Defending the Castle

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I’ve always believed that a man’s home is his castle.  Now, with the world’s current unstable economic situation, my thoughts have turned increasingly toward home defense.  To thwart today’s savvy high tech criminal, one must proactively develop a creative defense plan.  I recommend doing that right now, rather than waiting until the unthinkable happens.  However, it is important to understand that a modern home defense plan must be a tad more sophisticated than the obsolete redneck strategy of emptying a couple of loads of buckshot into an intruder’s face while your Rottweiler chews on his rear end.  The old mindset of keeping a gigantic slavering dog in the house and hanging a loaded scattergun on a couple of nails over the front door is a mindset that is not only crude and outdated, it is also highly illegal most places in this land of the free and home of the brave.  In fact, shooting a burglar has probably been classified by Homeland Security as an act of domestic terrorism.  Siccing a dog on a scumbag most likely violates several United Nations animal cruelty treaties.

Thus, to avoid the risk of becoming a double victim (first by being the victim of a home invader’s criminal acts, and then of the United States legal system by means of arrest, litigation and/or prosecution), shooting an intruder has become a tedious, ponderous affair; quite unlike the nonchalant gunslinging action you may have seen in the movies.  Nowadays, lawyers get rich on things like shotguns and dogs when carelessly deployed by unsophisticated yokels.   

I’m not discouraging any of my readers from using a firearm with deadly force, mind you.  That is certainly your prerogative…your constitutionally protected right, even.  I just don’t trust myself in a dangerous, adrenaline-charged, potentially deadly situation, to remember all of the precautionary legal steps required of today’s gun-packing victim of crime.  Such steps seem neither practical nor efficient when I have a crazed meth-head charging toward me brandishing a 14 inch machete or when I find myself staring at the gang tattoos on a set of knuckles that are gripping a .25 auto held sideways in my face.

Nevertheless, for those of you who prefer to use the old lock and load home defense technique, let me lay out a step by step procedure that you might want to consider following when and if you find yourself in a potentially sticky situation.  Hopefully, the information contained in this material will keep you from running afoul of the justice system when you find yourself using the toe of your shoe to gingerly poke at a bad guy who is lying on your floor with three dribbling 1” MOA taps to center of mass.

Here’s the scenario.  You’re in bed during the wee hours of the morning.  Something wakes you up.  Groggily, you peer about and to your shock discover that there is a shadowy figure looming over your wife’s side of the bed with an upraised hand in which something glints ominously in the feeble glow from the nightlight.  How do you secure your family’s safety and hopefully protect yourself from any unpleasant legal repercussions?

First, Remain calm and assess the situation.  A good way to assess the situation is to politely inquire who is there.  After all, the shadowy figure could be your dementia-afflicted grandmother-in-law, who has mistaken your bedroom for hers after returning from the bathroom with a glass of water in hand.  Even if she lives in Kansas.  You know how those dementia afflicted people can wander.  If the intruder does not respond, turn the light on to assist in identifying the person.

Once you have gotten a clear visual on the intruder, or if they identify themselves but you do not recognize the name, ask them what they want.  Perhaps they are simply a tourist looking for the registration office for the next Denali Park bus tour.

If the intruder responds by verbalizing criminal intent, it is time to evaluate their threat level. Ask them to assure you that they mean no harm to you or your family.  Ask them if they would consider going away if you let them have everything of value in your house down to the copper plumbing and the electrical wires in the walls.  Do they appear to be armed?  If so, do they seem to really, really mean it, or could they be bluffing?  Have you done anything that would provoke them into an attack?  If so, would an apology be helpful?  Does the intruder appear to be a hardened criminal or are they perhaps an at-risk youth who could benefit from a compassionate hug, followed by enrollment into a government perk such as a rehabilitation or education program?  Do they appear to be high or drunk?  If so, can you determine why they may have chosen to participate in substance abuse?  Perhaps they are trying to drown the sorrow of some deep pain.  Consider walking them down to the kitchen table and offering them a cup of herbal tea and a sympathetic ear.

If, after assessing the situation and evaluating the threat level, you still feel unsafe, immediately dial 911.  Law enforcement response time in Delta Junction on a good day should be no more than 20 minutes or so.  Remember that law enforcement officers are the trained professionals and are really the only people qualified to responsibly and safely interact with a criminal.  Explain to the dispatcher that you have an intruder.  Stay on the telephone with them until they finish asking you any questions that they may have, such as your name, date of birth, social security number, physical address, father’s maiden name, number of family members in the house, whether anyone is hurt or is in the process of being hurt, whether you have a dog or an alarm system, what the intruder is wearing, what he looks like, whether he is armed, if he has accomplices, etc.  This will help assure that the law enforcement personnel have sufficient information to collect any appropriate equipment as well as additional personnel necessary to safely de-escalate the situation without exposing said law enforcement officers to undue risk.  It also provides them with accurate location information so that they will not have to break down half-a-dozen doors and discharge their tazers at an assortment of your neighbors before they find your address. 

