Arctic ocean in winter with Polar Bear warning sign
“Off of the tour bus and into the food chain.”
Me in Prudhoe Bay after my dunking!
It’s a common joke in Alaska, and tonight, we decided to join other co-workers and take the Polar Plunge and jump into the Arctic Ocean. I’ve worked up here on and off for 11 years, and never done it, my co-worker Derek has worked 13. He told me about it over lunch and I decided after a rather rough week, why the heck not?
Unfortunately, not knowing that this event was coming, I had to run to the gift shop in camp and buy a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and pray they wouldn’t be completely see through after my dunking.
People on the beach waiting to go for it.Beach at East Dock
We drove the long gravel road out to East Dock, both of us marveling at the fact we had never been out there in the summer. I’ve been out there countless times in winter, in the dark, helping with generators and other electrical equipment. I’ve been to other places on the arctic ocean in the summer and marveled at the sight of Prudhoe Bay without ice for the brief few weeks that it happens. But here we were going to jump in.
Okay, so jump is a relative term. Prudhoe bay is really shallow, for quite a long distance. We were warned in advance to wear shoes, since we were going to have to wade out until we got waist deep, then submerge over our heads, then slog back. The beach is rough gravel and sharp rocks. We signed in and began our slog our into the bay.
The water temperature, according to the little certificate I got was 32 degrees. The air temperature was 48. It didn’t feel so bad…at first. But the further out we got, the chillier we got.
As previously mentioned, the plan was to stop at waist deep, I should say I did. My friend tried to keep going. I think he forgot that I’m like a half a foot shorter than him. I’m not short by any means, but he’s pretty tall. Our conversation went about like this:
“How deep do we have to go?” I asked, puzzled that he kept walking seaward.
“Just waist-deep, then we dunk our heads under.”
“Where are you going?”
“I want to get deeper.”
“You go ahead, I’m dunking now.”
So we both dunked under, then trudged quickly back to shore, where a friend was trying to video said event. Unfortunately, the video didn’t record, but I got some pictures.
For those of you who have never been, I hope you liked my pictures of the arctic ocean. I feel privileged to have been able to work in such a unique place for so long.
My favorite picture of the Sag River where it meets the ocean during the few hours of light in winter
For those of you who have never had the pleasure of sitting in an MRI Machine, having a full scan of your brain and spine, this is about what it sounds like. That being said, some of the more modern machines can pipe in music of books on tape, but the more rustic, it’s just you alone, in a dark tube, thinking. Fortunately, I’ve never been claustrophobic and usually I freak the technicians out because I get too comfy and fall asleep and start snoring. Hey, it’s easy when they swaddle you in a nice warm blanket and stuff you in a dark place where you can just ponder, at least, that’s what works for me.
If it’s just your brain, it’s only about an hour. If it’s your brain and C-spine with contrast, ninety minutes. Full spine, upwards of three hours. Imagine, lying in a tiny tube listening to nothing but the above and your own thoughts for three hours. They pull you out at some point, jab you in the arm with a needle and inject you with the contrast dye so they can see active lesions on your brain (after the military and MS, no fear of those any more either). Fortunately for me, I have a pretty vivid imagination, and no fear of confined spaces, so most of the time I’m fine. I can entertain myself indefinitely, I just have to remind myself not to breathe or swallow while said noises are taking place, or they’ll have to repeat the scan and I’ll be there longer. The limiting factor is my bladder, which is a whole other blog topic. For those of my friends out there with MS, they feel my pain.
After 18 years of having MS and migraines, I feel like I am a human guinea pig when it comes to health care and the VA. I recognize that in spite many things, I am fortunate, I have health care; but sometimes, I wonder what they are doing to me. I have had 25+ MRI’s (forgive me, I lost count at some point) with contrast in 18 years. Also, I have had more than 10 CT’s scans, plus numerous X-Rays. I joke with my husband and my neurologist (ok, at this point it’s not a joke anymore) that I am going to donate my brain and my liver to medical science so they can figure out what the heck is the deal with not only relapsing-remitting MS, but contrast dye, and how it effects people.
I was SOOOOO close! After sixteen years, my MS was showing NO signs of progression. At the end of 2016, my neurologist felt that things looked so good, I didn’t need an MRI for three years. Joy!
On top of that, we had gotten on top of my migraines with a combo of me watching my dietary triggers, adding magnesium and vitamin D to my diet, and just watching my stress levels. Everything was turning up roses.
