By Janelle Eklund

​April 28 and a brisk walk to the Tonsina bluff confirmed the bears had sprung from their dens and were digging for anything edible to fill their empty stomachs. Clumps of earth were overturned along the trail. On the sunny south facing bluff Pasque flowers had already sprung in response to the warmth of the sun, their purple heads opening to drink in the elixir of life.
 
Late April I had the pleasure of greeting a ruffed grouse on my morning walk sitting on his throne above the ditch of the gravel road. I would walk by and on my return thirty minutes later he hadn’t moved. His thumping call for a female resounded throughout the forest, an ode to spring.
 
The middle of May and all the snow is gone. I ventured out to the field behind the house to renew my senses to the earth and greet any awakening wild plants. I was so delighted to see tiny fresh bright green Botrychium springing out of the dry parched soil. It never ceases to amaze me how a fern-like plant finds enough moisture to thrive. They were everywhere. Their little round ball shapes were still tucked together in a cluster, a long single leaf protecting its infancy.
 
We had just sat down to dinner enjoying pork chops barbecued on the grill. I looked up from my plate and beyond the dining room window a black bear had sprung from the forest, crossing the field. He seemed to be headed to the neighbors but then must have gotten a whiff of the barbecue. He nonchalantly strolled up to the house, walking by the high deck where the barbecue sat. He didn’t seem all that curious – just checking things out. He briefly sat about 20 feet away so Paul could get some pictures from the greenhouse. I was close by with bear spray in hand – just in case he got a little too curious. But he wasn’t much interested and wandered off around the other side of the house and into the woods. Our neighbor saw two black bears several days before.
 
Middle of May lupine springs from the roadside in a brilliant purple leafy green dress. With cool nights and days they slowly take their time ‘springing’ up.
 
The Aspen have sprung lime green leaves from their branches but this year it seems like the leaves have a little more yellow painted into them than in past years. They just don’t seem so bright to me. Maybe the Leaf Miner moth is taking its toll on them, as they lay their eggs on Aspens leaves. I notice the tiny white moths have really sprung to the occasion this year. The air is thick with them. How much longer can the Aspen trees tolerate the larvae of moths eating their way through the fresh green life of their leaves? Seems like this fight has been going on for at least ten years. I give credit to the Aspen. They are tough sentinels in the Boreal Forest. For now I imprint in my mind their new green color before they turn a dull silver as the moths devour their chlorophyll.
 
There seems to be lots of swallows springing through the air as they search for mosquitoes and bugs. But I fear for their life as there doesn’t seem to be many mosquitoes this year – their favorite meal. We humans are delighted there are few mosquitoes to suck our blood but other critters depend on them for food.
 
I love this time of year when spring renews the heartbeat of all living things. Linger and use your senses to absorb the ‘spring’ of Spring.
 
From my light to yours-

By Janelle Eklund

​Early 1970's. College years in Central Washington State. We didn't get our 'high' from drugs or alcohol. No, it came from the river. Rivers twined the campus becoming an extension of learning. Credit? Not in numbers but in experience. A few of my peers became my best friends, and unbeknownst to them, mentors that set the stage for my river journey of life. Michael, Carol and Pat.
 
Michael was the oarsman. He steered a steady rhythm, letting the river guide the path of the oar. His grey raft was dubbed Siddhartha. Siddhartha is the story of the spiritual journey of a young Indian man in the novel by Hermann Hesse. A quote from the book sums up the inner river spirit of Siddhartha: “He was taught by the river. Incessantly, he learned from it. Most of all, he learned from it to listen, to pay close attention with a quiet heart, with a waiting, opened soul, without passion, without a wish, without judgment, without an opinion.”
 
Michaels story echoed the gentle being of Siddhartha with the launching of an annual Gourmet and Peace Float. Pat was also a gentle being, the professional photographer, capturing the beauty of plants and light of the early morning on rivers edge. Carol was my pygmy pal, 2" shorter than me at 4'11". She was my guiding light teaching me to enjoy the simple pleasures and treasures of each moment of each day. These were my river buddies. Many tranquil days we spent communing with the river, letting it's peace become part of us.
 