Not only will you be reassured by talking to the operator, but you will be able to create a recording of the incident and what is happening. This recording can then be used in court. “He’s right in front of me now.  He’s about 5’ 9”.  Muscular build.  He has me by the throat.  Now he is inserting a knife into my abdomen and torso. Repeatedly.  It appears to be a lockback folder with a blade approximately five inches long.  Okay, now that one felt like it might be partially serrated.”  While you have the dispatcher on the line, it would be a good idea to request an ambulance as well.  Just to be on the safe side. 

Staying on line is especially true if you plan to use some kind of home defense weapon. Inform the dispatcher that you are armed. Police HATE coming onto a property with an armed owner and an intruder, not only because of their chances of getting shot, but also because it requires them to identify their target before firing. That’s an added annoyance that most cops would rather not have to deal with.  It’s less stressful for them to be able to blast away at anybody who pops up with a gun without having to worry about the possibility of going on paid leave while internal affairs investigates them.  

Meanwhile, it is imperative to alert your family to danger.  Yell out the secret code word to alert other family members to proceed directly to the safe room.  The code word should be something short, easy to remember, yet unlikely to be used in ordinary conversation.  Something such as “Rumplestiltskin” or “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” or perhaps the uncrackably cryptic yet panache ripe “pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis”. 

The centrally located safe room should have a solid core door with multiple locks and reinforced walls where you can cower until help arrives.  It should have been stocked ahead of time with soft ambient lighting, floor cushions and soothing music.  This will help temper the stress of the situation as well as drown out the screams of any family members who failed to make it there in time.

Now politely excuse yourself from the intruder and follow your family toward the safe room.  En route, you may retrieve your locked gun case from your locked child-proof gun safe.  Proceed with it to the secondary location where you may now retrieve your ammo from its separate locked box, hopefully in a different room than the one in which your gun is stored, in compliance with child safety protocols.  Then continue your retreat to the safe room.

Once all family members are accounted for, ensure that all doors and windows in the safe room are barricaded.  It is now time to turn your attention to armed defense.  Before actually handling your firearm, remove the owner’s manual from its case and read it completely.  Next, remove the firearm from its case, being careful to follow all safety precautions outlined in the manual.  Remove the trigger lock.  Carefully load the firearm per instructions in the owner’s manual.  Don appropriately rated shooting glasses.  Wear hearing protection and provide hearing protection for all members of your family.  Offer to throw some hearing protection out the door to the intruder.  Explain that you expect to shortly be discharging a firearm in his direction and that you don’t wish to be liable for any hearing loss he may sustain.  Don’t take it personal if he refuses.   Not all thugs are safety conscious.

If at any point the intruder attempts to enter the safe room, request that he refrain.  Avoid profanity, racial slurs or threats that may provoke him.  Instead, deliver concise, clear commands.  Communicate such neutral messages as “I have a properly registered firearm and I recognize my right to shoot to defend myself.”  Another possible message might be, “My friend, I am preparing to dump a mag of live rounds downrange and you happen to be standing in my line of fire.”   Such a non-confrontational tone may decrease the likelihood of having to use deadly force at all.  It also decreases your likelihood of being charged with a crime even if you do end up discharging your firearm. 

Whatever happens, don’t leave the safe room or let anyone in until law enforcement arrives and shows a badge.  Your family is with you.  That’s what matters.  Stuff can be replaced…except for priceless heirlooms and items of deep sentimental value.  But think positively.  At least somebody will get some use out of everything you worked so hard for all these years to acquire.  Even if the intruder sets your house on fire, stay put.  It is better to die a horrible death with your family in your arms, than to live with the knowledge that you presumed to engage in a risky and frowned upon attempt to apprehend a dangerous criminal without proper law enforcement training.

Beyond this point, if the intruder continues move toward you or exhibit threatening behavior, raise your firearm and work the action with an intimidating “shik, shik” sound.  Close one eye and peer at him over the sights.  Be aware that under the surge of adrenaline your peripheral vision has dropped to near zero.  So before you pull the trigger, familiarize yourself with your target’s foreground, background, and what is flanking it.  In other words, make sure your little girl isn’t behind the bad guy when you unleash a hail of bullets.  Or a propane tank.

