MaryLee Hayes
This Is It! My Collection of Stories, Poetry, Art, and Photos 196 pages, soft cover, b/w photos, 5½ x 8½ $14.95 |
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Background
MaryLee Hayes was born and raised at Spring Brook Ranch, near Dorr, Michigan. At age eleven she started a little magazine called Tweet’s Tooter, which she printed regularly for five years. At sixteen she published her first book, It Can Happen Only Once, which was a whimsical account of stories about her childhood. As a young adult she graduated from the Famous Writers School in Westport, Connecticut and the Mercy Central School of Nursing in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Her second book was a published biography of her mother’s life titled, My Life Is a Rainbow. Hayes has worked as a registered nurse for thirty-five years, and has had various publications published as a free-lance writer. She was the managing editor of a women’s journal, Alaska Women Speak, for six years. This Is It! is Hayes’ third book, which encompasses a collection of her very personal and favorite poems, short stories, art and photos. This book in its entirety is dedicated to her family and friends, many of whom can be found within its pages.
MaryLee Hayes
Table of Contents
SECTION ONE: GETTING IT STARTED
The Cows Are Out!
Don’t Forget Today
I Wish I Was There Today
I Remember Mama, My Mentor
Tweet’s Tooter Excerpts
Aunt Mary’s Revenge
A Comedy in Caring
How Do I Say Good-bye to You
When I Think of a Friend
Ailments and Disasters
Accomplishing Nothing
In Case You Don’t Hear It From Somebody Else
Moose on Ice
Santa’s Christmas Eve Enema
Daddy’s Wild One
My Birthday Prayer
Surprise at Sunrise
The Easter Sunrise Services
Seek Ceaseless Peace
The Mourning Dove
My Friend’s Song: A Cup of Tea
The Whispers of the Earth
Good-Bye to a Noisy Nest
Weird Woman By the Wastebasket
The Hayes Family and Relatives
SECTION TWO: MOVING IT ON
Salvation (A Mouse’s Viewpoint)
A New Year’s Dream
Air Force Funny
Autumn Wonder
Sharing Easy
Then One Foggy Christmas Eve
The Casket Case
Weird Woman by the Wastebasket
The Rendezvous
Cathy on Cannery Road
The Passion for Peace
The Lying-Down Brown Cow
Autumn Whispers
A One-Armed Johnny
River of Rest
Moonglow
Priest River Ruts
Winter Wonderland With You
Dreaming of Alaska
North to Alaska
More Gravel to Travel
Time for Fairbanks
SECTION THREE: KEEPING IT GOING
Haiku Poetry: Looking Eskimo; A Bridal’s Veil
Low Sun Skies
Low Go
Some Dreams Do Come True
Half-Moon Meditation
A Natural Remembering
Stoney’s Story
Changes
Wild and Fun Performances
The Ride of Our Lives
Helping Others Through Rescue
Weird Woman by the Wastebasket
A Feminist Journal is Born: Alaska Women Speak
DeeDee Jonrowe: Iditarod Inspiration
A Pace of Simple Peace
A Conversation with Judy Collins
Lela Kiana Oman: Keeper of Eskimo Legends
Another Air Force Funny
Following the Path of a Piano
Fiftieth Birthday Party
Lost in the Deep Wild
Sister Soul of Another Bowl
There is a Bump
An Afternoon with Phyllis McGuire
Full Moose Moon
My Cabin Home in Eagle River, Alaska
Excerpt from This Is It!
Chilkoot Pass Trail
Following the Path of a Piano
Hiking the Chilkoot Pass Trail in Southeast Alaska is a trekking adventure that hundreds of persons do every summer. The fact that I made plans to do it with just my dog companion in 1992 wasn’t such a unique decision; however, the reason I felt bent to take on this hike probably was.
