Living in Alaska - Life in the Last Frontier

As we approach winter solstice, the sun seems to disappear more quickly than ever. Yesterday, I didn’t leave the house until noon, and while running errands the day barely brightened. By the time I started home at 2:30pm, we were already heading into sunset.

I am not a fan of these dark days. They zap me of energy, leave me feeling unmotivated, and impact my mood. Today I suffered through a short period of the ‘winter blues’; feeling sad and weepy and alone.  My mood was triggered by thoughts of those people in my family who I miss this time of year. I miss my parents of course, and I miss my kids too.  I was watching a video on YouTube (the group Libera - a boys choir - singing Silent Night), and it made me remember Christmases of long ago.

When my dad would put the tree up (Dad always put the tree up), the task was always accompanied by Christmas music. He had a wide array of music, collected over the years, and he’d stack the turntable 3-4 albums high at a time.  We’d listen to Johnny Mathis, Nat King Cole, Dean Martin, Andy Williams, Bing Crosby and all the crooners of the time.  Those classic numbers always make me remember my dad at Christmas.

Traditional Christmas hymns also bring memories of Dad and attending Christmas mass. When we were little, we’d go to church on Christmas morning, after opening our presents.  As we got older, my dad started the tradition of attending mass on Christmas Eve. At first it was the 6pm mass, but as we got closer to teenhood, it became Midnight Mass. I loved going to church at midnight.

Our parish had two churches. There was the newer, more modern church, and there was the “old” church. The old church was built in 1870. I’m not sure if it’s still standing, as I’m fairly certain they stopped offering mass there due to structural problems some years back(?).  The old church was hot in the summer time, as there was no ventilation system. Huge fans blew across the congregation. In the winter, it was always drafty.  When the back door opened on a cold Christmas Eve night, the wind would rush around the church in a quick circle, blowing the stacks of programs and whipping our veils around our heads.

Mass at the old church was quite popular on Christmas Eve. There was always a choir accompanied by the pipe organ. You could feel the pew vibrating beneath you when the lower notes were hit. The voices of the choir echoed beautifully in the small space. Even in those days, I’d feel myself get choked up when they’d sing Silent Night or O Holy Night.

In those years of midnight mass, we’d come home and open our gifts after church. We’d stay up till the wee hours of the morning, drinking tea and eating cookies, and just enjoying each others company. I think my parents preferred the tradition of midnight mass because they got to sleep in on Christmas Day… Unless my mom was hosting Christmas dinner, in which case she’d only sleep a few hours before getting started on the meal. Mom worked so hard to make the holiday wonderful. And it was.

Despite the seasonal tears, I would much rather have memories of years gone by, than no memories at all.

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You can read Part One here.

You can read Part Two here.

You can read Part Three here.

When we saw the snow falling outside our hotel, we were a little concerned that we’d have to drive on slick roads in a car that did not have snow tires. That’s one of the downsides to renting a vehicle in a wamer climate (Vegas) and driving it to places that may have bad weather.

Luckily, the roads weren’t holding the snow, and most of it melted when it hit the asphalt. However, everything else was quickly turning white with the dusting of snowflakes.

We had 180 miles to travel to Vegas (about 3.5 hours), which wasn’t too bad, so we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at the Pioneer Lodge Restaurant in Springdale. Although they advertise a breakfast buffet on window signs and in their menu, we found out that they don’t have the buffet in the off season.  A traditional breakfast of bacon and eggs for me, and an omelet for Steve, was enough to fortify us for the drive ahead.

Several friends had recommended a stop at Valley of Fire State Park in Nevada, so we deviated from the highway in Moapa to take in this geological wonder.

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You can read Part One here.

You can read Part Two here.

It was a short, but beautiful drive to Zion National Park.  Here’s the route we drove:

INFORMATION ABOUT ZION

(From the nps.gov website):  Almost 12,000 years ago Zion’s first peoples, who are now almost invisible, tracked mammoth, giant sloth, and camel across southern Utah. Due to climate change and overhunting these animals died out about 8,000 years ago. Humans adapted by focusing on mid-sized animals and gathered foods. As resources dwindled 2,600 years ago, people tuned lifeways to the specifics of place. Such a culture, centered on Zion, differentiated over the next 1,500 years into a farming tradition archaeologists call Virgin Anasazi.

The Anasazi moved southeast 800 years ago, due probably to drought and overuse. Soon after, Paiute peoples brought a lifeway fine-tuned to desert seasons and thrived. In the 1860s, just after settlement by Mormon pioneers, John Wesley Powell visited Zion on the first scientific exploration of southern Utah. By hard work and faith, pioneers endured in a landscape that hardly warranted such persistence. Flash floods destroyed towns and drought burned the crops. Only the will to survive saw Paiute, Anasazi, and European descendants through great difficulties. Perhaps today Zion is again a sanctuary, a place of life and hope.

Located in Southwestern Utah, Zion National Park encompasses some of the most scenic canyon country in the United States. The park is characterized by high plateaus, a maze of narrow, deep sandstone canyons and striking rock towers and mesas.

Zion National Park is a showcase of geology. Geologic processes have played an important role in shaping Zion. The arid climate and sparse vegetation allow the exposure of large expanses of bare rock and reveal the park’s geologic history.

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