Now kill him.  Don’t shoot to wound.  Even if your defense is 100% successful and you drive a wounded attacker from your home, you have avoided injury or death – but passed it on to the next victim.  Wounding an attacker doesn’t guarantee that he can’t still beat the snot out of you. Remember, the probability of a dead home invader jumping up and killing you or your family is precisely 0%.  So drop him in his tracks.  Otherwise, your prosecuting attorney will argue that if you really felt your life was in danger, you would have shot to stop the threat.  If you wound him and he crawls out a window and dies on the front lawn, drag his corpse back inside, unless you want the lawyer to say that you are responsible for his death because he was outside your house and no longer harming anyone when he died.  Most importantly, let’s show some consideration for the poor judge.  Why, if the intruder lives, the judge will have to listen to two sides of the story.  That will waste the judge’s time and confuse him.  One last thing:  make sure every bullet enters the front of the bad guy and every exit wound is in his back.  Otherwise, the dead guy will come back to haunt you in the courtroom.

By the time the SWAT team shows up, you better have unloaded your gun and put it somewhere far away from you.  They’ll want you to show them where it is.  Comply, but there are only two things that had better come out of your mouth: “I shot out of fear for my life.” and “I wanna speak to my attorney.” If you follow this protocol, it should go a long way toward minimizing your legal liability in an unpleasant situation.  Don’t take my word for it, though.  Ask your lawyer.  Of course, like I said, I personally don’t bother with firearms.  Too much red tape.  I’ve found that there are plenty of other ways to protect your home.  I can’t divulge any details due to security concerns, but let’s just say that you’ll be hard pressed to find any scorpions or tarantulas at the pet store in Fairbanks.  I hear that Home Depot has a hard time keeping crazy glue in stock too.

The Versatile and Indispensable Five Gallon Bucket

Image by Pixabay

I’ve always known that the measure of a true Alaskan could be determined by the number of five-gallon buckets he owned.  You call yourself an Alaskan?  Prove it.  Count your buckets.  Mind you, I’m not talking about the ones that are still half full.  You see, non-Alaskans and cheechakos are often constrained to acquire a product that happens to come packaged in plastic five-gallon buckets.  But as soon as they use up all the drywall mud or honey or paint or pickles or whatever else the bucket contained, they readily and heedlessly throw away said five-gallon bucket.  I never could understand that mentality.  Would you throw away a Fabergé egg after you had removed the trinket from inside it?  I think not!  Likewise, Alaskans would sooner part with their DEET bug repellant or their bunny boots than to discard a perfectly good plastic bucket.

So once you have completed your personal inventory, you are ready to determine your Alaskan ranking based on a sliding scale ranging from venerable sourdoughood at the top to sheer cheechakoism at the bottom.  If you own zero plastic buckets, you don’t even register.  You are an Alaskan only in your own self-deluded fantasy.  You’re not even a cheechako.  You’re either a tourist, or you are temporarily in Alaska for business reasons.  On the other hand, if you own thirty or more beautiful buckets, you may indeed be a true sourdough.  Do you fall somewhere in between?  You’re highly likely to be a genuine Alaskan.  I’ll let you calculate the percentages.

However, it must be noted that sourdoughood cannot be accurately calculated by quantity of buckets alone.  Some people never throw anything away even if they never use the things they keep.  They just accumulate stuff, including buckets, because they’re too lazy to get rid of them.  So, if, during your inventory, you discovered thirty plastic five-gallon buckets in your possession but you also found eleven junked ATV’s, three sets of mildewed box spring and mattress sets, a pile of broken pallets, two rusty engine blocks, fourteen trash bags full of dirty pampers, seventy linear feet of slightly used sewer pipe, a rusty 1972 El Camino, an old dentist chair, eight dozen cases of empty beer bottles, a stack of newspapers dating back to 1953 and at least one dead cat carcass, you should disregard the bucket count as a reliable method of calculating your Alaskan sourdoughood.  Instead, the results might be useful in calculating something else…like your slob quotient.

Truly, in determining one’s Alaskan status, the way a bucket is utilized becomes fully as important as the quantity of buckets owned.  To paraphrase Elizabeth Barrett Browning, a true Alaskan can say about the five-gallon bucket, “How do I use thee?  Let me count the ways.”  The more creative a bucket application, the higher the probability that its owner is a true Alaskan.

