February : Love

What a cold, cold day. It started at windy 2º, and climbed clear up to windy 11º. Tonight's low is forecast to be -12º. That's a big concern for a lot of people. And animals. I hauled our horse blankets out of storage and the ponies seemed grateful this afternoon when I put them on. This morning, I noticed fox tracks around our yard. Poor wild thing is probably hungry and targeting our duckhouse. But, I love foxes seen in the wild, so I will do what I must to keep them at bay without a fatal altercation. (Because, honestly, what am I going to shoot it with, a rubber band from the junk drawer?)

Today, February 2, is an auspicious day. Not because of the giant rodents lifting their heads out of the ground, but because there is a very exciting story told about February 2. Anyone who loves action and adventure should surely immerse themselves with this story:

In the winter of 1925, a virulent diphtheria epidemic began to spread across a town in far northern Alaska. Nome, in the winter months, was icebound and inanccessible by ship; the primary means of transportation and communication in the surrounding areas was the dog sled.

When the sole physician of Nome determined that the ill who complained of sore throats were not suffering from tonsillitis, but diphtheria, he had a huge problem on his hands. Just the summer before, he had determined that his diphtheria antitoxin from 1918 had expired; unfortunately, the order for more antitoxin did not arrive before the winter set in and closed the port. As more people succombed to diphtheria, Dr. Welch sent a telegram to public health services across Alaska and Washington, D.C.:

"An epidemic of diphtheria is almost inevitable here STOP I am in urgent need of one million units of diphtheria antitoxin STOP Mail is only form of transportation STOP I have made application to Commissioner of Health of the Territories for antitoxin already STOP There are about 3000 white natives in the district."

As medical officials began lining up adequate amounts of serum, two sides went head-to-head about how best to deliver the medicine to the isolated town of Nome. In those times, dog sled was the means to deliver mail and supplies to outlying areas. But the newer technology of airplanes brought forth its opinion, and the governor of Alaska gave his final nod to the dog sled, but to the scathing criticism of the airplane folk.

What transpired was the Great Race of Mercy, with twenty mushers and around 150 sled dogs making a relay to deliver the diphtheria antitoxin 674 miles. In five days. In late January and early February, arriving in Nome on February 2. Along the Iditarod Trail.

So however cold I was today out in the elements, in my polartec and fleece and great snow boots, and cotton balls in my ears, moving a few fractions slower on the ice than I normally move, it is thrilling to think about men in 1925 going out in even more hazardous conditions, braving unknown dangers all to deliver aid to their fellow man:
A wonderful book: The Cruelest Miles, by Gay Salisbury and Laney Salisbury, can take you through the adventure and danger these men underwent.







Nowdays there is the famous Iditarod Sled Race, from Willow (close to Anchorage) to Nome, to commemorate the Great Race of Mercy. The Iditarod race covers 1161 miles over the course of 9-15 days. An amazing feat. These mushers have a benefit of technology in all areas of their competition, compared to mushers in 1925. Nevertheless, what a fun month to catch up on the dog sledding stories.

Gary Paulsen wrote a good book on the Iditarod: Winterdance: The Fine Madness of Running the Iditarod.










February 2nd: how about a love poem?

WINTER LOVE
Let us have winter loving that the heart
May be in peace and ready to partake
Of the slow pleasure spring would wish to hurry
Or that in summer harshly would awake,
And let us fall apart, O gladly weary,
The white skin shaken like a white snowflake.
~Elizabeth Jennings~