An August email from a friend, Bjorn Olsen, presented my husband and I with an interesting challenge. Would we join others in eating locally for the month of September? The general concept was easy enough, as Hal and I have a big garden and red salmon in the freezer. Eating locally is something we already embrace. But we had a ten-day road trip planned. Could we eat locally by packing what we had on hand, and supplement with locally sourced food en route? As it turns out, we could.
We had purchased a tiny teardrop trailer earlier in the summer. The size of a queen-sized bed on the inside and equipped with a tiny but very functional kitchen in the “trunk”, we figured our little camper would be perfect for a fall trip. So, in mid-September, we headed for Skagway with our adventurous hounds. The fall colors were at their peak. Dazzling landscapes unfolded mile after winding mile along the Matanuska River, up the Tok Cutoff, and across the Alaska-Canadian border on the frost-heaved Alcan highway. Golden aspens, amber cottonwoods, and red highbush cranberry saturated our senses as the ever-changing backdrop of rugged mountains and glaciers appeared and disappeared amid the clouds. Blue-green lakes and sinuous rivers completed the wilderness tapestry. We enjoyed daytime temperatures in the upper 50s. The occasional rain generally held off until we’d nestled in for the night.
Ahead of the trip, I packed what we had on hand. Jars of homemade chutney, pickles, and green beans made for easy condiments. The canning jars, rinsed and stored once empty, greatly reduced the plastic and paper food containers we would otherwise have disposed of. I harvested as much squash, lettuce, pea pods, tomatoes, broccoli, and onions as our plug-in cooler would hold. Other items, like golden beets, boiled eggs, and potatoes, I precooked for ease in preparation on the road. All the way to Skagway, we enjoyed locally raised pork tacos, egg salad, cauliflower soup, and an abundance of vegetables.
After descending the infamous White Pass (shrouded in mist), we rolled into Skagway, population 1,222, and parked our teardrop in the Garden City campground. Spruce-covered slopes swept up on either side of the narrow valley, which is bisected by the Skagway River and the White Pass and Yukon Railroad. The historic downtown, with 21 restored buildings owned by the National Park Service, resembled a movie set. We arrived late in the day after the crush of passengers, who come in on three or four massive cruise ships per day, had returned to their berths and steamed away. This late in the season, there were few independent travelers, and we had a selection of five or six restaurants to ourselves. By chance, we found ourselves eating locally grown salad and perfectly prepared red salmon at the Skagway Brewing Company, but more on that later.
The next morning, we headed to the airstrip to rendezvous with Juneau friend Ginger Hudson. Despite a buffeting south wind, the little six-seater made a smooth landing while I gave a silent thank you to skillful Alaskan pilots. Ginger, bag in hand, was as excited as we were to explore Skagway, and, through her contacts as the director of the Jensen-Olson Arboretum, she had leads on local food producers!
In the early 1900s, Skagway became Alaska’s self-described Garden City, thanks to fertile soil, light-filled days from March until October, and a rain shadow that keeps precipitation to an average of 26 inches per year – the same as Homer. The 3,000 or so inhabitants embraced their good fortune and planted vegetable gardens, fruit trees, and flowers. Even now, the city boasts a tidy community garden, while numerous yards and businesses maintain container gardens, backyard greenhouses, and apple and crabapple trees. The trees were, fortuitously, loaded with fruit ripe for the picking. I figured foraging and eating local were one and the same, and happily sampled a few.
Our first stop was the Lazy Daisy Farm, run by the Skagway Traditional Council. There, we met Deb, a chatty, white-haired volunteer, who filled us in on the garden’s evolution. The Traditional Council took over the operation two years ago, and after dispatching with an overgrowth of weeds, the fertile soil once again provides an abundance of produce. On the sunny day we visited, well-tended rows were awash in kale, squash, lettuce, and herbs, while under a shed roof, coolers and refrigerators were full of turnips, lemon cucumbers, radishes, and kale for sale. We happily stocked up.
