Hello, Everyone.

Besides a television interview for The Balancing Act my recent trip to Florida included two memorable excursions into the Everglades with my son Randall.  He acted as my driver, beast of burden, body guard, photographer, and really fun companion.  The last wasn’t an act.  Randall is the best fun on trips.  I will never forget the great time we had and all the times he jumped between me and an alligator.  While Florida and Alaska are direct opposites in the hot and cold department, also the flat and mountainous area, I loved that.  The similarities, too, gorgeous birds, endless beaches, glorious sunsets, and a lot of nice people.  We hope to take another trip with Lee Ann and all the grandkids.

Yet another blizzard.  You can see the red flashing light attached to my pocket to alert snowplows of my presence.  I’ve had 2 narrow misses already this year and that should be good practice for traffic in Florida.   On Monday I leave for Anchorage and then Florida to tape a segment for The Balancing Act to air some time in May on the Lifetime channel.  This will be the first time I’ve left the island since I broke my arm is December 2009.  I’ll keep you posted.

Merry Christmas,

     Didn’t I just say that last week?  Only it was 2010!  Is time escalating for everyone or just me?  Does this mean I am officially old?  Maybe not, but it sure as heck means I’m not getting any younger. 

     So my big decision this year was to start on the ranch history.  A big chunk of historical data fell into my lap and initiated a perusal through Milton’s old diaries and letters and morphed into this huge project that has me searching through archives, museums, historical societies and the memories of the first ranchers’ descendents.  What an amazing trip and I bitterly regret I waited so long to start.  Milton would have loved uncovering these old letters, grants, maps, and people.  My research has grown to include all the ranches on the Aleutian Chain plus little side forays into fox farming, reindeer herding, mining, and the second World War.  Of great surprise to me was all the friction and really bitter grazing disputes that grew out of the first land grants on Unalaska and Umnak.  According to letters written to the Department Of The Interior dealing with territorial matters, men actually feared for their lives.  So, in its very early drafts this history is titled ‘Alaska’s Wild West’, with a subtitle of ‘The Land Of Invisible Women’. 

     As far as the letters written back to the investors, to the government, even to the men’s families, wives were not mentioned.  But when I started looking more closely I found new information that confirmed the first two managers for the two companies that settled in Chernofski Harbor brought their wives on the same boat that brought the sheep.  There was nothing there but an abandoned native village.  Where did they set up housekeeping?  Where did they sleep that first night off the boat?  The men were frantically protecting their investment of 2000 sheep and various other animals, like horses, cows, chickens, and sheep dogs.  They would not have had time to spare for womanly comforts.  I believe the women worked along with their husbands.  I hope they had a tent.  Sleeping under a tarp draped over a driftwood log late in October is brutal, not that I haven’t done it plenty of times on late roundups, but I knew the sturdy ranch house was just across the island waiting to burst forth in warmth just as soon as I got home and built the fire. 

     These women had no such reassurance.  My admiration for them, and the ones who came after them, knows no bounds.  I feel both proud and humble to have followed in their footsteps.  Most were very young, less than twenty years old, many just married and off on the adventure of their lives,  Vera Sproat, Maisie Jensen, Arlene Kranich, Ruth Catron, and Beverly Holmes, just to name a few, beautiful women who chose this austere difficult life to stay with their husbands.

     Well, that is enough about me and my obsession with writing this history.  My children and grandchildren continue to grow and give me great pleasure. We are all still under the same roof except Chuck who is off on his yearly winter sailboat adventure.  This is his third year and he is still wandering around in the San Juans.  He emailed me today that he is anchoring out and rowing his dinghy ashore with his bicycle aboard and biking all the back road and trails.  He has met new friends and enjoys the camaraderie of sea going adventurers but will be back home in the spring to fish for the summer.

     Randall continues to work as a longshoreman and operate heavy equipment.  Much of this year was consumed with Union business and he has been away from home a lot. We all miss him.  In October he took Lee Ann and the 2 youngest children to Oregon with him and stayed after his trust meetings to copy off a huge amount of historical documents I discovered in Portland, Oregon, where one of the ranch owners still lives.  The information is priceless and I’m so grateful he was able to get so much of it in two days time with the help of his biological dad, who also lives in Portland.  Kayli, a friend of Lee Ann’s also helped. See, I’m already back talking about this history project.  It truly is an obsession.

     Randy is beginning to share my attitude about energy, which is simply using less instead of searching for ways to find more, ie, wind chargers, bio diesel, etc.  To that end he has purchased a nifty little three cylinder pickup that gets about 40 miles to the gallon.  It does my heart good to see my big burly son in a little white pickup that drives on the wrong side of the road.  And he is a maniac for cutting wood and procuring it from every conceivable place in this treeless country, from driftwood, to dunnage, to pallets; all is fodder for his chainsaw.  The woodpile in front of our house is impressive.  In fact our neighbor with a woodstove stopped me on the road and asked if we knew something he didn’t about a coming ice age.  