You see, anybody can figure out how to sit on a bucket, or use it as a storage container.  And anybody can carry water in a bucket.  That’s fairly intuitive.  It doesn’t take an Alaskan to pick up on that.  Not that Alaskans don’t carry water in buckets.  Oh boy!  Do we ever!  We carry buckets to water our plants and our livestock.  Bush Alaskans carry water to drink and for laundry.  We carry water in five-gallon buckets to our sluice boxes.  We carry water to wash our cars and mop our floors.  We carry water in them for cleaning fish and dousing fires. But Michiganders and Arkansans, New Hampshirites and South Dakotans, Arizonans and Oregonians all carry water in five gallon buckets too. 

No, the thing that sets the Alaskan five-gallon plastic bucket collector apart from all other people is the brilliant, wacky gift for improvisation that they pour into their bucket applications.  There is hardly any walk of life, hobby, sport or vocation, for which an Alaskan cannot find a multitude of bucket uses.

Let’s take sports for example.  What Alaskan has not carried a five-gallon bucket full of hockey gear?  How many times have pairs of buckets marked the goalposts of an improvised Alaskan football or soccer game?  When I was a kid back in Moose Hole, we couldn’t afford a regulation basketball hoop so we cut the bottom out of a five-gallon bucket and wired it to a birch tree.  Five-gallon buckets are also required equipment in such uniquely Alaskan games as fish-gut toss, moose-nugget-carry relay racing and glacier-pool-blue-lipped-mega-water-battle.

For usage in construction applications, the five-gallon bucket’s usefulness goes far beyond a tool caddy.  I’ve known Alaskans who used inverted buckets for drywall stilts.  They simply take a pair of buckets, turn them upside-down, screw a flip flop to each and, presto, they just gained 15 inches in height!  The versatile buckets also work great for concrete forms when pouring footer pylons or planting fence or sign posts.  Attach a pulley and a rope to scaffolding, tie a bucket to one end of the rope, and you have a simple dumbwaiter for shuttling supplies between the workers and the supervisor, or, alternatively, dropping supplies on the supervisor’s head.  I once visited an Alaskan residence which was constructed primarily of stacked sealed five-gallon buckets stuffed with old newspaper insulation.

The agricultural applications of the trusty five-gallon bucket are almost endless.  Alaskans can hardly garden without mixing goat-berry tea or fish emulsion or hydrated lime in a…you guessed it…five-gallon bucket!  Sealed five-gallon buckets full of water distributed around the perimeter of a greenhouse can provide thermal mass during those chilly late-summer days and help coax a few more reluctant days out of Alaska’s notoriously short growing season.  If I had a dollar for every tomato vine or flower arrangement that my wife has planted in a five-gallon bucket, I’d be retired by now.  She doesn’t just put dirt in a bucket and plop a seedling in it, though.  To her, a bucket isn’t just a bucket.  It’s a basic component which when artfully modified with a drill and a jigsaw can be converted into an ingenious masterpiece of horticultural engineering.  She comes up with mad scientist contraptions such as the “nested dual bucket sub-irrigated planter” or the “wicking dearthbox bucket stack”.  Her next project is something called “aquaponics”.  I’m a little bewildered by it, but it seems to involve lettuce and fish somehow.  Not dead fish.  Live fish.  It also involves a bunch of buckets with pvc pipes plumbed into the sides and a grid of large holes cut into the lids.  It sure looks impressive.  I just hope it results in at least one fish sandwich for me.

Speaking of fish, I honestly can’t think of a single fishing scenario in which a five-gallon bucket doesn’t play a prominent role.  Anybody who has ever fly fished for grayling knows you don’t carry grayling home on a stringer.  The stringer tends to rip out their soft flesh.  Instead, keep them in a five gallon bucket full of creek water.  It keeps them alive longer.  Ice fishing?  What do you sit on?  What do you put your fish in?  Enough said.  Chitina?  The five-gallon bucket is indispensible for cleaning and hauling those magnificent Copper River Reds.  It’s also critical for sloshing the slime and blood off of the rocks when you’re done fishing so that the mess doesn’t attract a bear to the next hapless dip-netter who uses your spot.  Halibut?   Where do you keep the bait?  What do you use to swab the decks, me hearties?  Lake trout fishing?  There’s no better boat anchor than a five gallon bucket full of concrete.

On the farm, there is no better chicken waterer or feeder than a five-gallon bucket modified with a shallow pan, some wire, and a few strategically drilled holes.  When it’s time to collect the eggs, you can just reach into the nesting boxes made out of horizontal buckets.  For those Alaskans who are vermiculturalists, a couple of stacked buckets appropriately perforated makes a better worm bin than most of the fancy schmancy $150.00 units you can buy off of one of those internet dealers.

