remembered my promise to my ten year old self, and got tickets to the Spanische Reiteschule morning practice. I couldn’t afford a full performance, but the morning practice was reasonable and a dress rehearsal for the actual performance.

When we lined up outside the ornate yellow stones of Hoffberg Palace and the doors to the Reiteschule, I could smell the distinct smell of the horses. When we were let in I saw for the first time the inside of a specially designed ballroom, with green velvet seats, three enormous crystal chandeliers, and a large, richly decorated royal box for the ruling family to enjoy the show. The seats were high up, and the ballroom floor was lower down and covered in a thick carpet of sawdust. Each groom wore the smart historical outfit, and the horses were so strong, powerful, and shockingly graceful as they launched their 1200 pound bodies into the air. The horses I saw in my childhood were younger stallions, and not all of them were white. They were part of an American touring company, and had not been trained at the Reiteschule. The horses in Vienna obviously had the benefit of hundreds of years of training and knowledge to go along with the breeding. The average age of the horses I saw in Vienna was 20! These horses had been performing their ballet for 15 or more years and it showed. The horses were playful, and in tune with their riders and grooms. They were snowy white, and rarely mis-stepped while doing complicated dressage patterns. I remember the shifting bodies of eight great white stallions and the crisp military red of their riders coat as they criss-crossed the ornate and majestic ballroom to classical music written just for them by the great composers of the 18^th century.

DIPNETTING ON THE COPPER RIVER
Although my husband is the big hunter, I love to dipnet for salmon as my contribution to the freezer. I started going regularly with our friend Paul three years ago. Some folks dipnet by standing in the water and using the strength of their arms to sweep the large nets against the current to scoop up salmon migrating upstream. That is basically exhausting, and Paul showed me a secret spot (although I’m sure there are hundreds of secret spots all over the Chitina drainage). This spot in particular follows a narrow trail etched into the hillside that meanders along a bluff overlooking the Copper River for just about half a mile before ending in a rocky outcropping perfect for dipnetting the ‘easy’ way. Along the trail is an abandoned trappers cabin, only sagging logs and the cast iron stove are left being too heavy to remove.

Every year that we go we spend all night driving to get there, and then at first light, around 3AM we hike the trail and begin fishing. By 5AM or so the sun is rising over the mighty Copper River, and the delicate pinks, golds, and bronzes of the sunrise paint the faint clouds. The pinks gradually deepen to red, and the whole river looks as if it has caught fire – for just a second as the sun crests the Wrangell mountains. Silhouetted by the craggy bluff, the sunrise reveals the vast width of the river and paints the water crimson and gold. As the sun continues to rise the river gradually returns to the slate gray of the silt that is carried in those turbulent waters, and the sky evens out to a pale blue. These early morning sunrises, combined with the crisp morning air, and the effort of netting thirty or so salmon is one of my most beautiful memories.