Back to Alaska for a minute. Our closest neighbors live about half a mile away, through the thicket of scrubby alders that grow atop our bluff. The family has two young girls, Evelyn and Emily, who, at 13 and 10, are far better fishermen than I’ll ever be.

They stopped by one afternoon after the fishing period ended to show us what they had caught that day. It wasn’t salmon.

It was, in fact, some sort of shark.

Kato was unimpressed.

Emily showed us the crab that had gotten caught in the net.

It was still alive.

The girls live in a magnificent compound. Home to their family of four, it has been built to accommodate a cannery—with space for heavy equipment, a bunkhouse that sleeps 20, and a handicap ramp.

The girls’ father Vern built the entire thing by himself. Vern can build anything. Vern can fix anything. Without Vern, Robbi’s family wouldn’t have made it through the first year, let alone the past 35.

Did I mention that Vern built his own air strip?

Well he did. Why? I do not know. Because he could, I suspect. Because the winters are long. Every once in a while, a plane will land on the air strip. But the rest of the time, it’s a good place to play soccer.

Robbi remembers when she was a little girl and Vern would carry stacks of 4′ x 8′ plywood around on his back. If you’ve never tried this, it’s really hard to do.