I imagine there are new folks living in our Berkeley Attic, having just moved there from somewhere else. I awoke this morning with this firm announcement in my head ~ new folks. For any of you who are familiar with the children’s book Rabbit Hill, you will remember the refrain of new folks that traveled lightening fast through the rabbit burrows and valley when the new owners of the farm arrived. And just like the animals in that story, I too hope that the Attic’s new folks are good folk.
If I sound a bit nostalgic for the Attic, I am. That space holds a special rental place in my psyche. Although the time was right to move on, the special-ness of the time and place remain.
I now live at the Compound. Jill’s (pseudonyms used to protect the guilty and innocent alike) Compound to be semi-exact. The SO lives here when he is not living with me in what Alaskans fondly call the Lower 48 (neverminding that there are 49 states lower than us). And I live here in the summers and winter holidays. We moved to this space 3.5 years ago.
The Compound consists of the main house that we share with Jill, a three bedroom rental downstairs, two cabins occupied by renters, and Jill’s work shop. We have a private space within the main house consisting of a large room, a smaller room, a bathroom and a walk in closet and we are free to share the rest of the home with Jill and her dog. Did I mention that there are 3-4 dogs on the property as well?
The people who live here (ourselves included) all seem to share a common thread ~ we seem to be a little off the center. What this means is that some of us fall within the a bit eccentric to more eccentric and others are just off the grid. I will leave it to you to assign me to the proper category. Yes, we are an interesting lot hunkered down in the Land of the Midnight Sun.
Take for example our downstairs neighbors, a young man and his wife and their dog, who summer before last asked Jill’s permission to smoke salmon in one of their bedrooms. Jill gave him the thumbs up and casually mentioned it to the SO and me as our large room is directly above the downstairs bedroom turned smokehouse. She just as casually added that she didn’t think it would be a problem as who doesn’t love the yummy fragrance of fish being smoked. The recipe that the dude used required 10 days of smoking. Steady smoking. as in do not, ever, let the smoking smells stop. not once. not ever in 10 days. Okay, in that instance I don’t know who was weirder, urrrrr I mean more eccentric, the smoker dude for coming up with the bedroom smoking idea or Jill for giving permission. So when last summer’s salmon smoking time came around, we put in our mild mannered request to the downstairs neighbor to please smoke his catch outside.
Okay. Okay. It is afterall Alaska. The place where people come to be Frontier Folk. or to hide from the law.