Getting Up

Getting up at 5:45 in the morning to go outside where it’s 25 below zero and dark – no moonlight, no stars, just blackness – is as bad as it sounds.  I roll out of my warm bed and stumble to the back hall half asleep.  I bundle up – right over my pajamas – in snow pants, a down jacket, hat and gloves like I’m heading out on an arctic expedition.  Finally, I slip on my bunny boots and head out the door into the freezing, windy, snowy morning.  Did I mention it is dark?  Pitch black?  Once out the back door I have a 100 foot trek through snow drifts and ice to get to the barn.  The coops are generally warmer than outside and I look forward to slipping my cold hand gently under a sitting hen in the nest box.  When I collect eggs, I like to keep a couple of really warm ones in my pocket to keep my hands thawed.  Linda Lindquist, a good friend of mine who helps look after the farm when we travel told me, “I love reaching under a hen and finding a warm egg.  That’s my favorite thing about taking care of the chickens.”  That’s what it takes, every morning, to feed, water and collect eggs on our boutique farm called Bristol Bay Outdoors in Dillingham, Alaska.  Dillingham is a small fishing town on the Southwest coast of Alaska on Bristol Bay accessible only by boat or plane.  In the dead of winter, it’s where my husband, Bill, and I practice extreme chicken farming.

Bill and I have been raising poultry on and off during the 12 years we’ve been married.  But when we moved to Dillingham four years ago, we finally had the room to grow a huge garden, have a small orchard and raise healthy, organic chickens, geese, ducks and turkeys.  Sustainable, green living is important to us. We farm because what we grow is the best nature can produce and we do it without pesticides, chemicals and cramped, commercial farming practices.  And it’s fun – most of the time. Running your own farm is challenging hard work.  Raising poultry in Alaska takes the challenges of farming to a whole new level.

Chicks Through the Mail

In the spring of 2005, my neighbor ordered some brown egg laying chicks on the Internet.  The smallest batch of chicks he could get through the mail was 25. He didn’t want that many so I bought 10 chicks from him.  Bill built a four by eight, insulated chicken coop that summer to house the chickens.  This was the beginning of our adventure into extreme chicken farming.  I loved these hens.  They were Redstars, a breed known for prodigious egg laying.  They were fun to watch, easy to care for and in four months, they were giving us more eggs a week than we could eat.  I started giving them away.  Then people offered to pay for them.  Today we have a boutique farm.

In the Lower 48, farmers learn to cope with foxes, crows and the occasional coyote.  We’ve had to learn how to deal with predators like grizzly bears and bald eagles.  We cope daily with the ever increasing price of supplies and shipping those supplies, like feed, straw and farm equipment, to Bush Alaska.  And our winters are long and cold here.  We’ve had to adapt to the possibility of snow, ice and frozen ground for up to eight months a year.  “Sometimes I find myself praying for a thaw – just so I can shovel chicken manure,” Bill said.

Our first business loan was for a new 35 Hp tractor.  I think it’s the best thing we’ve ever purchased.  The tractor is mine, but Bill gets to drive it.  We bought it from a dealer in Seattle, Wash. and shipped it to Dillingham on a barge.  The cost to barge the tractor was $6000.  I love that tractor.  It has a front loading bucket, forks, a backhoe attachment, a chipper attachment, a plow, a wood splitter and a brush hog.  We use it all year long.

Throughout the Year

The remaining four months of the year are generally muddy.  But when summer comes…  Try to imagine a slightly cooler Garden of Eden.  Summer is so green.  Everything gets green at the same time over a several days.  Towards mid May, the birches and willows are bare.  Then one day there is a light green mist in the branches.  The following day the trees are fully leaved.  It’s amazing.  Huckleberry bushes flower, the grass is lush; birds feed on the ever present flying insects and wild flowers, daisies, iris, berries and lupine, bloom.  Everywhere around you there is life and Nature’s bounty to harvest.  We supplement our diet with moose, caribou, and lots and lots of berries.  Dillingham is located where the Wood and Nushagak Rivers empty into Bristol Bay.  Bristol Bay is the home of the largest wild salmon fishery in the world.  Every summer we fill our freezers with King, Silver and Sockeye salmon.  We fill the pantry shelves with canned fish and wild game.

