Isak Denison once wrote that the cure for anything is salt water: tears, sweat, or the sea
Personally, I’d much rather take my cure from the sea, than sweat or tears.
We really should get out here more often.
This wasn’t Gem’s first trip to the beach; last time she was just a few months old, so it’s unlikely she has a memory of it. But she took to it like it was already her favorite place in the world. We didn’t tell her where we were going, but when she saw the water she immediately started trying to unbuckle herself, and yelling “Beach! Beach!” Either that, or she was calling me a bitch, but I don’t think she’d be quite so enthusiastic if that was the case.
My little girl definitely inherited her parent’s love of the sea.
Every day since she has asked to go back to the beach. Perhaps it’s time to go get some more cure.
When my Grandparents moved to Alaska in the 1940s, it was still very much a frontier. It was both the wild, wild west, and the frigid north.
Grandma took notes. By compiling and transcribing her notes, and sharing them on my blog, I’m fulfilling a promise to her to make these stories available and accessible to the rest of the family. I have created an archive to which I am slowly transcribing and adding these documents: McKinley Family Archives.
I’ve left these stories exactly as she wrote them, although I have been hunting down photos for illustration.
Here she is again, Doris McKinley, in her own words.
enjoy.
Steve, Karen, and Rodger with the family plane
The Last Frontier, Alaska 1947
Anchorage, a thriving business community, is the nerve center of western Alaska. In 1939 it had a population of 3000, now with the post-war influx, it boasts of nearly 15,000 – causing a serious housing shortage. Building in all classes is progress, but far too short of its needs.
Ft. Richardson, located only five miles from Anchorage is a combined Military, Naval, and Air Command with a personnel of about 12,000. The United States Government is pouring tremendous sums of money into the development of Ft. Richardson as the permanent headquarters of all Alaska Defenses.
Thus, there are some 25,000 local people served by Anchorage business. This is exclusive of the “bush.” The term “bush” is used to identify outlying terretory. “Bush pilots” are very efficient airmen, piloting their own planes. Their business consists of scheduled and unscheduled hops to almost any point within a radius of 400 to 500 miles. Residents of these remote localities, traders, trappers, and miners rely on the bush pilot and his light plane as readily as persons in the States use the bus or train. For in all Alaska there are only about 2000 miles of automobile roads.
The Alaskan economy is dependent on the various phases of aviation.
One day we saw a shy native boy carrying a baby seal. Walking along the street, he was drawing considerable attention. He had found the seal on the shore, it apparently had become lost from its mother. It lay quite content and quietly in the boy’s arms. The face seemed much like a dog’s, tho larger, with a rather pointed nose. The heavy brown body and flippers were interesting.
When my Father was in Anchorage last March, he saw several native Indian women carrying babies on their backs. As he was talking with one, he noticed severe sores along the baby’s jaw. Inquiring of the Mother what caused the sore, she replied, “Just rubbing.”
On a motor trip to Valdez, a distance of 300 miles by highway, which I am sure is not more than 75 by air, we saw a fish wheel in operation. This wheel was similar to a conventional water wheel, excep that each peddle had a wire screen which built up the side and end. The inside was left open so that as the river current turned the wheel, a fish was caught and held until that section reached the top and the fish dropped out onto a slide thence into a tank of water. The native then picked up the fish, split and cleaned it, then hung it by the tail on a nail with rows of other fish. Drying frames were built in a square and a fire smoldered in the center. Smoked, dried fish are a staple diet of the seld dogs and natives in winter. The use of these wheels are limited to the native population.
McKinley Family log home
Salmon fishing is most popular and during the season it is very common to see men, women or children on the streets with their fishing tackle going to Fish Creek near the Railroad. One day an old-time showed us the procedure. We bought stought fish line, heavy sinkers and large three pronged hooks. The idea is to throw the hook into the stream and jerk it back. Really, we snag salmon as they do not bite. Some time passed and we had no luck, our friend insisted, however, that the salmon would be at that spot about 15 minutes after the tide came in.
