More videos and some photos from my Black Hawk flight into St. Michael, AK on Wed. December 19, 2007.

It was quite an experience. Kristina flew in the Black Hawk on Tuesday to Buckland, and on Thursday, Laura flew to Shishmaref...




We got a little closer to the ground a couple times, but we mostly stayed at about 500 to 2000 feet, I think...

















These kids were all related: grandkids of the woman whose hand is in the upper-right corner. Tyler is the bearded man in the background. He plays a mean guitar and lays out the ads for the Nome Nugget, our weekly newspaper, so he came along and took some photos...



Quite the view from the side seat in the Black Hawk...

Black Hawk

So, earlier today I went for a ride in a Black Hawk helicopter. We left the National Guard hangar in Nome at around 10:30 this morning and got into the village of St. Michael just after sunrise at about 12:25.

I'll be posting some more videos this week, but this one is of the approach and landing at St. Michael. The trip was part of the National Guard's annual "Operation Santa Claus" in which they collect donations of clothes and toys and fly them in the Black Hawk out to remote villages for the kids.

I'll let this video do the talking. I have much more. I'll post it this week:

Bering Sea, December 7, 2007

Greetings from Nome.

Some of you got a chance to listen to my "news radio voice." Don't feel bad if I sound different, even my roommates have been telling me I sound different when I'm on the air. It's still a work in progress...

The weather warmed up a while back. It was in the mid-30s during the day, and it rained, then froze at night. So a lot of the snow was washed away and replaced by smooth, solid ice. Then it got back down to -12 with wind chill and poured snow, so everything is just about back to normal... yeah, normal.

My prayers are with everyone in Western Washington. With I-5 shut down, the storms there were the number one story on the ABC national radio news broadcast we play here.

Last weekend was the Firemen's Carnival in Nome. Each year the Nome Volunteer Fire Department holds one fundraiser. They raffle off a snow machine, Alaska Airline tickets, an ounce of gold, heating fuel, and a number of other items at one dollar a ticket. I think they sold 25,000 tickets this year. They had bingo at a dollar per card, and a 10-dollar plate of ribs. The Rec Center was packed. Somebody told me they violated the fire code.

We had winds gusting to 65 mph last week, and the internet didn't work. Neither did cable TV. So when I got home I finished reading "The Impossible Journey of Earnest Shackleton." It's the true story of his crew's struggle to survive after their trip to Antarctica goes wrong in 1914. Good book.

Then at around 1 am I knew I'd fall asleep if I went upstairs to pray my rosary, so I took it for a walk. I walked along Front Street out toward Nome-Council Hwy. East of town and watched the waves rolling in from the Bering Sea. It was high tide and I could see just the shadows of the waves before they rose up and broke on the rocks to send spray up about 12 feet. Orion was on my right to the Southeast, and The Great Bear was Northeast on my left. A guy was walking along the road toward me, and he stopped to ask what I was looking at.

He was a slight native man, probably in his late 50s, missing five or six teeth, and wanted to know if I smoked. I told him I didn't. So we stood there and looked and the waves for a while, and then I asked him about the sea ice and when the sea would freeze over. So we chatted about global warming, or at least Alaskan warming. He said his name was Robert, and a few minutes later he kept walking into town, and I continued out.

I went out that direction again a couple days ago, and the sea is covered with snow. I added a video to the end so you can see for yourself.

We had another fire a couple weeks ago. It was a fuel truck at the mine this time. NovaGold and AMI run the Rock Creek Mine outside of town. Fortunately NVFD put out the fire before the fuel in the truck ignited. Paul and I drove out there, and then the mine security guys led us to a room to sit and wait. Then we left about 20 minutes later. They didn't really like us being there it seemed, but we have our job to do, and they have theirs. If there's a fire in a small community, there will be rumors, and it's our job to set the story straight.

Then two days later a truck tipped over of the road on the way to the mine. They're not getting any breaks up there it seems. A month or so before I got here two miners died in a accident, and last month one died in a house fire.

Father Sean left for the next five weeks, so the only Sacraments we'll be getting until mid-January are the Eucharist at Sunday lay services, and then a Christmas Mass with a guest priest who's coming for that weekend.

I've been experimenting with what's left over of our food before we go to the store next. In a big frying pan: two cans of tuna, one can of corn, one can of green beans, hot sauce to taste. That was my latest recipe, and it didn't turn out too bad.

Alright. That's all for now. I'll write again before the holidays, but Merry Christmas anyway!

Take care and God bless,
Jacob.

Jacob's Voice Online

You can listen to me online.

Alaska Public Radio Network is the state-wide equivalent of NPR up here, and KNOM is an ex-officio member station. We download their stories now and then, and we contribute when we can.

On Friday I recorded and sent them one of the stories I produced for KNOM. It's about two villages on St. Lawrence Island (maybe THE most isolated in the region, I mean, there's Bush Alaska, and then there's BUSH Alaska on the island...) that are getting wind turbines to offset their fuel consumption.

It's featured in the APRN "Alaska News Nightly" program for "December 3, 2007"

Here's the link. My story plays at about 13:30 into the cast:

http://aprn.org/2007/12/03/alaska-news-nightly-december-3-2007/#more-1475

Enjoy!

The Real People

After I finished this blog, I figured I'd throw in a recent picture of me... so there you are...

Yup'ik, Inupiaq. Both names for mankind in different Native Alaskan cultures and languages. Both mean "the real people."

Thanksgiving marked the end of my second month living among the real people, and I've been trying to pick up on to the cultural as much as I can. Following are a few random thoughts, verbal snapshots and conjectures, as usual.

Before I came to Nome, a priest who had lived and ministered in Western Alaska for 50 years told me the people's lives here are centered in their hearts. In the modern world he said he noticed that our heads are at the center. But here feelings are often more important than thoughts. Attitude is more important than knowledge.

I recently read of a linguist in Alaska who is struggling to write a dictionary in "Eyak," a native language with only one living speaker. She's 90 years old. Only Central Inupiaq, just one of the 60 Native Alaskan languages, is still spoken by children. All the others will be gone in a generation if nothing changes. The language is the way a culture communicates itself, and it's disappearing.

Stories and presentations here aren't usually linear. Ideas don't move from "Point A" to "Point B" to "Point C." The thoughts flow, and they branch out. Real people expect tangents when they listen. But the tangents are really the meat of the story. Eventually it comes full circle -- in its own time -- and then you realize the tangents weren't a distraction. If you ignore them, you miss the point. Instead of communication tools, they should call them instruments here. And from what I've seen, the stories and their audience are felt so that they draw words from inside the listeners.

In Bush Alaska, the real people live a subsistence lifestyle in a consumer economy. That's the conflict. Hunting for your meat and gathering berries, but to do that you use expensive equipment like a truck, a snowmobile, hunting rifle, refrigerator, motor boat, $5.50/gallon gasoline.

People talk to each other. Strangers and kids here talk to you on the street. Last Friday I was walking through the locker room at the gym. I was the only one there, and an 8-year-old boy walked in from his Tae Kwon Do class and told me it was his birthday. I didn't know him. Then he said someone gave him 10 dollars for his birthday and he spent $1.75 and gave a quarter to his friend. I told him it was my sister's birthday and started to walk away. He said, "Yeah, that means I have eight dollars left over. Maybe seven-seventy-five... Goodbye, I'll see you later."

I have conversations like that every now and then. Maybe it's just the small community, but I don't remember having little chats like that with anybody, even kids, back home. Opening up just makes more sense than ignoring people you don't know. If I told a stranger it was my birthday, I think people would say, "Why should I care?" The answer you can't really give is, "Because I'm your brother. We have these things in common. We're the same. We're both real people."

The stories people tell have conclusions in the middle and at the beginning. They have middles at the end and beginnings in the middle. Somehow it makes sense.

I have a conjecture about public schools. I think one reason so many people drop out of high school is that they don't feel it. I mean if a kid wants to pass high school, he can. But if they don't see the point, then they're not going to do it. The system is supposed to teach kids how to think, not what to think. And maybe even more important is teaching how to feel, how to create, how to be real, I think. It's too many tests of knowledge than don't take a bearing on who we are.

Well that's about all there is to say about that. I hope everyone enjoyed their Thanksgiving. It was great up here; Ric and Lynette had a 25 lb. turkey, a ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, wine, cranberry sauce, five or six pies, all the usuals.

I got my small game hunting license and went out after ptarmigan with no luck on Friday. Then Father called me up and we drove around looking for caribou with his .338 Winchester bolt action. No luck there either, but we did manage to get the parish truck stuck in the snow and had to use the shovel.

Pictures from hunting (I didn't take many; not the kind of shooting I was after...):



I hope all is well, thanks for reading. I've been trying to keep up with everyone as much as possible. Sorry if I haven't been in touch as often as I'd like.

