Life on Capitol Hill

First published February 2011 in the Juneau Empire, Neighbors section

The women of Capitol Hill are a rowdy bunch. Once a month we meet for lunch at a downtown café to swap Capitol Hill neighborhood news. Who’s traveling, moving, having a baby, or retiring, who’s foundation’s leaking, and what’s up with the parking situation. Important, weighty stuff. The café management often asks us to quiet down as we sip our tea. OK, maybe we’d like them to, so we could seem a bit edgier. There’s something old-fashioned about meeting with neighbor ladies to exchange neighborhood news. But it’s also very timely; a foil against too many hours spent with computers – and deeply pleasant.

And the Capitol Hill neighborhood is a pleasant place to live – even though you can’t find it on a map. Officially, there are three main neighborhoods directly adjacent to the downtown business district. Juneau Townsite is the largest neighborhood, wrapping the sides of the half-bowl in which the downtown sits. The Chicken Ridge neighborhood perches on the western, top edge of this bowl, wrapping around to

Basin Road

. The House of Wickersham is a prominent Chicken Ridge feature. The Starr Hill neighborhood is at the top of the eastern edge of the bowl, resting against Mts. Maria and Roberts. The Mt. Roberts trail starts from the top of Starr Hill.

Because of crazy downtown topography, it’s easy for micro-neighborhoods to develop, regardless of where the map lines are drawn. The Capitol Hill neighborhood is technically in the Juneau Townsite, and includes a bit of Chicken Ridge, but is defined by its most prominent neighbor: the Capitol Building (weird spelling tidbit: “capital-A-L” is the city, “capitol-O-L” is the building, so saying Capitol Building is actually redundant. Whatever!). Capitol Hill extends from roughly

5^th Street

up to 7^th, and from the drop off west of

Main Street

to Capital School Park. Really, it’s the hill above the Capitol. Thus the name was suggested a few years ago by a neighbor who was confounded that it hadn’t always been called that.

I love living on Capitol Hill, though I can take little credit for this good fortune. It was my parents who bought a declining house on

Main Street

back in the early 70’s, for something crazy like $20,000. My husband and I bought it from them in 2003 for a significant bit more, but still a good price because, well, it’s a house that was built during the Gold Rush and has been attempting to decline ever since.

That’s one of the hallmarks of living on Capitol Hill. With many homes built in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, if my neighborhood had its own coin, on one side would be a lovely historic home and on the other would be that same home, falling apart. Colorful Juneau history and constant renovation are a way of life on this hill. And many neighbors don’t just accept this reality, they revel in it. Like the owners of the neighborhood B&B, Alaska’s Capital Inn, Linda Wendeborn and Mark Thorson. They chose Capitol Hill for their home and business partly because it was built by one of Juneau’s founding fathers, John Olds, for his young bride, and filled with Juneau history. But also because it would give them an opportunity to get their hands calloused by making it shine again. And they are not alone. As finances and time allow, or as the old homes demand, Capitol Hill neighbors are frequently spotted at Good Hardware.

And they might even have walked there. Walking is a many-layered benefit for the downtown neighborhoods. First, there’s security in having everything you need within walking distance, especially if you have kids. (Unfortunately there are quite a few things within walking distance that we don’t need, as well. I have yet to find a need for emeralds, a fur bikini, or moose-poop swizzle sticks, and we could do with fewer bars). Second, who needs cardio boot camp at the club when you’ve got

Main Street

. Third, and most important, every time you greet a neighbor while out walking, the cohesion of the whole neighborhood is strengthened.

Because that’s really what makes a neighborhood most livable. Good neighbors. When asking residents what they like most about Capitol Hill, a consistent answer was knowing that they could rely on their neighbors; to be helpful, to be kind, for a friendly chat, to buy raffle tickets from the neighbor kids, to help shovel a sidewalk, to keep a sliding truck from hitting your car, to collect the mail and feed the animals while you’re away, to write a letter to the editor about a shared concern, and even to respect your privacy though they live only five feet away.