And then the mole people came out.
In 2017 I had a massive flare up of MS where I lost vision in my right eye for a time and had trouble with coordination. Unfortunately, when being given massive doses of steroids and immune system suppressants, your immune system takes a blow. I suffered from a severe case of pneumonia that winter, which took me “officially” three months to get back on my feet, but I didn’t begin to feel like myself again for about eight months.
But I clawed my way back to the surface, and here I am again. My doctor and I learned a lot of lessons. Fortunately, she’s on my side, and already she has said that next time (hopefully there’s not a next time) she’s pre-emptively writing me a note to have me take time off work when I have to take my treatments. She wants me to rest on a beach warm and sunny while this crap they give me eats away at me. I’ll take that.
Unfortunately, my last MRI came back with new lesions, so I’ve got to slide back into the tube this week and have another go. While I’m in there, I’ll hopefully dream up a New York Times Bestseller that will knock everyone for a loop. The options if the new MRI come back bad again aren’t pretty, but I’ll deal. And I’ll dream.
For those of you out there with MS and migraines, how is it going with you? Check out my website and drop me a line. I’d love to know how you’re doing out there.
Lake across from Mentasta Lodge. Great place to see Trumpeter Swans.
So I participated in the monthlong #NaNaPromo May marketing Blitz. There was a lot of really good information over the course of the month. I have a lot of pages favorited, and I go back and re-read them. At this point, my marketing is in it’s infancy. I am still testing out what I learned and seeing what works and what does not.
What is one of the first things I did?
Twitter
I set up a Twitter account in the spirit of growing my social media presence. Something that I once swore I would never do. Mostly because I try to not get sucked into social media if I can help it. I read an article by an entrepreneur that advised (basically) you need to consider whether you are spending your time or using your time. If you are “spending” it, someone is making money off you. If you are using it, you are bettering yourself. Kind of harsh and possibly overly simplistic, but at some core level, there’s a lot of truth to this.
But the more I read about marketing yourself, whether as a writer, or an entrepreneur, used wisely; social media can be a big help. I started my Twitter account and watched as I had very few followers. I really didn’t understand hashtags or following others or re-tweeting…so I learned.
My followers have gone from zero to roughly 90. I realize compared to some who have thousands this may not sound like a lot, but over the course of two months, not too shabby. Also, I feel I am engaged with the people following me. I enjoy what they post, and I hope they enjoy what I post. I learn a lot from them. Which leads me to…
Website
I started my own website. Being an electrical engineer, and having somewhat of a computer science background, this wasn’t too much of a stretch. The difficult part is now attracting people to my grand creation.
I have started a blog, mostly about my exploits living in Alaska, my adventures as a female electrical engineer and a former Navy Veteran, and my silent battle with MS, migraines and depression. I just write about these things. From my logistics, not many people are reading them yet, and that’s okay. In fact, it’s kind of liberating. I have the freedom to just express myself as I shake off the rust, work out the kinks in my writing and find out what works. I learned a lot during the month of May about guest blogging and tagging other articles to your blog. This has helped increase traffic. I am going to now be a regular guest blogger on a website about chronic illness and depression. After 18 years dealing with MS and battling the VA, yes I can claim to be an expert. I am also doing technical writing about my electrical engineering work.
Taylor Highway Closed
Website Maintenance!
Lesson learned: don’t rush it! While reading one of the articles about building your network, I got the brilliant idea to try to install a newsletter plugin. Here’s my advice to you. When messing around with your website. Take your time. Don’t do it at 11pm after three glasses of wine right after getting back from Massachusetts and you have to get on another plane and fly to Prudhoe Bay, AK the next morning for work. It will only spell disaster. It took me almost a month and a half to figure out how I had managed to screw up my blog. I didn’t realize it until the morning after when I had no blog AND no newsletter.
Next steps
Photos
My next step is to get some professional pictures taken. Gulp! If you know me, you know that I pretty much hate pictures of myself. Not that I’m ugly or anti-social or anything, I just don’t like my own pictures. Don’t know why. So, I found a photographer whose work I really like, and we are going to do a photoshoot together to come up with something good. My husband is really excited about this.
Book Covers
My husband and I do a lot of design work, so we have software programs for manipulating pictures. I am going to mess around with creating fictitious book covers, but if I can’t come up with anything I like, I have a friend who is a really talented artist and photographer who is willing to work with me in exchange for getting her name out there.
