Sleeping Moose Saga Part Two -The Winter of '79: Journals of a Wilderness Wife

By Atwood Cutting

If the woods call your name, then you should definitely try to follow. But if you can’t clear your schedule right now, at least read this book about life in the wilderness before there were cellphones.

The setting is deep in a field of wildflowers, far from any city. Two anachronistic romantics have heeded the call of the wild and journeyed to Alaska for an encounter with adventure. Kate, a flower child from Hawaii, has come to the arctic to "see a winter” and perhaps to find a harmonious world where nakedness feels natural. Tim, an infantry soldier with a gentle nature, simply wants to build his own log home and live life the way he wishes, like Jeremiah Johnson.
After joining work crews in a Pipeline construction camp, they start their life adventure together by eloping and setting off for Vermont. They get as far as the Kenai Peninsula, where a dirt road leads them up a mountain to a beautiful chunk of wilderness. and—with just one look and absolutely no forethought—Tim and Kate begin a twelve year pioneering adventure, taking Ralph Waldo Emerson’s hypothetical essay on self-reliance, and putting their hearts and muscle into it.

In Cutting's “Sleeping Moose Saga trilogy, readers experience the cumulative effects of uncompromising weather, the travails of living up a long, impossible road, and the uncertainty of sharing their world with the handful of unfathomable neighbors who live at the end of that road.

Part One, “Where the Moose Slept,” covers the years 1976 to 1979, as Tim and Kate build their house and begin a family. The hardships are many, but life at Victory Garden still seems sweet. Part Two of the saga, "The Winter of ’79,” describes the events of one particularly trying year, in which Tim nearly succumbs to illness and injury, while “cabin fever” overtakes Kate, who—except for their infant daughter Atwood—sits isolated and alone on a mountain for more than one hundred difficult days. With luck, Tim will make it home each night.

As a work of "creative non-fiction," the the events are true, however the characters and the towns of Footprint and Sleeping Moose are fictitious. Letters home have been included in this "Winter" volume and photographs (more than 100) as well as journal entries illustrate the feelings of a homesteading woman in remote isolation.
Because this pioneering adventure takes place shortly before the invention of silicon-chip cell-phones, solar panels and “quad” ATVs revolutionized our world, millennial readers will be able to vicariously experience rustic living with outmoded tools, while seniors who have lived their own pre-tech lives may find amusement in the solutions arrived at by the "cheechako" greenhorns. For pure recreation, Part One is a perfect weekend diversion into raw nature and unanticipated transportation misadventures. Part Two (The Winter of ’79) may not feel as easy to digest as readers share in Kate’s cabin fever and concern for her family's survival.

On a Utopian quest, these pioneers have naïvely pitted their idealism against the searing realities of our world as it really is. Eventually, one truth or the other must give way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atwood Cutting
• Release date: Jun 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9780999506189

Atwood Cutting

Atwood Cutting is the pen name used by pioneer memoirist, Kate Peters. Graduating Phi Beta Kappa from the University of Hawaii with a major in performing arts (1972), Kate Peters then journeyed to Alaska where she studied art and the Arctic. In 1975 she joined a culinary crew in construction of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, eloped with a fellow worker, and began an Emerson-inspired adventure that developed into this epic odyssey. After leaving Alaska in 1988, the retired pioneer ruminated for more than two decades before deciding to create an alter-ego entity to pen her memoir. As Atwood Cutting, Kate has now produced volumes one and two of the Alaskan trilogy. As Atwood Cutting, Kate Peters hopes she has created a book that provides readers with enough description to experience the hardships of an arctic winter, without actually having to endure one. Although for a long time Kate would have said that the jury went out and never came back; today—as aging dreamers—Kate and Tim whole-heartedly agree that reaching for the brass ring and following that dream was absolutely worthwhile. They’re glad they did it when they were young and strong, as it required a lot of physical labor. Today, Kate shares her stories about their modern pioneering adventures as homesteaders on America’s Last Frontier—juat before there were cellphones.

Book preview

Sleeping Moose Saga

Part Two

The Winter of ’79

Journals of a Wilderness Wife

By Atwood Cutting

Copyright © 2018 Atwood Cutting

Published by Echo Hill Arts Press

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-0-9995061-9-6

All rights reserved

This book is based on actual events.

Characters and locations are the author’s creation. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses or locales is completely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to

download their own copy from Smashwords or their favorite authorized eBook retailer.