For survival or camping purposes, a stack of five-gallon buckets can serve the function of a whole room full of appliances.  What Alaskan has not used a five gallon bucket for a porta-john?  When it’s laundry time, a five-gallon bucket with a hole in the lid, and a toilet plunger handle sticking up through the hole makes an awesome churn style washing machine.  Just put in the dirty clothes, add soap and hot water and then plunge the dirt away.  Now to dry them, you just remove the lid and the plunger, slide another bucket with a bunch of holes in the bottom into the first bucket on top of the clothes, turn the whole thing upside-down and sit on it.  Your wet laundry is drained and the excess water is pressed out of them while you sit there and eat an energy bar.  When you feel the need for refreshing, you hang up a bucket with a rubber hose plumbed into the bottom, fill the bucket with hot water and treat yourself to a hot shower.  What could be more convenient?

One of the most neglected applications for the humble five-gallon bucket is water transport.  Shoot, by the time I was twelve, I had learned that 8-14 sealed buckets lashed together beneath a plywood deck make an awesome lake raft or swimming platform.  But we Moose Hole kids didn’t limit our bucket boating to rafts.  We launched flotillas of clever bucket ships ranging from outrigger canoes to looming pirate galleons.  I clearly remember the kayak that Walrus Fahnestock built entirely out of five-gallon buckets and duck tape.  The reason I remember it so clearly is that Walrus nearly drowned before we were able to right his craft and get his head out of the water.  I think he needed to work some bugs out of his keel design.

I trust that I’ve provided enough evidence do demonstrate the role that the five-gallon bucket plays in everyday Alaskan life.  Personally, I would be devastated if for some reason they were to be declared illegal.  I don’t think Alaska would survive.  Hopefully the terrorists don’t find out.  Five-gallon buckets could become the next high-profile targets.  Next time you see a bucket, take time to give it a warm hug and thank it for the role it plays in preserving your Alaskan heritage.  If you can’t bring yourself to do that, it’s pretty obvious you’re not a true Alaskan.

Butchering the Tuther Mung

Picture by Pixabay

I once had a distant relative, whose exact relationship to me is unclear.  His name was Nate Malaprop-Spooner.  The best I can figure, Nate was the great uncle of my third-cousin-twice-removed’s brother-in-law’s stepmother’s half sister’s godmother’s stunt double.  Nate is remembered around the clan for his genius at butchering the English language in brilliantly creative ways.  If there were a Guiness world record category for breaking the most rules of English grammar simultaneously, Nate would definitely be in unchallenged first place.

As a result, the guy sure was funny to listen to.  He would pull to the “shudder” of the road to “yell right away” to an “avalanche” on its way to the “horse spittle” with its “Styrene” wailing.  He’d go hunting for “eight-boink putts” with his “liver-action rifle.”  He liked to “vocation” in “Sasquatch-a-one Candida” or take a “carob bean cruise” to “the Bananas” or “Jamocha” or the “Wittish Breast Indies”.  He didn’t always travel to other countries, though.  He made a point of being in “Nylons, Lusitania” every “Marly Craw”.  He especially liked to frequent the “Rolaid tables” in “Lost Vagueness” because he was looking for a way to become “effluent” without having to perform “menial labor” like a “blue colored worker” for the rest of his life. He had owned a fascinating “monogomy” of pets which included a “bit pull,” an “Irish shutter,” a “laboratory retriever,” an “African gay parrot,” an “inguinal lizard,” a “hamper”, a “slime-ease cat,” and a “Petland shony.

Of course when anyone tried to correct his terminology, he would claim that it was just a “hairball” scheme to “blame the finger” at him and make him a “staffing lock”.  When we showed him the proper definition in a dictionary, he asked what we were “incinerating”, protesting that he had never used the term we “reclused” him of.  It was just a “pigment” of our imaginations, and we were “barking up a dead horse”.  If we recorded him and played his voice back as proof, he considered it a “mute” point because we weren’t exactly “club scouts,” “as white as the dribbled snow” ourselves! 

He went through a “phrase” in which he determined to change his “sedimentary” lifestyle.  At first he tried running, starting out with “juggling,” and transitioning to the “hindered mitre dash”.  He even entered the Boston “mastadon,” but had to “throw in the trowel” dripping with “precipitation” before he had barely gotten started.  “Prostate” with “extinction,” he claimed to have developed a “snitch” in his side, which he blamed on not having done his “starching extra sizes” before he started.  Somebody suggested that he probably was dehydrated from the heat, but Nate dismissed the suggestion, insisting that “it wasn’t the heat, but the humility” that had “snapped his strength”.   