Editing
I did the classic newbie-writer mistake. I wrote stuff (it was actually the 4th novel I wrote) edited it myself, sent it out for query, got rejected multiple times. I had an editor look over the first few pages for feedback. It came back drenched in red. And it was amazing. Like a magic spell. How could I not see it? I had read it a hundred times! How did I miss all the telling/not showing, POV shifts, etc? So I am not having my manuscript professionally edited as my birthday present to myself. Even if it is never published, my hope is that I can use what I learn to improve my other work.
Hiking in New Mexico. It is good to get away!
In a Nutshell…
It’s been a fun process so far. I definitely have a long way to go. For now, I’m off to Seattle and then back to Prudhoe Bay to chase electrons.
View of the sunset from our cabin. Time is approximately midnight.
My husband’s welded steel art, the inspiration for my current story
Here is an excerpt from my novel that is currently in the hands of an editor, getting flayed. My Main character in this story is Brigit, a woman who does welded art.
In honor of the commissioning of my husband’s “Lilly of the Valley” sculpture today, I thought I would share this excerpt.
“We’re going to move my sculptures upstairs, and set them up,” she replied, motioning to the large pieces of metal art work under the staircase. They loaded the three-foot tall steel bases one by one into the dumbwaiter, then the bronze and copper, and steel sculptures. There were five in all. It was a lot of climbing up and down the stairs, but when they were done, the effect was satisfying.
Two large, Japanese silk screens to partitioned off the upper room. One had mountain scenes in black and white, the other had bright pink cherry blossoms. The sculptures were set up on the empty half of her loft, on the south side, with one in each corner and the largest in the middle.
Stephen felt himself drawn to the sculpture in the middle of the room for some reason. The large sculpture was beautifully made with spirals of steel and bronze seeming to both imprison and explode from a highly polished piece of dark green jade. Suspended in the center, and completely stationary, it gave the impression that the stone could either sway, fall, or even fly away at any moment. He stood staring at it for a while, taking it in from several angles.
“I really like this one,” he told Brigit when she finally came up beside him, “It’s strange, I get this almost haunting sense of both freedom and loss. The way it’s shaped, it almost reminds me of a baby.”
When she did not answer him, he turned to look at her. Her fair skin looked as pale as milk and her lips were trembling. Her expression was stunned, as if he had hit her. Her arms were crossed over her chest defensively, tears swimming in her eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked, alarmed. She swayed a little, but stayed upright. She finally looked him in the eye.
“No…no one…has ever noticed…that before,” She stammered, biting her full lower lip, tears spilling out of her eyes and down her down her pale cheeks.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, automatically reaching for her.
“It’s not you,” she said putting up one arm, pushing him away.
“What’s wrong?”
She reached out and touched the sculpture gently with her fingertips. “I was married when I was 18. It was stupid…I shouldn’t have…he was, a lot older than me, and really charming…at first. It was really bad…I stayed with him two years. When I tried to leave…” She put one hand over her mouth and started sobbing. Stephen wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. After seeing the bullet holes, he now had a pretty good idea what she was going to say. “He tried to kill me. I was pregnant. I didn’t know I was pregnant at the time. I miscarried from the shock of getting shot four times. A guy I worked with shot him fatally, before he could finish the job.” He felt her start to sway in his arms as her knees buckled, and she started to sink to the floor as she cried. He sat down on the floor with her and rocked her in his arms.
“I got shot in the head.” She pulled back, and removed her hat, showing him the wound she did not realize he had already seen. “Twice in the chest and once in the side.” She pointed to those wounds through clothing. “But ironically, it wasn’t any of those things almost killed me. It was the shock from the loss of blood when I started to miscarry that almost did me in, it was too much.” She gave out a hard laugh, covering her face with her hands. Stephen squeezed her tighter, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “My sister and my cousin Ivy were already on their way, to help me leave him, you know? Barb was already here. They flew up to Alaska, but they got there right after it happened. My sister, my cousin Ivy, and my aunt Barb; we all happen to have the same blood type. If it hadn’t been for them…I’m lucky to have them. Lucky to be alive.” Her voice trailed off. He felt her shudder. Then she pulled back and looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all this on you. I’m normally not such an emotional train wreck.” She sobbed harder shaking her head and trying to stand up, but he clamped her close to his chest and rocked her gently.
