Wednesday, February fifth.
A beautiful snowstorm all the day and to-night, still and mild. Rockwell has been out in it all day dressed in my overalls and mittens. He plays seal and swims in the deep snow. We built a snow house together. It is now about seven feet in diameter inside and as cozy as can be. I’m sure Rockwell will want to sleep there when it’s finished. A curtain of icicles hangs before our little window.
I have carefully figured the cost of our living here from the food bills, all of which I have kept. I have bought $114.82 worth of provisions. I still have on hand $19.10 worth. For one hundred and fifty days it has cost us sixty-four cents a day for two, or thirty-two cents each,—a little over ten cents a meal. This for the current high prices everywhere and additionally high in Alaska seems very reasonable living. The figures include the very expensive Christmas luxuries.
Friday, February seventh.
Yesterday, THE SUN! For how many days he might have been shining at us I don’t know, for it has been cloudy. However at noon it was all over the ground about us and shining in at my window. What a joyous sight after months of shadow! To-night the sun at setting again almost reached us. And yesterday as if spring had already come we begin the day with snow baths at sunrise. Ha! That’s the real morning bath! And to-day again. We step out-of-doors and plunge full length into the deep snow, scour our bodies with it, and rush back into the sheltering house and the red-hot stove. To Rockwell belongs all credit, or blame, for this madness. He will do it—and I’m ashamed not to follow. These two days have been cold and windy, north days,—but how beautiful! All of the day Rockwell plays out-of-doors swimming in the deep snow, now a seal, again a walrus. Gee, he’s the great fellow for northern weather. Cooked the filthy fox mess yesterday, washed clothes to-day, sawed wood on both. Now it’s twelve-thirty at night and I’m tired.
Saturday, February eighth.
All about me stand the drawings of my series, the “Mad Hermit.” They look mighty fine to me. Myself with whiskers and hair! First, to-day, when the storm abated a bit, we sank a bag of fish in the lake and then started on snowshoes for the ridge to the eastward. The snow lay in the woods there heavy and deep. No breath of wind had touched it. The small trees, loaded, bent double making shapes like frozen fountains. Some little trees with their branches starting far from the ground formed with their drooping limbs domed chambers about their stems. Coming down it was great sport. We could slide down even in our sticky snowshoes. Rockwell, who was soaked through, undressed and spent the afternoon naked, playing wild animal about the cabin. Then at six-thirty we both had hot baths, and snow baths following. I begin to relish the snow bath. Rockwell was the picture of health and beauty afterwards with his rose-red cheeks and blue eyes.
Monday, February tenth.
Yesterday morning I bathed in a snowstorm, this morning it was too terribly, howlingly blusterous to run out into it. And now since one o’clock it is as calm and mild as it ever could be. Within the cabin it’s even more cozy than usual. The snow is banked up against the big window to a third the window’s height. By day the light seems curtained, by night doubly bright from reflected lamplight. Heavy drifts are everywhere. Last night fine snow filtered in upon our faces as we slept but not enough to be uncomfortable. The cabin is fortunately placed as to drifts and our door-yard remains clear with a splendid bathing bank skirting it. Rockwell is at work now upon multiplication tables. He’s a real student and is always seriously occupied with something in his hours indoors.