As it became “oblivious” to him that he was making a “skeptical” out of himself, he decided to “shunt” such “carnival-vascular” activities and “consecrate” on something less “vinegerous” like the “vulnerable spurt” of “angeling”.  Accordingly, he bought a fishing pole and located a “comfrey” spot under a “popular tree” by a “blabbing” brook where he could “commute” with nature.  Later he related that if he had not “expectorated” it first hand, he would never have been able to “phantom” how “relapsing” it could be to listen to the “rumpling” water, the leaves “wrestling” in the wind and the “churds burping” to each other.  Before he knew it, his head began to nod and he faded into “a Bolivian”.  At that point he “tippled” over and “honked his bed” a “blushing crow” on a “gronite outcrapping,” resulting in a serious “percussion”.

That “dramatic” brain injury marked the end of his fishing career for all “intensive purposes”.   Undaunted, he decided to become a professional singer.  He started with “Curry Okie” bars and gradually began getting “gags” singing “acalpulco” in night clubs.  Actually he did pretty well at that, because everybody thought he was a comedy act.  Some of his most popular songs were “A Soy Named Boo,” “Widge over Bubbled Trotters,” “Even Cowgirls Bet the Glues,” “Paint the Sty with Scars,” “Keeled with a Cyst,” “Rake me Home, Country Toads” and “Man Sty, You’re Banned”.  One day he saw an ad soliciting folks to audition for what he thought was the “Oprah” show.  When he returned from the audition he seemed sullen and traumatized.  Nobody ever heard him sing again.  Under duress, he reluctantly revealed that the folks at the “Yew Nork Noeopolitan Oprah” had been very “insulating” and tried to get him to try on a “hamlet” with horns on it.  It had been the most “humidifying” experience of his life.

After that, poor Nate just kind of drifted for a while.  He related later that during those “hardscramble” days he became a professional “oboe”, eating “scripts” out of “dampers” and sleeping on “bark pinches”.  Without proper “attrition” he soon began to “shiver” up until he was so “emancipated” you could have knocked him over with a “fender”.  Although he looked like “a bone of bags” he “resembled” anyone who tried to “insist” him.   He wasn’t about to accept “chastity”.   He said the “tuning point” came when a “hopeless” shelter “indicted” him to take “a vintage” of their “faculty”.

While he had been homeless, Nate must have gotten involved in some shady activities, because he became paranoid of law enforcement officers.  Whenever he saw them coming he would “make like a tree and split”.  If they “stuck up a convolution” with him, he suspected that they were some sort of “underclever defective” or “secret urgent”.  He would try to “bleed into the woodwork” or give them the “gold shudder” if possible without acting too “auspicious”.  He always took “consolidation” in the fact that there was a “statue of limitations”.   We never found out what crime he had committed.  Nate “voweled” to take that “misery” to his grave with him and until the day he lay “deader than a hangnail” he never “indulged that inflammation” to anyone.

Although Nate always liked to portray himself as a colorful “caricature”, he never was completely “stratified” with his “loot in life”.  I think he tried as many jobs as he had hairs on his head which was probably about fifty or sixty.  For a few weeks he sold fire “distinguishers” door to door.   He worked for a “constriction” company.  He became a professional “tarbender”.  He was a dog groomer for a while until he accidentally “animated” the left ear of a “spotted dilation”.  The poor creature ran home “whelping” all the way, at which point the “furriest” owners “shooed the cert” off of Nate, effectively forcing his business into “bank rupture”.  

Nate was even a nurse’s aide for a while.  After reviewing his medical chart entries, however, the hospital staff asked him to leave.  He tended to record things like:  “The autopsy results were positive.  Patient is here complaining about that.”  “69-year-old male here for a pregnancy test.”  “Pulses are fixed and dilated.”  “Patient complained of an obnoxious order coming from a wound on her leg.”

Perhaps his longest lasting job was at a parochial school.  There he taught the kids all sorts of wonderful things.  “You can lead a horse to manure, but you can’t make him drink.”  “The walls of medieval cathedrals were sported by flying buttocks.”  “Under the Constitution the people enjoyed the right to keep bare arms.”  “Socrates died from an overdose of wedlock.”  “A citizen should respect all duly constipated authorities.”  “Louis Pasteur discovered a cure for rabbis.”  “King Harold mustarded his troops and conquered the Dames at the Bottle of Hastings.”  “A proverb is a word used in place of a verb.”  “Julius Ceasar’s throat was cut behind his back.”  “Henry VIII found walking difficult because he had an abbess on his knee.”  “The government of England was a limited mockery.”  “The American colonists demanded no taxis without regimentation.”  “The Convolution of the United States was adapted to secure domestic hostility.”  “Abraham Lincoln became America’s greatest precedent.”