Another way in which Capitol Hill neighbors rely on each other is as defenders of our livability. We want most of the people in our neighborhood to live here, not lock up and head home for the night. Which is a valid concern in a neighborhood that has always been at the edge of the government and downtown commercial areas. For more than a century both of these interests have ebbed and flowed up the edge of Capitol Hill. In fact, from around 1895 until 1920, the Territorial Governor’s house and office were located on the north-west corner of 6^th and Main, a block farther up Main than the Capitol Building. (This forgotten fact was rediscovered by a neighbor intrigued by an historic photo of a large house that she should have seen from her living room, if it were still there.) Mining offices and boarding houses were historically found on Capitol Hill, as well, and these are still reflected in an engineering office, a B&B, and several in-home offices and apartments. The general consensus is that the current mix of uses makes for a comfortable, thriving neighborhood.

And part of what makes it thrive, we all know, is our namesake neighbor, the Capitol. In fact, many Capitol Hill residents look forward to the mid-winter thrum of the Legislature moving back in. The feeling is entirely different than when the surging tide of summer cruise ship passengers covers the downtown. In summer, Capitol Hill mostly observes the throngs from our cozy hill, smiling a welcome to the few hardy souls who venture up

Main Street

. During Legislative session, we’re much closer to the action. Decisions that effect the whole state, good or bad, radiate out from our neighborhood. There’s a weight to that.

And maybe that’s why we make a point, on Capitol Hill, of “celebrating our commonalities,” as one neighbor put it. We’re good neighbors to each other because we try to focus on the many ways our lives can intersect, rather than on how to more accurately divide our properties. We have garage sales, neighbor lady teas, monthly lunches, kids in our yards, no-electricity pot-lucks (well, just a couple of those during that “No-Snetisham Spring”), girl scouts selling cookies, gardeners trading tips and cuttings, and a phone tree for bear sightings. We’re not overly concerned about having

Main Street

dug up and repaved this summer, and maybe it’s because we have personal experience with the need to renovate things when they start to fall apart, and know it’s difficult, but worth the trouble.

So the women of Capitol Hill will continue to meet once a month, to catch up on the news of the neighborhood. And often comment on how we hope other Juneau neighbors are doing the same.

Many Miles to a New Year’s Resolution

(Originally published in the Juneau Empire, January 2010)

Ahhhhh. My little family flew to Alamos, Mexico for the holidays… spending a month with snow bird parents who’ve crafted a lovely winter life there. They’re a rare breed of bird nowadays – the popular American view of Mexico is a country overrun with drug lords and kidnappers. Until affordable medical or dental work is needed, then South of the Border many Americans go. Having worked with elders whose health care needs have surpassed Medicare capabilities, and are destitute without the assistance of family, I know I am muy fortuna to be the child of a Tier One parent. Many excellent years of service to the State of Alaska were rewarded with high quality health care coverage throughout retirement. So, in an ironic twist, my parents migrate backwards – traveling North of the Border to see the doctor.

Muchas gracias a los State of Alaska! It may sound selfish, luxurious, or greedy to others, but truly it’s not: both generations are fully grateful not to have the specter of parental dependence hanging over us, and my parents live pretty simply in Mexico. Because, in another ironic twist, their Tier One retirement income is not enough to afford life in Alaska full-time. Their money stretches much farther in Mexico which allows them to age with dignity, independence, and nice winter weather, leaving my little family free to plan our own future… and a South of the Border vacation every few years.

(Of course, I could now wax liberal about the forward-thinking State of Alaska, successfully keeping a valuable professional serving the public for 20 years instead of a private company… and how, as a member of the Tier Three club myself, I feel significant loyalty to an employer that used to offer a better future than the private-industry-modeled “Cliff” Four retirement plan over which public employees – and their children and grandchildren, don’t forget – are now being thrown. But, whew, I’m reminded that this is not my topic today!)

So off we went to spend a month in a marginally safe country (don’t misinterpret that! Tort-free living makes for crazy traffic, four-foot-high curbs, no guardrails, and tummy bugs galore – not drug lords, for goodness’ sake! The only crazy shooting during our vacation was in Tucson.). Mexicans are determinedly climbing into the current millennium, though, and I have to offer an ole! to lovely Sonora. The Sonoran desert offers less swimming with Dolphins and more cacti than most Alaskans choose, but 75 degrees and blue skies in January are worth the thousands of miles we flew to get there.