Shortly afterward a little boy, possibly 8 years old said, “If you’ll throw your hook right over there, Doc, you’ll catch a fish!” Sure enough, Lee brought in a nice four or five pound salmon, and brought in several more in a short time. The youngster caught two, pulled them onto the shore, but before he could get a good hold on them they flopped back into the water. He went on fishing as tho nothing had happened. When we were ready to leave, he handed two other fish to my husband, saying “Here, Doc, you take these. My mother wont let me bring any more fish home!” Lee skinned and filleted them, and we cooked in a friend’s kitchen that evening. They were truly delicious.
These were the silver salmon and were about 18″ long, later in July the big king salmon appear which may weigh 10, 15, or 20 pounds.
The famed Matanuska Valley farming project which was publicized a few years ago is located about 50 miles from Anchorage on the only highway which joins Fairbanks and Anchorage. The project is managed on a cooperative basis, is successful, and is developing into a real asset to Alaska. These farms, many only ten or fifteen years removed from the wilderness, are remarkably fertile. Farmers are farm owners as tenant farming is frowned upon. The valley produces vegetables of unusual size due to the very long days during the growing season. Dairying is being rather slowly developed because of the difficulties of carrying the herds thru the long winters. Farm buildings, built with Government assistance follow identical plans and are built of logs. Most farm work is, however, carried on with tractors and modern machinery.
Several years ago, a friend flew down to visit me from Anchorage. During the visit, she asked me if I had considered moving back home to Alaska. This was mid-February, it was bitter cold up North, the ground and everything else covered in snirt (gray, gritty, dirty snow). I looked around at all the flowers, and the fresh fruits and vegetables on the stands as we walked through Pike Place Market, mountains on view in the background, and ferries making their way across Elliott Bay. “Seriously?” We both got a good laugh.
Me: As seen on…
GalTime: The Pink Daisy Project: Helping Women with Breast Cancer – I interviewed Debbie Cantwell on how she found the silver lining in her own breast cancer battle when started the Pink Daisy Project to help other women with breast cancer
Its been a long… Happy Birthday Sweet Matt – Anna, a fellow breast cancer survivor, linked to my story about my brother Matt. Her story, based on her blog, was written as a play and presented by Coyote Rep Off Broadway at Wings Theater in Greenwich Theater this past October. See the clip below.
My favorite recent reads
The View From Right Here – not a read so much, but a picture that stopped me in my tracks. Photo of a homeless women in stark focus as the world blurs by.
Public Bookstore: Having a Crappy Night? – I loved this post on dealing with a crappy evening. Made me smile, and might have even made me feel better. Certainly inspired me to look in to Little House on the Prairie re-runs.
BlogHer: Olly Olly Oxen Free – My, this was the week for sentimental reads. This post took me back to 9 years old. Not the awkward, gangly, prepubescent aspects of the nine year old me, but the running through a field with the wind blowing through my hair, and nothing to prove to anyone just be free me.
The houseboats on Seattle’s Lake Union were the stuff of my daydreams, even as a child growing up in small town Alaska. I had never actually laid eyes on a houseboat when I was a child, that I can remember, but somewhere along the line, I must have seen pictures.
My husband wants to buy a boat. He wants us to live on a boat. I tease him about a boat being a hole in the water that you throw money into. But it’s ok. He can have his fantasy, his dream – and maybe some day we will make it happen.
I’d be a whole lot more on-board with the idea if he was trying to move us into a houseboat. Mama needs her bathtub.
here’s a bit of my favorites around the interwebs this week…
Me: As seen on…
GalTime: Things To Do If You Are Diagnosed With Cancer – I am now the Seattle Ambassador for GalTime Magazine. For my first post with them, I discussed a few tips for dealing with a cancer diagnosis. Hopefully, you will have no use for this post.
Awesome people who mentioned me (or linked to me) in their posts this week
One Working Musician: The Beauty of Collaboration – Jason Parker wrote this post about that magical night when Karen Walrond read from her new book, The Beauty of Different, while his band, the Jason Parker Quartet, backed her up. Jason very kindly linked to my post about this event.