Bill and I live in sync with the seasons.  The 12 hour days of early spring bring breakup (when the ice and snow melt) and eventually gardening, mending, and building chores.  Spring also means chicks will arrive in the mail.  They come from hatcheries in the Midwest through the US Postal Service.  Right before chicks hatch, they eat the yolk.  This has all the nutrients and hydration the newly hatched bird needs for the next three or four days.  The hatchery has a minimum number of chicks they will send in the mail.  Packing them together in specially vented boxes keeps the chicks warm and comfy for their trip through the mail system.  The long 20 hour days of summer bring boating, fishing and farming at full tilt.  Fall is when we hunt moose and process meat for canning and freezing.  We buck and spilt firewood for our woodstove.  During winter, when the daylight is almost six hours long, we plan for next spring, and participate in fun winter sports like snow machining and snow shoeing across the frozen tundra right outside our front door.

The Manure Challenge

During the winter of 2005, the plans for a duplex chicken coup addition to the barn were made that would hold 80 layer hens in insulated comfort through the long Alaskan winter when temperatures dip to -35 below. Chickens usually aren’t fond of snow.  Since they spend most of the cold months inside, the manure problem needed to be solved.  Occasionally during winter, the jet stream shifts and we get very balmy temperatures in the 30s and 40s.  When this happens, we capitalize on the opportunity to clean the coop drop boxes underneath the roosts.  This is done with a shovel, a toboggan and a snow machine.  Bill and I shovel the chicken manure out of the drop boxes from an access hatch on the outside of the coop.  The manure is placed on a large toboggan and then it’s pulled by snow machine to the compost pile.  This compost pile is a mixture of straw, old chicken feed and chicken manure and it creates a fair amount of heat through the winter.  It’s the only place on our property where snow doesn’t accumulate.  In late winter, before breakup, you can see steam rising from the compost pile.  This is our main source of fertilizer for our garden.  We also use fish meal for fertilizer.

Every spring, after the chicks arrive in the mail, our biggest challenge is to keep them warm, dry and safe from predators.  As summer comes and temperatures warm into the 70s and 80s, young pullets are released into the chicken yard. The chicken yard is nearly a quarter of an acre and is fenced by a five foot, welded wire fence.  The four by four treated lumber posts are set every eight feet and have solar yard lights installed on top.  The fence is run with electricity to discourage dogs, bears and other predators.  The turkeys serve as the flying-predator-early-warning-detection devices.  When an eagle is flying lazy loops above the chicken yard, the turkeys stand stock still and all tip their heads to the side to watch the eagle.  Ravens often sit in tall spruce trees waiting for a wondering pullet to be alone and away from the geese.  The geese are the patrol cops of the yard.  They run after the attacker, sounding the alarm as they go with the ducks in tow as their faithful sidekicks. The ravens, when they get the chance, swoop in and steal the pullets right out of the yard.

Cutting Costs

One of our greatest expenses is chicken feed we buy by the ton from Alaska Mill and Feed in Anchorage, Alaska.  The cost to ship a 50 pound bag of feed is more than the feed itself.  Pam Jones, who coordinates the Bush orders at Alaska Mill and Feed and I have become friends over the years.  I asked her how the increased shipping costs and the increased cost in feed have effected other Bush customers.  Pam said, “Some cut back a little.  They still need feed.  It’s like toothpaste.  You have to have it.”

Next year we plan to grow cereal grains to offset the cost of buying and shipping feed to Dillingham.  Last summer I contacted the local Cooperative Extension at UAF and asked what grains would grow in my area.   The Extension wasn’t sure because there hasn’t been any research done on grain cultivation here.  We are forging new ground, literally.  Lisa Wimmer, a long time gardener who lives in Dillingham is helping us.  “Growing things is all about the soil.  The soil in Alaska tends to be very acidic.  Augmenting the soil with organic material is the key. Compost, compost, compost,” Lisa said.

