I'm a Stylish Blogger, and I'm an Alaskan

I have done a really bad job of posting more often this week. Although I suppose that posting twice a week is still a lot more than I had been. In any case, one of my oldest friends in the world, Anna, gave me the stylish blogger award, which is very kind of her. I'm basically lazy and technologically inept, so the thought of trying to post the correct image and link to ten other blogs is daunting to me. So I'm not doing it. Sorry, Anna. I hope this isn't like breaking a chain letter.

A lot of readers might find Anna's blog a bit of a culture shock. She lives in Alaska, close to where we grew up, and she lives what I consider to be a fairly typical Alaskan life. Not that everyone raises chickens and goats and homeschools their six children, but she and her family kind of march to the beat of their own drummers, and they want the freedom to do that. I get that. While my viewpoints and politics have changed since I've left Alaska--and frankly, I was always more of the Alaskan hippie than the Alaskan libertarian (not that Anna is a libertarian)--I still understand that Alaskan mindset. It is where I come from.

One of my fondest memories of Anna is of watching Anne of Green Gables with her. We both loved the movie and watched it together many times. We had it all worked out--she was Diana and I was Anne. I tried my hardest to live up to my role as Anne, finding adventures for us wherever I could. One day we were running around on the 50 acres of forest that backed up to our church community. We called this area "cranberry cliffs," so named for the abundant cranberries that grow along the boggy lows and high cliffs in those woods. I suggested that we climb the face of one of those cliffs. Somehow, Anna got stuck, but with no adults anywhere nearby, I had to coach her down. I think of that day often when I'm trying to figure out ways to get my boys outdoors. I know they would be so much more willing to play outside if it involved a little more freedom and adventure. I think that day was, in some ways, the epitome of the Alaskan experience. And every time I read about Anna and her family figuring out how to milk goats or butcher chickens, I feel a little like I'm back in Alaska.