Take care and God bless,
Jacob

Thanks

Howdy all,

Thanksgiving is next week, and I'll be spending it in Nome. I'll be giving thanks for all of your prayers and to God for bringing me here to the "envy of the third world" to work at possibly the best small organization on the planet.

It's been a while since my last real blog entry. Nome has suffered two residential fires in the last few weeks. One killed a man, and another (Wednesday night) only injured someone. The fatal fire was started by kids playing with a lighter. The other was a candle left burning.

I was in Unalakleet last week, as my video post indicated. I covered an elementary and junior high wrestling tournament and cheerleading contest. As I mentioned in one of my live reports by telephone, standing 12 feet away from 100 elementary and junior high cheerleaders is quite an experience. Physically, I can only describe it as feeling like someone is yelling at you, all day long. Pretty exhausting. But they have great pizza in Unalakleet. Only about 700 people, but better pizza than La Fiama in B'ham. No joke.

"Into the Wild" is coming to Nome this week. So I'm planning on seeing that this weekend. The movie last weekend was "30 days of night." It's set in Barrow, which is way up north (by that I mean, yes, even farther than I am right now). That movie was a joke. No joke.

In other news: I'm famous! Almost. Okay, so really I'm just featured briefly in our newsletter, The Nome Static, for November:

http://www.knom.org/static/507/index.html

Long-time KNOM-er Tom Busch tells me I'm the 295th KNOM volunteer since the station began broadcasting in 1971. He also says that with only a few exceptions, his life has been enriched by each and every volunteer in those 36 years.

I highly recommend applying to volunteer here if you're not sure what you should be doing. Especially if you're interested in one or more of the following: journalism, communications, music, helping people, traveling, Alaska, cold weather, learning new things or seeing new places. If you have a good heart, this is the place for you. Apply and see what happens. I'm telling you.

The artificial harbor is frozen over and the Nome Nugget has pictures of people fishing through the ice. The whole Bering Sea will be ice soon.

I stopped by the Nome Outfitters store today and talked to the guy there about rifles and hunting. He gave me a hunting regulations pamphlet and recommended I take my .410 outside of town where there are ptarmigan and rabbits to be had this time of year. A non-resident hunting license is about 20 bucks for small game. I might just do that if they ever get in a new shipment of .410 shot.

.22 long rifle ammo is about $3.60 per box of 50, and the price is set to go up in the next few weeks. Last time I shopped in WA, it was $0.88.

The sun rose at 10:34 am, set at 4:58 pm. That's six hours and 24 minutes of daylight, a loss of six minutes 21 seconds from yesterday. Nome's RECORD high on November 15 was 36 degrees in 2000, record low was -15 in 1975.

Take care, stay warm and God bless,
Jacob

On assignment in Unalakleet

Friends and journalists

To friends and journalists, regarding my present occupation:

Radio is quite a bit different from print media. I read the news live four times every day, so I have three more chances to slander someone than I would have to libel someone working for a daily paper.

On top of slander, there’s also good, ole embarrassment. Today I read a story about sled dogs to our listeners. Unfortunately, it ended up being about a “dead slog” race.

I get five minutes between the last song of the hour and ABC national news at the top of the hour to announce the news. So I’m shortening stories in my head as I read them and hoping they still make sense. If I’m still reading at the top of the hour, ABC starts anyway, and FCC says I have to announce “KNOM, AM-FM, Nome” just before the top.

So it’s always a balancing act and a guessing game of last minute cuts and no take-backs. But that’s kind of nice because I don’t have to see my mistakes in print. I just have to know that everyone heard it real-time in Nome’s two grocery stores and one bank…

We have about 70-90 percent listener-ship. So it’s tough to hide mistakes. I’ve been changing my facial hair every couple weeks so I’m not as obvious around town.

In Western Alaska they LOVE acronyms. Here are a few I read on-air on a regular basis in stories (you may have heard some before, others, I doubt): PFD (this means both personal fund dividend AND personal floatation device here), NVFD (Nome Volunteer Fire Department), BSNC, PPT, ARC, ATV, ACES, (cr)AP – this one was coined by my news director to show his distain for the Associated Press on which we rely for our state news (without getting too deep into it, the AP content here is “garbled, vague and incorrect,” to quote Paul as he showed me around the newsroom. He was right from what I’ve seen. My theory is that the Associated Press sends their worst reporters to Alaska as punishment: stories don’t come across until noon or so, they’re missing information, have buried leads, etc. etc.) – MURK, ANWR, VA, VPSO, LIHEAP (no joke), ANCSA, BLM, BIA, PSP.

I’ve been here a month, and I’m still working on our “Western Alaska pronunciation guide.” Spelling doesn’t matter on-air, I’ve discovered. I’m a master of the pen, so I’m having to adjust.

Tikigak, Anningayou, Aketachunak, Ahnangnaoguk, Angnabooguk, Chmeilewski…

Some of those are places, some are people’s names… I think…

Interviews are easier for me. I’ve always preferred to tape my interviews. Here the phone streams right into the system and I can write down how many seconds have gone by when I hear the quote I want. Then I go back and edit that section for a sound cut in my story. It’s easier than transcribing. Much easier.

I’m going to investing pencils. Pens don’t work in extreme cold, and it’s down consistently to the 20s now.

On the up side, I work for a private, award-winning radio station that is flying me across the bush to all kinds of interesting villages. Everybody is super-cool. It’s a completely laid-back environment, but I’m also constantly aware of my responsibility to “feed” the news folder with new stories. I’m on the school board, land management and alternative energy “beats” so far.

We have four studios from which to control our signal, which is amazing. I'm writing this blog entry on a new MacBook the station purchased for me last month...

Despite the difficulties, I might be converting from print to audio media. One month down, only the next 11 will tell.

Take care and God bless. Jacob.

Bear tracks, Shishmaref, priests and U.S. Senators

Week three in the Great Land. When I arrived here, the sun shone for 12 hours that day. Today it's less than 10. We're still losing 6.5 minutes every day, and snow is on the ground now for good I think. I'll see dirt in seven months...

On Wednesday I flew in a Navajo (airplane) to the village of Shishmaref, population 600. It was a last minute decision by Paul (my boss, the news director). We got a call at around noon from the president of Kawerak (a big company in Western AK) saying there were two seats open on their plane to Shishmaref, so we left at 4:30 and were back in Nome by 8:30.

"And what was going on in Shishmaref?" you ask? Well, of course two U.S. Senators, a C-130 and an Air Force Colonel were flying in to tour the place.

No joke. I met Senators Ted Stevens and Mary Landrieu and Colonel Wilson. They came with their assistants and toured the sea wall Shishmaref is building with federal money to keep the village from washing away. It's built on a sand bar, and the last two sea walls have washed away so they have a pretty big operation going on.


Flying in the bush is a different experience. Waiting in the Bering Air lobby, a scruffy looking guy with a foot-long beard and a baseball cap came over and told the clerk at the counter, "I'll take this one" (Yeah, he turned out to be our pilot). Then he came over to us and said, "So, I'm dropping you guys off to stay the night in Shishmaref?"

I laughed nervously, and the mayor of Nome (who was also on the flight) politely corrected him:

"No, you're waiting for an hour. We're coming back tonight."

"Oh, OK. Works for me."

I love the organization. At least we got it cleared up BEFORE we took off.

The flight was beautiful. I'll put the pictures up when I get a chance. It was Paul and I, the mayor (Denise Michels), the VP of the Bering Straits Native Corporation and the president of Kawerak: all big names in Nome and on the peninsula.

Shishmaref was nice. It's build on a sand bar. Again, I have pictures. A couple dirt roads and some houses. Two stores and a school. That's Shishmaref. Apparently film crews from all over the planet have been there to document the impact of global climate change on humans. They've been thinking of moving the whole village before it washes away. I've been told Shishmaref is home to some of the best ivory carvers anywhere in the world.

So we interviewed the senators and walked around town. They have some serious equipment on the shore.

We finished, and the pilot was still there when we got back. We came back to Nome heavy one passenger. Apparently someone in Shish had been trying to find a ride into Nome. We had an open seat, and Kawerak, who paid for the flight, didn't have a problem, so he hitched with us.

***

Other than that, I'm working on a few news stories. I'm on the school board and alternative energy beats, plus I'm hosting an hour-long call-in show next week where we're going to talk about Chris McCandless, Treadwell and the trend of people biting off more than they can chew in the Alaskan wilderness. So I'm doing research for that. I'll be calling experts to get sound bites. Next week I'm going to try to call Sean Penn about the movie "Into the Wild." Because, hey, I have to at least try. Wish me luck or get me his home number if you have it.... :)

Reading about McCandless has been a little disconcerting. Apparently he just roamed the United States and parts of Mexico as a bum trying to experience life. Sounds like something I'd actually be interested in doing. Although he did take a few more risks than he needed to, and the odds caught up with him in the end...