Another project on the horizon for Bristol Bay Outdoors is wind generated electricity. We are planning the installation of a wind turbine that will charge a bank of batteries.  This will provide nearly all of our electricity needs.  When it’s below freezing, we use many water deicers to keep water buckets liquid for our poultry.  The price of electricity is 43 cents a kilowatt hour, nearly four times the cost of electricity in the Lower 48.  We also plan to install solar panels on the barn and the front of our house.  For six months of the year, we have 12 to 20 hours of sunlight.  Generating our own electricity will be an enormous costs savings for the farm.

We are so fortunate to live in Alaska. We cherish the simple, quiet life we have here. The opportunity to live here and learn to live here in a self sustaining manner is an amazing experience.  Every day we deepen our knowledge about farming and ourselves.  No season is ever quite the same and there’s always a new challenge coming our way.

October 23, 2008

The Disney experience means as much to me today at forty-something as it did to me at six.  Well, not in exactly the same way.  I don’t get Mickey ears and cotton candy anymore.  But when I walk out on Main Street in The Magic Kingdom at Walt Disney World, when I smell the popcorn, when I hear the happy music surrounding me, I still get goose bumps.  In fact, when I look up to gaze at Cinderella’s castle, something happens inside my chest that makes my eyes well up, just a bit, with a happy, happiest place on earth feeling.

I just recently went to a conference held at the Contemporary Resort at Walt Disney World.  Before I headed to sunny Florida, I planned my Disney park adventure.  The first stop on my itinerary was the Food and Wine Festival at Epcot.   As soon as I landed at Orlando International Airport, I gathered my bags (after waiting an hour at baggage claim for them to finally to arrive), I got my rental car and headed south to Lake Buena Vista.  I checked in at the Contemporary, dropped my luggage in my room, and I boarded the Monorail at the Grand Canyon Concourse inside the Contemporary headed for Epcot.

After I entered Epcot, I moseyed over to the World Showcase and headed left to start my food and wine experience in Mexico with a margarita.  I climbed the steps of the Mayan Pyramid and entered the Mexico attraction by walking through an indoor plaza. I browsed the market trinkets as I made my way over to the restaurant hostess podium, and Maria, from Venezuela,  took me took me to a small table for two overlooking the river of the “Three Caballeros” ride deep inside the Mexico complex.  The lighting was subdued, the Mexican music playing was soft and romantic and I was just starting to feel a little sorry for myself because I was alone when my server, Miguel, came to the table with the menu.  I looked it over but wasn’t in the mood for anything but a margarita and I ordered the best one on the menu.  Miguel returned shortly carrying a small, brown, round tray with my margarita, a Tacate beer and a frosty beer glass.   As he lifted the margarita off the tray, the tray tipped and the beer bottle spilled its icy contents down my back.  The people seated around me watched the scene with mouths agape and I heard a collective gasp from them as the cold liquid seeped down the back of my jeans.  Miguel was devastated and apologetic.  Maria came over to explain that Miguel was in training and to apologize, again.  I was not going to let this wet accident ruin my magical evening and I smiled and downed my drink as I nibbled on chips and salsa.

I stopped in Norway next to ride the “Maelstrom.”  It’s a modest boat ride through painted Viking murals, black lights and a monster that follows you through the attraction’s scenes.  There’s even a short trip backwards through the water at one point.  I have enjoyed the “Maelstrom” many times without incident, but as soon as the small boat I was in got under way, I didn’t feel quite right.  I tried to remember that last time I ate as my mouth began to water and get all slobbery.  I thought for certain I was going to be sick.  I quickly assessed my options as I mentally kicked myself for not eating anything in the last ten hours.  What was I thinking when I downed that margarita?  Could I gracefully tip my head over the side of the boat?  Would anyone notice?  I looked behind me and froze when I saw a little girl about the age of six.  I determined at once that I could not urp my chips into the water for the sake of that child.  I couldn’t have her “Maelstrom” memory be of that-lady-who-barfed-on-the-Viking-ride.  I swallowed and willed my stomach to stop churning and as we rounded a corner, I could see the end in sight.  I disembarked as quickly as possible without running anyone over and headed straight outdoors into the cool yet humid night air.  I felt immediately better and a breeze brought goose bumps to my bare arms. The crisis was averted and I sighed with relief as I headed to Italy for something to eat.  It was going to be a magical evening after all.