“Hey, hey, shhhh…” He murmured against her hair, locking his arms around her, trying to still her frantic attempts at escape. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. Just relax. Okay? Please Don’t shut me out.” she paused for a moment as she stared at him, acquiescing. “I think you are incredible Brigit. I’m glad my brother has met such an intelligent, beautiful, courageous woman as you.” He choked a little on that last sentence.
“Please,” she implored, “please don’t tell Sean. I don’t think I’m ready for him to know that yet.”
He did not have the heart to tell her that Sean had the police background check capability to find out whether she liked it or not. He felt a little guilty now for telling Sean about the bullet wounds. Instead he merely touched her cheek and said, “Your secret is safe with me, kid. And I’m guessing there’s more to it than what you’ve told me.” She looked down, afraid to meet his eye. “Hey, if you need a friend, someone to talk to, I’m here. Seriously.” He put his hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. “You have my number if you need someone to talk to, call me anytime. Please? I want to be there for you.”
She smiled a little and hugged him tight in return, burying her glossy red head against his chest and breathing hard. He held her close, rocking her again. A voice in his head asked why he was torturing himself like this, but she was going to be his brother’s girl, he might as well get used to being part of the family.
After a few minutes, she pulled back slowly and wiped her eyes, “Thank you. I guess I needed that. It’s been a rough week.”
“That’s a mild understatement,” Stephen replied stroking her hair, “I admire how well you’re holding up. Most people would crack.”
“That wasn’t cracking a moment ago?” she asked with a laugh, as she continued wiping her face.
“Nope, not at all,” he assured her with a grin. Their faces were so close, they were almost touching. He could feel and taste her sweet breath against his lips. Now that he was no longer comforting her, he was in dangerous territory, again. He was painfully aware of her toned, warm body in his arms. Her full breasts grated against his chest with every ragged breath as she tried to calm down. Her soft ivory skin begged to be touched. His body throbbed insistently in response to having her in his arms.
“Here, let me help you up,” he said. He was desperate to put some distance between them. If he held her too much longer, he might lose control and give in to the throbbing sensation in his loins and push her down on the carpet and make love to her. God, how he wanted her.
As she stood up, her eyes went wide, “I promised you dinner.” She turned towards the kitchen.
“No, you don’t have to cook for me,” he told her.
“Oh no, really. It’s ready to go in the oven. I made chicken enchiladas and salad. It will only take 30 minutes or so. I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”
He smiled, yes, he was hungry. For more than just food.
View of the sunset from our cabin. Time is approximately midnight.
Summer Solstice in Alaska is a special day to most Alaskans. While the 4th of July is nice, it’s hard to enjoy fireworks when it doesn’t really get dark (we usually save the big Fireworks displays for New Year’s Eve and Fur Rondy). But on the longest day of the year, June 21st, you will find most Alaskans out enjoying the sun wherever they can.
Breaking up the snow for water
For me and my husband we got to spend it out at our cabin in the interior this year. What a difference two months makes! When we came out here in April, there was still two feet of snow on the ground. When we came out in May, the snow was gone, but patches could still be seen in the shaded, low areas. Now our trees are in full bloom, the leaves opening up.
What a difference two months makes. When we were out here in April, we still had to feet of snow.
It is amazing to see everything burst into life for such a short time.
Bluebells blooming in the woodpileDogwood creeping along the groundRoyal purple lupine opening to the skySnow-white Labrador Root.
Wild roses
We try to get out and enjoy it as much as possible. By September, we could already have snow. It is amazing how fast the season turns. Right now as I post this, the days are starting to get shorter and the cold season is approaching.
Me in Azerbaijan at the Temple of the Eternal Flame as part of a work trip in 2007
This week I am preparing to talk to a group of high school students at a summer camp about opportunities in engineering. The technical focus of my topic going to revolve around my work with drones, but after reading the headlines this week, I am actually going to talk about something even deeper.
While I am on the engineering side of the fence, I agree with what she says in the article. I have seen it throughout my own career as a technician, operator and engineer. Yes, there are biases against women in the workplace, and many of them are not just because of their own choice, but because of perceptions on behalf of those in management above them. The article is well worth the read, but I would like to speak to another issue the article misses. Something more systemic that I see in society and new interns that I work with. And it was summed up well in an article from the Chicago Tribune.