     Last night after work I was working in my office and Annikah, my two and a half year old granddaughter was running around with a blanket over her head trying to scare me.  She rushed at me right as I picked up my very hot cup of lemonade, splashed it all over the table where all my papers were sorted in huge stacks, broke my favorite mug, and nearly scared herself to death.  Lucky me, the information is still safe on thumb drives, and the wrinkled documents lend an authentic look and feel to the old letters. 

     Dakota is good, off meds and no seizures yet, so we have our fingers crossed but haven’t completely relaxed yet.  A few nights ago she made a swan dive for Randy when he came home from work, missed the foot stool she was aiming for, and crash landed on the woodstove.  Luckily it was out so she didn’t get burned but she did get a nasty gash in her forehead.  She was very brave, spent several hours in the clinic, and came to the library afterwards to show me her wound which had been neatly glued and repaired with steri-strips in an effort to avoid an ugly cross hatched scar like her little brother has.

     Ryder started preschool this year to the trepidation of all of us.  To our surprise he loves it and is practically a model student.  We all drew collective sigh of relief; that child has boundless energy, an amazing imagination for off the wall deeds of daring do, and a stubborn nature that would rival a Kentucky mule.  But what a sweetheart and he decided he likes me and calls me Grandma and will and listen to me read stories until the cows come home.  And when I finish, he always says, “Read it again.” Can’t have better praise than that.

     Lee Ann stays frantic with three small children, two teenagers, Killian and Monty, one of whom will graduate from high school this year and the other a freshman still on anti seizure meds.  She also babysits her sister’s infant most mornings.  All I can say is she is a glutton for punishment and has a very tender heart.

     Both boys are doing well except they could study a little harder and get better grades, according to their dad.  Killian works as a lifeguard at the community pool and saves for college.  He wrestles and plays basketball.  Monty is growing faster than his age and looks much older than 14.  He is already a half head taller than Killian.  He earns money doing scrap salvage, another recycling project dear to my heart.

     My latest book, ‘Time Of The Otter’, won the gold medal for romance in the 2011 Independent Publisher competition.  On the strength of that award I have been invited to appear as a guest on the Morning Show on the Lifetime channel, a cable channel devoted to women’s programs.  Surprising myself, I accepted, as the show tapes in Florida and I don’t like to travel.  I would like to say my decision rested mainly on getting more exposure for the book, marketing and all that.  However, the truth is my major motivation is losing twenty-five pounds.  I refuse to go on national television looking like a chubby little old lady, old lady, yes, chubby, no.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Most Sincerely,

Cora Holmes

Lots of things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving, warm house, busy family, and big exciting history project to work on.  However, at this introspective time of year, in part my heart is full of thanks for my son Randy who joined our family by way of adoption when he was three days old.  That was forty-two years ago.  Randy grew up knowing he was adopted and oftentimes speculated on his ‘real antecedents’, ie “I’m an Apache prince”, etc.  This need to know his roots increased as he grew and as a young adult he initiated a serious search.  This is where the second part of my heartfelt thanks comes in.  Below are photographs of Randy and his biological dad working together as researchers on the big sheep ranch history project.  Thanks, guys, for being who you are.  I hope every family in the world has a happy ever after story to give thanks for this year.

Fall is here; tundra on the hills is bright yellow and orange, blueberries are ripe but elusive under almost constant rain.  Grandkids are back to school and I am layering leggings and down vest under my raingear for walks to and from work. 

“Time of The Otter” continues to reach far off places.  Recently I received a curious card postmarked Syracuse, New York.  It had no return address and was signed Vince and Kate.  It took me a moment to realize they are the characters from the book.  I cannot begin to tell you how special that was, that connection that said these two people I created are as real to a reader as they are to me.  Thank you, whoever you are.  I am uploading the card; I love the attitude of the otter and the message.  It made my day and then some.

Now that the days are shorter I am delving deeper into the sheep ranching history of the Aleutians.  The local museum here in Unalaska is being so helpful in providing any history they have in their archives.  Nothing approaches that feeling of awe and anticipation from opening the pages of a handwritten journal starting in 1910.

I had always promised myself and Milt that I would get serious about writing the history of sheep ranching in the Aleutians after I retired. However, retirement is still a few years away and just recently a big chunk of historical data fell into my lap and I find myself excited and anxious to begin this project. As I go through early day papers I discover new names that materialize into real people who lived on the ranch fifty years before I did, actually built the original part of the house we lived in. Many were single men but wives lived there, too, and put curtains on the windows. Now these women are found in obituary archives and attic trunks, the grandmothers who defined their lives by the years they spent in the Aleutians. Many lived well into their nineties, Vera Sproat, Rhoda Harris, Ruth Catron, Arlene Kranich, and Hazel Plummer. I want these women to have their place in history beside their husbands. They were tough and resilient and worth their weight in gold. Over the years since I began writing for Country Magazine I have received several letters from relatives whose ancestors worked on the Aleutian ranches. Those letters and photographs are invaluable in the information they provide. Thank you.