KNOM doesn't play commercials, so we rely entirely on donors to keep our signal going. Some very generous people keep this station going, and I hear from people who know about radio that our station is way more advanced than a lot of others. I'm not sure about the details, but I know we have at least four studios we can broadcast from and control the signal. All the equipment is up to and above par. And the staff is just about as laid back as you could ask for. Everyone takes their work seriously and does an amazing job, but at the same time, everyone here started off as a volunteer. So when I completely foul-up the reading of the news and play the sound cuts on top of one another and mispronounce five names in four minutes, no one says anything because they know what it's like to be new and not know what you're doing.

Getting back to the generosity of our donors: at our weekly staff meeting on Thursday, Ric read us all a letter from a donor. Her name is Mary, and she is 12 years old. Her parents are on our mailing list and she sent us a check and a letter saying, "This check is all the money I have, and I will send more when I get some."

Wow. I think everyone in the room just froze. It sure reminds you who you're working for and where your paycheck comes from. So if I'm ever thinking of doing less than my best up here, I can always remember that that would be like robbing 12-year-old Mary's piggy bank...

Our priest has been out of town for the last two weeks. That means no Mass. We had lay services last week and today. I guess this is the norm, and next week we only have a Saturday Vigil Mass because Father is headed out to another village on Sunday. Such is life in the bush until God sends us more priests.

Kristina was telling me that a woman from Diomede called the station and asked if we knew when the priest would make it out to her village. Then she asked if it was bad that she hoped he would get weathered in and have to stay. Life as a Catholic without the sacraments. Wow. Sometimes the weather will keep people in Diomede for as long as six months. No joke: a guy goes there for a weekend trip, the weather turns and he's stuck there until the spring. No way out.

Yesterday I missed Nome's one home wrestling match of the year. Teams from all over the region were here but I just didn't find the time to make it out. We drove out on the Nome-Council highway today and saw the "train to nowhere." We got out to walk around a couple of times and saw some huge bear tracks in the snow, but -- alas -- no bear. I'll put up pictures when I have time to wait for the download...

Take care and God bless. More to come soon. Jacob in Alaska.

Reindeer vs. Caribou

Tonight marks my fourteenth night in Nome, Alaska. Two weeks in the great state, and a lot has happened since my last dispatch.

A week ago Tuesday I witnessed the skinning, gutting and quartering of a reindeer on the gymnasium floor of the recreation center in town. It was during a weeklong cultural conference and all the teenagers gathered around to see how it was done. Two men with knives just started cutting and talking as they did it. They pulled off the hide and then pulled out the guts in one heap.

The smell saturated the whole building, and it didn't help much when they turned on the fans.

I have ventured out into the tundra a few times, seen a couple herds of caribou, eaten reindeer tongue soup and made a fool of myself on live broadcasts while reading the news in front of thousands of western Alaskans. So it has been a productive week, as usual, in the life of Jacob Buckenmeyer.

I'm settling in well. Nome was dusted with our first snow of the year this morning just before sunrise. I'm still looking for a parka online... if anyone knows some good Web sites for discount parkas, let me know. I already checked out Sierra Trading Post and LL Bean...

"Isolated snow showers becoming rain showers after midnight. Lows around 35. West winds at 15 to 20. Your regional weather forecast from the National Weather Service."

I read the weather on air every day now. It's kind of important around here, so we try to keep people up to date in case they're flying, hunting, driving or out doing whatever. That's kind of how the station works: we provide what people need, and that's our ministry.

I'm still learning the pronunciation of the places here: Kuskokwim Delta, Kobuk, Romanzof, Unalakleet, Anvik... That's mostly how I've been making a fool of myself reading the news...

The culture here is different from the lower 48. The elders in the villages have the decision making power. Everything starts and stops with them. Many of the families rely on subsistence living, which means they gather berries and go hunting during the summer to get food and supplies to survive the year. It's simple.

In the lower 48 people have pop radio stations and the weather channel and comedy central and CNN, but up here there are two stations, and the other one plays only Christian music. We're pretty much it for a lot of people in the villages. We become all things to all people. We announce high school sports results and flight advisories and happy birthday hotlines (listeners call in with messages and we read them over the air. Sometimes it's "Happy Birthday Joey from your family in Teller," but sometimes they're more serious, like "To Dave in Unalakleet, call your family in Anchorage, Mom's in the hospital") .

KNOM isn't much like Catholic radio down in the lower 48, but it's of use to the people in western Alaska, so it's exciting work and it's worth doing.

As far as music goes, we play everything from Gwen Stefani, to Crosby, Stills and Nash, to "Hey there Delilah," to Third Day to the Everly Brothers. We try to mix it up too, so sometimes groups like that are played back to back. Only on KNOM.

Then people need weather and local news, so that's my department. We let them know what the conditions are like so they can decide whether it's safe to go hunting or boating or fishing or whatever. I'll be working in the afternoons and evenings mostly, going to meetings and announcing weather and news at noon, 1, 5 and 6.

The living situation is a blast so far. The three other volunteers are in the "production" department, preparing spots for broadcast and deejaying. I'm a "newsy," so I spend my hours downstairs in the news "room" (extended closet with a window), while they lounge upstairs in the production pad.

Here are the characters: (and yes, they all might read this, so I'll keep it short...) David is a Harvard grad and is in charge of producing our "inspirational spots" which are like public service announcements, only about the saints and sacraments and various feast days, among other subjects. He does the morning show at 5 a.m. Mon-Fri.

Laura is from Virginia and is our music director. She reviews all the promotional CDs that the labels send us and deejays in the afternoons/evenings

Then there's Kristina. She's the production director and does a little bit of everything, or maybe a lot of everything...

I'm going to be deejaying Monday and Friday afternoons for the next month while Kelly is in Nebraska getting married.

Jesse Zink, my predecessor in the news department, was superman. He was here for two years, and from what I gather, he was just about the most popular guy in Nome. He was a volunteer EMT and now he's in South Africa working in a medical center. So I have some big, insulated boots to fill -- 'mukluks' are the native boots here, so some big, insulated mukluks....

I hope that gives you a better idea of what life is like up here! I'll keep posting. Take care and God bless. Thanks again for your support. I would write more to you individually, but the connection just takes so long and I have so little time. I will keep trying. Jacob

Bearded man in Nome

Greetings from Nome.
I flew all night Thursday and arrived in Nome on Friday at 8:40 a.m. My trip was already getting interesting before I left Seattle. The guy I sat next to on the flight into Anchorage looked about 60 years old, gray, medium-length beard, weathered face and hands, winked whenever he caught someone's eye. Other than mumbling to himself, the only thing I heard was his name: "Just Bill." Dirt under the fingernails and an old denim jacket. He struck me as being somewhere between a street person and a mountain madman. Like looking into a mirror 40 years from now.

During the four-hour layover in Anchorage, I met the parents of a bush pilot from Nome. They were on my flight with their grandson, Mikey, who spent the summer with them in Montana. Apparently their son, the pilot, is also a master bow hunter who gets invited all over the world to go on promotional hunts -- places like Africa, hunting wild pigs. Figures.

Also at the airport I overheard the Montana couple talking to a 57-year-old man who travels around the world doing extreme sports. The guy cracked his ribs and tore his shoulder skiing, white-water kayaking, snowboarding, doing the luge, and biking on multiple continents. Name's Butch, which seems a little unbelievable, I know, but he said he started traveling a few years back and went to Costa Rica for two weeks, then ended up staying for a year and a half. He lived and biked in New Zealand, Thailand and just about everywhere else.

He also said he was "partying with some Cricket players in the Himalayas" when they asked him to be their coach. He didn't know how to play, but he stood there and looked serious and ended up traveling with the team to Singapore, then meeting the governor of the state on television when they won the championship.

Basically I met Alaska's Forest Gump.

After Anchorage, everyone on the plane seemed to be hunters. Camoflage baseball caps were the norm. We stopped in Kotzebue (north of Nome), then made it to Nome as the sun was rising.

I had a welcome party waiting for me at the "gate" with a "Welcome to KNOM" banner. I got the tour of western Alaska's "urban growth area" (Nome), then unpacked in my room at the volunteer house.

Nome is a small town, not unlike what you'd find in rural Whatcom County: small houses, seven streets, four places to eat, two grocery stores, pretty basic stuff. In those ways, it's not unlike other places I've been, but there's something completely different about this town and the community. I've sensed but haven't seen it yet. I'll let you know what it is when I figure it out.

Laura and Dave, two fellow volunteers, found out about KNOM and the volunteer opportunity from a book called, "Delaying the Real World." Apparently it has a bunch of ideas for things to do after college before you instead of getting a steady job and settling down. That sounded like something some of my Western friends might be interested in checking out, so I figured I'd give a plug for the book...

Friday night Kristina, Laura and Dave gave me the tour of Nome's outskirts using the company 4runner. We went out to eat and then to a birthday party for some people across the street.

