Alaskan mentality prospers on suburban PA frontier
Alaskan mentality prospers on suburban PA frontier
By Tyler Frantz
“You know you’ll need to put in some windows if you plan to hunt from that thing,” remarked my neighbor as I drove another slightly twisted rusty nail into the rough-cut wooden frame standing before me.
I’m fairly certain he meant it as a joke, though I wouldn’t blame him for thinking otherwise. The work-in-progress he came to inspect wasn’t a deer blind, but actually a freestanding woodshed, built almost entirely of skid pallets, scrap lumber and recycled nails. The pallets were acquired from a friend through a good old-fashioned trade; I relinquished five hayrack feeders lying around my barn in exchange for ten skids he was equally happy to remove from his workspace. We each obtained something we could use while mutually ridding ourselves of something we didn’t want.
The free scrap lumber and nails were collected over time from various roadside locations. All of which probably would’ve ended up burned or in the trash, had I not taken the time to pull the nails and store these odds-and-ends pieces neatly in my barn for later use.
The entire project cost me about $45- the price of the metal roofing materials and some decent woodscrews to add structural support so the whole thing doesn’t blow over in a rainstorm.
My woodshed will serve a dual purpose. It’ll cover the eyesore of a burned down tree stump from the hybrid poplar that fell this winter, while simultaneously storing the nearby firewood as it seasons. It is a practical way to make use of what I have to keep my tinder dry, which will help keep my family warm at minimal cost. In many ways, this emulates the “Alaskan mentality” of self-provision. As documented on several network television shows, Alaska is widely accepted as America’s last untamed frontier, and its inhabitants must be constantly self-reliant, making use of their available resources to survive from day to day.
Though suburban Pennsylvania, (with Walmart and Lowes just five minutes from my house), differs drastically from the remote and unforgiving wilderness of Alaska, I still enjoy embracing this mentality of being a self-provider for my family, which at times includes repurposing certain items to do so economically and efficiently.
For example, I maintain a small flock of chickens on my farmette. The birds were obtained for free from a classroom that hatched chicks as part of their science curriculum. They live in a coop and outdoor run made of free materials, and the hens lay delicious free eggs. When the time comes for the roosters to be butchered, they provide free protein, and I know exactly what went into my next meal.
The eight call ducks I picked up last weekend are not destined for the table. Instead, they will range free, ridding my property of ticks and other unwanted insects, while keeping my pond clear of algae. During late winter, I tap my maple trees. Through hard work and patience, the sap becomes fresh syrup, and the wood fuel that fires the evaporating process come from limbs and branches brought down by ice, wind and snow.
In the springtime, I take care tending my vegetable garden. Composted chicken bedding enriches the soil, while secondhand fencing protects its borders. Plantings are appropriately timed to provide bountiful yields all summer long. Erin and I enjoy stocking our freezer and pantry with our own homegrown veggies, preserved for year-round consumption.
We supplement our food supply with natural sources as well. By late June, the wild blackberries growing along our pasture are ripe for the picking, followed by vibrant red raspberries 2-3 weeks later. They make great pies, muffins and jams. The game I harvest provides the vast majority of our meat stores for the year. Turkey, pheasant, mallard, goose, grouse and dove each have their own unique flavors, offering a variety of fowl-featured meals, while New York salmon and the occasional trout, catfish or pan-fish fillets give us seasonal seafood options.
Venison is the most essential, though, as it can be used in so many ways. By good fortune, I have taken at least one deer in each of the last 16 consecutive hunting seasons. This meat is never wasted; it primarily serves as our main course for most meals.
Learning to butcher my own deer has saved me hundreds of dollars and brings a certain satisfaction in completing the entire process myself. If I am going to take the life of a living creature, then I want honor that animal by putting in the work necessary to turn its flesh into food.
Knowing exactly how my food was prepared is an added bonus. Lean venison from just one deer can provide dozens of meals, from roasts and steaks, to sausages, ground burger, chops, jerky, bologna or one of my personal favorites- cream chipped deer over toast. Though I’m not willing to forgo indoor plumbing and the simple luxuries of home for a rugged hermit’s lifestyle in the deep bush of Alaska, I do admire the resolve of those choosing to do so.
It’s nice to know that if I had to, however, I could probably live off the land and use what’s available to provide for my family- and we’d do just fine. In a society that’s more removed from the wilderness than ever, I fear that too many people are forgetting how to be self-reliant.
When something breaks, we throw it out and buy a new one. When we’re hungry, we go to a restaurant and order a pizza. That’s how it seems to be for most people, anyway. But just because we live in a world where convenience is the norm doesn’t mean we need to completely abandon the basics.
Mankind has successfully lived off the land for thousands of years, and that’s why I find it refreshing to occasionally approach the suburban frontier with an Alaskan mentality. Even though it may be completely unnecessary, it brings me closer to the land, closer to the animals and closer to my Creator.
In a few words: To self-provide is to live life in full clarity.
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