Beaver Fever does not mean what I thought it means.

I have to clear my mind and allow myself to reset. I have to stop looking at the world around me according to preconceived notions of society and presumptions of the behavior of individuals. I have to erase my personal expectations of life and experience things honestly as they occur. I have to just be, and let things be. I apologize for suddenly going all zen, but I realize it every time that I walk around down town. In something as simple as the way people park, or walk around from shop to shop, or lay in the middle of the park with a growler of beer and pass out in the sun. I look around for the meter maid (a truly laughable thought) to tell people that they have to move because they're in a no-parking zone. I look for every business owner to tell people that the bathrooms are for customers only. I look for the cop to hand out tickets or at least roust the drunk and have him move along. These are the conditioned responses of living in even a small urban area, and certainly the experiences of a city dweller. That is not life in Talkeetna.

I was talking yesterday to Holli, the woman who runs the hostel where I loiter almost daily and occasionally sleep. We were discussing the local sights and nice places to hike and so forth and in the midst of our discussion she mentioned that when she takes her kids to the slough they either drink all the water she brought in the first five minutes or don't drink any at all the whole time they are there. This prompted my brain to wonder if the local water was drinkable, and I asked as much. "No," Holli replied, "that's a good way to get beaver fever." Now, I knew from the context of our conversation that what she said and what I thought those words might mean were not even on the same continent, so I asked for clarification. Apparently that is a colloquialism for Giardiasis, the sickness you get from drinking water contaminated with Giardia lamblia. This tends too happen when you drink water that other animals crap in, and lots of beavers crap in the water around here. This is not life in New Jersey.

I have gotten quite a bit of feedback on my last post about the soldier who went nuts and AWOL and trashed the hostel and yadda yadda yadda. I want to clarify that (apart from my childish thirst for vengeance) there was never any danger in the air, at least that I could discern, and I'm fairly adept at knowing when some shit is about to go down. I have not encountered one locked door since I've been here. There is a bumper sticker promoting this town which reads: "Talkeetna - A quaint little drinking town with a climbing problem." The bars are allowed to stay open until 5 am. I have had one beer since I've been here. I wouldn't say that I've made new friends, but I am certainly on friendly terms with a number of regular locals and summer locals. In fact, some of the guides just invited me to a bonfire tonight at the river. There are hippies everywhere, and some other fringe types, as well as climbers and skiers and granolas of every shape and size. Everything is expensive. I miss my dog, and think warmly of the friends and family I left behind to come here. Apart from this blog, I haven't really done any significant writing since I came to Alaska. As comfortable as I've been able to set myself up (and it's actually not bad) sleeping in my Jeep, I still have trouble actually falling asleep because I constantly think someone is going to come along and tell me to move, that I can't just park and sleep on whatever piece of land I've settled on. I have worked a total of six hours in the last month. I work again tonight and tomorrow night, but the part time thing will not get it done. I had a job interview this morning, which I hope will turn into full-time employment at the big lodge up on the hill. If this comes to pass, I've already found a great place to stay for the summer, and that should be ready in two weeks or so. If I don't get a full time job very soon, I'll be on my way back to Jersey. This is life as I know it.

And I'm only drinking water from the tap.