Up until recently, all of the men in caves brought their food with them into the deep and the cold and the dark. That too would change soon, when a small company store was to go in adjacent to Adam's office. The families presented their own set of needs, and the wives didn't always want to shove their way into the dining hall kitchen for loaves of bread or jugs of milk for their incessantly hungry children. And sometimes the men in caves wanted something their warm wife had made for them, in their warm kitchen, for them and them only. They had placed that apple in the bag only for them, their soft hands had sliced the cheese that rested on the bread that was just the kind of bread that the men liked. And they would say so to one another, Leftover cornbread, even better the next day...and they would smile and there might even be a small note in the lunch, Have a good day...love you...xoxo. Plus, most of the men were from other places, places with their own colloquial recipes, and they could talk a bit about Home as they peeled wax paper away. The men didn't get that from the company cook, even though he really could cook, sometimes much better than any of the wives.
Adam had been to the mouth of the tunnels, and was shocked at the immediate January that escaped, his thin arms covered only with a cotton button down shirt shivered. His shudder deepened as he thought of how it must feel once the mine car traversed over the inner hill, over the darkened earth, and disappeared. The portals to that foreign world, that gnome world, that shadow cavern world that the other men entered in the mornings and exited in the early evenings were high up the mountain. Walking up there took a good fifteen minutes, though by standing near the dormitories, dining hall, and mine office deep in the valley it appeared they were a short climb away. Adam squinted up there often, amazed at how different that world was from the one down below, the world he preferred, though he often ruminated joining their ranks, and whether they would even let him, should he ask. It seemed if you entered the mines you were given keys to the Valley in exchange for the risk of losing an arm or an eye in a blast. You used to practically be given one of the town women of hire upon your arrival, before the families came. Adam was a little bit in awe of how easily the men shifted from the arms of these tarty, powdered women into the arms and hearths of their wives, brought up almost in haste, after word got out of the swarming whores around the mine. They used to buzz up the rough road all the way from Palmer, like inebriated birds of paradise in their blue and purple dresses, perched on top of almost rusted out Model T's. Their dresses were always either dusty or wet once they arrived at the mine, the pass that led there could have as many as three or four weather patterns in its giant range on a summer day (they usually didn't come up in the Winter - the mine was ghostly still then).
Adam never went to meet them when they came. He felt too ashamed for them. They were pretty, and they looked kind, all a bit like the lonely aunts that looked after him when he was in school. They had never married, these lonely aunts, and seemed to circle around him like hens who laid empty egg after empty egg; unsure of what he'd do next, should they feed him or let him fend for himself? These women for hire looked as though they wanted to take care of him when they happened to look his way on the Friday nights when they traversed upward. On the rare occasion they walked near his office, peering in and smiling a bit sideways at him as he tried not to look back. As he stuck his Roman-shaped nose deeper into a ledger or a novel, he secretly breathed in deeply, and could smell their Woolworth's lotions and powders as they clunked in cracked black high heels on the small deck outside the door. He didn't want them to take care of him in any way, just as he didn't want those lonely aunts worrying over him. He could cook his own food as he always had done and he could take care of his other, rawer needs on his own, too, just as he always had.
Showing posts with label Alaska. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alaska. Show all posts
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The Valley
The place expanded and contracted, given his mood and the morning. It had gotten much better since the Winter finally let go its frigid stronghold in the valley; they had a commissary now, a dining hall, some workers were allowed to bring their families. He was still alone because he didn't go into the caves, he only punched numbers and filed ledgers so any family he might have wasn't yet allowed up. Not that it mattered, since he had no family to speak of, not one of his choosing at least.
When the valley started to fill up a bit with women that weren't for hire, his loneliness became somewhat unbearable during the day. He was alone in his office, which was its own little building, while the other men (rough and crude as they were he enjoyed their company) went into the caves and pulled out gold and sent it down a track. After the geologist analyzed the load he was given a set of numbers, which he recorded and turned into dollars for the owner. He then turned the remaining dollars into payroll for the men, into paid bills for the food, for the heat, for the floors, for the chair that he sat on all day and sometimes all night. He did most of this alone, save the conversation with the owner and a manager or two, or a few forced words at the dining hall in the evenings or to the cook when he picked up his lunch (at his own given lunch time, the other men ate in the caves).