Heather Christo: Chocolate Beet Cake, (otherwise known as “the BEST chocolate cake”) – I have NEVER liked beets. They are one of those vegetables that make my head and neck do this involuntary icky-shudder, even when I think about them. Of course, they are not one of those vegetables that you run in to every day, so they’re pretty easy to avoid. That might be too bad, because I’ve been reading about all kinds of wonderful things that beets do for the body. A body that’s been through what my body has been through this year could really use some beets. At first glance, the thought of this recipe, using beets to moisten up chocolate cake, sounded a little, um, iffy. But, the more I think about it, the more I think I might be willing to give it a try. We’ll see. I’m not making any promises, but if I do make it, I’ll report back.
Miss Britt: And Then We Bought An RV – Buying an RV and taking a year to explore the United States is another one of those fantasies of mine that sit in the back of my head, but I never actually do anything about. Miss Britt and her family are doing something about it. They are selling off their possessions and heading out across the countryside to see America. Watching the dream play out, step by step, over the past few months has been fascinating. The more I watch other people chase their dreams, especially when they give the play-by-play along the way in their blogs, the more I think I my dreams are achievable, too.
I was running late for a meeting, but I just had to stop and capture a couple shots of this sunset. I pulled over alongside the lake, rolled down the passenger-side window, and clicked away.
As I continued on my way to the meeting, the sunset intensified. Each time I pulled through an intersection, the break between buildings revealed a different sky, full of different colors. It was changing by the second. This was during rush hour traffic. I was looking around for a place to pull over so I could catch some more shots when I pulled off on a side street – and in to gridlock. The sunset, of course, completely blocked by the concrete monstrosity of a building where the road curved in front of me. Now, not only was I late for the meeting, I didn’t get that additional shot I was looking for, and I was trapped in place by traffic. Crap.
It occurred to me at this point that the sunset was not there to stress me out, or even for me to “capture” on film; it was there to bless my day. At that moment, a spot opened up for me to pull a U-turn and get back on my way, and the next break between buildings revealed the Space Needle, backlit by a fully fuchsia sky. Breathtaking. And just for me. I did not capture that shot of the sunset, but it did bless my day.
This has been an amazing week, full of wonderful news and new opportunities. Much of it I can’t discuss just yet. As if full-time school, cancer treatment, and motherhood were not enough, I’ve had a few writing gigs come my way as well. I’m stealing this idea from The Bloggess and creating a regular post that will link to some of my other writing on a (hopefully) regular basis, as well as drawing your attention to other creators of awesomeness on the web.
Me: As seen on…
Goodies: Five Fabulous (and Inspirational) Bloggers – I was asked to highlight 5 amazing bloggers, and when I did, I used the opportunity to describe one of the coolest literary events I have ever experienced.
Awesome people who mentioned me (or linked to me) in their posts this week
The Pioneer Woman: Daisy the Dog – I love the Pioneer Woman, but I usually don’t highlight her because she already gets more hits than Google. However, this post reminded me of the cow I had when I was a kid. The one with the oh-so-clever name of Milky, who then calved, and I assigned the even-less-original moniker of Calfy for her offspring. Yeah, my naming skills have improved since then. No, Milky and Calfy did not have this much access to the house.
My grandmother was born 1/11/11 – 1911, that is – one hundred years ago today. She didn’t live to meet that milestone, she passed away just a few months ago. But in those just shy of 100 years, she led a remarkable life.
I wanted to write a biographical blog post to tell her story today, but it’s too much. She went from being very active in Detroit’s social scene, to being a pioneer in a (then) remote area of Alaska, active in Territorial, and later, State politics as the wife of a politician, and even running for State Legislature herself – all this was done while running an active farm, raising her seven children, and managing the office of my Grandfather’s dental practice, as well as the family’s Medical/Dental Supply business. That deserves more than one blog post.
Instead, I’ll use her 100th birthday to kick off the first of a series of posts about my Grandmother. In this first one, I’ll let her tell her own story of her first trip to Alaska. A few years ago, she let me copy some of her personal papers with the idea that I would post them online, making them available to the rest of the family. It’s taken me until now to do anything about that.
So here she is, Doris McKinley in her own words. I just added a title and a couple photos. It’s a long post, so grab a cup of coffee, kick your feet up, and settle in for a story of the rugged North.