A few years later the Gulkana and Delta Rivers in the Copper River Basin took hold of my heart during work and play. Journal notes: 'The river spoke in a calming roar meandering in and out of deep green forests. It's mist rose flowing through valleys and secret trails. Electric golden leaves made silhouettes against a slate blue sky. What a night - so high it makes me feel nostalgic - memories of other rivers and times but joined as one. I was fascinated by the contrast in the river from one point to another. Calm and peaceful, then turns to a raging movement for eight miles until it calms itself again. What a tune the river plays! Like life's journey - sometimes calm, sometimes fearful, peaceful, beautiful, raging.'
 
These rivers encouraged me to seek and get to know the stories of other rivers - Tazlina, Tonsina, Copper, Slana, 40 mile, Matanuska, Tatshenshini. Their whispered tales and lessons gliding with the current. Rivers are one of the great teachers of life. The poem, Advice From a River by Ilan Shamir, says it well:
"Dear friend,
Go with the flow
Be thoughtful of those downstream
Slow down and meander
Follow the path of least resistance
for rapid success

Immerse yourself in nature,
trickling streams,
roaring waterfalls,
sparkles of light dancing on water
Delight in life's adventures around every bend
Let difficulties stream away
 
Live simply and gracefully in Your own True Nature
moving, flowing, allowing
serene and on course
It takes time to carve the beauty of the canyon
Rough waters become smooth
Go around the obstacles
Stay current
 
The beauty is in the journey!"
 
May the river always grace your spirit.
 
From my light to yours-

By Janelle Eklund

​Autumn had descended upon the land. We wandered out of the Copper Basin to experience the joys of this season on the Kenai Peninsula at Cooper Landing. Our friends and their cozy new cabin at the base of a tall mountainous hill welcomed us. A walk in the brisk air along the Russian River piqued the senses. In the summer this river is teeming with salmon on their journey to reach their birth place. And the banks of the river are teeming shoulder to shoulder with fisherman doing their best to catch their limit of salmon.
 
On this day the fisherman were gone and hundreds of dead salmon lay on their death beds along the shore where fisherman once stood. These salmon reached their goal and completed their task of laying and fertilizing eggs for the next generation. They dodged around commercial fishing nets as they made their journey from ocean waters; they missed entrapments of those subsistence fishing; they snuck past the gauntlet of sport fisherman along the river; they alluded hungry bears, eagles and other wildlife. I applaud their stamina and determination.
 
The stench of their decomposing bodies wafted through the crisp autumn air. Eagles sat in trees still ready to feast on left-overs. Salmon are very interesting creatures. Even in death they continue to contribute to the cycle of life. Not only do they feed wildlife and humans in life, but in death their decaying bodies feed plants through their nourishment of the soil. Maggots and other insects join in the feast of the year.
 
Brown and gold leaves mimicked the salmon in their death beds, as they lay together to finish the job of making new enriched soil.
 
The open graves that lay at our feet blended into the entire scene of a river winding gracefully through a golden and green forest, back dropped by sun washed snow peaked mountains.
 
Splashes of red rose leaves against dark grey boulders. A pile of rich red high bush cranberries that went clean through a bears system. Turquoise water flowing below canyon walls.
 
Ponds wearing a golden necklace of leaves. Plump white swans with elegant long necks disappearing under pond water - tail feathered butts rising toward the sky. Necks emerge -intertwine in love shapes.
 
 Large wet snow flakes resting on brilliant colors, melting into giant water drops. A game of catching them on the tongue ensued. A chill in the air announced the inevitable entrance of winter. Swans lift for take-off - giant white wings flap up and down trailing water, necks in line - destination - south.
 