He was alone all day, and slept in a small closet attached to his office all night. The other men (those who were not foreman and did not have a small house onsite allotted to them complete with a priorly formed family unit to keep them warm) slept in dormitories with ping pong tables and shared baths. The dormitories reminded him of where he lived when he attended Denison University in Granville, Ohio: tall ceilings, lots of loud voices calling out in the late hours, the stink of sweaty young men and unwashed clothing. He had had his share of camaraderie in school, but in this lonely profession at this lonely place in this lonely state he felt a bit like a shadow. His shoulders that were always bony became a bit stooped, driven forward by his shyness and introversion.
The new women helped, even if they were married to the men in the caves. Their happy voices called out each other and their children, enough children lived here now that soon the mining company was turning one of the apartments in the large new dining hall into a school for the ten-odd offspring that had joined this bizarre community. The owner had asked him if he wanted to teach math or more intricate accounting to the older children, and he agreed, glad for distraction, glad for change, glad to be able to hear his voice speak out loud for extended periods of time and to hear voices speak back to him earnestly. The small homes with the small families inside were quite close to his office and quarters, and he sometimes could smell the bread baking smells that he had so missed, and when he passed the tall windows on his way to the owner's office he peeked askance at the cozy interiors. They were full of modern and familiar things: toasters, Felix the cat clocks, rag rugs, radios (amazing they could get a signal up here), calendars with movie stars on them. The grey planks of the small homes shone silver sometimes, and the red framed windows and red doors gave a cheeriness that hadn't existed prior to the improvements that were made right around the women's arrival. Roughness was being covered up a bit. No longer did the place look like an organized Civil War era factory camp.
There was another improvement, another pleasant advance: movies were being shown in one of the larger dormitories now. He had come to one of the showings, held rather late because of the stubborn sunlight, but the men and the older children and the wives with no very young children stuck it out until the movies would start at midnight. The younger men and the older boys threw popcorn and cat called Rita Hayworth or whomever the main actress was, and if he closed his eyes he felt as though he were in a move house back home, and not in some lonely gold mine in South Central Alaska.
To be close to the new wives, to sit sometimes next to one of them (when they arrived the women of hire had discreetly removed themselves back down to the town down the pass - twenty miles below), was a frustrating and blissful experience for him. Sometimes he allowed one of his bony tweed knees to graze a soft cotton skirt, sometimes he was able to stare at a lower lip for longer than an instant, while the wife and husband gazed in rapt attention at the flickering screen. Sometimes he imagined he felt pulses of recognition, of attraction when his leg ever so slightly brushed along the fabric of one of the wives' skirts. The wives' lips were usually red, ripened with lipstick brought up from civilization. Hair was glossy, shined with shampoo and good brushes also lugged the miles and many feet of elevation up. The lack of trees in this place, the low plants and squashy emerald tundra only accentuated these women's allure; red was more red than red, black and blonde hair stood out and turned the valley into a painted postcard. To sit next to one of them and begin a casual, slightly intellectual conversation was aching fodder for his imagination. He was harmless, though. The men in the caves had nothing to worry about. He was too kind and too smart to attempt anything other than a church-parishioner like relationship with any of these women. But it didn't stop him from quietly looking. Or thinking. Or wanting.
When the valley started to fill up a bit with women that weren't for hire, his loneliness became somewhat unbearable during the day. He was alone in his office, which was its own little building, while the other men (rough and crude as they were he enjoyed their company) went into the caves and pulled out gold and sent it down a track. After the geologist analyzed the load he was given a set of numbers, which he recorded and turned into dollars for the owner. He then turned the remaining dollars into payroll for the men, into paid bills for the food, for the heat, for the floors, for the chair that he sat on all day and sometimes all night. He did most of this alone, save the conversation with the owner and a manager or two, or a few forced words at the dining hall in the evenings or to the cook when he picked up his lunch (at his own given lunch time, the other men ate in the caves).