This is a rambling update. I am on vacation from the library and my son Chuck, and I, are waiting on a weather break to travel to the ranch in his fishing boat. A typhoon off Japan is causing a delay along with wind and rain and typical Aleutian weather.  (Sigh)

Love,

Cora

December 21, 2010

Merry Christmas,

This greeting is coming from close to the North Pole and tonight it feels like it. A blizzard is raging outside the library and only a few hardy souls have ventured out in it. My mile and a half walk to work was quite a struggle but I can look forward to the wind being at my back as I walk home.

That is my wish for all of you this year; that the wind may always be at your back.

As the years pile up my intentions and my actions do not always coincide. I find myself falling farther and farther behind in almost everything, especially correspondence. Even my blog, which I had such high hopes for, suffers from neglect. Please forgive me and rest assured that all of you on this mailing list, from my 101 year old friend in Plant City, Florida to my Flat Stanley friends in Homedale, Idaho, have a cherished place in my heart.

This has been a year like many others, filled with heartache and joy, but not in equal amounts. Heartache won this time but I hope I’m a better person for it, certainly a thankful one that my calamities were survivable and I hope yours were too.

In February the bunkhouse and storehouse at the ranch burned down. A group of bird scientists were staying there studying the effects of an earlier oil spill. The weather was very cold and the fire got away from them in the night. No one was injured but there is always sadness associated with the loss of history that can’t be replaced with a new building.

Then in April my mother died. She was 97 years old and had been ill for only a short time. She leaves a big gap in our family and we all miss her. I wasn’t able to get out to the services in Idaho but I had seen her in 2008 and we both knew it was probably a last visit. We talked on the phone every week and even now when 2:00 on Thursday afternoon rolls around I catch myself waiting for the phone to ring.

I’m trying to think of something happy to intersperse in this litany of sad events and consider when Monty came home from Arizona to stay after one year in the big city qualifies as good news. Then less than a month after he came home he had a grand mal seizure and needed to be medivacued to Anchorage just like his little sister, Dakota, a couple years ago. I am grateful they are both alive, both controlled by medicine, and both likely to grow out of them by adulthood. But for now living with epilepsy eight hundred miles from the nearest hospital makes for high octane stress.

In June another ghost joined Milt and Hugh at Chernofski. Lonnie Kennedy, the ranch manager at Umnak, was killed when his helicopter crashed a couple miles from Chernofski ranch. I like to think Milt was there with his hand stretch out to pull him from the wreckage. Lonnie is only the second person to lose his life at Chernofski in the history of the ranch. Hugh Denehey, an Irish immigrant, died of hypothermia when the ranch was in its infancy eighty years ago. Lonnie was the quintessential American hero, bigger than life, big, good natured, always smiling. I still find it hard to believe he is gone.

His widow, Susan, spoke at his memorial service. I have never been so comforted by a mourner’s words. She told us leaving the world early was part of God’s plan for Lonnie, that God had given Lonnie everything he wanted in the last five years, coming to Alaska, flying helicopters, and Parker his five year old son. Then she said, “My family isn’t too happy with God right now.” I loved that. She had the courage to tell us how angry she was while accepting the fact that there was a higher order. I’ve never had another person so perfectly reflect my views.

Now, for some really good news. In an effort to survive these trying economic times in a cold climate my family is huddling together for warmth. All nine of us are living under the same roof. It is just too expensive to maintain separate households and keep up with the utility bills. Randy leased his own house out and moved his wife and five children in with me. Chuck mostly lives on his boats, either his fishing boat here in the summer or his sailboat in the winter. I love having the grandchildren close. Randy’s wife, Lee Ann, is a marvel. She is confronted with living and working in a strange kitchen with every mother-in-law story she ever heard running through her head. Plus she has three small children, two teenage stepsons, and a workaholic husband. She handles a difficult situation with a grace and aplomb I could never hope to equal.

Last month was Killian’s seventeenth birthday and a big wrestling match was held on the same day. Lee Ann and Randy watched the matches until the bitter end because both boys competed and that made Lee Ann very late with Killian’s birthday supper. When they got home she sent Randy to the store for a birthday cake, her only instructions were something nice, and it has to be chocolate. While he was gone we tore around picking up the house because she had invited her folks for cake and ice cream. Randall came home with a cake mix. Lee Ann did not lose her cool or even miss a beat. She dove into the kitchen and whipped up a banana cream pie complete with real bananas and sprinkles and seventeen candles. When Killian came in after the match she held it upand said. “Happy Birthday; I made your favorite.”

Now in real time, we are having a blizzard, the first of the year with snow and wind. Killian just called and asked if I wanted a ride home. I said, of course not. In the background I could hear Randy telling me to say if I don’t take a ride he will come down with the car and drive really slow behind me and honk the horn all the way home. We’ll see.

In closing, for those of you who are waiting for another book, “Time Of The Otter”, is at the printers. Production should be finished early in the new year and details will up on my website, www.coraholmes.com.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Cora Holmes