There were 15 people at the birthday party, and (no joke) I counted six guitars, one mandolin, one acoustic bass, a keyboard and a guy using what looked like a violin bow on the back of a saw blade. They were all going at one time. Just whatever song someone felt like playing, and they all joined in.

So we had humus, bread, goat cheese, pie, cookies, wine, beer, and then everybody just started playing the closest instrument they could find. You'd never know it, but a lot of very talented people end up here in Nome.

A lot of the folks up here are former volunteers, or so I hear. Just about everybody knows and loves Bellingham. I met one Western grad from 1998: Sarah, who is Phil's (the birthday boy) wife. Sarah owns a guitar shop, and Laura and I went over on Friday afternoon and played some tunes. Sarah is hosting a night of songs about the moon on Oct. 26 because it's a full moon that night, so I agreed to play Harvest Moon if no one else signs up for it.

The guy fixing our water heater (yeah, it's busted...), Marty, is from Sprague, Wash. and knows the Harders: no doubt relatives of my fellow Western Front copy and news editor from Sprague, Amy Harder.

Marty came up to Nome 15 years ago after an engagement-gone-wrong and has loved it here. Married a native woman and raises a family. Works, hunts, fishes, boats. He said his 13-year-old daughter killed her first moose recently.

Tyler was at the birthday party. He's from Anchorage and manages the advertisements for the local newspaper, the Nome Nugget. He plays mandolin, and his girlfriend, Erica teaches Spanish at the local high school. I told her if I have an opening in my schedule I wouldn't mind doing a little tutoring in my free time. It turns out they both went to college in Tacoma. PLU, I think.

Saturday morning at 4 a.m. I got a call from Kristina, who had rushed next door to the station when Nome's power went out. Yeah, that's right. The city of Nome had a power outage. When was the last time the city of Bellingham's power went out? Fortunately, generators keep KNOM's signal going even when we lose power, so everything was fine and we went back to bed.

I would have posted my blog earlier, but the internet connection isn't the most reliable here. Logging on is an experience somewhere between the flow of molasses and sharing an old car with 12 other people: sometimes it doesn't start, and sometimes it's just not there.

On Saturday I went to the Vigil Mass and met Father Sean Thompson, again. He's from Edmonds, Wash. and was ordained four years ago for the Fairbanks Diocese. Now he's the priest in Nome and the surrounding villages. He was a deacon at Mt. Angel in Oregon during my year at seminary, so we'd met before and I knew who he was, but it took him a few minutes to place me. As far as I could tell from what he said, he spends two weeks here each month and two weeks in another village that he flies to by plane. Sunday Mass is transmitted over the radio from Nome.

Kristina, David, Laura and I saw The Bourne Ultimatum on Saturday afternoon. Movies come here one at a time about two months late and stay for one week, playing at the single-screen movie theater that doubles as a Subway sandwich shop. Later on we went to Hanson's, one of the two grocery stores and then played Balderdash until midnight or so before shuffling off to bed.

Other than that, we've been listening to copious amounts of Bob Dylan on the record player downstairs. Sweet.

The power went out briefly again on Saturday night while we were sleeping.

The equinox is today, so I haven't really noticed the change in daylight, but I hear that we'll start losing 5 to 7 minutes of sun every day from now until January. That's almost an hour difference every week. Today the sun came up at about 9:00 a.m. and went down at about 9:00 p.m.

Local time here is one hour behind Seattle, but geographically, we're about three hours behind. Alaska is more than twice the size of Texas, but it's all one time zone, and we're out on the western tip.

I start my two weeks of training tomorrow morning, then I'll begin news reporting and announcing.

I was doing fine being away from home, until I logged on to facebook last night and saw the news feed with everything going on in everyone's lives. I'll admit it was tough to go because I'm missing some big events in the lives of people I care about, and pieces of my heart are certainly spread across the great state of Washington (and now portions of DC as well). Those pieces will remain there, and so I'll still be with you all. Since I have arrived, I haven't doubted that God has led me here for a reason. I'm confident that I'm where I should be. This is going to be an awesome experience, and I already feel it beginning to change me.

Take care and God bless. Thank you once again for your prayers, which support me and on which I rely each day. Stay in touch, I'll write more soon.

Jacob.

Knee-deep in nature.

Howdy all,
I graduated from college! I guess it's been coming for a while, but now it's official: no more classes, no more tests.

It's nice to know that I still exist in the minds and memories of people in Mount Vernon after being away. I saw my high school wrestling coach outside Haggen and my middle school baseball coach in Fred Meyer last week. Our wrestling team is going to have an alumni match this year against Burlington (cross-town rivals), and my coach seemed pretty bummed that I'll be in Alaska and unable to be on the MV team. That' something I would have liked to do; maybe next year.

Last week I spent four and a half days alone on the Pacific Crest Trail here in Washington's North Cascades. I hiked 75 miles north from Snoqualmie Pass to Stevens Pass. Getting away from everything is good now and then. It helps me put things back into perspective. All I have is the gear on my back, and my only concern is making it to my campsite in time to cook dinner before dark. The simple life.

I think I may have pushed it a little too far, though. I probably should have planned for a full five or six days of hiking. I wasn't moving as fast as I thought I would, and it took me 12.5 hours to hike 23 miles on Day Three. My feet had blisters starting on Day One that just got worse as the trip went on.

I had a dream my first night that something about the size of a cougar tore through the side of my tent and was standing over me. It was one of those dreams where you never fully fell asleep, so it's half-dream, half-delusion and when you wake up you're still not sure how much was real. If I hadn't been so tired I might have been spooked.

The real killer for me was climbing up switchbacks to the top of a ridge every morning, then down the other side and back up another ridge. The monotony started to wear me down. It's been a while since I've done the prolonged backpacking thing.

In the movie "Cool Hand Luke," there's this scene where the prison guards punish Paul Newman's character by making him dig a hole and then fill it back in, over and over. That's kind of what climbing and dropping felt like by the last day.
The trail showed me who was boss. Clouds came in and blocked the view, and I think I only kept walking because I was out of food and didn't really have any other options. I actually started to imagine a dialogue like in the movie, only between an exhausted me and the uncaring trail:

"Hey Jacob, what are you doing down in that valley?"

"I don't know, Boss."

"Well, you better get up on that next ridge."

"OK, Boss."

Then, 2 hours later: "Hey Jacob, what are you doing all the way up on this ridge?"

"Just trying to get out of that valley, Boss."

"Well, you better get back down into the NEXT valley."

"OK, I will, Boss."

And another 3 hours after that: "Hey Jacob."

"...yeah, Boss?"

"I thought I told you to get up out of that valley?"

And you can imagine the rest... it got to be a little too much by Day Five.

But overall it was a great trip, and I didn't have much else to do last week anyway. I got to navigate with my maps and plan my campsites every night.

And if any of you thinks a rosary takes a long time to pray, it only took up 1/20 of my hiking time each day. The rest of the time I was just thinking about life, pondering my mortality, cursing the bugs, fantasizing about Olive Garden soup, salad and breadsticks, wondering at God's will, singing entire Bruce Springsteen albums from memory.
You know, basically I did all the things we've all been meaning to do but just haven't found the time (or privacy) for, right?

I briefly met two "through hikers", which means they're guys who are hiking the whole Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada this year. They made it up from Mexico to Dalton Pass, I think, then took a break and started coming down from Canada to complete the last sections of the trail. I can't even imagine hiking it for seven months straight like they do.

I saw a ton of frogs, crickets, butterflies, marmots and even a family of deer one morning. It was really a great trip. I'm not sure why I did it, and I don't really think the photos make it worth it. I remember a lot of pain and frustration, but coming back from hiking trips like that is always kind of a rebirth. Everything looks a little different, and the changes aren't always the ones I expect. I should do it more often.

OK. That's everything from here. I have 18 days (including two weekends) until I leave for Alaska. The pictures from my hike are up on facebook. Hopefully I can post them to my blog as well. Take care and God bless!
Jacob

P.S. For some reason, I'm starting to remember how much I love Willie Nelson and Neil Young. Those guys are great. Harvest Moon is on repeat tonight. Great song. I say give it a listen if it's been a while.

Back in WA!