From my light to yours-

By Janelle Eklund

​It was fun to watch the teenage bears who were still trying to perfect the fine art of securing a meal. These bears are often on their own and it's tough trying to make a living after just being booted out of the nest, so to speak. They expend a lot of energy chasing, jumping, splashing, and pouncing. Once in awhile they might be successful. One salmon was making a fast run for its life, its dorsal fin streaming halfway out of the water. The bear was in hot pursuit, totally focused, chasing it up on the bank, literally at our feet. Beyond the sound of splashing water you could hear hundreds of click, click, click, click.... 15 camera shutters desperately trying to catch the action. At this point it was impossible for the bear not to see us. He just looked at us as if to say 'Oh' and turned away continuing in the hot pursuit of salmon.
 
After filling the belly the running and pouncing looked to become a game of comedies. As soon as one salmon was caught, movement of another escaping salmon caught the bear’s eye. The one in the claws was immediately dropped for the glory of the chase of another.
 
The best part of the salmon is the skin, rich in fat, and bears are very adept at using their claws and teeth to strip it perfectly from the bodies, as easy as peeling a banana. I couldn't do as good a job. Gulls continually scream at the bears - give me some!! -give me some!! Bears are generous and leave plenty but you would think the gulls are getting a raw deal the way their high pitched screams don't let up. Part of it too is fending off other gulls. Greed seems to get the best of them. Bald Eagles also take their turn at securing a good meal amongst the frenzy.
 
While mom fished, cub twins played at boxing, rolling, and chasing, oblivious to where we stood on the viewing platform, very near, clicking away. They interrupted their play momentarily, as they walked within a few feet of the platform eyeing us gawking at them. We must have looked and sounded like weird creatures to them: five legs (two of our own and three on the tripod), a very long big nose (lens), and communicating with very strange clicking sounds. Mom was in the background contemplating which salmon to pounce upon, ignoring the play and weird creatures.
 
At some point mom takes a break, lays on her back, and lets her cubs nurse salmon enriched milk. Once bellies are full families of bears lounge along the sandy banks, basking in the satisfaction of a good days work. Long naps are only interrupted to stretch or put a leg around a loved one.
 
The salmon run was prolific, bears were rewarded with fat for the long winter, and photographers went home happy, cameras full of 'clicked' images of the great finale of the season.
 
From my light to yours-

By Janelle Eklund

​As we crossed high above the inlet, giant mountains loomed ahead. The plane veered to parallel them where we flew over foothill mountains rising in undulating geologic patterns of time. Meadows of green swept the tops of these rocky giants. Out the other window mountains in Lake Clark National Park rose higher, dressed in perpetual white, spilling tongues of glaciers carving new pathways. The view was breathtaking.
 
The plane descended over bear camp, with canvas colored weather port tubes arranged in a V shape. Bypassing camp we circled around to land on the beach of the bay in front of camp and home for the next few days. The guides greeted us and helped bring our luggage inside the electric fence that surrounded camp.
 
The purpose of the group of professional photographers we were with was to capture images of bears fishing for meals that would sustain them through the coming winter. For the safety of all, the camp had strict rules: no food or toiletries in your room (there was a cooler in the dining tent for that - where all meals were provided by the camp); no going outside the electric fence without a guide. A schedule for bear viewing was set up to accommodate the guests. Three places were designated for viewing: one at the mouth of the river, one at a double decker platform behind camp on the river, and one down the beach upstream of the platform. The guides kept tabs on where the bears were feeding so we had the best opportunities for great pictures. Another rule was to stay in the group at all times when outside the fence. Separating any distance from the group was a no-no. Staying in a group makes you look big and bears usually stay away from anything that looks bigger than them. The guide(s) carried protection but has never had to use it.
 
These bears have one thing in mind during the salmon run - salmon. It was almost like we didn't even exist in their presence. They seem to have personalities that fit the description of their age. Older boar bears have fine tuned the knack of catching almost every fish they lunge after. Momma bears are also pretty adept - they have to be as they are feeding up to three or four mouths at a time. Their act of acquiring food doubles as teaching techniques for the youngsters so they can eventually fend for themselves. Like any youngster, cubs watch momma and try to mimic her techniques. But when they are hungry they just dive in on mom's catch and fill their bellies.
 