Imagine that… with air travel we can get from water-locked Juneau, Alaska to land-locked Alamos, Sonora in about two days. Not long ago, within my parents’ lifetimes even, this would have been impossible for anyone of moderate or lower income. Unfortunately, if Alaska Airlines ever eliminates their mileage programs (God forbid!), it will be again. In my Juneau-centric opinion it wasn’t ships, cars, the printing press, or modern communications that truly made this One World – it was affordable air travel. The ability to spread ideas, knowledge, and cultural understanding (not to mention progressive technology and health care) quickly and widely is something for which I thank the Wright brothers, every aeronautic engineer since, and decades of cheap oil.

I’ve started to think back on all of the cheap oil I’ve used for far lesser purposes than global understanding. The greenhouse gasses I’ve spewed into the atmosphere for no benefit, when weighed against world-wide connection. Innumerable car trips of less than a mile; uncountable goods and groceries (traveling thousands of miles to reach me) that I neither needed nor enjoyed, and could have found locally or made myself; legions of plastic bits thrown away after one use… how many of these would I have traded to keep air travel easy and inexpensive for everyone.

I’m rarely given to guilt, but I can’t deny the connection between my unthinking use of oil and the current state of air travel. How many of us in Juneau, if given the opportunity some decades ago, would have traded all of those quick car trips to Food Land (for Ben & Jerry’s) and the Nugget Mall (for a 10^th pair of shoes) for this: getting to the airport 30 minutes before flight time, staying clothed through security, carrying reading material and a soda on board (not your whole travel wardrobe), having a decent, hot, in-flight meal (included), and stepping off the plane to the glowing face of an awaiting loved one, not into a mall-full of strangers, fast food and Crocs stores that make you feel vaguely lost and lonely. And I’m not even going to comment on the ability of the airlines to offer their services in the world of dwindling oil, or the everyday person’s ability to afford it.

I would even put up with the oddity of the old Alaska Airlines pre-meal prayer card if it meant that the constant sound of flip-flops could have stayed a perk of traveling to Hawaii. Ah, to wear shoelaces again when flying. But it’s too late, I’m afraid. We’ve made our reclining seat and have to sit six inches behind one, too.

But still… I can’t give up. As usual, I need a scheme, a plan, a new paradigm! So, what if we did make this trade – starting to ration oil as we should have done decades ago? In a standard year, I put 3-4,000 miles on my car, for example – even though I live within walking distance of every amenity I need and could easily reduce my driving to 30 miles a week (1500 mi/year). And in an average year I travel out of Juneau at least twice – say an annual average of 4000 miles. That’s 5,500 miles total by car and air each year.

So I think I’ll try this: each person in my family will start the year with a 5,000 mile travel credit. Every mile traveled by car or airplane will use 1 credit. Every mile traveled by foot, bike, scooter, carpool, city or school bus, sailboat, or ferry is “free.” Every mile traveled over 5,000 (and as many under 5,000 as we can afford) must be cancelled out by participation in a carbon offset program.

Oh dear. Did I just come up with my New Year’s Resolution? I’m wincing, because this one will be really hard to live up to. My poor, indulgent husband. And Dios mio! To save 2,500 miles each, maybe we should have remained in Alamos this year! No… I’ll happily make this trade-off, and many more, to keep living in beautiful Juneau, and to keep working towards my Tier Three health care benefits!

Sarah Lewis is a local architect and social worker who now feels foolish for all those years of high school French… especially when the ever kind Mexicans put up with her constant no hablar-ing and lo siento-ing. Muchas Gracias Alamos!

A Holiday Meal on Every Table

(Originally published in the Juneau Empire, December "Neighbors")

I’ve read in several places that enough food is produced on Earth to feed all its people. Yet as I write this, and as you read it, people are starving on our planet. The problem is one of distribution, it seems. Economic, political, and geographic barriers keep food from getting to places on this globe where people have none, or keep people from getting to the food. While in other places, our own city among them, people have access to more food than they need.

But even in Juneau there are people who don’t know where every meal will come from, much less holiday dinners. The distribution barriers in our community are typically economic (though politics and geography do play a role, of course… an article for another day) because Juneau is an expensive place to live and eat.

There are several organizations addressing this distribution problem in Juneau, though, and admirably. There are also many concerned and kind citizens who make it a holiday goal to distribute their plenty to those who have little. My family is among those lucky enough to have more than we need. So for us it’s a Thanksgiving and Christmas tradition to donate holiday dinners for delivery to other families who are not as lucky.