He was alone all day, and slept in a small closet attached to his office all night. The other men (those who were not foreman and did not have a small house onsite allotted to them complete with a priorly formed family unit to keep them warm) slept in dormitories with ping pong tables and shared baths. The dormitories reminded him of where he lived when he attended Denison University in Granville, Ohio: tall ceilings, lots of loud voices calling out in the late hours, the stink of sweaty young men and unwashed clothing. He had had his share of camaraderie in school, but in this lonely profession at this lonely place in this lonely state he felt a bit like a shadow. His shoulders that were always bony became a bit stooped, driven forward by his shyness and introversion.
The new women helped, even if they were married to the men in the caves. Their happy voices called out each other and their children, enough children lived here now that soon the mining company was turning one of the apartments in the large new dining hall into a school for the ten-odd offspring that had joined this bizarre community. The owner had asked him if he wanted to teach math or more intricate accounting to the older children, and he agreed, glad for distraction, glad for change, glad to be able to hear his voice speak out loud for extended periods of time and to hear voices speak back to him earnestly. The small homes with the small families inside were quite close to his office and quarters, and he sometimes could smell the bread baking smells that he had so missed, and when he passed the tall windows on his way to the owner's office he peeked askance at the cozy interiors. They were full of modern and familiar things: toasters, Felix the cat clocks, rag rugs, radios (amazing they could get a signal up here), calendars with movie stars on them. The grey planks of the small homes shone silver sometimes, and the red framed windows and red doors gave a cheeriness that hadn't existed prior to the improvements that were made right around the women's arrival. Roughness was being covered up a bit. No longer did the place look like an organized Civil War era factory camp.
There was another improvement, another pleasant advance: movies were being shown in one of the larger dormitories now. He had come to one of the showings, held rather late because of the stubborn sunlight, but the men and the older children and the wives with no very young children stuck it out until the movies would start at midnight. The younger men and the older boys threw popcorn and cat called Rita Hayworth or whomever the main actress was, and if he closed his eyes he felt as though he were in a move house back home, and not in some lonely gold mine in South Central Alaska.
To be close to the new wives, to sit sometimes next to one of them (when they arrived the women of hire had discreetly removed themselves back down to the town down the pass - twenty miles below), was a frustrating and blissful experience for him. Sometimes he allowed one of his bony tweed knees to graze a soft cotton skirt, sometimes he was able to stare at a lower lip for longer than an instant, while the wife and husband gazed in rapt attention at the flickering screen. Sometimes he imagined he felt pulses of recognition, of attraction when his leg ever so slightly brushed along the fabric of one of the wives' skirts. The wives' lips were usually red, ripened with lipstick brought up from civilization. Hair was glossy, shined with shampoo and good brushes also lugged the miles and many feet of elevation up. The lack of trees in this place, the low plants and squashy emerald tundra only accentuated these women's allure; red was more red than red, black and blonde hair stood out and turned the valley into a painted postcard. To sit next to one of them and begin a casual, slightly intellectual conversation was aching fodder for his imagination. He was harmless, though. The men in the caves had nothing to worry about. He was too kind and too smart to attempt anything other than a church-parishioner like relationship with any of these women. But it didn't stop him from quietly looking. Or thinking. Or wanting.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
something else
Was there somewhere else he'd rather be? Was there somewhere more temperate or flatter? Where every mile walked wasn't mostly uphill? Of course there was. He'd rather be somewhere mossy and green, with animals around every corner that he could trap. He'd rather be somewhere with someone warm and a bit lusty, somewhere that smelled of bread baking and timber and herbs lined up on wooden tables. That place would be free from other men save a few young male offspring of his own; no other men to stink and speak close enough for him to see their wretched teeth or hear their cacophonous snores.
But he was here. Here in this giant place with men all around. Men for miles, punctuating the lonely emptiness that stretched all over this strange part of the continent. The few women here were shared by all of the men, men with loud voices and little schooling. Men who were feasting on bars of gold while he recorded their ever-increasing bankrolls into ledgers for them. Men who paid him a moderate sum because he was precise at numbers. The sum was enough to keep him here. Away from the truth of faraway home. If it were a few dollars a week less he would probably be where it was mossy and green, where it snowed only sometimes and the mountains rolled along like a calm day at sea, instead of jutting up boastfully. He would be home.