October 14, 2008

Ann Kiser-Eastman was down to filling her last ten boxes.  She had packed up most of her life in the boxes that were stacked and crowding her small apartment.  She was nearly ready to go.  “I told by boss I was leaving and he just sat back and laughed.  He didn’t think I was going to do it. People thought I was full of hot air.”

As a graphic designer in Toledo, Ohio, Ann could see the writing on the wall.  Advertising and print agencies in the area were disappearing and the owner of the small company where Ann worked was getting ready to retire.  “I had a dead end job. I couldn’t afford to pay my own health insurance any longer.  I felt like I was in hell just repeating day after day.   It got to the point where I just hated my job.  I’d wake up in the morning in cold sweat thinking about going back to work.  Pollution and crime are bad in Toledo.  The summers are hot and humid.  I was glad to go.”  Ann brushed off her resume, created a website and started looking for a new job and a new life.

At fifty one, Ann soon found after sending her resume out to prospective employers that age was an issue.  She got creative.  “Where do they need people?” Ann asked herself.  “Alaska!” She started sending resumes north.  Finally she got a call back from a hospital in Southwestern Alaska.  “They asked me when I could come for the interview and they just sent me the ticket,” said Ann.  In March 2008, she flew to Dillingham, Alaska, for the meeting.

“Through the whole thing I was listening to this self help CD on positive thinking. I was working on mental positive thinking.  You envision yourself getting the job.  I just wanted it so bad,” Ann said.  After the interview was over, she started looking for a place to live in Dillingham.  When she found an apartment she loved, she gave the landlord a deposit to hold it for her. She just knew she was going to get the job.

Ann worked and lived in Toledo for 15 years before she made the decision to start a new life. In 2005 when Ann turned fifty, she sold her house at the height of the housing market bubble, sold her stock portfolio and readied herself for the change to come.  In the summer of 2007, Ann started sending out resumes and by the spring of 2008, she had a solid interview in Alaska.

Back in Toledo after the interview, Ann started packing.  “I still hadn’t heard that I got the job,” she said.   Then a few weeks later she received a phone call from the hiring manager who interviewed her.  The manager told her she might not get the job because of another job candidate.   “I didn’t want to unpack all those boxes!  The next day they called me and told me I had the job,” Ann said.   Ann finished packing, arranged for the movers to come, barged her car to Alaska, and headed to the airport to begin her journey to her new life.

After being in Alaska for six months, Ann said, “I love it here.  It’s so beautiful.  The people here have made it all worth it.  I enjoy coming to work and I enjoy the people I work with. People here are all so nice. That is the biggest beauty of being here.”

Beth Cole, one of Ann’s new coworkers said, “Ann was just telling me about how she finally quit locking the car doors when she drives somewhere.   She definitely feels safer living here.”

Ann grinned and said, “I am one lucky person. I really am. I have a solid home here.  I feel I bring value here at the hospital.  It’s a blessing to be here.”

September 25, 2008

The hospital’s outpatient lobby is filled with women and small children this afternoon. The sun’s impotent rays filter through the thick, scratched, atrium windows.  The sky is gray.  In the center of the room, a toddler wears a tan and blue striped, short sleeved shirt that matches his brown corduroys. Little gold rivets decorate the corners of his pockets.   He has on fire engine red socks as he swings his legs back and forth under the small oak chair he is seated in.  One of his black shoes is lying on its side under the chair.  His other velcroed sneaker is swinging wildly back and forth on the other foot. On the child sized, oak table before him, he rolls a green monster truck with big, black tires across a stack of two or three Highlights magazines.

The huge glass doors of the lobby’s entrance swoosh open and a large Native woman in her twenties steps through the entrance.  She stops dead in her tracks, then bounds over to the little oak table.  She wears a pink t-shirt with a black shirt hanging out underneath it.  Sparkly, rainbow colored sequins form waves across the back pockets of her dark jeans.  She inhales then squats down to the table where the boy with the monster truck is sitting.  “Hi Cody!” she gushes.  “How are you big boy?”

