Here in the north country, fall is upon us. The birch leaves shimmer gold along the hills while the understory of fireweed and highbush cranberries flare crimson. The Sandhill cranes departed in advance of a storm that dusted the highest peaks with new snow. They ascended in mass, spiraled over Homer with a noisy farewell, then winged south towards their wintering grounds in California.
We were not there to see them off. Instead, husband Hal and I intersected them a day later as they flew along the Alcan Highway. We were three days into our annual fall trip and had pulled into a rest stop overlooking the watery Tetlin National Wildlife Refuge, just west of the Canadian border. We heard their reedy voices far above us, and spotted several irregular V formations in the gray sky, “Safe travels! See you next spring!” We called, faces tilted upward.
Crossing into the Yukon Territory, we spent the next two days navigating frost heaves, construction, and drinking in the gorgeous scenery on our way to Haines, a tiny hamlet 1,000 miles south. We arrived on a sunny morning in time for the Saturday Farmer’s Market, which is held at the fairgrounds. The market was tiny by Homer standards, but I scored fresh greens, peas, and tomatoes, along with jars of pickled kelp salsa and red onions. Purchasing a fresh raspberry scone and chai tea from the adjacent Foundroot Bakery, I enjoyed lunch at a picnic table in the community garden, awash in flowers.
Soon after, we were joined by Hal’s son Alex and his partner Salem, who had driven up from Tacoma. Cruise ship season was over for the year, and most of the shops were closed. The locals were friendly, the sun sparkled on the blue-green waters of the Chilkat and Chilkoot Inlets which bracket the town, and the clouds parted long enough to reveal rugged mountains towering above us. We fell in love with this quiet version of Haines, with a winter population of 1,600, and spent our three-day visit walking along the beach with the dogs, visiting the Eagle Refuge (sans eagles), and hiking Mount Ripinski through a dripping, mossy, spruce and hemlock forest.
No trip would be complete without sampling the local cuisine. My favorite meal was a humble carrot-ginger soup from a gas station along the shores of Kluane Lake in the Yukon. For Hal, it was surely the flight of mead we savored at Three Norsemen in Haines. An evening campfire on the beach with Alex and Salem roasting marshmallows to savor between squares of melty chocolate was memorable as well.
Now, back home after 11 days, the woodlands are eerily quiet. Along with the Sandhill Cranes, the songbirds have left us. Still, our winter birds, the Steller’s Jays and Black Capped Chickadees, check in, hoping we’ll hang the birdfeeders (sorry guys, not until the bears tuck in for the winter). And while the grass is lush from the rain, and the gardens still produce more than we can eat, chilly mornings are a harbinger of winter.
We hit the ground running, as they say, with Hal up on a ladder harvesting apples, while I picked raspberries and made pesto from a mound of basil that would not survive a frost. The apples transformed into spicy apple butter and the best fresh-squeezed cider ever. Then Hal started on the wood pile, as I blanched and froze a meager crop of green beans and the last of the summer squash, and set out jars to can pickles. Come winter, when cold snakes around our ankles and snow obscures the shape of the garden boxes, we’ll enjoy the pleasures of this summer bounty.
I wish I could say we avoided the national news during our travels. Cell reception was spotty, but we followed the headlines about Charlie Kirk’s assassination and the national frenzy that followed. We live in dangerous times, on that, at least, we all agree. I could get lost in the morass of dire headlines, but a sunny morning and a long list of outside chores save me for now, as I pull on a jacket and head outside.
Advice from a tea bag:
“A garden is a delight to the eyes and a solace for the soul.”
~Saadi