But he was here. Here in this giant place with men all around. Men for miles, punctuating the lonely emptiness that stretched all over this strange part of the continent. The few women here were shared by all of the men, men with loud voices and little schooling. Men who were feasting on bars of gold while he recorded their ever-increasing bankrolls into ledgers for them. Men who paid him a moderate sum because he was precise at numbers. The sum was enough to keep him here. Away from the truth of faraway home. If it were a few dollars a week less he would probably be where it was mossy and green, where it snowed only sometimes and the mountains rolled along like a calm day at sea, instead of jutting up boastfully. He would be home.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Our Time in the North
Our time in the North
is starting to resemble
the end of something
(photo by my husband)
But I'm not maudlin
the doldrums are far from here
my heart beats sweetly
Nothing is really flowing out of me today. Today is a struggle. I think it's because I let myself briefly get caught up in the weird blog world, once I started to get a bunch of hits after commenting on things. I felt my traffic rise but my writing suffer. So if you like what you read here - wonderful! Please come back and join me again, but you are under no obligation to return or comment. Rather, I'm here to write honestly, to complete some things, and to be totally selfish in my wake.
And here's some gratuitous cuteness from Alaska, while we're still here:
(photo by my husband)
is starting to resemble
the end of something
(photo by my husband)
But I'm not maudlin
the doldrums are far from here
my heart beats sweetly
Nothing is really flowing out of me today. Today is a struggle. I think it's because I let myself briefly get caught up in the weird blog world, once I started to get a bunch of hits after commenting on things. I felt my traffic rise but my writing suffer. So if you like what you read here - wonderful! Please come back and join me again, but you are under no obligation to return or comment. Rather, I'm here to write honestly, to complete some things, and to be totally selfish in my wake.
And here's some gratuitous cuteness from Alaska, while we're still here:
(photo by my husband)
Sunday, May 16, 2010
otters
Dear strange, cloudy place
your narrow, crooked, slick streets
might have known my feet
But flowery words
don't remember that you like
both sugar and cream
Am on some serious allergy medicine today. Drove through the Chugach National Forest on the way home, and as usual marveled at the turquoise lakes, icing sugar mountains, and almost painfully beautiful spruces. Couldn't hear my husband and son's questions through the din of my clogged up ears. Seward is somewhere I wanted to call home. I got to walk down its rambling path along the ocean all by myself (son and husband were on adventure day-cruise - a four hour tour...the weather I guess did get rough, but no one got marooned with Gilligan and the Skipper), and I took the time to walk, walk, walk, walk, walk, drink coffee in my favorite little coffeeshop there and then walk, walk, walk, walk.
It was so beautiful as usual. So beautiful I almost felt like banging my head against one of the mossy rocks a few times just to shake myself out of stupor. Sea otters floated by with clams on their stomachs, float float float. I couldn't believe I was really seeing it. That's how I've been this whole time here in Alaska: I can't believe my eyes. I have been blessed to be here. We all have. But we're still going home.
your narrow, crooked, slick streets
might have known my feet
But flowery words
don't remember that you like
both sugar and cream
Am on some serious allergy medicine today. Drove through the Chugach National Forest on the way home, and as usual marveled at the turquoise lakes, icing sugar mountains, and almost painfully beautiful spruces. Couldn't hear my husband and son's questions through the din of my clogged up ears. Seward is somewhere I wanted to call home. I got to walk down its rambling path along the ocean all by myself (son and husband were on adventure day-cruise - a four hour tour...the weather I guess did get rough, but no one got marooned with Gilligan and the Skipper), and I took the time to walk, walk, walk, walk, walk, drink coffee in my favorite little coffeeshop there and then walk, walk, walk, walk.
It was so beautiful as usual. So beautiful I almost felt like banging my head against one of the mossy rocks a few times just to shake myself out of stupor. Sea otters floated by with clams on their stomachs, float float float. I couldn't believe I was really seeing it. That's how I've been this whole time here in Alaska: I can't believe my eyes. I have been blessed to be here. We all have. But we're still going home.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
I'm on a kick....
and it's involving children's literature about, say it with me...Alaska...sounds lovely doesn't it? It is. It is. Our bff's live in the lovely town of Palmer, home of the GIANT vegetables and the Alaska State Fair.