Greetings,
I'm home safe in the beautiful state of Washington -- breathing clean, cool air and seeing a bunch of people I knew before the summer started.
Last Monday (Aug. 13), I saw "Casa Blanca" for the first time -- what a great movie: shootouts, romance, Africa, war, drunks, cheats and great music. Everything. It was playing outside at the mall in DC, and I had never put it all together that "casa blanca" is Spanish for "white house" until someone I was with pointed it out...
Tuesday I wrote and packed, and Wednesday I watched HBO and ate whatever food was left over before I moved out the next morning. Earlier that day I was buying gifts at a book store and ran into yet another Notre Dame lady who knows Adam Frisch. I swear everyone knows that guy. She only knows him in passing though. She majored in theology at ND and is doing her master's at the JPII Institute while her husband works in the USCCB Pro-life office.
Thursday was my travel day. I walked to the post office at around eleven to mail some books home and cut the weight of my baggage. Carrying two 45-lb. bags plus my carry-on, laptop and shoe-box of books, I had to stop at the end of every block and was drenched in sweat by the time I made the eight blocks. I didn't know a person could make himself that wet. Then a nice lady with two kids offered me a ride from there to the metro. Turns out she and her husband lived in Rome for four years, and she's going to JPII as well! Amazing the people you meet in DC; especially in Little Rome!
On my first flight -- to Chicago -- I sat next to a young woman who works as a naturalist in California. And she's been to NOME! Yeah, Christine said she went up there when she was in high school in Chicago on her way to do a service project on St. Lawrence Island.
So that made me feel a little more at home. Plus she was wearing Chacos and a canvas skirt, no makeup, dirty hair and carrying a guitar. With all that, I'm kind of surprised she didn't tell me she was FROM Bellingham. But she does have friends there, she said. Nobody I knew.
In Chicago I walked around outside Midway International airport. Then on my next flight I sat next to a clarinet player/teacher from Seattle named Bill. His wife is the principal librarian for the Seattle Symphony Orchestra. I told him how I'd been meaning to learn to play, but now it will probably be a while before I get a chance.
Then I got into Seatac, spent two days, two nights with friends Jana and Jenn and the Carmack family in Tacoma, went to see the Mariners at Safeco (on a scalped ticket, no less!), ate Thai food at the "Thai-ger room" in the U District and saw UW's campus. Kind of ashamed I've never been there before, but it's nice.
On Saturday I met Dad at the airport to pick up Mom who was flying in from Mexico after almost a month and we made it north up to Mount Vernon and home.
I spent Saturday night, Sunday and most of Monday in Bellingham at my other home. Good times. I'm too out of shape to play softball, but I didn't know it at the time. I am not, however, too out of shape to play X-box 360 all day.
Now I'm back in MV throwing out all of my school work from high school, seminary and Western that I've just shoved in a drawer my whole life. This beautiful Washington weather has already given me a cold. My sore throat is gone, but I still have the sniffles.
All in all, not much going on. Thirty-one days until I leave for The Last Frontier.
Regards,
Buckenmeyer

I walked the avenue til my legs felt like stone...

Springsteen's "The Streets of Philadelphia" seemed appropriate after this weekend...

I've been in three states and slept in six different places in the last three days: Three buses, one church pew, one park bench and -- at last -- my mattress in DC.

So as you can imagine, this last weekend was one of the most eventful ones of my life. It's amazing what you can do when you don't sleep. I might as well put some evidence down here that it actually happened before I forget the details. In fact, it was so eventful that I have forgotten what happened in my life the entire week before, so I'm going to start with Friday.


First, I went out to the National Press Club after work on Friday night and had a couple drinks with Kaitlynn and her friend Nick. It was her last day at work, and we figured, what the heck. It was a normal enough evening until we collaborated and agreed that it would be really fun to buy somebody a drink from across the room. I mean, you have to make a fool of yourself every now and then, right? Well, just about everyone was a lot older, and we figured it would either look like we were mocking them, or it would just end badly... so we were about to give up when we noticed a girl about our age talking on the phone at a table by herself. We sent her a margarita, and it actually went better than any of us expected because she came over and ended up being an intern herself and was actually pretty cool.

When she left, I got to talk to Kaitlynn and Nick's friend, Francis, who is a 50-something Chinaman who gave us draft copies of the next chapter of the book he is writing. He asked us to proof-read it. He seemed like a nice enough guy, and I got to practice my five Chinese phrases. But the book is called "Kicked in the Balls Management," by Francis Hsu. No joke. The chapter he gave me to read starts like this: "You are flying a twin-engine 767 aircraft. The weather is perfect, no clouds, light winds, visibility unlimited." That's as far as I got so far. Maybe I'll read more later, Francis. Kicked in the balls. Yep.

After the Press Club, I went home and made sandwiches to last me the weekend -- 10 sandwiches made from thin-sliced steak and chicken sandwich wafers, cheap hamburger buns and ketchup. Then at 1 a.m. on Friday night I headed down to Chinatown and hopped on a bus for New York City.

The bus left at 3:30 a.m., but there were no empty seats, surprisingly. I got to use more Chinese: I told the guy in front of me, "Me guan xi," (That's alright) when he put his seat back and then apologized.

NEW YORK CITY

I slept until about 7 a.m. on the bus (sleeping venue #1). That's when we pulled into Chinatown NYC, which is on the southern end of Manhattan. Basically the bus just pulled up to the side of the street and everybody got off, so I started walking around until I spotted the Chrysler Building in the distance and mistook it for the Empire State Building, so I started walking that way.

After about a half-hour, I ran into some people who had a map and were asking ME where the nearest Metro stop was. I told them I didn't know, and then I asked them if we were really on Manhattan Island. The look they gave me told me all I needed to know, and I kept walking until I found a store that would sell me a map of my own.

Seems like just about everyone 40 and older does aerobics and martial arts and fan-dancing on the tennis courts at 7 a.m. on weekends. I got some pictures that I'll put up when I get back.

I think I walked about 35 miles total this weekend in Manhattan and then in Philadelphia, and my feet and calves still make it hard to walk without limping. :(

I wandered through Times Square and Central Park, and met some interesting characters on the streets. They even had a farmer's market at Union Square. At one point I turned around and there was this huge, disheveled black guy smiling about 5 inches from my face. I looked down to see what he was so amused about and he was holding out his hand. Of course I shook it, and then he started rapping about what his name was and how he needed a couple bucks for food. I reached into my bag, and he got a little excited, but then I gave him my last two sandwiches, and he looked pretty disappointed. I have to admit, those sandwiches probably didn't taste that good.

There was something happening on every block, including two guys on the sidewalk in a side street -- one in a wheelchair -- beating the crap out of a piece of scrap metal with an axe. Yeah, and axe, like you'd find on a farm, but in downtown New York. It looked like they were trying to straighten it or something...

Once I had walked for about four hours, I gave Sara Thompson a call. For those of you who don't know Sara, she was an editor on the Western Front with me, and she has an internship in New York this summer. So we hung out and ate Middle Eastern food from a tiny little hole of a place, that was most likely a front for a drug-dealing business. When we got to the seating area down a long hallway in the back of the place, we noticed everything was metal, and I looked at Sara and said, "This is the kind of place where you could get whacked and nobody would ever know..." I still think we got off lucky...

Well, we wandered around some more, went to Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral, saw the park bench that opens the movie "The 25th Hour" with Edward Norton, and went to the site of the WTC.

Then we had a beer, and I hiked it back to Chinatown to catch the 11 p.m. bus to Philadelphia. All in one day...

PHILADELPHIA

It's a good thing I got to my bus stop an hour early, because the bus left about 3 minutes after I got on. I had two seats to myself this time, so I slept the full two hours into Philly (sleeping venue #2). Then I woke up just before midnight when the bus pulled in with sharp pains in my legs and feet from all the walking the day before... I got off on another strange street and walked around midtown Philly (not the best place) for an hour until I found a bar.

The only way I can describe downtown Philly at night is that it's exactly like Gotham City (from the Batman comics/movies), only it's real.

Walking up 13th Street at about 12:45 a.m. between Locust and Walnut streets was about as classy as it sounds. One dumpster bore the prophetic message, "I'm Death."

As I was walking, I found St. John's Catholic Church, which is where Venerable John Henry Cardinal Newman served as pastor for a while, and where Saint Katherine Drexel was baptized and received her vocation to serve Philadelphia's poor.

I talked to Demis, a homeless guy who was sitting in front of the church, and he asked me if I prayed. Then he told me it doesn't work for him when he prays, but it works when other people pray for him. He said he told somebody else that once and they told him he probably didn't pray enough. He said they were probably right.

So say a prayer for Demis, please.

I told Demis I was staying with friends and then left after a while and walked around until I found that bar, Fergie's Tavern. I took a seat and ordered their cheapest beer, then "washed" my face in the "bathroom" and sat there sipping on the "beer" until they closed at 2 a.m.

Then I walked around for another hour. I saw about 20 homeless people on mattresses under an overhang on one side of a Big K-mart, and I saw about five or six groups of what I would describe as "gang-like persons" walking around. I took a couple pictures of some interesting things, but I figured flashing my expensive camera around wasn't the best idea, so mostly I just took notes.

At about 3 a.m. I decided to get some sleep because my legs were tired, and the nap I had on the bus was wearing off. So I found a bench on the opposite side of the Big K-mart that only had one other person sleeping nearby, and I used my messenger bag as a pillow (sleeping venue #3).

Just about every 5 minutes, a car or motorcycle would rev up its engines nearby, or some group of guys would walk by talking loudly, so it was tough getting to sleep, but I still didn't have any clue where I was in Philly, so I didn't want to keep wandering.