The history behind this challenging trail is known around the world. When gold was discovered in 1896 on Rabbit Creek, a tributary of the Klondike River, over 100,000 men and women became determined to get their pans in the water, sure that they would be next to strike it rich. The most popular route to the Klondike was to take the Inside Passage from Puget Sound to Skagway, then cross over the Chilkoot Pass which has now become known as the most famous pass in North America. Celebrated photographs show the almost perpendicular line of stampeders, drudging single file up the Chilkoot Pass’ Golden Stairs, so called because their steps became engraved in the snow and ice.
Most were carrying heavy packs of equipment on their backs. Many horses and persons died of exposure and exhaustion; one avalanche on Palm Sunday, 1898, wiped out about 70 adventurers. The reality of this disaster was more fully realized by me as I stood in one of the graveyards, near the old boom town of Skagway that is close to the trailhead; it was an eerie feeling to look over the weathered tombstones that have the same date of death carved on each one.
Yes, I came to see and feel the magic of the Chilkoot that has become the Klondike Gold Rush National Historical Park. But what intrigued me most, what gave me an incessant need to experience this area first-hand, was the tale of a woman from that 1898 frenzy who insisted that her piano be hauled over the Pass.
What kind of pioneering woman was this? Not only must she have been brave and spunky to take on the hardship and dangers of this trip, but she must have possessed the kind of incredible determination, to persuade other weary-worn gold seekers to assist in hoisting a piano up and over that steep incline.
I’ve speculated about her strength of character. For regardless of every mile that her piano was hauled over rocks and rivers, never was there a guarantee that it would make it all the way to the Klondike. So she would have to realize every step of the way that at any turn the piano carriers could give up this load, leaving it at the wayside as so much other equipment was left.
In fact, hikers today can still view the remnants from the gold miners along this 33-mile trail, showing how the loads were continuously adjusted, discarding all but the most needed and valued equipment in order for them to survive this treacherous endeavor. Many bones are part of the earth along the way, evidence of the horses and people who gave up the ghost enroute.
So certainly besides the vital necessities of food and shelter that needed to accompany the equipment of the gold seekers, a heavy piano might not be seen as a top priority item. Yet the tale goes that this piano not only made it by wagon and horse team to the foot of the Pass, but it was hauled over the top, put into a boat on the other side, and tugged to the wild town of Dawson where no doubt the honky-tonk tunes of the day were part of the wild scene of that gold-dust-or-bust town.
Wow! What a woman! So yes, I was led to see the great old trees on the first part of the hike that this piano had been lugged around. And for a very long ways one follows a rainforest type of vegetation with the Taiya River on the left.
I knew that Sally, my faithful little collie-shepherd, felt the importance of this hike for she stayed very close to me. Only rarely did she voice a bark and that was just before the rush of a bear dashing through downed tree branches could be heard. Sally would alarm me first from the dank, strong smell of bear that would reach her nostrils before mine. I would pull out my bear-guard pepper spray can and start talking, but always the bear went their way, not wanting to have to smell me for very long. Through especially thick areas of forest I called out “Hello” every few minutes to alert various creatures that Sally and I were coming through. It seemed that the tinkling of the alarm bells dangling from Sa11y’s collar and my boots were drowned out by the river-rush sounds from the Taiya.
I took my time doing the Chilkoot Trail, stopping often to snack on watermelon berries or other wild berries in the bushes. The path before reaching the Pass was obvious so 1 had no fear of becoming lost. Every couple hours other hikers would pass me, and many were foreigners from countries such as France, England, or Switzerland. When having a campfire, I would offer tea to the passers-by and often they would stop to take a break. I appreciated the international flavor of mingling with these backpackers from all over the world. Generally they were surprised to see a woman hiking alone with only a dog accompanying, and I felt their respect for me.
There were many bridges to cross over gushing streams, but gradually with my casual pace of hiking 3 days or so. Sally and I left the deep forest green and approached the rocks that led to the top of the Chilkoot. The path to follow was now marked by rocks piled atop one another. And eventually I thrilled to see the steep mountains of the Pass that I recognized from having studied pictures of the area.
As Sally and I began to step and crawl carefully over boulders now, I couldn’t conceive of how a piano had made it through all this.