Teenagers may be losing interest in STEM careers, but the know they need tech skills to land a job
The crux of this article is that many young people use technology constantly, but they don’t see themselves as a part of it. They don’t see the exciting career opportunities that may be available to them. Let’s face it. How are engineers portrayed but the media? Boring, geeks in ties.
THIS IS WHY I AM A STEM AMBASSADOR
I think the answer is that more of us need to get out there and show these people the possibilities. The world it is changing. And while there is a lot of negativity out there, I believe it is changing for the better, if we can catch people and show them the limitless possibilities then we can energize them to want to struggle against the negative connotations associated with rising to the top. We need to show them that engineering is more than sitting behind a desk and crunching numbers. We need to show them that being a CEO is more than wearing a suit and saying, “You’re fired.” If people cannot see where they would fit in leading a company or being an engineer, why should they want to fight for it in the first place? Why should they put up with the sexual harassment, the discrimination, the lack of respect if they can’t see a positive side to it?
The more people with integrity, intelligence and vision that we can inspire to lead the world, the better the world will be.
So you’ve battled through the winter of your writing and you can finally breath a sigh of relief. Your story lays stretched out before you, complete. You have entered the final keys strokes, and your garden is green and lush and springing to life, the buds of your story beginning to bloom. Your plot is growing roots, and your characters are shining in the sunlight.
YAY! All the snow is finally gone!
But wait, you notice flaws in your story, your precious garden. That’s okay, you tell yourself, it just needs a little editing. So you roll up your sleeves, dig out your tools and start the process with the best intentions.
There’s an old proverb, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
grass will choke out all the native plants. Must eradicate it early in the season
You find invasive weeds in your garden in the form of plot holes and bad grammar. You set to work immediately routing them out with a spade.
Fireweed is another if left to itself will completely take over a garden
Oh no! They’re everywhere! Even more weeds in the form of passive voice construction and dead-end characters. What the heck? I thought I was a good writer!
It spreads through the ground via its roots, like, well, fire.
An outhouse? Of course, there’s an outhouse. This is total c$@&!
Yes, that is a rubber chicken on the outhouse. I’ll explain some other blog.
Why did I put a big shiny piece of metal in my garden? There was a point to this right? How did this fit into the story again?
This is a sculpture my husband created out on our land.
Who the heck do I think I am? Oh yeah, that’s right, I’m a writer.
After a while, I think you can get so absorbed in the tiny flaws that you lose focus of the big picture. You have created something with a vision, a purpose in mind.
Take a deep breath, step back and put down the rake.
Me, in front of the cabin before we had windows
Have a drink with a friend
Me and my father-in-law Shep, having a beer at the bar in Chicken, AK
Call in a professional if you can.
My biggest critic and writing buddy.
Don’t lose perspective!
This was a shot I took September of 2017. This is the view from the front porch of our cabin.
But most of all, remember, you’ve created a place that people are going to want to hang out and enjoy. Don’t be so hard on it that you destroy it before it has a chance to really flourish.
“I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”
Walden, Henry David Thoreau
While staying in Concord, Massachusetts, we made a side trip to Walden Pond. How could we not go to the place where Thoreau did his experiment, living in his cabin in the woods, especially having a cabin of our own out in the Alaska wilderness?
Though my husband warned me in advance, I was still a little disappointed. Mostly because what was wilderness in Thoreau’s time is now swallowed by urban sprawl, complete with a major highway running right by the pond. On the day we went, it was nearly 80 degrees, and people were out enjoying the water. We walked around the pond and eventually came to the site of the old cabin. Many people over time have come and placed pebbles and stones on the historic site.
View of the cabin looking up from the fire pit.
This trip really made me appreciate the solitude and peace we experience at our own cabin out in the interior of Alaska. While Chicken is a tourist town of sorts, having been the second town incorporated during the gold rush days in Alaska, it will probably never reach the level of tourism that Walden Pond sees. In the summers, with the mining activity, the region can see a population boom of about 300 people, not counting tourists. In the winters, only 5 or 6 people stay to tough it out.
The cabin at night.
As I write this, we are packing our truck, getting ready to head out to the cabin for the week. Already, I can’t wait to disconnect and do some good writing and reading. Hopefully the snow will be gone and we will get some good snow. I will let you know how it went when we get back.
Me, in front of the cabin in the fall of 2015, before we had windows.
