Cook Inlet, Alaska

I rode to our writers group this afternoon with Dick Griffin, a boat builder and WWII veteran. He was an Army Artillery Instructor. The ride was a long one, north to South Fork, back up in the hills some ten miles. Dick had a new truck. It was a pretty drive despite clouds and drizzle. Some deep ruts formed due to break-up where the gravel surface undulates and gives way to the mud beneath. The rolling green hills look a bit like New Zealand without the sheep. There are multiple hues of green. We drove up the hill beyond the Russian Village to Betty Jo's house on top of the hill, a house with two wind generators, solar panel and neat as a pin.

There was time to talk on the ride both ways. Dick is a humorous writer. He writes for fun. He confided that he had submitted many articles to newspapers and magazines when his wife was still alive, and they had always been accepted. He writes on loose yellow lined paper in pencil, never uses a computer and rolls his paper up to carry it and to read. We all read for about ten minutes. His wife had told him to turn off his hearing aid when he reads so his voice can be heard. He is 86.

On the way home, another way, we stopped at the Russian Village to see the church. A monk from Russia came and painted a fresco over the front of the immaculate white building with blue trim. Two silver-leafed onion shaped domes and the slanting roof overhang gave the appearance of an Orthodox Icon.

After we turned back on the now paved road, Dick talked about the war and artillery paratroopers he had trained. I asked him what he thought about Iraq. He commented that in his day the instructors were required to treat the trainees with courtesy and respect, not like the in your face drill instructor of today. "And that was the last war we won too," he said.