It was amusing to eat at a restaurant with the guy.  He ordered things like “Pie Alamo” and “sore cream on the slide”.  He demanded his “rake stare” and liked “oral and vigor” on his salad.  He always ordered his pizzas with “acrimonies” and he liked his coffee “blank”.   Hamburgers were “hum-boogers,” malted milks were “milted malks,” appetizers were “apple teasers,” and french fries were “fresh fires”.  We never complained, though because Nate always insisted on “ticking up the pab” and “tripping” the waitress.

I’m ashamed to admit that we tended to tease Nate unmercifully.  I fear that our insensitive cruelty hastened his premature death in 1981.  You see, in 1975, he abruptly left the country, no doubt searching for a peaceful neighborhood where the residents would not “spiticize his creech”.  A couple of years later he surfaced in “Papau Goo Ninny”.  There he must have found a gentle accepting people willing to overlook his grammatical peccadillos, because he soon moved into a grass hut in the highlands and became fascinated with collecting historic carved wooden thrones formerly used by cannibal chieftans. 

He would store his treasures in the attic of his grass hut.  Unfortunately, Nate never bothered to reinforce his bamboo rafters, because in June of 1981, moments after a friend, Bobby Lever had finished helping him lug his most recent heavy mahogany throne upstairs, the whole thing collapsed, crushing Nate to death under several tons of accumulated thrones.  Bobby was quite shaken up by his own narrow escape.  He kept repeating, “People who live in grass houses shouldn’t stow thrones.”  When asked how he felt about losing his friend under such tragic circumstances, Bobby tersely replied, “Better Nate than Lever.”

Alaskan Glossary

Al-a-ka-ket interj.     What you promise to do to your neighbor’s dog if it comes onto your property and tears up your garbage one more time. <Alakaket with mah Bunny Boots, then Ah’ll shoot et!>

Am-bler n.     A bull caribou that is taking his time coming within range while your muscles begin to spasm from holding your bow at full draw.

A-nuk-tu-vuk Pass n.     A flirtatious overture from your Inupiat co-worker, Anna Ktuvuk

Arc-tic En-try n.    

1.  A small vestibule built onto the front of an Alaskan house intended to provide a buffer zone between the subzero temperatures outside, and the warmth within.  Usually full of Bunny Boots, bottles of Heet, parkas, and 37 thousand pairs of frozen socks. 

2.  A hole cut in the ice to accommodate contestants in the Polar Bear Plunge.

At-tu adv.     A consenting reply to the clerk at Sportsman’s Warehouse when he asks you if you need to buy a new scope for the rifle you just purchased. < Sure, I’ll take attu.>

Bar-row n.     What you have to use to wheel your Matanuska Valley cabbage to the Alaska State Fair.

Break-up n.    

1.  The annual season between the time the snow melts and the forest fires begin, when every square inch of ground outside is transformed into a bottomless quagmire, and every square inch of floor inside your house resembles a New Orleans basement after Katrina.

2.  What your spouse does to you when you spend her Permanent Fund Dividend on a backpack and a new fly rod package.

Bush Pi-lot n.     What you become when a grizzly bear charges you, and you fall off a cliff in your haste to escape, but you land in a bush on your way down only to have the bush come out by its roots.

Cant-well aux v.     An expression used to explain to your wife why it is difficult for you to open a jar of pickles in the aftermath of a monster Northern Pike turning your hand into cole slaw while you were trying extract a treble hook it had swallowed.

Cache n.    

1.  A storage shed that looks like a miniature log cabin on stilts designed to break a trapper’s neck when he falls while ascending the ladder while balancing a caribou quarter on his shoulder.

2.  Strips of green paper used for currency, of which there is a never enough to purchase the necessary equipment to properly enjoy the Alaskan wilderness.

Chee-cha-ko  n.      

1.  A person who has recently moved to Alaska.  Typically identified by such naive behavior as failing to wear clothing appropriate to the climate, inquiring about the location of the nearest shopping mall or golf course, licking hoarfrost from metal surfaces, or walking in the woods without a gun for bear protection.

2.  The larval stage of a sourdough.

De-na-li n.

1.  A mythical mountain that materializes out of the clouds above the Alaskan range only once every hundred years.  According to folklore, it is the highest point on the North American Continent, and the tallest mountain in the world, base to peak.

2.  The clever, vivid, computer-generated photographs of Mt. McKinley that appear in every travel brochure, atlas and gift shop.  Many of these are only able to be distinguished as hoaxes by the cloudless blue backdrop of sky, and the fact that the entire mountain is actually visible.

