Break Up - When Supposedly Tough Alaskans Finally Crack

As a group, Fairbanksans are among those Alaskans most likely to go on at length about how badass we are. It's the whole we-are-so-tough-for-living-in-the-40-below thing, a more potent form of the "We live in Alaska, therefore we are special" mindset."

Does any other state navel gaze so much? Do Coloradans refer to themselves constantly? Do all their online arguments end up with at least one participant referring to what Real Ohioans do or don't do?

There is a cottage industry of sorts based solely on how 'special' we are for our wilderburbian lifestyle - ranging from moose poop jewelry to the cartloads of books written by Alaskans about Alaskan living. Big Oil plays to it in the propaganda they produce to keep us in check. (And can you believe they're trottting out that b.s. argument that drilling the Refuge will lower the price at the gas pump?)

I will not deny engaging in such ... typically Alaskan behavior at times myself. Many a post has been devoted to chronicling the unique aspects of the cabindwelling life, i.e. the poopsicle, blue tarps and the challenges of a serious red squirrel infestation.

(To which: see the photo above. The location of my woodpile became a pond about two weeks ago. Upon my return to Squarebanks, I had the pleasure of wading out into the pond to retrieve what wood was left to chuck it out to higher, drier ground.) That'll teach me to select a site for the woodpile based on its proximity to the driveway as a pickup truck full of spruce idles there.

Whoops, disgressing.

But there is an equal and opposite reaction, my friends, come break up time. Suddenly, a community all to happy to point to the thermometer and pose for a television film crew in January is getting all unhinged about the late, and somewhat coolish spring. It's like all weather fortitude falls apart as soon as we can see summer within spitting distance.

Speaking of which, I saw my first mosquito a few nights ago. Such is my devotion to the authorial enterprise that I would have sat there and let it bite me to record the event, but sadly, the camera was nowhere within reach.

It's good to be back.

For Tomorrow: What the Hell is the Lege thinking?