Stay tuned next week for the continuing story of Bear Camp with tales of exciting moments.
 
From my light to yours-

By Janelle Eklund

​Autumn had descended upon the land. We wandered out of the Copper Basin to experience the joys of this season on the Kenai Peninsula at Cooper Landing. Our friends and their cozy new cabin at the base of a tall mountainous hill welcomed us. A walk in the brisk air along the Russian River piqued the senses. In the summer this river is teeming with salmon on their journey to reach their birth place. And the banks of the river are teeming shoulder to shoulder with fisherman doing their best to catch their limit of salmon.
 
On this day the fisherman were gone and hundreds of dead salmon lay on their death beds along the shore where fisherman once stood. These salmon reached their goal and completed their task of laying and fertilizing eggs for the next generation. They dodged around commercial fishing nets as they made their journey from ocean waters; they missed entrapments of those subsistence fishing; they snuck past the gauntlet of sport fisherman along the river; they alluded hungry bears, eagles and other wildlife. I applaud their stamina and determination.
 
The stench of their decomposing bodies wafted through the crisp autumn air. Eagles sat in trees still ready to feast on left-overs. Salmon are very interesting creatures. Even in death they continue to contribute to the cycle of life. Not only do they feed wildlife and humans in life, but in death their decaying bodies feed plants through their nourishment of the soil. Maggots and other insects join in the feast of the year.
 
Brown and gold leaves mimicked the salmon in their death beds, as they lay together to finish the job of making new enriched soil.
 
The open graves that lay at our feet blended into the entire scene of a river winding gracefully through a golden and green forest, back dropped by sun washed snow peaked mountains.
 
Splashes of red rose leaves against dark grey boulders. A pile of rich red high bush cranberries that went clean through a bears system. Turquoise water flowing below canyon walls.
 
Ponds wearing a golden necklace of leaves. Plump white swans with elegant long necks disappearing under pond water - tail feathered butts rising toward the sky. Necks emerge -intertwine in love shapes.
 
 Large wet snow flakes resting on brilliant colors, melting into giant water drops. A game of catching them on the tongue ensued. A chill in the air announced the inevitable entrance of winter. Swans lift for take-off - giant white wings flap up and down trailing water, necks in line - destination - south.
 
From my light to yours-

By Janelle Eklund
​It was October 1. A clear blue sky and bright sun looked down on a cold crisp landscape. The 20 degree chill of the night stilled puddles and lakes in a layer of thin ice. Previous cold nights loosened the leaves on trees. When a fierce relentless wind blew for a couple days it released the leaves to their deathbed on the ground. There they will nourish the tree or bush it was born from, giving it life to continue the cycle.
 
My hiking companion and I donned rubber boots and warm clothes for an invigorating trek in the cool woods. Colorful leaves floated in suspended animation in frozen pockets of water where the light of the sun splashed them with golden hues. Ice shapes formed whitish wavy patterns. We moved through a well trodden icy wet four-wheeler trail anxious to meet higher dryer ground. After a couple of hours of wading through a drunken black spruce forest the aspen grove was a welcoming sight. The trail meandered through white barked stately trees, gnarly growths decorating some of their trunks. Above the trees a three-quarter moon hung in the blue sky like a genuine pearl.
 
Wind had released some aspen trees of their firm grip to the ground. Their trunks lay like benches on the forest floor. We took our seat on one in the sun where we basked in its light and had a bite to eat. It was the perfect setting to linger, nourish our bodies and souls, and contemplate where we were in that moment in time. The afternoon air was a little warmer on our return trek. The slightly frozen mossy tundra beneath our feet gave way just a little more as the diminished warmth of the sun tried its best to thaw the icy grip.
 