Haines n.     A high-falutin’ clothing accessory worn by tourons and cheechakos.  Haines are abandoned for Long Johns upon graduating to sourdough status.

Ho-mer n.     What Barry Bonds of the Alaska Goldpanners used to hit all the time.

Hy-da-burg v.     What you do on the Labor Day cookout at Quartz Lake, when your wife asks you if that isn’t your sixth hamburger, and if you’ve forgotten the promise you made to start dieting.

Ice Fog n.

1.  A thick winter fog made of suspended ice particles that leaves the trees coated with ice crystals and obscures visibility at every intersection in Fairbanks.

2.  A description of one’s mental acuity after catching hypothermia from ice fishing too long without warming up.

Ju-neau adv.     A question normally asked by a nosy person in an attempt to extract inconsequential information which you had no reason to commit to memory.  The proper response is “Yes, but I’m bound by a non-disclosure agreement not to divulge that information.”

Ke-nai n.     A necessary physical attribute in order to be able to spot Dall Sheep high upon a mountain.

Ko-yuk-uk interj.     What Santa Claus’ laugh actually sounds like.

Mo-squi-to n.     The Alaska State Bird.  Squadrons of between 30,000 and half a million will typically conceal themselves in a square yard of sphagnum moss or low-lying vegetation.  When an unsuspecting pedestrian happens by, they burst suddenly from their ambush and attempt to drain him of all body fluids before his body hits the ground.  Useful for chasing away tourons, environmentalists, and real estate developers.

Muk-luk n.     The gamble you take when you drive an ATV into a bog.

Mus-keg n.     The smell of an omelette that has been left out of the refrigerator all week on a stack of books in a University of Alaska freshman dorm room.

OSB n.

1. Oriented Strand Board.

2.  A popular siding for Alaskan homes.  In fact, the only official siding approved by the Alaska State Builder’s Association.

Pot-latch n.

1.  A ceremonial feast among natives of the Pacific Northwest in which gifts are distributed, speeches and dances are made, and vast quantities of dead animal parts are consumed.

2. A fastener on a honey bucket, designed to keep the fragrance contained until time to transfer the contents to the outhouse.

Skag-way n.     A driveway that has been torn up from excessive snow machine traffic.  A skagway may be deeply grooved, or even rutted from the impression of the steering skags on the bottom of the skis.

Snow n.    

1. Crystalline sunshine. 

2.  The substance most often used for groundcover by Alaskan landscaping contractors.  <Just shovel some snow over that pile of rusty car parts, Pete.  No one will see it till breakup.>

3.  A prerequisite for many Alaskan sports such as mushing, skiing, snow machining, and hypothermia.

Sol-dot-na adv.     A regretful reply in response to your neighbor’s inquiry regarding what ever became of your old mining claim. <Sold.  Oughtn’ta.>

Sour-dough n.    

1.  A delicious form of bread made from a fermented, stinking glob of goo that lurks in a crock on the back of the stove.

2.  [from sour < A particularly obnoxious body odor, and dough < the texture of a potbelly] A seasoned Alaskan resident.

3.  The mature adult form of the Cheechako.

Ter-mi-na-tion Dust n.     The first snow of the year to whiten the tops of nearby mountain peaks.  Usually spotted two days after the last of the previous winter’s snow had melted off of the same mountains.

Tok v.     An activity that Senator Gary Wilkins must have participated in just prior to reading the Alaska State Constitution’s position on Borough formation.

Tour-on n.     Similar to a cheechako only worse.  A touron is a dangerous species of tourist incapable of comprehending the vastness and rugged, pristine wilderness of The Last Frontier.  Tourons may perform such mindless acts as attempting to feed a grizzly bear, fishing in a gravel pit, complaining to the Park Service about allowing the mosquitoes to become so aggressive, or inquiring about the best time to see the Northern Lights on June 21st.  A touron can be identified by the camera permanently attached to its hand, the Alaskan souvenir T-shirt it is wearing, and the motor home it has parked in the middle of the road on a hairpin curve while it wanders about picking fireweed or trying to cuddle a moose calf whose mother is approaching at full charge.

Valdez n.     A great deal that you found at Value Village, consisting of an old ammo box full of metal parts shaped like a capital D which you can use to make T junctions in dog harnesses.

Wasilla n.

1.  A spicy beverage prepared by leaving your Sarsaparilla soda sitting on the picnic table until a wasp crawls in it.  For maximum flavor, it must be drunk before the wasp drowns.

2.  The sound one emits shortly after ingesting a big gulp of Wasilla.

Whittier n.     What a sourdough fancies himself to be in comparison to his roommate when they find themselves exchanging puns while locked deep in the throes of cabin fever.