I sit here in my dusty office in Prudhoe Bay Alaska, winding down for the day, I look at the date on my computer and I realize I am a little over a week away from my anniversary. Nope, not my wedding anniversary, that’s later this month. The anniversary I am speaking of is the date that changed the trajectory or my career, my personal life, everything that I knew about myself at the time. The date was June 1, 2000.
This is a tough one to write. While a few of my closest family and friends know “what’s wrong with me,” it’s something I have kept to myself for many reasons. This blog is a coming out of sorts. Shining a light on the MonSter I have kept carefully contained in the closet. I think I am also about to find out, just how many of my “Friends” really do read my blog posts. I realized after I started blogging, this disease and disability is so intertwined in my life, who I am and my writing, that it needs a voice of its own. This blog will probably become a category all unto its own as I write about all the things I pertaining to the MonSter, but I figure this is a good start.
I knew something was wrong. I had known for a long time. The strange medical symptoms had finally reached a tipping point when my right arm, and right side of my face went numb, along with the blurriness in my right eye becoming larger and larger. The military doctor I had been seeing could no longer blow me off as just being a hypochondriac or his other favorite, “You’re fat, you just need to lose weight.” I was thinner than I am now, but I digress.
I remember walking into the neurologist’s office on that sunny day with mixed feelings. I had completed the MRI’s and other blood tests they had asked for. I had spent three weeks on my back, trying to recover from a lumbar puncture test that wouldn’t heal properly. The neurologist had warned me ahead of time that I should probably have someone come with me to the appointment, anticipating bad news. Since my family lived 3000 miles away in California, I had no one close who could come with me to the appointment. A fellow sailor on my crew in the Navy volunteered to drive me. Part of me was hoping they were wrong. It would be something they could easily fix. They could just give me a pill or I could just lose 10 pounds and all the problems would go away. Though it would be great to have a definitive answer; I didn’t want it to be what they suspected: Multiple Sclerosis.
I don’t remember much about that appointment itself. It’s strange how I held it together just fine in the doctor’s office while he delivered the news, gave me pamphlets on the medications he was starting me on, and resources for information on the disease. What I do remember is crouching down in the elevator as Paul and I rode down, eyes finally blurring with tears as the information sunk into my brain.
I had Multiple Sclerosis. My Naval career was over
I couldn’t see much past that at that moment. My world was crumbling around me. It would take another 6 months for the military machine to process all the paperwork, but by December I was “retired,” and a civilian again.
In the book Anne of Green Gables, by Louisa Maude Montgomery, she refers to “the bend in the road.” This was definitely a bend in the road I didn’t see coming. For better or worse, it shaped my life in a way that can never be taken back. I will do my best to explain the path I took, in the hopes that it helps others, no matter what you’re dealing with.
Hope you enjoy the ride as much as I did. Fasten your seat belt, and hold on to the “oh—” bar, it’s going to get bumpy.
“I like the independent feeling; and though not an easy life, it is a free one, and I enjoy it. I can’t do much with my hands; so I will make a battering ram with my head and make a way through this rough-and-tumble world.” Louisa May Alcott, Letter to her Father 1856
Sign in front of Orchard House, Concord, MA
When we started planning our trip to New England for my graduation from WPI for my masters in May of 2018, my husband asked me what places I would like to see in Massachusetts. Without hesitation, I told him that we had to stop in Concord and see the Orchard House, the place where Louisa May Alcott wrote many books after she recovered from her near fatal illness contracted serving a nurse during the Civil War.
In the fourth grade, I checked out Little Women, at first from the school library, and then from the county library. I watched the cartoon version on TV and then the 1933 version with Katherine Hepburn starring as Jo. My mom and dad bought me a hardbound copy of the book which I kept until just a few years ago, which I passed onto my niece. I read many of her other books over my formative years, and I enjoyed them all. Eight Cousins, Rose in Bloom, Jo’s Boys, the list goes on and on. But it the life of the woman herself intrigued me as I grew older and became a woman myself.
Orchard House, Concord, MA
I stood a little in awe at Orchard House, looking at the place where such afar ahead of her time woman lived and wrote. From an early age, she loved to write and act and was encouraged to do both by her mother Abby May Alcott. Her mother was an activist, a suffragette, and considered to be one of the first social workers in Boston, before the idea of a ‘social worker’ existed. The family were staunch abolitionists and leaders in the Transcendentalist Movement. The family often struggled financially but were surrounded but great thinkers of the time: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and Nathanial Hawthorn, and not the least Margaret Fuller.