Also very close to Hatcher Pass, where yesterday's photo was taken. We may be in Tennessee, but right now our hearts belong to Palmer, as we heard that our friend's mother (who lives in the lower 48) is very very ill, like Stage 4 ill. Gary grew up with Rob (literally, they lived a street over and have known each other since they were in preschool)...and therefore he has known Rob's mom forever too. This incredible woman raised four of the coolest kids (now adults) I have ever known...this family is smart, kind, and noble. So today's review, which originally was going to encompass a few books related to/about Alaska, now just involves one. A really sweet book that my Alaskan friends sent down to us for a Christmas present for Xander a while back...
Mama, Do you Love Me? - Barbara Joosse
This is a colorful, calm, enchanting little book for kids. An inquisitive little girl asks her mother, "Mama, Would you love me if....I ran away and lived with wolves...slept in a cave?...turned into a walrus...put lemmings in your mukluks?"...Mama quietly reassures her that no matter what, she would of course love her...The images by one of my favorite illustrators, Barbara Lavallee, are colorful, fun, and totally Alaskan...many people don't realize how much color lies underneath the snow in the winter...and when spring and summer and fall emerge...the place is like a living, breathing, ever-moving glacial blue, green, gold, purple fireweed oil painting. You have no idea (unless you've been there, of course)...
The simple paintings and cheerful prose are perfect for kids who are in that 'testing boundaries' stage, which means any child from age 1 to 56.
A favorite verse?
"What if I ran away?
Then I would be worried.
What if I stayed away and sang with the wolves and slept in a cave?
Then, Dear One, I would be very sad. But still, I would love you."
The most sparkly of all are the starry skies on that particular passage...Alaska is full of starry skies.
I usually don't bring personal things into this blog, as it's an outlet for my love of children's literature, but not today. Today I ask, whether you pray, or contemplate, or just hope, to hope a bit for our dear friend Rob's mother...she's a wonderful lady, and we want her with us here on this glittering Earth as long as we can have her.
Also very close to Hatcher Pass, where yesterday's photo was taken. We may be in Tennessee, but right now our hearts belong to Palmer, as we heard that our friend's mother (who lives in the lower 48) is very very ill, like Stage 4 ill. Gary grew up with Rob (literally, they lived a street over and have known each other since they were in preschool)...and therefore he has known Rob's mom forever too. This incredible woman raised four of the coolest kids (now adults) I have ever known...this family is smart, kind, and noble. So today's review, which originally was going to encompass a few books related to/about Alaska, now just involves one. A really sweet book that my Alaskan friends sent down to us for a Christmas present for Xander a while back...
Mama, Do you Love Me? - Barbara Joosse
This is a colorful, calm, enchanting little book for kids. An inquisitive little girl asks her mother, "Mama, Would you love me if....I ran away and lived with wolves...slept in a cave?...turned into a walrus...put lemmings in your mukluks?"...Mama quietly reassures her that no matter what, she would of course love her...The images by one of my favorite illustrators, Barbara Lavallee, are colorful, fun, and totally Alaskan...many people don't realize how much color lies underneath the snow in the winter...and when spring and summer and fall emerge...the place is like a living, breathing, ever-moving glacial blue, green, gold, purple fireweed oil painting. You have no idea (unless you've been there, of course)...
The simple paintings and cheerful prose are perfect for kids who are in that 'testing boundaries' stage, which means any child from age 1 to 56.
A favorite verse?
"What if I ran away?
Then I would be worried.
What if I stayed away and sang with the wolves and slept in a cave?
Then, Dear One, I would be very sad. But still, I would love you."
The most sparkly of all are the starry skies on that particular passage...Alaska is full of starry skies.
I usually don't bring personal things into this blog, as it's an outlet for my love of children's literature, but not today. Today I ask, whether you pray, or contemplate, or just hope, to hope a bit for our dear friend Rob's mother...she's a wonderful lady, and we want her with us here on this glittering Earth as long as we can have her.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
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