I was asked to write about the experience of reporting my story about the poor red salmon season.
Here’s how the column begins:
My grandparents came to Anchorage after the war. My parents grew up here and so did I. I never trick-or-treated without a snowsuit on. Now my kids, dressed as superheroes, run door to door on dry pavement. Rain keeps showing up in the wintertime. Snow, real snow, has begun to feel precious. My youngest son was 3 before we had enough at once to make a decent snow angel.
Since I started writing about climate and wild food in Alaska four years ago, I must have collected 100 anecdotes about things that might be related to climate change. Small things. Practical inconveniences, mostly, and strange observations.
There’s the whale meat stored in ice cellars, old-school refrigeration units cut into the Arctic permafrost generations ago, that tastes off now because the temperature has edged up.
Find the whole column here.