On a trip such as this, one cannot help but indulge in buying books. We are only half-way through our trip at this point, and I am already wondering if we are going to need to purchase another box or suitcase just for all of the wonderful little treasures of literature we have picked up so far on this journey. One particular treat, which I will refer to often, I picked up while I was at Orchard House: Louisa May Alcott, Her Life, Letters and Journals.
While I have read much on Louisa, this book was both inspiring and humbling at the same time. Possibly because of the point in life at which I find myself. As previously mentioned, I am on this trip right now, to attend my graduation. It has taken me four years (and a good chunk of my sanity) to obtain an online Master’s in Engineering in Electrical Power Systems. There was quite a bit of struggle along the way, and more than once, I was sure I was doomed. But here I am, in less than a week, about to receive my diploma. And now I read about a genius of a woman, who read Plato and Goethe while I still played with barbies and had to work as a seamstress or a governess just to get by and support her family.
“Sewing was her resource when nothing else offered, but it is pitiful to think of her as confined to such work when great powers were lying dormant in her mind. Still Margaret Fuller said that a year of enforced quiet in the country devoted mainly to sewing was useful to her, since she reviewed and examined the treasures laid up in her memory; and doubtless Louisa Alcott thought out many a story which afterward delighted the world while her fingers busily piled the needle. Yet it was a great deliverance when she first found the products of her brain would bring in the needed money for family support.”
I read this, and I am truly humbled. While yes, there is still much to accomplish to create equality for all, but at least I am able to support myself independently without worry. I am financially sound and am recognized as an expert in my field. What would she have accomplished if she were in my shoes and had the advantages that I complain about? What great things could she have written if she had a job such as mine? Am I doing everything I can to live up to the legacy that she and others laid down?
From Her Journal Entry in May of 1880:
“Thirty girls from Boston University called…Pleasant to see such innocent enthusiasm. Even about so poor a thing as a used up old woman.”
Later in her life she suffered from depression, overwhelmed by her fame. She became discouraged when young girls showed up at the house looking for Jo from Little Women and meeting her instead, a middle-aged woman, broken down from life, illness and worries. Sometimes she would even pretend to be her own housekeeper and tell people she was not home. According to the tour we took at Orchard House, she could vacillate between being highly social and then completely melancholy, using a pillow to signal that she wanted to be left alone.
Gravestone of Louisa May Alcott, Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord, MA
I wish I could travel back in time and show her all I have accomplished, and all that I still hope to do. Most of all, I want to let her know that I probably could not have done it if she had not paved the way 150 years ago.
Quote on plaque at Northbridge:
“By and by there will come a day of reckoning, and then the tax-paying women of Concord shall not be forgotten I think, will not be left to wait uncalled upon…I devoutly wish that those who so bravely bore their share of that day’s burden without it’s honor, will rally around their own flag again, and following in the footsteps of their forefathers will utter another protest that shall be ‘heard round the world.’”
-Louisa May Alcott on Women’s Suffrage
Plaque at Northbridge, commemorating the battle of Concord
Reference
Louisa May Alcott, Her Life, Letters and Journals, J.S.P. Alcott, Edited by Ednah Dow Cheney; Originally Published in 1889, Applewood Books, Carlisle, MA
Thanks for reading!
I joined the Navy at 18 to escape a small town in the Mojave Desert. A diagnosis of MS disrupted my dreams of becoming a super spy. I made limoncello from my lemons and became an electrical engineer instead. My fascination with live high voltage drew me to Alaska. I came for the job, but stayed for the adventure. I enjoy blogging about my journey as a woman working in STEM, my experiences dealing with everything MS has handed me, and the wonder of the Alaska wilderness. My husband and I have undertaken the task of turning 30 acres of remote land into an off-grid retreat. I write stories about women in STEM who save the day and the hot guys who sometimes help along the way as well as historical fiction about the Klondike Gold Rush. I self-published my first horror novella, The Dark Land, on Amazon in May of 2020. I will release the sequel, The Devil’s Valley, in May of 2021. Both stories are set in the wilderness of Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, and draw on the Athabascan “Head Waters Peoples” legends of the Cet’ann, or “The People With Tails”.
The Legend of Alaska’s Headless Ravine is steeped in blood. Its hunger for human flesh never sleeps, even in the deepest cold of winter. Courage, skill and love will be stretched to the limits on the frozen boundaries of The Dark Land.