Cody looks up, tilts his head back and yells, “Whaaaaaa.” Pink t-shirt lady stands up and laughs.

A tall, slender woman with a round face, big round brown eyes and mahogany hair seems to appear out of nowhere.  Carefully enunciating each word, she slowly asks, “Cody, where is your shoe?”  She raises her arms up along the sides of her body with the palms of her hands up.  “I can’t find your shoe.”

She is wearing a dark chocolate wool coat and the hood is lined with the same colored fleece.  She quickly rounds the table behind Cody and scoops up the missing shoe as Cody pours himself out of his chair and onto the floor in a pool of toddler. “Ah, come on Cody,” she pleads.  He protests and becomes more rubbery looking. As she tries to lift his body by the arm, he sinks deeper into the blue Berber carpet.  She picks up Cody’s leg and he flops onto his belly like a fish.  Finally she gathers his small body into the basket of her arms and hauls him away.

September 15, 2008

Elizabeth Pearch lives with her spouse, Bill, in Dillingham, Alaska. Dillingham is a small, sleepy, fishing town in rural Southwest Alaska. Together, they have five grown children from previous marriages. Other members of the Pearch family include Tag and Mocha, Labrador Retrievers, and Amadeus, an orange tabby cat. Elizabeth moved to Anchorage, Alaska, on December, 10, 1996 and fell in love with the great outdoors, the wonderful people who inhabit “The Last Frontier,” and the love of her life, Bill. In 2004, Elizabeth and Bill moved to Dillingham.

Elizabeth is Operations Manager for a boutique farm she and Bill own called Bristol Bay Outdoors LLC. In actuality, she is a chicken farmer who raises a variety of poultry and water fowl for meat and eggs. The farm is undergoing improvements this fall including the addition of an organic vegetable garden and the produce will be sold at the local Saturday Farmer’s Market. Turkeys were added to the farm this summer and Elizabeth plans to add pigs and Nubian dairy goats to the farm in the next couple of years.

Academically, Elizabeth is three classes shy of completing an Interdisciplinary Studies Bachelor’s Degree in Humanism with a minor in Scientific Perspectives. She began her college education at 24 when her youngest was six months old. Twenty years later, she can finally see graduation looming on the horizon after three marriages, raising children and growing her professional career.

Professionally, Elizabeth is a Polycom certified video conferencing engineer and she has been employed in the IT field for more than 10 years and has a background in systems administration, network engineering, technical training and project management. Elizabeth is employed by Bristol Bay Area Health Corporation at Kanakanak Hospital, an Alaska Native corporation. Currently, she manages the wide area network that connects village health clinics to Kanakanak Hospital, network connectivity into Anchorage, Alaska, and the video conferencing operations of BBAHC. Prior to moving to Dillingham, Elizabeth worked in Anchorage, Alaska, at The Anchorage Daily News as the Network Administrator for three years.

I have this sheet of paper hanging on my wall above my desk at work. “Empowered Accountability” in bold letters is at the top the top of the sheet and according to the text below, this can be obtained using SMART Goals.

SMART Goals are:

Specific
Measurable
Action based
Realistic and Rewarding
Time based

I think the acronym should be SMARRT instead.

Frankly, I just want to get through this Magazine Article Writing class, period. I wasn’t planning on taking any classes this semester because of the stuff I have going on. I have a presentation to give at a conference in October and I can hear the clock ticking away. My oldest son is getting married at the beginning of November and I have a professional certification – no wait – two certifications hanging over my head this fall that I HAVE to take. My UAF counselor called on Friday afternoon, last Friday afternoon, and told me this class is fun and I should take it.

“You’re a really strong writer, Elizabeth,” he says. “It’ll be fun for you.”

I am momentarily flattered about my writing skills but then I start thinking, what does that mean?

I have to admit that I could use a little fun and I was ruminating the other day about how uncreative I am. Or think I am. So I’m looking forward to writing, strong or not, and just getting through the class as best I can, doing the best work I can put out, and having a little fun along the way. Maybe I’ll pick up some mad writing skilz and a whole new world will open up to me.

Regardless, I’ll have to be SMARRT about it.