At one point, three guys walked right into the plaza I was in and one started saying something like, "Ah, is this (guy) sleeping on my homeboy's bench?" So I started getting a little nervous and opened my eyes so they knew I was awake. One of his friends convinced him to leave, I think.

Then I met Mary. Mary was a young (I think) black woman who walked right by me and then stuck her whole upper body into the garbage can about 15 feet from where I was sleeping. She was barefoot and had a white rag tied around her head. When she came out of the trash can, I held up the last of the food I had brought -- a package of Fig Newtons -- and waved for her to take them. She said, "For me? Well thanks. You know, Fig Newtons are good, because they have figs in them. The figs are right inside. So they're healthy, but you don't want to eat this many all at once (holding up the whole package of about 20), because it will loosen your stool!"

Thanks Mary.

I asked Mary if she minded me sleeping there, and she told me it was fine because the guard at the K-mart didn't care and we just had to be awake in the morning. I tried to get some more sleep, and I think Mary slept on a bench about 20 feet away to keep an eye on me. I think she knew I didn't exactly belong, so she was my guardian angel for the night.

Saturday night was the only time I've been cold since coming to the East Coast. I woke up three or four times that night shivering, even though I was wearing jeans. Any other time this summer, in my bed in DC, I would have loved a cool night...

It was light out when I woke up 3 hours later to Mary tugging on my pant leg and asking me where my shoes were.

"They're right here beside me," I said. "I took them off last night to let my socks air out."

She said she was keeping an eye on me the night before, and we should probably get up because the guard would come out soon, so I started to get the sleep out of my eyes. Then before I left I offered her two dollars and told her thanks for keeping an eye on me. Mary proceeded to quiz me about Abraham, Issac and Jacob from the Bible and about the circumstances under which each of them received God's blessing.

I didn't do too bad, either; better than Mary thought I would, I think.

What a great person. I should have bought her shoes and a hotel room for the night, but I just said thanks and went down the street to breakfast. She hugged me and kissed me on the neck like they do in the South.

My breakfast was eight dollars, and that really made me think about my priorities. Mary is somebody's sister and somebody's daughter, and the same God I love is madly in love with Mary, but I didn't even invite her to breakfast. It didn't even cross my mind. Asshole. I hope no one treats my loved ones as badly as I treat God's loved ones.

Well, I ate and "washed" my face in the "diner" again. Then I went back to St. John's Church and fell asleep in the pew trying to pray a rosary before Mass (sleeping venue #4). Mass was good. A really vibrant, young Franciscan priest with a shaved head and a goatee. I would have been surprised if he didn't have old prison tats from a former life of crime under those vestments -- one of those type of priests.

That afternoon, I was the tourist and saw Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence was signed. I saw Ben Franklin's grave, St. Joseph Catholic Church (oldest in Philly: 1733), and I ate a Philly cheesesteak from a street vendor and drank a beer from the City Tavern that was the same recipe as Thomas Jefferson brewed back in the day.

I walked into downtown again and saw a guy in a wheelchair who was playing music and singing into a microphone. You could hear him clearly for 2 blocks, no joke, but he had a good voice, and he was singing some nice soul music, so no one seemed to mind.

And who do you think was dancing her heart out while sitting on a garbage can near the wheelchair singer? Yep, it was Mary. So I said hi, and told her I was heading out of town and thanks again for keeping an eye on me, and she said, "Hey!" and accidentally spat most of what she was eating at me. Then she kissed me again on the neck and said good bye. I managed to wait until she couldn't see before I wiped my neck...

Then I caught the 5 p.m. bus back to DC and met a French teacher from England who was visiting New York, Philadelphia and DC via the Chinatown bus system as well. I tried to carry on a conversation, but I kept falling asleep and bumping into her, then apologizing and promptly doing the same thing again (sleeping venue #5). Embarrassing.

When I got in to DC, I showered, shaved, shat, and then felt guilty that Mary and Demis and John and all the other folks I met that weekend were staking out park benches so they could sleep in their own filth again while I was making plans to travel back across the country. (sleeping venue #6).

I'm still exhausted from this weekend. I can't believe tomorrow's my last day of work! Hopefully I'll see you all soon.

Take care and God bless,
Jacob

It's the heat. Trust me.

Today was hot. Somebody told me they think it broke a DC record. The weather this morning said it was supposed to be 98 degrees with 82 percent humidity. They said that means it will feel like 108 degrees. I believe it. Then there was the breeze. A hot, damp breeze.

That basically means that walking home from work today was like sticking your face into the steam above a pot of boiling water. Only it was your whole body. And you were walking for 15 minutes. And the steam had exhaust fumes mixed in.

I think I passed four or five cockroaches on the sidewalk that had passed out from heat exhaustion. Poor buggers.

Take care everybody.

57 channels and nothing on... except Spanish HBO...

Well, this week was the most eventful since I arrived, with a few twists and turns and unexpected guests. Apparently all roads lead to Alexandria... and Nome...
Last Sunday I went to The National Zoo here, but on the way we got stuck in the Metro Center metro stop for a full hour, problems on the track, I guess. Later on Sunday the HazMat team was called in to inspect the metro line. I guess some exterminator was supposed to be killing birds and then removing the bodies, but he didn't finish the job. Some people saw piles of dead birds and figured it was a biological attack or something. Figures. Frickin' DC: terrorist magnet.
The only Mass I went to Sunday was in Spanish, and I understood the readings and most of the homily and everything. I thought I was going to forget all my Spanish, but apparently it's sticking with me...
On Monday I went down to the mall and saw an Audrey Hepburn movie outside on the grass. "Wait until dark" was a pretty good film, and it was dark out, so I didn't have to be embarrassed about going to see Audrey Hepburn alone. Then on the way home I ran into another guy who's staying in the house here, and he pointed out the huge bugs that come out after dark and walk across the sidewalk. Pretty gross, and there's so many of them you have to constantly watch where you walk to keep from crunching them. Frickin' DC.
So Antonio and I are walking home, and he asks if I was at Western all four years, or if I transfered, so I mention I was in seminary for a year, and he ask if I'm still going to be a priest (which is what everyone asks). And I say, "I don't know" (which is how I always answer that). Then Antonio says, "So have you ever read that book by that monk guy? The "Seven Storey Mountain" or whatever?"
"Heck yes! That's by Thomas Merton."
Hah! I think that's the first time I've had a conversation about Thomas Merton where someone ELSE brought up his name. What's next?
On Tuesday at work I got to record a little news spot for Catholic Radio Weekly. It's going to be broadcast on Aug. 19, and will be available online, so check it out. It's my first stint at broadcast, so it's noticeably rough, but you have to start somewhere, right? After work, I went to the National Press Club to hear about Press Freedom in Latin America. They had journalists from Mexico, Venezuela and correspondents from the U.S. Those Venezuelan journalists have it pretty bad, I guess. Organized crime bosses putting hits out on them if their crimes end up in the paper and stuff like that. After the little panel discussion there were free drinks. Now I've had a Heineken.
On Wednesday I left work early to go to the top of the Washington Monument with Josh and Andrea. It's a good view, but unfortunately you have to get there at 7 a.m. to reserve tickets because they're all gone by about 9:30. On the way home, a group of about six little kids started throwing half-eaten apples at me and Andrea. They didn't have very good aim, but they were throwing to hurt, and one got me in the ankle. We live in a great neighborhood.
So when we got to Andrea's building, I picked up an apple and playfully lobbed it back at the kids, who were about a block away by then. Apparently they didn't think it was very funny because they started taunting me and saying I couldn't throw. For half a second I thought I was going to have to fight some little kids. That would have made me sad, but fortunately they kept walking after they gave me crap about it. Good times.
On Thursday I called up the St. Paul-Minneapolis Archdiocese to ask the archbishop and a priest about the bridge collapse there and about the prayer service they planned for that afternoon. Pretty sweet opportunity, and the story went on the homepage.
Here's where my week gets more interesting.
My friend from high school, Jake McCarty, is in the Air Force, so he sent out a mass e-mail last Saturday saying he was serving out his last two months in New Jersey. I let him know I was in DC for the summer, and he said he was coming down to DC with his family. So on Thursday, we met up and had dinner downtown. Small world, let me tell you.
On Friday I got to cover a summer camp in southern Maryland for work. I went down with a photographer from CNS who said I should check out Alexandria, VA this weekend. They have some cool shops or something, she says. So talking to kids about how much they love summer camp took all day, and then after work I went downtown and had a seven-fifty glass of whiskey (Maker's Mark; not bad stuff) while listening to jazz outside in some park. After that, I walked down to the Lincoln Memorial and the Jefferson Memorial and the FDR and Korean War memorials. Little did I know who had been to those monuments just minutes earlier...
On Saturday I went to daily Mass here in the neighborhood, then decided to head down to Alexandria. I looked up St. Mary's Catholic Church online and decided to do the vigil Mass in Alexandria that evening because I didn't know what else I was really going to do. So I took the metro out of town down to VA and walked to St. Mary's. I misjudged the time and walked in just as the entrance procession was starting, so I had to stand in the back.
This was a seriously orthodox Catholic church. The altar BOYS wore the traditional albs, used patens, and there were no extraordinary ministers because the pastor worked it out to have enough priests there. Organ music. The works.
Anyway, about five minutes after Mass started, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that some other people had come in and were standing behind me. So when one of them tapped me on the shoulder, I figured I was probably blocking someone's view, but no, it was Steve and Mark Sherman from Western and their parents! Hah! Small world.
I knew Steve was in Connecticut this summer, but he said he and his family were just touring the East Coast (Boston, NYC, etc.) before they all went back to WA, and they decided on a whim to hit up a vigil Mass in Alexandria. They said they'd been to all the same places I visited the day before, about 30 minutes before I got there. What are the chances?
So we went out afterward to Chinese after Mass, and I got to use Ni Hao, Zai Jian and Xei Xei (hello, good bye, thank you). I'm still in disbelief 24 hours later. The Sherman's -- one a former Xavier man himself, and the other having lived there for a summer -- standing in the back of the same church I happened to walk into minutes earlier. I'm not sure what plan God had for this one, but that's His business. I enjoyed the Chinese food.
Then yesterday, Amelia calls me to tell me that her family friends in Alaska, the Burkes, just moved to Nome. Their dad is now the chief of police in the town I'm moving to in a month. If I were Ian Audette, I'd say something right now like, "I've got more connections than a box of tinker-toys."
Yeah, you guys are lucky I'm not Ian, or you probably would have had to read some horrible comparison like that just now... oh, oops...
Late last night I got sucked into a facebook discussion group about euthanasia and abortion. Good times as usual...
Now that brings us to today. Not much happened. I walked around and tried to go to the JPII Cultural Center (closed), Trinity College (closed), the Paulist bookstore in the neighborhood (closed). Then I came home and watched "War of the Worlds" on the HBO Spanish channel without subtitles. I'd never seen it before, so I was surprised I understood most of it perfectly.
Other than that, I have started making plans to visit NYC and Philly this weekend. A bus system connects Chinatown in DC, Philly, NYC and VA for $12 to $20 a ticket. So round trip it'll be under 50 bucks. Who knows which of my old friends I'll run into up there! In other news, I'm seriously thinking of buying a third handgun. Either a .357 or a .44 mag. One reason is that they're just big, and I don't have any seriously powerful guns yet, and the other is as a precaution in case I run into anything while I'm hiking up in bear country...
Hmm... that's about all I've got for you guys. If you've read this whole thing, congrats, you are now up to date on the life of Jacob Buckenmeyer. Oh, wait! I bought a bottle of pre-mixed Long Island Iced Tea yesterday, and I've been sipping on that. It's pretty good stuff; I don't think I'd had it before.
Okay, NOW you're up to date on my life.
Enjoy the week. Take care and God bless. Everybody be good.
From Washington, this is Jacob Buckenmeyer.