The Alaska Highway is an overland route connecting the United States with Alaska through Canada. During the summer and early Winter of 1942, United States Army Engineers blazed the original road through 1,523 miles of unbroken wilderness. They put over a project of road building in eight months never duplicated in history, and considered by experts impossible in less than two years.
Their record is as glorious as that of any combat unit fighting on the front, for here, too, men suffered and died in a battle of the wilderness so that America might be made safe. These men endured mud, rain, fought hordes of voracious mosquitoes, and lived at times on subsistence rations with the constant threat that their precarious supply lines might be broken and they would be isolated in the wilderness.
On their heels or sometimes in step with them, came the United States Public Roads Administration with its civilian contractors and road workers, using the Army road as a base and making it into a highway as fast as they could. During the next summer the road was made into a permanent wilderness gravel highway, wide enough for two or three vehicles to pass with ease.
The present route was selected from the point of view of military strategy, intended mainly to serve as a link between various airports strung northward across Western Canada to Alaska. A tourist route would have been laid closer to the Canadian Rockies.
It stands as a symbol of friendship between nations unparalleled in history. The name Alcan, an unofficial designation, was subsequently changed to Alaska Highway by agreement of the two governments. It starts at Dawson Creek, British Columbia, a village at the end of the Railroad line 300 miles northwest of Edmonton, Alberta, and terminates at Fairbanks, Alaska, a distance of 1,523 miles.
Doris and Doc (Lee) McKinley
My husband, Lee, made this trip to Anchorage in October with our 12 year old son, Blake, and Frederick York, a young laboratory technician. They drove a Hudson pickup truck and expected to be able to have certain heavy supplies shipped by boat from Seattle. However, shortly after they arrived there, it became apparent that the West Coast Shipping Strike would not end soon. So, three weeks later, Lee took a plane to Seattle and then East to Detroit. He was most enthusiastic in his first impressions of Alaska and insisted that I drive back with him.
I hurriedly collected clothing for Arctic wear. At Peter’s Sportswear Clothes Shop I found a down-filled jacket, parka and leggings, and fleece lined gloves and stadium boots. The leggings were most comfortable which I wore in place of slacks. They are cool enough in the heated cab of the truck and warm at 40 degrees below zero.
This time we drove a Dodge one-ton express truck. Our neighborhood garage men had put forth great effort to hurriedly build a strong frame of 1″ pipe over the truck bed. This was covered with large tarpaulin and tied securely. On the running board we carried four, five gallon army gasoline cans, and acetylene torch and new axe.
We left home at 9:30 A.M. Monday, November 18, 1946. Our route was Highway 12 to Chicago. Then Minneapolis and the fourth day we arrived in Fargo, North Dakota. We enjoyed three perfect Autumn days, cool and bright, then ran into sleet and snow. In Fargo, we placed the truck in a garage where booster springs, airplane tires and fire extinguisher were installed the following day. We now felt we were properly equipped.
Leaving Fargo Saturday morning on our way to Montana, we drove through the wheat prairies with their great elevators in every village. At the Immigration Center in Coutts, Alberta, we spent two hours making arrangements to travel through Canada. Stopped overnight in Calgary, and arrived in Edmonton Tuesday afternoon, November 26th.
Our instructions at the border had been to see Mr. Eveleigh of the Control Board at Edmonton. He looked over our credentials and checked our list of extra supplies – tire irons, jack, air pump, extra tires and tubes, patching supplies, flashlight and extra batteries, extra electric wire and friction tape, fan belts and spark plugs, extra gasoline and oil containers, general repair tools tow chain and numerous other articles.
I was eager to see the shops in Edmonton so took a few minutes while Lee was having the truck serviced. I was certainly surprised to find that stocks of warm winter clothing were as meager at Hudson’s Bay Company as they were here. The stores generally are fine, modern buildings with good merchandise.
It was 4:30 when we slid past the outskirts of Edmonton and into the prairie Northland. We were on concrete until we passed the airports several miles out, where the road became black-top. Then this, too, ended and we settled down to a straight-away grind over typical Canadian prairie road. This was not the endless wheat-field prairie we had traversed south of Edmonton. We were now headed into the flat, bush country of the (more…)
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