But I’m conflicted about what I put in those boxes. Over the past few years I’ve become more conscious of what I purchase, eat, and serve to my family. I now want to know how far my food traveled, how the animals were raised and fed, how the plants were grown, how the land was treated, even how well the workers were treated. In our global food distribution system, this is not easy, and I’m regularly weak (I love green bean casserole, and don’t tell me it can be made with fresh beans… pah!) but I’ve gotten better at supporting systems that have fewer or no negative impacts on the earth and its people. I pay more for this effort, but buy only what we need and no more, so our food bill has not risen significantly, while our enjoyment certainly has.

So last week, for Thanksgiving, what did I put in the food boxes I donated? Food that I no longer purchase for my own family. I know that many others did this, too, and I want to emphasize that there is nothing wrong with this at all. The boxes I packed were filled with nutrients, variety, and tradition. But they were also filled with unnecessary preservatives, sugars and fats, and supported sections of the food industry that prioritize profits over human and global health. Why is my standard for giving to others different than that for my own family? I’ve decided that for Christmas this year, I’m going to do better.

So I contacted Slow Food Southeast Alaska (contact them through slowfood.seak@gmail.com or Facebook), chaired by Elizabeth Dubovsky, to find out what they recommend I put in my December holiday boxes. International Slow Food (as opposed to “fast food,” in case that wasn’t obvious!) promotes the concept that all food should be “good, clean, and fair.” Good food, by Slow Food standards, is delicious and created with care from healthy plants and animals. Clean food is nutritious and good for our bodies, as well as good for the environment. Fair food is accessible to all and produced by people who are treated with dignity and justly compensated for their labor.

Here are 10 ways Slow Foods Southeast Alaska recommends we can make our donated food boxes “slower”:

1. Substitute “organic” whenever possible; it’s healthier for humans (producer and consumer alike) and the environment.
2. Add fresh foods like potatoes, yams, winter squash, carrots, and apples.  Fresh foods provide more flavorful nutrients than processed, prepackaged foods.
3. Include foods that are “whole” and not processed.  Whole grain rice rather than processed rice; fresh potatoes rather than instant mashed potatoes. The least processed products contain the most nutrition and fiber.
4. Donate affordable foods that are nutrient-rich. Dried beans or lentils, for example, with directions on how to prepare simple, tasty dishes with them.
5. Choose foods that come in minimal packaging. Less wasteful and you’ll often pay less for larger amounts than for individually wrapped servings. 
6. Buy foods that are from the Pacific Northwest - or better yet, from Alaska!  Keeping our dollars in our local/regional food economy is an important way of ensuring a sustainable future for our communities. Potatoes and carrots, salmon and reindeer, and berry products. All are grown, harvested, and processed in Alaska. Ask your grocery store to tell you where to find them (or ask the store to carry them!).
7. Include a homemade pie or other baked goods that don’t require refrigeration.  Check if the receiving organization can accept them (the Food Bank can’t, but the Glory Hole can and needs 200 pies by December 20!).
8. Include healthy “snacks” and finger foods like nuts, raisins, and other dried fruits.
9. If you know the box will be used quickly, you can include perishable items like butter, milk, cheese, and meat. Choose organic, free-range, and/or local whenever possible.
10. Instead of a box, donate both the ingredients and your time to cook a meal for one of the local organizations that feeds people directly, like the Glory Hole or your church.

Finally, it’s important to remember to keep it simple – the people receiving these boxes may be living in less-than-optimal situations and are probably under stress. They need easy, tasty, comfort foods to celebrate the season with. So after I’ve filled a box, and if I know it will all go to one recipient (many boxes will be unpacked and distributed to different families, as needed) Slow Food recommends that I include some good recipes.

I have a Thanksgiving ritual of looking through a book in my library called “Hungry Planet: What the World Eats,” by Peter Menzel and Faith D’Aluisio. Comparing my family’s weekly food supply with that of families in, say, Chad, I’m truly thankful to live in a country where there are minimal barriers to feeding my family healthy meals on a daily basis. But when comparing my weekly family food budget to that of a family in Turkey, where they spend only 1% on prepared foods, and their table groans with fresh fruit, vegetables and bread, I know that American over-abundance is not always the way to good eating. Let’s even out the distribution, wherever and whenever we can.

Sarah Lewis is a local architect and freelance writer. She recently pickled several quarts of Alaska-grown carrots and wishes the Food Bank could accept some because her family thinks pickles are the way to world peace.