Fall days are lingering with nights in the 20°'s or 30°'s and days in the upper 30°'s to 40°'s. There was a slight inkling of snow with a dusting one morning in early October that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. My thoughts wandered to visions of planting something in the greenhouse - hah - not really warm enough but never the less these warm October days play with the mind! Actually, there is something green emerging from the bin - I think it's an onion! As the sun disappears earlier each day it brings the mind back to reality - very little light - very little growth. OK, too early for planting already!
 
Snow seems shy this year but today, October 16, we got our first real dump, even if it is heavy wet snow and part of it came down as rain. With a temperature of 32°F it can make for messy road conditions so be careful as we fall in winter - pun intended.
 
From my light to yours-

Copper River Record
By Janelle Eklund
​It was October 1. A clear blue sky and bright sun looked down on a cold crisp landscape. The 20 degree chill of the night stilled puddles and lakes in a layer of thin ice. Previous cold nights loosened the leaves on trees. When a fierce relentless wind blew for a couple days it released the leaves to their deathbed on the ground. There they will nourish the tree or bush it was born from, giving it life to continue the cycle.
 
My hiking companion and I donned rubber boots and warm clothes for an invigorating trek in the cool woods. Colorful leaves floated in suspended animation in frozen pockets of water where the light of the sun splashed them with golden hues. Ice shapes formed whitish wavy patterns. We moved through a well trodden icy wet four-wheeler trail anxious to meet higher dryer ground. After a couple of hours of wading through a drunken black spruce forest the aspen grove was a welcoming sight. The trail meandered through white barked stately trees, gnarly growths decorating some of their trunks. Above the trees a three-quarter moon hung in the blue sky like a genuine pearl.
 
Wind had released some aspen trees of their firm grip to the ground. Their trunks lay like benches on the forest floor. We took our seat on one in the sun where we basked in its light and had a bite to eat. It was the perfect setting to linger, nourish our bodies and souls, and contemplate where we were in that moment in time. The afternoon air was a little warmer on our return trek. The slightly frozen mossy tundra beneath our feet gave way just a little more as the diminished warmth of the sun tried its best to thaw the icy grip.
 
Fall days are lingering with nights in the 20°'s or 30°'s and days in the upper 30°'s to 40°'s. There was a slight inkling of snow with a dusting one morning in early October that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. My thoughts wandered to visions of planting something in the greenhouse - hah - not really warm enough but never the less these warm October days play with the mind! Actually, there is something green emerging from the bin - I think it's an onion! As the sun disappears earlier each day it brings the mind back to reality - very little light - very little growth. OK, too early for planting already!
 
Snow seems shy this year but today, October 16, we got our first real dump, even if it is heavy wet snow and part of it came down as rain. With a temperature of 32°F it can make for messy road conditions so be careful as we fall in winter - pun intended.
 
From my light to yours-

By Janelle Eklund
​A hot wind blew down the Tonsina River valley lifting bluff silt that was born from the Wrangell mountains thousands of years ago. The air was heavy with it obscuring the view of mountain peaks. I swear the temperature was likened to a hot desert wind in the 90°s F. Surely it wasn't that hot but it felt like it. My only gauge was the memory of travels in the hot Utah and Arizona deserts.
 
Warm temperatures permeated the month of May enticing some plants to spring forth early and take advantage of hot dry days.
 
In my mind I could hear the dance start in rhythm to Tchaikovsky's symphony beginning with a profusion of purple Pasqueflowers - some popping up in unlikely places. Lupine joined in their blue fluted dress. Delicate calypso orchid spread their fairy slipper pinkness here and there. It got contagious. Joining the dance, in jumped elf like creamy Pumpkin Berry flowers. Jacobs Ladder in blue billowing skirts joined the merry circle. Tiny greenish Soapberry flowers marched in on woody stems. Snow Potentilla twirled around in their bright yellow tutus. Smiley faced yellow Arnicas pirouetted like a pinwheel on a stick. Languid Ladies gracefully bowed their bluebell heads. Bearberry's dangling white bell earrings tiptoed around the forest floor. Labrador Tea, Highbush Cranberry and American Dogwood donned snowy white headdresses tipping in the breeze. Deep Pink Rose permeating the air with its sweet scent. Pale purple bird wings floated in on Alpine Milk Vetch. Artemisia lined the bluffs and roadsides with green fragrant leaves. Eskimo Potato and Wild Sweet Pea tap danced in deep pink frocks, lining roadsides.
 