Ni Hao, Zai jian! -- Hello, Goodbye!

"The Iraqis are strong people. I met an Iraqi man who had been in and out of prison under Saddam's regime. Now he was in his 50s and finally starting a family. I said to him, "You've led a difficult life." But he just looked back in surprise and said, "My life is no different from that of any other here." He saw that this surprised me, and he said something very profound. He said, "You don't know us, and we don't know you." "
***
I figured I'd start out with something dramatic. That statement stuck out to me from what one of the witnesses said in a hearing about Iraqi Christian minorities before the U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom on Wednesday. That was the big event I covered this week; you can read the story I wrote @ http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/0704276.htm

That statement from the Iraqi man also has to do with what I think I want to do with my writing. I've been figuring out that I think I want to use my writing as a tool so that people can know each other better -- people from different cultures and nations who think their way of seeing the world is the only way people see it. Maybe that's the whole point of writing anyway -- to build bridges of commonality between people -- but it's been a personal realization these last few days. So I'm keeping that in mind, and we'll see where it takes me.

Some of you noticed, this week I started spending a couple minutes every evening learning Chinese. Yeah, apparently the free courses online aren't that bad. I know 6 words/phrases now with more to come! (although I haven't tried crosschecking what I've learned with someone who actually speaks the language...). Don't ask me to write it, because I'm focusing on speaking so far, and pronunciation is crazy, with 'q' sounding like 'ch' and 'x' sounding like 'sh.'

But it's something to keep me sharp.

Today I was praying at the Franciscan Monastery up the street, and as I was leaving, another man who was in the chapel asked me what time it was, then introduced himself. Turns out he's a lay Dominican who works in Catholic media: internet radio for about the last year, and television for 15 years before that. Quite a fortuitous meeting considering I'll be working for a Catholic radio station in a couple of months. So we swapped contact info, and who knows what God has in mind with that.

Then I went to the American History and Portrait Museum downtown and met a homeless guy named Howard in a wheelchair. I think I like going to museums alone because I can just walk past the things I'm not interested in, whole rooms even, and then just spend 5 minutes at one image if it catches me. America has some dynamic characters in her history, and there was some excellent photography. The photos made me really wish the journalism museum here ("Newseum") was open. I guess that means I'll have to come back to DC eventually...

I started growing a goatee again two weeks ago, just in case anyone was wondering what I look like nowadays. I still don't have a cord to download photos from my camera, so you'll see them when I get back to WA.

Before I forget, here are links to all the stories I've written so far that are available online. Yes, I am actually working here in the national's capitol:

http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/0704276.htm

http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/0704216.htm

http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/0703798.htm

http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/0703944.htm

Hmm... What else is going on? ... Well, I guess last night I dreamed I was attacked by a bear. Yeah, me and Neil and a couple other people! Sorry Neil, you didn't make it buddy, but I avenged you! We ended up killing the bear and I saved everyone else ... I think you were the distraction so we could get away. But I digress...

"Life and Holiness" by JPII is seriously amazing, in case you didn't get that from my last blog entry. Read it.

That is all. Take care everyone and God bless. Be great.

Christian Bale ate raw flesh in "Rescue Dawn," by the way...

"Nunca sabes lo que tienes, hasta que lo pierdes." -- Juanez

Well, I'm trying to get to know that I have here in DC before I lose it. Less than one month before I head back to Washington state and then on Sept. 20 I'm headed to Alaska. Apparently -- for all of you who have awaited my trip to the land of the "Eskimos" in Alaska -- our stylebook here at Catholic News Service reminds me that "Eskimo" is considered a derogatory term by some because it comes from an Ojibwa word meaning "eaters of raw flesh."

I think it sounds more exotic that way anyway, so maybe I'll adopt the term. "The land of the eaters of raw flesh."

This week I've been looking into a story about a guy from New Mexico who graduated from college and is volunteering in Chile and Ecuador for 2 years. He's keeping a blog to help "demystify" the volunteer experience for people who are thinking about doing it. So I'm getting paid to read about a guy who's doing something I would love and have thought about doing. Pretty sweet. Next week I get paid to talk to him about it.

And in case that didn't make work enjoyable enough, this week at work, we instituted "15 minutes of fun" in the office every afternoon. You know, something to get us through that period between lunch and... well, the end of the day... So far we've had popsicles, root beer floats, bubble blowing, sundaes, soda and 'pin the crown on the princess' Disney style...

On Sunday I went with Andrea, one of the other interns, to the National Archives and saw the original Declaration of Independence, Constitution and Bill of Rights. Then we were feeling adventurous so we went to Chinatown and got some pretty good traditional food. I pretty much just pointed to something on the menu and hoped it was good -- shrimp and noodles, turns out. And "Bubble Soda" really means Mango nectar with purple tapioca balls in the bottom...

Thanks to everybody who sent condolences for BP. He was ready to go, and I just needed to write to get it all out there. This weekend, the guy who owns the house I'm in is out of town, so I'm watching his dog, Noya, until Monday. She's a really sweet dog that was abused by her former owner. It took a while for her to get warmed up to me because she's still nervous around men at first, but now she follows me around and licks me whenever she can. "Noya" is Arabic for "beautiful." So I'm enjoying having her around this weekend.

Earlier this week, on my third attempt, I finally made it out to do something spontaneous, kind of. I went to see "Rescue Dawn" (not too bad; Christian Bale plays a Vietnam War pilot shot down and imprisoned in Laos) on Thursday night, but I had to plan it out the night before, and even then I almost talked myself out of it, but I did it! That's my inspirational moment for the week.

JPII's "Love and Responsibility" is excellent. I can't get enough. And I've also been reading a good biography of St. Francis of Assisi. It's almost more like historical fiction, but all the stories are true. It was written by a Franciscan who just has excellent insight into what St. Francis might have been thinking and feeling throughout the events of his life. I got it from the Franciscan vocation director a couple years ago but never got around to reading it until now.

