Abilene Writers Guild Abilene, Texas, U.S.A. "Not failure, but low aim, is crime." (Lowell) P.O. Box 2562—Abilene, Texas 79604 Monthly meetings are the fourth Thursday at 7:00 P.M. Meeting at the Center for Contemporary Arts, 220 Cypress St.

Photo by Keith Thomason

I remember June 1981 when I worked at the U. S. Public Health Hospital in Mt. Edgecumbe, Alaska. The icy rain that frequently peppered down as sleet even in summertime made me want to be back in Texas with family and friends. Back home my married children would be beginning summertime fun with picnics, fishing and boating, or just stepping out into the sunshine.

Nostalgic for home and family, I wanted to experience an old fashioned picnic. Looking up at snow topped mountains in our part of southeastern Alaska on the Pacific side of the Inside Passage, it seemed doubtful that would happen. Outside my window of our duplex housing, I saw the chilling rain blowing sideways. As a shiver ran up my spine, I thought if the rain stops briefly, I could go on a picnic--if I dressed warm enough.

The rain falls so often in southeastern Alaska that old-timers say there are two kinds of weather, "raining and raining hard."

I lived across the street from the hospital, but due to the rain I usually wore a shower cap on my hair as I dashed off to work.

When I darted in a side door, I pulled the cap off. Next I climbed the stairs, skirting the creepy morgue, to an elevator that took me to the third floor to the medical and alcohol detox ward. That was my work day, but this was my day off. I recalled a pebbled beach I had seen and often visited on the Island of Baranoff. A bridge connected Japonski Island to Baranoff and the town of Sitka where our island residents traveled to shop.

Before the bridge was built, a ferry carried the island dwellers back and forth for supplies at Sitka.

I didn't fret long about the weather since I only had one day off from a busy work schedule. I grabbed my quilted, nylon, hooded jacket. Keith (my husband) drove us across the bridge to the grocery store.

At the store, we grabbed a package of wieners, hot dog buns, mustard, napkins, chips, hot dog relish, and cold drinks and paid our bill at the check-out counter. Then, Keith drove us up the coastal road of Sitka about a mile past the stretch of the Tongass National Forest. The highway (26 miles long) stretched from the ferry landing all the way to the Japanese Saw Mill on the opposite side of town. We headed in the direction of the ferry landing where the big ferries like Malaspina made port. Shortly before reaching the ferry landing, we found my favorite rocky cove.

It was still raining when we reached the sight, but I became even more determined for that picnic. The place I picked offered a view of the ocean and the extinct volcano peak looming skyward on Kruzof Island about fifteen miles to the west. Many tiny land masses overgrown with Sitka Spruce trees and called flower pot islands spread out across the water as far as the eye could see. At that moment, the rain forced our decision to hold our picnic in the car. Although we were used to wet weather and getting soaked ourselves, I didn't believe I would relish soggy hot dogs out in the open.

Inside the front passenger seat of the car, I tore open the paper grocery bag to make a place mat of sorts to spread out our food on the car seat between Keith and me. I smeared mustard on the buns, slapped on the wieners and popped the tops off our Cokes. We both savored the hot dogs and the view.

This was heaven eating hot dogs and watching the breakers come on shore, but in the middle of our picnic lunch we looked out to sea. Imagine our surprise when two creatures emerged out of the water and started walking to shore. It turned out to be a young man and woman in diving gear, but it looked to us like two aliens from outer space as they sloshed up the shore in their wet suits with the rubber fins. We waved. They went on about their business.

That was my picnic Alaska style, but an enjoyable one it was in the comfort of our own car. Good food, good view, and entertainment as well, but minus that good old Texas sunshine.

"Picnic--Alaska Style" first appeared in the June, 2005, issue of Small Town Texas. Betty worked as an RN, but she and her husband, Keith, both are retired now and live in Winters, Texas. She writes history and nostalgia and has been published not only in Small Town Texas but in Frontier Times, Lady's Circle, Confederate Veteran Magazine, Winters Enterprise Newspaper, Mature Living, and Good Old Days. Betty's name and hometown were published along with ten other honorable mentions in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, January 1994 issue, as result of story submitted to a "Mysterious Photograph Contest."

In Abilene Writers Guild Contests, Betty has placed first, second, third, and honorable mention over the past 30 years she has been writing. In addition, Betty sold daily devotionals to a web site called iam3rd.com. She took writing courses from University of Oklahoma and Writers Digest Schools and attended many writing workshops. Besides writing, she likes to paint with acrylics, research genealogy, garden, and do needlework. She learned to crochet and knit from patients while working for U. S. Public Health Service Hospital in Alaska from 1978 to 1982.

For Betty and Keith's 50th Year of Wedded Bliss, Betty compiled a cookbook entitled, Recipes and Memories from Thomason and Kin. Copies of the cookbook went out as mementos of the occasion to all the contributors. See Betty's story "Windmills Helped Settle the West" at The American Windmill Company.

Email Betty