And then on May 31, May began to melt. A hint of clouds started shielding the blue sky and the hot sun peaked in and out. The dancers were getting tired in the heat. Clouds covered the sky June first and bits of rain fell here and there throughout the valley. Temperatures dropped to the 50°'s and 60°'s F. We willed the rain to wet the forest and gardens. It came during the day and it came during the night in spurts. Plants drank in the rain as fast as it fell. Rain cleaned the dust of May making plants shimmer in wetness and exposing earthy scented perfumes.
 
Red flag fire warnings were lifted giving the trees another reprieve and homeowners a sigh of relief.
 
By June first, rushed plants already show signs of ending the season. Some lupine are turning their flowers into seeds. Rose petals are falling to the ground. What will the rest of the summer bring? Will the high 70°'s and 80°F return? It is a mystery.
 
Whatever summer brings we will enjoy the sun, be patient with the wind and grateful for it blowing away mosquitoes, be thankful for the rain, and intoxicate ourselves with earthy smells.
 
From my light to yours-
 

By Janelle Eklund
​The grey static clouds that hung over the valley for the last few days evaporated in the cold night air of freezing temperatures. I’ve already hung up snowshoes and skis for the next season. My early morning exercise is now delegated to walking the Old Edgerton. The low rising sun filtered through the trees laying bar code shadows across the gravel road. The more I walked the more I got inspired by the wakening of a beautiful day. So with this inspiration tucked in my brain ideas formed for this writing. My brain seems to be taking a break from plant focus. But I'm sure it will return as the lingering sun casts its magic warmth day after day, gently nudging plants to yawn and stretch into a bright world.
 
As I walk along sentences form, but without pen and paper, recording those exact thoughts seem to waver away from my brain that is already packed so full from many years of cramming other information in. And the brain is not like a computer where you can delete forever those trivial pieces of information. I used to have one of those little mini pocket recorders for moments of inspiration but it died a long time ago and I haven't replaced it. Anyway, some of the words in those sentences do linger and once I'm at the computer they may just come out in a different configuration.
 
Early Saturday mornings are quiet and in the forty minutes of vigorous walking the sound of a car is non-existent. On weekday mornings I am greeted by the sounds of the Old Edgerton rush hour traffic, which amounts to about two or three cars. Many times these are pleasant inspiring moments as the occupants, who just happen to be friends and neighbors, take the time to stop and say a few inspiring words and leave their happy smiles.
 
So on this Saturday morning, without its rush hour traffic, I drank in the subtle sounds and flights of birds, gaining inspiration from them as they greeted the day. I always like the mysterious trill of the thrush inspiring me to stop and listen to its message. This morning a woodpecker was busy pounding a hole in a tree getting a nest ready for its brood. This in turn inspired me to dig in the greenhouse bins readying them for baby plants.
 
My eyes caught the flutter of something standing on the south snow bank drinking in the morning sun. At the distance I was from it I thought it was maybe an owl. Its wings settled down and as I got closer it was obvious that it was a ruffed grouse. They are pretty much like spruce grouse in that they just hold their stance as you walk by. As I was close to the house at that point, this inspired me to get my camera to see about capturing him on film. I had to walk a bit to the house, change the lens on my camera, put it on the tripod, and walk back out to the road hoping he'd still be there. Sure enough he was but as I crept closer trying to adjust the settings on the camera he turned and walked over the snow bank and into the woods. Oh well, at least I got a good photo in my mind's eye and he gave me inspiration for the start of a good day.
 
Now I wait with anticipation to hear the wind in the wings of the first snipe returning for the season. Once I hear that and the flapping and honking of swans I know summer is here.
 
From my light to yours-