Other than that, things have been quiet. I haven't been mugged yet, but I've been thinking about it; stay tuned, I'll let you know what I decide.

Es todo. Vaya con Dios!

Boys and their dogs: Goodbye, BP

Well, my sister called me about a half-hour ago to let me know that she was riding with our dog, BP, to the vet to have him put down. I don't know what else to do, so I figured I'd remember him here.

We've had BP for 11 years or so now, and I guess his health has been getting worse since I left the state. My mom called earlier in the week to say that he might not make it through the summer, but I was still hoping I'd see him again in August. Looks like I let him down.

When we got BP, I was in the fifth grade, and it was always my job to take care of him and feed him. He loved to bark and wrestle. We were pretty close, and --- just like every other boy with a dog --- he was the one I told everything to. He was the first to hear about the first crush I ever had, and the only one to hear about a few that followed. He's been there with me since before puberty, and I cried for a good 45 minutes about leaving him when I left to go to Oregon for my year of seminary.

It's kind of silly, because I know he's not a person. He's a dog. I thought I would be fine with him passing because I've accepted that he's an animal, a dog. And he does what dogs do. But somehow that makes his going a little bit harder. He's not even really passing on, because he has no where to pass on to. He's just going. When dogs die, that's it, they're gone. I wish I could pray for him or believe I'd see him again, but I won't. It's over. His lungs started giving out on him over the last few weeks, and the kindest thing to do for him was end his life permanently. I couldn't even be there for my old friend, and I can't help thinking that he would have been there for me. For sure. Where else would he have been?

BP used to eat things. All kinds of things, like coffee and lawnmower parts and Coke and sticks. He loved eating, but he loved barking even more. He would bark at anything or nothing, or if it was too dark out. Or if it was light. Or if he saw something. Or if he didn't see anything at all. Of course he'd bark whenever he saw me, and I'd always say, "Hush. Good dog, BP. Just hush."

We even had to buy a shock collar because the neighbors were complaining that he barked so much, but he found a way to take it off --- then he ate it. And when we snipped his vocal chords in our last attempt to keep him quiet, he kept working them until they grew back. I guess he ended up barking him lungs out. That's what the vet said was wrong. They told me this week he wasn't eating anything. He wasn't barking either. Those were his two favorites, so he must have been ready.

Now my sister just texted me to let me know, "He's gone." I did get to say something to him on the phone as they were driving. Sarah put the phone to his ear, and I said something stupid that I figured he might find comforting. I don't even remember. I probably told him I'd see him later. I hope he was able to recognize my voice. He deserved to recognize something familiar at the end. Something comfortable.

This is the dumbest thing I've ever written. BP was a dog. He was a damn good dog, from my point of view, but that's how boys are supposed to feel about their dogs. And I guess this is how much boys are supposed to hurt when their dogs die.

Too many BP stories come to mind for me to tell, and dogs don't merit as many tears as a lot of other thing, even this dog, but I'm spending these anyway. Maybe I'm just going to miss his familiar face, or the way he pulled my arm whenever we'd walk (like he would die if we didn't get there soon), or I'll miss the one who ran with me through snow in winter and heat in summer when I trained for wrestling in high school and who always tried to stay ahead of me, no matter how tired he was or whether or not he could see straight in the snow coming down. That crazy mutt. I'll miss him more than I probably should.

Well, that's all there is. Everything I can think to say is about him is a horrible cliche, and that's a shame. He should have had something better said about him just once. Now gone forever.

Good bye, BP. Good dog. Just hush.

Sirens, martinis, dogs and Adam Frisch

Howdy folks!
Well, I have successfully (more of less) completed my third week of work for Catholic News Service in the USCCB. Thank you all for your birthday wishes, it's nice to know that you still care (or that you at least still check your notices on facebook)! Seriously, thanks. :)

On Monday I went to a conference on religious freedom worldwide, and my story was featured on the CNS homepage on Tuesday evening. You can search my name on the Web site if you're interested in reading one of the stories I've written. There are more to come!

http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/0703944.htm

I'm getting pretty well acclimated, not just to the weather, but to the rest of what makes up the climate around this place (one of the local interns, Josh, calls it "the Magic of DC"). So I'm pretty much comfortable now, although Josh still laughs and says it's obvious that I'm from out of town and I stick out. I think the next four-and-a-half weeks are going to fly by. It's hard to believe I have only one month left here.

In the mornings on my way to work, I go over the Michigan Ave. overpass that crosses the metro, and it does some serious shaking whenever a train goes under. Kind of makes me wobble around, but there are five lanes of traffic going over it too, so I figure I'll be fine.

Do people commit crimes early in the morning back home? I can't remember, but I'm always so tired in the mornings, and then cop cars go by me with their sirens blaring over that overpass at 7:30 am. I'm thinking, "Dudes, how can you be committing crimes at this hour? You shouldn't even be out of bed if you don't have to be, let alone engaging in adrenaline-filled activities like law-breaking and running from the cops... Go back to bed. It's too early for this, and you've got the whole day ahead of you to violate any number of laws, just not this early, please, I'm begging you." But I guess criminals have jobs and quotas and deadlines like everyone else...

Joe, the guy who owns the house I'm staying in, has a dog named Noya that was abused, so she gets nervous around men, and she finally warmed up to be last week. And then early this morning, I warmed up to her. No, I'm just kidding, she's a beautiful dog that's really eager to please, and she's a licker (and she's kind of wandering around the room while I write this, ignoring her food, so that's how this paragraph got in here without being the most gripping piece of literature you've ever perused, in case you were wondering...).

On Wednesday I ALMOST did my second fun/spontaneous thing (the first was almost going to a movie, then turning around half-way there because I was tired). One of the guys who lives here is in a band and they were playing at a club, DC Nine, starting at 11:30 pm, so I told him I was thinking about going, but then at 8:30 I was tired and decided to go to bed instead (turns out the show was sold-out anyway, so no harm done, but I still felt like an old man).


Daily Mass has had Jacob in the first reading all week. It's pretty sweet, but by the end of the week we got to the readings where Jacob is an old man, and God predicts his death, so that was a little forboding, but even as an old man, Jacob is basically the coolest OT character in the Bible, you have to admit. He would have made a good Catholic too, what with his 12 sons and all.

Psalm 90: 2-10
Before the mountains were born, the earth and the world brought forth, from eternity to eternity you are God.
A thousand years in your eyes are merely a yesterday,
But humans you return to dust, saying, "Return, you mortals!"
Before a watch passes in the night,
you have brought them to their end; They disappear like sleep at dawn; they are like grass that dies.
It sprouts green in the morning; by evening it is dry and withered.
Truly we are consumed by your anger, filled with terror by your wrath.
You have kept our faults before you, our hidden sins exposed to your sight.
Our life ebbs away under your wrath; our years end like a sigh.
Seventy is the sum of our years, or eighty, if we are strong; Most of them are sorrow and toil; they pass quickly, we are all but gone.

For my 22nd birthday on Thursday, I went down to Chinatown and walked around, then walked over to see the Capitol Building up close. Then I had three beers and Chinese takeout back at my place while channel flipping from American History X to Batman Begins between commercials. It was pretty sweet, to say the least. Thanks again to everyone who called and messaged to wish me a happy day.

Last night some of the editors, myself and a couple interns went out to the press club happy hour and free-taco Friday. I tried a few drinks I'd never had before: some brandy and a couple different martinis, but I didn't embarrass myself TOO badly... then I went to a going away get-together for someone from a different office here, with some of the ounger USCCB employees that I usually have lunch with. It turns out she and her fiance and a couple other people there know Adam Frisch from when they were at Notre Dame together! (I swear, everybody knows that guy!) So I heard a few stories and we marveled at both how small the world is and the popularity of the man named Adam Frisch.

Today, I'm looking at Mass, rosary, vespers with the Franciscans, Confession and a free concert down at Rock Creek Park this evening. That is all.

Oh, and if you only have time to read one blog this summer, you really shouldn't be reading this one at all -- you should be reading the blog of my man, Tuan, who's serving in Calcutta and doing some amazing work with the Missionaries of Charity there. A standup guy, a picture of holiness and an example for all who seek to serve God in their brothers and sisters around the world. He's been posting every day, and I'm amazed at the adventures he's finding himself in. It's all I can do to keep myself from hopping the next flight out of DC to go do some REAL work! Check it out:

http://kolkata2007mc.blogspot.com/

Take care, friends. If I haven't returned your messages, I will when I get a chance! Your prayers continue to support me here and keep me from spiritual ruin. :)

God bless and be good.

Jacob

Psalm 88: 14-19
But I cry out to you, LORD; in the morning my prayer comes before you.
Why do you reject me, LORD? Why hide your face from me?
I am mortally afflicted since youth; lifeless, I suffer your terrible blows.
Your wrath has swept over me; your terrors have reduced me to silence.
All the day they surge round like a flood; from every side they close in on me.
Because of you companions shun me; my only friend is darkness.