Readers can also

request Parts 1 and 2 of Sleeping Moose Saga

at their public library.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Leaving a review at your favorite retailer is also always appreciated.

Deep appreciation

to my friend and editor—Dee Dee Fischer—

and to Old Colorado City Library Asociates—Katie Cronk and David Rasmussen—

for helping me realize my goal of seeing this saga on the shelves of public libraries.

Posthumous gratitude to

Winfield Christiansen, a gracious friend and principal,

Webster Caye, inspiring in high school humanities,

Windsor Cutting, an exceptional father figure.

Excellent teachers, all.

This description of

four tough seasons and one merciless winter

is dedicated to Tim Peters—our family’s hero—who never gave up.

Atwood Cutting

Colorado Springs, Colorado

Contents

Introduction to the Saga

Chapter One / Early Summer, 1979

You Only Own What You Can Protect

Chapter Two / Late Summer, 1979

The Dream

Chapter Three / Fall, 1979

Winter Begins

Chapter Four / Winter, 1980

Cabin Fever

Chapter Five / Spring, 1980

Nature Is Queen

Chapter Six / Summer, 1980

Two Good Days

About the Author

Other Works by Atwood

Introduction to the Saga

"I went to 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."

Henry David Thoreau: Walden, 1854

Sleeping Moose, Alaska 1976 – 1979

Kate Cutting had come from Hawaii, determined to experience a winter.

Tim Peters had migrated from Boston

in response to Jack London’s Call of the Wild.

After eloping, the pair settled on a remote parcel of wilderness

and prepared to live out their dream of self-reliance.

They situated the house right where the moose slept,

and started their family.

Chapter One / Early Summer, 1979

You Only Own What You Can Protect

Mr. Waterfall

Breakup had finally completed its sloppiness, and their road was now mostly passable. The weather was great, and Tim wanted to head into town for water and supplies. Kate and the baby chose to remain on the farm, to enjoy their private paradise on this lovely June morning.

Tim had driven away shortly after breakfast. Now Kate washed the dishes and Attie bounced in her elastic swing and poked at the baby activity board attached to a column in front of her.

When we’re finished here, Kate said to her little companion, we’ll go out for few rays of sunshine, and maybe collect a bouquet of wildflowers. It’s such a beautiful day. I want you to get a gander at all the grandness that surrounds us.

When the dishes were done, the young mother saddled her little one in a pack tied across her front, and they headed out for an Alpine denizen’s afternoon delight.

Back in less than an hour, Kate opened the squat basement door . . . and stopped dead in her tracks. There was a stranger standing in the kitchen.

He had on a black leather vest, leather pants, and a beaded leather headband. He wore no shirt under his open vest, and his long, blond hair was stringy and dirty.

Who are you? Kate demanded of the startling apparition she’d come upon in their remote mountain home.

I am called ‘Splashing Waterfall,’ the intruder answered. Stunned, Kate struggled with the unusual name. Had he said, Splashing Water? Kate's eyes fell on the knife that hung from his belt. It was gigantic.

And why are you in my kitchen, sir? she demanded, trying to disguise her alarm with the kind of homesteader’s bravado she’d seen portrayed in the movies.

I walked up to sit on the rounded mountaintop, and I grew thirsty while on the road. I thought this place might have water for me to drink.

He was tough and lean, with the physique of someone who might have been acquainted with hard drugs. Maybe he’d even been in prison. She scanned his knuckles. Convicts often had tattoos on their knuckles. He had none.

Kate risked a glance at the loaded shotgun they kept hanging by the bed, but it might as well have been a million miles away. She’d never be able to get to it before he got to her with his knife . . . if things went that way.

Are you from around here? She asked, trying to make it clear that she was the boss, even though, at the moment she figured he had the upper hand.

No. I come from the Dakotas. Adopted by the Sioux and raised on the Reservation. It is my Sioux name that I use.

Oh.

They call me ‘Splashing Stones in Falling Water’ because I splash at the river and fight against the current.

Oh. Kate doubted his whole story. If he’d been raised by the Sioux, then she’d married Prince Rainier. If you’ll wait outside, I’ll bring you a drink, Kate finally offered, but I’m not comfortable with you coming into my house uninvited.

Mr. Waterfall nodded with a look of sad understanding and walked across the inner-sanctum of their isolated fortress. When he reached the still wide-open front door, he stopped and said, I will be thankful. Then he ducked below the lintel and stood outside, waiting.

