Real Gifts

My birthday was on Sunday and my children did their own 'shopping' for my gifts.

Trevor has saved a few of his very favorite works of art over the last couple of years and displayed them in his room. He takes them from room to room when he moves (my kids swap sleeping arrangements at least quarterly) and conscientiously displays them wherever he is. For my birthday he took them all down, bundled them up, wrote a note saying he loves me and then hid them in my bed. A poem on my door supplied the clue to where I would find them.

Chandler loves plain Hershey chocolate bars and he knows they are my favorite, as well. After Halloween, he had stashed a few of his fun-size Hershey bars to save for later. He wrapped his last one up and gave it to me.

Steve usually brings home a little gift for each of the kids when he travels. After his last trip, he brought Bryson a bag of magnetic rocks that Bryson was enthralled with - he has not been without his rocks since he got them. He wrapped up one of the rocks and gave it to me for my birthday, complete with instructions on all the amazing things I could do with it.

Jared went to a Halloween party and got a gift bag. In this gift bag was a self-inking stamp that he has loved playing with. He also got an addition to his beloved plastic bug collection. I found both of these wrapped up for me.

Paige has been saving her money (in the form of nickels and pennies) for quite some time. She has been careful to add whatever she earns to this savings and keep it in a safe place. In the package she wrapped up for me, I found $.76 of her precious savings.

The gifts that really mean the most are those that are given from the heart, no matter what they are. The things each of the kids chose were something precious to them, something they loved so much they were sure I would, too. I learn so much from my kids - lessons of generosity, lessons of sharing, lessons of loving people more then things.

The First (Substantial) Snowfall of the Winter

The house is quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator. Not even the fire in the fireplace crackles (thanks to natural gas). As I sit on the couch and watch out the window, the falling snow absorbs all sound. Even the babbling of the creek below our house is completely muffled. A blanket of snow wraps our frozen world in softness and somehow defies the harshness of winter. In Alaska, this is my favorite season. The beauty is unmatched and in spite of the bitter temperatures, I am allowed to bundle up and sip hot cocoa to my heart's content and be at peace.

Close Encounters of the Moose Kind

I might whine a bit (or a lot) about the cold, the dark, and the distance from the contiguous United States, but I write this as a testament that I don't hate it here all the time.

We hiked along Powerline Pass Trail on one of the few sunny days we had this fall. After being constantly vigilant all summer for contact with bears, I was enjoying the fact that almost all of Anchorage also was out hiking this same pass. I figured danger from wild animals had to be minimal with so many two-legged creatures in their midst.

Given my preference for warmer climes and less wild scenery, I still thought to myself as we walked that what I was passing through was breathtaking. The colors of fall on the mountain and in the valley were blazing and the sun glinted on the stream we followed. It was one of those moments when the grandeur of my surroundings moves me. I can understand the love affair people have with this wild beauty and although I acknowledge and enjoy it, it does not often ignite my passion as it does so many others. However reluctant I may be, there are times when I do count myself lucky to be an Alaskan.

Following my explorer brother, we veered off the main trail onto what at first appeared to be a trail. As we walked, I concentrated on helping the kids stay out of the mud until I realized we were no longer on a trail. I calmly asked my brother where he might be leading us and he matter-of-factly answered, "to the moose." Apparently the valley where Powerline Pass is located is a haven for mating moose. Have you ever heard the mating calls of moose, or better yet, the sounds of mating moose? We did, right about that moment. A minute or two later some other hikers passed us going the opposite direction, eagerly sharing that there were about 15 moose up ahead. Keep in mind I have my 6 children with me -- so yes, I took this as our cue to turn around and follow the other hikers back to the main trail. Why was I the only one that caught that cue? Brother, Sister-in-law, Husband, and each of my children tore off in the direction of the crowd of moose. (What else do you call them? They aren't technically a pack.) Knowing it was up to me to protect the kids, but against my better judgment, I followed.

Moose sounds became louder as we got closer. The men in our party got more and more excited. No, not in the way the moose were excited. Just the typical I-must-face-the-wild-animal adrenaline rush excited. And then we saw them. Not a group of 15, but 4 or 5 or so. They were eating and calling to other, unseen moose - girl moose, I suppose - and like typical males - fighting with each other just for the fun of it. I must say it was fascinating to watch. Until they noticed us. I was a bit uneasy until they started to come toward us, then I got a bit scared. My sister-in-law - being a woman, and thus possessing the instinct for self-preservation and preservation of the young - instantly began helping me herd my children away from the moose (yes, that one is plural) moving toward us. However, in the wilderness, where there are no cars or buildings - how does one get away from a moose? We hid behind some trees. The moose could still see us and if it came down to it, they could also still trample us, but apparently they weren't that interested in us. More interesting to them were the girl moose they were calling to. I, however, had had enough so I passed the camera to my husband and began maneuvering my brood out of harms way and back to the safety of civilization.