Beginning each September for the last five years I run dogs out in the wilderness, sometimes on snowmobile trails, sometimes making our own cutting through areas that began as deer paths.  Every season begins for me when the snow starts to melt - a time when most are thinking about how spring will soon lead to warm summer days. I cherish the beautiful blossoms of spring, long walks in a warm summer rain, and vegetables from the garden.  But when the circada sings through the silent stillness of the last days of summer, the excitement around our home builds as I ready gear to head to a mushing camp.  Each year I hope to get to go on to Iditarod.  But the orchestration necessary to accomplish that goal is very intensive and this year was no different.  The team did really well together, but it was not in the stars to get to Alaska.  Many people have written and asked what happened, so I thought I would share.

In order to proceed through this season we needed to sell our home after the town where we built our home and raised our family changed their dog ordinance and I could no longer keep my team there.  They gave me ninety days to get rid of them which of course I would not do.  Instead I chose to move into an abandoned farmhouse after getting permission from the owners to live there.  It was a difficult transition leaving the home where I had so many memories, but with great conviction I knew it was what I had to do.  We love the old farmhouse albeit we miss some of the amenities of days gone by.  Someone put an offer to purchase our home two days before I needed to leave to Al Hardman’s camp to be the cabin-keeper and to train his 37 dogs in exchange for a roof over my head and dog food.  We thought it was a blessing, everything falling into place.  Toyota had also sponsored us with the use of a Tundra for the season.  I was about half way through my first qualifier, about 80 miles in –30 degree actual temperature, when at the checkpoint I overheard my husband that my brother had called.  I knew something must be up.  The people who were renting our home until they sold theirs had lost their job and moved out without giving us notice. They had not paid the utility bill and our pipes burst in the extreme cold weather.  I knew my journey to Alaska had to be over because we could not afford to continue, I had to be responsible even through the temptation to pretend I had no ‘real life’ obligations.

I left the qualifier in the middle of it because I knew Al, the owner of the cabin where I was staying was going to be there (14 hours away) and I wanted to talk to him in person about how we could finish out the season, knowing he counted on us to continue to run his dogs.  He told us that if we could stay through Christmas that he could work the rest of the season out.  Christmas at the cabin was bittersweet.  The snowfalls were gorgeous, and the best running conditions of the season to-date.  But we knew our trail joys would soon be over.  On New Year’s Eve some of Al’s other friends showed up, a couple who had taken care of Al’s dogs before; they had planned to stay for several days, so we completed our task of packing up, and about 11:00pm left the cabin.  About twenty minutes away is an old tavern where locals often convene to eat, drink a beer and sing karaoke.  There was another musher who we were friends with who also had a tough year and ironically was leaving the area at the same time we were, so we both met up at the Shanty.  Our dog teams were lying cozy in beds of straw.  Together we commiserated how we could have never imagined that just a month previous how things would have changed.  But that’s life.  You go on and do what you have to do in the best way that you can with whatever you have been given.  About an hour later he turned left out of the parking lot and we turned right.

Watching my friends on the Iditarod Insider at the start of Iditarod 2009 was another bittersweet moment for me.  I was happy for them, but feeling sorry for myself.  But that sorrowful feeling didn’t last long because I had such a wonderful albeit short season and I reminded myself that I should focus on the positive. I’ve always maintained there is hope in every tomorrow.  So, it is with a hopeful and loving heart for my dogs who I love, that we will be on the trail again.  Iditarod has changed their rules this year, and now you cannot qualify in the same year you want to run Iditarod, so I will qualify this next season to try a run in 2011.  We’ll see what happens.  We certainly don’t know all the answers of where we will train, and what about work (I worked full-time as I trained last year and that was very difficult to do), and so forth, but one thing for sure I do know is that my heart is on the trail out in the wilderness with my dogs so that is where I will be come next September.  Thank you all for your kind and curious support, and thank you to all the mushers who take such good care of their dogs.  The dogs and their musher carry the same passion to be on the trail.  We couldn’t all have such fun together without our loving commitment to each other.