The day dawned with a bright sun, the day I was to actually climb the famous Pass. I had my backpack load decreased as low as possible; a tube of toothpaste was discarded and a strip of toothpaste put on saran wrap. Every ounce counted.
Sally and I both were scared especially when the boulders became larger with small crevasses between them. Sally’s little claws dug in as she strained not to slip while balancing her own backpack. Close by were three other hikers who called out words of encouragement to me; their near presence was a comfort.
Near the top Sally’s back end slipped down into a fissure between some huge rocks. I could see the bottom and knew she was in no real danger but she could not, and became afraid to budge. As I was straining on pulling her up and out, being careful not to lose my balance with the backpack pulling me backward, Ranger Nita came along. She had known I was doing the Pass just with Sally and decided to check how I was; she had hiked from the Ranger Station by the area where I’d camped and met her the night before. Happily I received her help as we tugged together to loosen Sally from between the boulders. Then she carried Sally’s pack to the top so to help Sally navigate easier. I felt very grateful for this woman ranger, later writing the State Park Service to say how considerate and kind- hearted she had been.
As we reached the very top of the climb, the sun suddenly disappeared behind dark clouds and the wind began to blow fiercely. The other hikers went onward and Ranger Nita turned back to the ranger station while I chose to stay overnight in a tiny wooden shelter atop the world
Near this little shack was an outhouse on the very tip of a ledge of rock. Here you had relieved yourself. It would definitely be best to not get too excited and step forward a couple feet or it would certainly be your last deposit.
So, Sally and I spent that night listening to the wild winds howl atop the Chilkoot Pass. As snow beat against the little window panes, I felt sure that I could hear and feel the spirits of so many who had lost their lives in this very area. A few days later I would speak with an old-timer in Skagway, Kurt Kosters, who would tell me of a time when he had gotten stranded here. Though not one bent toward metaphysical beliefs, he proclaimed that he heard many voices calling out all that long night.
For myself, I felt a sense of spooky wonderment. As I snuggled on the floor in my sleeping bag with Sally beside me, I think I also heard that piano playing.
The next day was a white-out of spitting snow and fog. Sally and I packed ourselves ready. Carefully, as we hesitantly walked forward down off the pass, I scanned the horizon over and over for the next pile of rocks. I wouldn’t leave one landmark until I saw the next for fear of becoming totally lost.
At one point we were crossing one of the snow fields next to a 1arge body of water when suddenly the chunk of ice-snow we were on broke free from the mainland and began to rapidly drift away. “Quick Sally! Jump!” We both flew through the air, barely landing out of the lake and onto solid rocks. I was grateful that we didn’t float away like an Old Lady Rivers.
Near Lake Lindeman camp there was a cabin with roaring fire where many rain-drenched hikers were drying their gear, and we arrived there nine and a half miles later. I felt pretty proud of myself that I had protected my stuff quite well so that I was basically warm and dry. It was here that I bartered some of my meal mix for a piece of cheese. My, did that taste wonderful!
The next morning I read one of Robert Service’s poems that was posted over a graveyard in this area. I thought of the people from 1898 as I read his words:
This is the law of the Yukon, that only the fit shall thrive. Surely the weak will perish, and only the strong survive.
Destitute, damned and despairful, crippled, palsied and maimed. This is the law of the Yukon. Lo, how she makes it plain!
Eventually Sally and I came to the end of the trail at Lake Bennett. Upon taking the White Pass Railroad Train ride back to Skagway, with Sally sitting proudly next to the engineer, I felt sheer joy at our accomplishment, as no doubt many other hikers do upon completing this challenging trek. But later that summer I added one extra bonus to my memory: for the sake of symbolism, I had my 1916 Gulbransen piano shipped to me (via my brother David) from Spokane, Washington. Though it may never cross the Chilkoot Pass, it did successfully travel the Alcan Highway and is a happy reminder to me of the spirit of Alaska’s pioneer women that I try to carry on today.
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