After exploring Skagway’s shops and history museum, it was time for dinner. We found ourselves down on the harbor at the Salty Siren enjoying grilled salmon, batter-fried Pacific Greenling, and more fresh greens. The source of the local greens would soon be revealed.
After a windy night, the next day dawned bright and blessedly calm. We drove to the old townsite of Dyea and hiked the first mile or so of the famous Chilkoot Trail. Even this short hike was enough to give us a taste of what it must have been like for Klondike gold-seekers 125 years earlier, as they ferried a mandated 2000 pounds of gear the 33 miles between Skagway and Bennett Lake in British Columbia. Originally a Tlingit trade route, the rocky trail steps up steeply through dark spruce and hemlocks before giving way to the tundra. We could only imagine climbing in the winter when many of the 30,000 gold seekers perished or turned back. Most of those who eventually made it to the Klondike found the good claims had already been staked, and their Herculean effort was nothing more than a fool’s errand.
Back in Skagway with time to kill before dinner, Ginger followed up on a lead, and we got ourselves invited on a private tour at the Skagway Brewery. We were met by floor manager Jay and whisked by elevator to the third floor, where, at last, we discovered the source of the wonderful salad greens we’d been eating. Jay led us to a glass wall, beyond which lay a state-of-the-art aeroponics operation. A latticework of lettuce, basil, and even turnips grew in vertical towers, like bookshelves in a library. Some plants were ready for harvest, while others were just beginning to fill out. Jay explained that the operation produced enough to meet the needs of this restaurant and the Salty Siren, their sister restaurant, where we’d eaten the night before. They’d begun production in 2022 and, through trial and error, this year they’d become marginally profitable. But, Jay added with conviction, they would do this even if they didn’t make a profit because it was the right thing to do.
The walls totaled 2,500 square feet and produced 250 pounds of lettuce a week. Raised in this manner, the lettuce is clean and doesn’t need washing, saving water and resulting in very little waste. The process entails exposed roots which are misted every five minutes with water containing fertilizer. This mildly stresses the plants and causes them to mature in one month – faster than through conventional methods. And, of course, the grow walls can produce year-round.
Warming to his subject, he asked if we were aware that Alaska imports 95% of our food. We were. But tell us more! He speculated that hydroponics could help address food deserts in Alaska and beyond, that is, those places where fresh produce is difficult to procure. He envisioned abandoned malls repurposed to grow a huge amount of food while creating jobs without subjecting more land to agriculture. Schools could dedicate classrooms to on-site production while teaching students how to grow and prepare fresh, wholesome food.
Ginger and I were an eager audience and peppered him with questions about the grow operation. It turns out, the Brewery uses spent barley to boost carbon dioxide levels, accelerating the growth rate. By the time we left, the seeds of a Homer-based hydroponic garden had been planted firmly in my mind. We’ll see what germinates in the months ahead. Of course, we had dinner at the Brewery, and once again, I ordered red salmon and salad with a savory sesame dressing. I doubt I could ever tire of such a perfect meal.
The following day, after seeing Ginger off at the airport, it was time to turn toward home. Our return trip was every bit as glorious as our drive down. Forest walks with the dogs on paths strewn with golden aspen leaves were rich with the funk of highbush cranberry and falling leaves. Swans graced small lakes along the route, while Dall sheep clustered in white dots on impossibly steep slopes, and each morning brought a bit more snow to the highest peaks of the Wrangell Mountains. At a rest area near the border, we heard, then saw far above, a long V of Sandhill cranes. These harbingers of equinox were soon followed by streamers of Canada geese, one after another after another. Even as I lay reaching for sleep in our teardrop that night, I heard the faint call of geese, flying through the darkness.
Along the way, we replenished our supply of local foods. At a health food store in Whitehorse, we purchased free-range eggs, juicy ripe pears, and just-picked cherry tomatoes. On the final leg of our trip, we hit the Anchorage Farmer’s Market and stocked up on squash, green beans, heirloom tomatoes, and cauliflower. As it turns out, centering our meals around fresh, local food was an easy and delightful way to explore Alaska and Canada during September’s bounty.