Kate laid her flowers on the table and filled a blue tin cup with water. She went to the opening and handed it to him where he stood, at the base of their pillbox-strength steps, while she remained inside, her hands at the ready to slam and bolt the gate of the fort, if he made any threatening moves.

He didn’t. Instead, he shook out the empty cup and handed it back to the woman. Many thanks, he said, and he climbed up the steps.

The bush wife nodded, then shut and locked the portal.

After unpacking four-month old Attie and setting her down in her playpen, Kate stood the new flowers up in an old ice cream churn, poured a few cups of water to cover the stem bottoms, and crossed the room to make sure that the shotgun was loaded. While she was near the bed, she looked out the little window that faced west.

There was Mr. Splashing Water! He was only a few yards south of their hen house, and he seemed to be pacing out measurements of some kind. What did he think he was doing?

It felt like the unanticipated arrival of Fram and his instant family, all over again. What was it Fram had said? What say, we build right there, Ruth? Kate’s gut reaction that time had been the same as now. This stranger, and his humongous knife, had to go.

Kate checked Attie in the playpen and then took the shotgun back off its hooks and hastened out to confront the fellow for a second time.

What are you doing? Kate asked quite sharply.

That is where I will build the sweat house, the audacious visitor responded.

I don’t think so. Not there. This is private property, she corrected.

Yes, right there, the stranger countered. He was pointing to one especially-flowery patch, a spot where the two newlyweds had lain on more than one occasion. A village will rise from there, the Native imposter announced, sounding as if they’d already come to an agreement.

I don’t think so, Kate informed him. This land is not for sale.

The man with a strange name continued, undeterred. We will build many teepees here.

Teepees? Red flags were poking up all over the place. No. I don’t think your vision will be coming true here, Kate repeated.

Yes. It is so. He turned away and continued pacing out his circles in the Peters’ side meadow.

Please leave the premises now, Kate ordered, with all the confidence and authority she could muster.

The man looked puzzled. Then he turned, without a word, and walked down the hill in the direction of Cutting Creek.

Kate hustled into the house and hunkered down behind the locked door. She would wait for Tim to get home. He could take care of this interloper. She had her very own warrior, and he would protect them.

* * *

Tim walked up the hill about two hours later.

Kate wailed out her tale the minute he got to the door, It’s happening all over again!

What’s happening all over again?

There’s a weird guy outside. He’s dressed like an Indian, but he looks more like an escapee. And he has a big knife. He says he’s gonna build a sweat house right next to the chicken house.

Calm down and tell me from the beginning.

Kate started again and told Tim everything: about how the stranger had come into the house while she and Attie were out for a walk, and how he’d said he was going to start a village in their backyard. . . . And he’s wearing a huge knife, she repeated.

Where did he go? Tim asked.

I think he went down to the creek.

Don’t you worry, said her man. He gave her a reassuring hug. I’m here now. I’ll take care of it.

I’m so glad you’re home, she said, feeling suddenly fatigued.

First thing in the morning, I’ll take a look-see down by the spring and along the creek, her trained soldier said.

Thank you, Timber, Kate said softly. And God bless the U.S. Infantry, she murmured.

Two Different Visions of Heaven

There he is! Kate had been keeping an eye out all morning. And she’d just caught a glimpse of a mop of stringy blond hair moving through the tall grass.

Tim went to the little side window and watched the trespasser emerge over the ridge. He was heading in the direction of their house.

"I guess I’ll go out there and have a little talk with him.

Take the shotgun, Tim. Th at’s a really big knife. Don’t worry about me. I fought in the war. Remember?

He took the shotgun off its nails, checked it, and headed for the door.

We need you, Timber, so please be careful, Kate reminded him.

I will, he said.

Then he went outside and walked over to talk to Mr. Waterfall, their would-be neighbor. Kate ran to watch through the side window as the two men met and began discussing their two very different visions of heaven under the same blue sky.

The Sioux wannabe pointed north, then south. Tim looked and listened.

The stranger bent down and drew something in the dirt. Tim looked at it and shook his head with the authority of a landowner.

Kate watched as Tim said something that made the man stand up abruptly and head down toward the creek. Tim watched him leave. Then he turned and walked back to the house.

Kate met their protector when he reached the door. What’d he say?

He says he spent time with the Sioux and that he wants to build a village here.

What do you think?

I think he spent time, all right, but I doubt it was on the Reservation.

Bad news? Yeah. Bad news.