A land-use dispute between the municipality, a small family farm tucked off of O’Malley Road and its neighbors recently gained the attention of the Anchorage Assembly.

Dalton Baines started helping his family distribute hay in South Anchorage more than two decades ago, when the bales weighed more than him. Now 32, he owns the family’s farm and runs a secondary small business called Alaska Hay & Feed Supply.

After numerous visits from code enforcement for suspected land-use violations, Baines said the municipality had threatened fines and to shut down his operations.

The Assembly on Tuesday unanimously passed an ordinance reaffirming that the retail sale of hay, feed and compost — at businesses like Baines’ — are allowed under city code.

Baines and other horse and livestock owners said they hope the ordinance will help promote food security in Alaska and ensure the thousands of horses, cows and other livestock on the Anchorage Hillside stay fed when local supplies run low.

“It’s an ecosystem to stay alive up here in Alaska,” Baines told the Assembly on Tuesday during a public hearing.

“(This ordinance) ensures that all animals are protected and able to be fed, especially when barges are late, or crops are late, like this year,” he said.

City code allows on-site feed storage and transactions for animal boarding and training and horse riding lessons. It did not, in “plain language,” permit the retail sale of hay, feed and compost at those facilities, said Assembly member Keith McCormick, who represents South Anchorage. He co-sponsored the ordinance with member Zac Johnson.

“This omission otherwise leaves compliant operators exposed to code enforcement for activity that Anchorage has allowed in practice for decades,” McCormick said.

Baines finished building a new warehouse space, which looks like a set of large garages with a loading dock, last spring on one of his Gander Street properties. The warehouse is usually full of pallets of alfalfa hay bales he imports from Washington state, but his stock was thinner than usual on Wednesday, he said.

After burning through his last shipment, he said he had decided to wait to order more until he knew the outcome of the ordinance.

Livestock facility limits

Baines built a new warehouse space, which looks like a set of large garages with a loading dock, last year on one of his Gander Street properties. The warehouse is usually full of pallets of alfalfa hay bales he imports from Washington state, but his stock was thinner than usual Wednesday, he said.

After burning through his last shipment, he said he had decided to wait to order more until he knew the outcome of the ordinance.

The dispute between Alaska Hay & Feed Supply and the municipality’s Development Services Department began almost two years ago with a noise complaint.

According to a June 2025 memo from former Planning, Development and Public Works Director Lance Wilber, it eventually raised the question: “Does commercial activity associated with large domestic animal facilities include the retail sale of hay and feed?”

Any property with four or more animals, such as cows or horses, falls into that category. This included Alaska Hay & Feed Supply.

The short answer, Wilber said, was “yes, with limitations.” Commercial sales should serve the animals kept on-site and are intentionally limited because livestock facilities are allowed in a number of Anchorage’s residential areas, the memo stated.

Repeated encounters with a code enforcement officer spurred Baines to file a lawsuit.

The municipality put the debate in front of its Zoning Board of Examiners and Appeals in September. During the hearing, neighbors said they believed the hay and feed business had lowered property values and complained of noisy delivery trucks and equipment.

The board ultimately decided Baines’ hay sales violated city code, an action that led to the Assembly ordinance.

In addition to feeding his own black Angus cows and horses, Baines supplies hay and feed to hundreds of customers in Anchorage. Many simply don’t have enough acreage to support livestock, and Alaska’s harsh climate presents another set of challenges for hay growers, he said. His customers range from those with a couple of chickens to horse barns with as many as 40 horses.

Rose English, the owner of Rockin’ B Ranch in South Anchorage, said there have been times in the past when the weather did not allow Alaskans to grow hay, forcing farmers to import hay and feed. She shared containers with neighbors so they could also feed their animals, she told the Assembly on Tuesday.

During the pandemic, her farm also raised pigs, chickens and dairy goats they used to provide meat, eggs and milk to residents when the shelves at the grocery store thinned. It’s necessary for places like her ranch to provide when and where gaps exist, she said.

“It’s going to be very difficult in the future, if anything ever happens, like an earthquake,” English said. “These situations need to be available to help people make ends meet.”

In a written letter from the Hillside Home and Landowners Organization, President Katie Nolan said the recent interpretation of Anchorage’s large domestic animal facility rules created “untenable situations within the agricultural community.”

Nolan encouraged the adoption of the ordinance on Tuesday, citing all the work that had been done under previous mayoral administrations on Anchorage’s animal control laws.

“We ended up with something that worked for our city for decades,” she said. “Unfortunately, along the way, somebody reinterpreted code, and because of that, we had a glitch that needs to be fixed.”

The new ordinance became effective immediately.

What follows is not Elstun’s life story, but a snapshot of events from 1958 that laid the foundation for Lauesen’s career as a crusader, dreamer and political activist. Though he often labored in the service of lost causes, he had more than his share of victories as well.

Here is his full obituary. His family and friends will celebrate his life Sunday at 3 p.m. in the Wildbirch Hotel in Anchorage.

My favorite line in his obituary is the one that says, “After graduating from Lathrop High School in 1963, Elstun traveled around the United States philosophizing,” but that is too modest. He philosophized on a daily basis at any time, any place.

One of the first times Elstun’s name appeared in the Daily News-Miner, he was identified as “Elson Jr.” in a story that said he was fishing with his parents at Fielding Lake when the family home burned down in August 1958 near North Pole.

His 17-year-old sister Juanita, the future borough mayor of Fairbanks, and his brother Ray had to flee their 13-Mile Richardson Highway home at 5 a.m., alerted to the danger by their Cocker Spaniel.

Elstun Jr. was known to his family and friends back then as Butch, while Elstun Sr. went by Bud.

Bud was the chief engineer at Eielson Air Force Base, as well as a geologist, artist, entrepreneur, entertainer and later—owner of the Sourdough Roadhouse. Bud and Butch were both men of the word, storytellers supreme.

“You sit down and ask him about Alaska. Two hours later, he’ll stop for breath,” is how Edward Strunk of Glennallen described the oratorical gifts of Bud Lauesen, quoted by Debra McKinney in the Anchorage Daily News.

Not long after the 1958 house fire, Butch Lauesen entered the eighth grade at the North Pole public school, a pivotal year in the development of a guy who was just learning to speak his mind. The school operated that fall in rooms provided on a temporary basis by the First Baptist Church of North Pole.

On the first day of school, Lauesen met an inspirational new teacher, Dave Ray, a Baptist minister who had just come from King Cove with his wife. She taught first-grade. Elstun always said that Dave Ray helped him learn how to think for himself—the greatest lesson any teacher can impart.

Ray moved quickly and started a student council, a literary society and a school newspaper. “A good school paper is worth as much to the school as an extra teacher,” Ray said.

In that enterprise, Butch Lauesen, 13, emerged as editor-in-chief. Pat Carter, a lifelong friend of Lauesen’s, was the assistant editor.

It was the second issue of “The Long Look,” dated October 17, 1958, that gave indigestion to adults in North Pole and helped energize Elstun as a political activist.

Adult readers today might regard the assortment of school tidbits in this ancient mimeographed sheet as hardly worth a quick glance, but it marked a milestone in Lauesen lore.

As soon as the four pages of the October 17 “The Long Look” reached the eyes of North Pole’s illuminati, there was hell to pay.

The paper, printed in red and green ink, revealed plans for a Halloween Carnival, mentioned that first-graders were learning their numbers, how a school play was bound to be funny and that a checker tournament was in the works. “See Butch or Pat, they are The Moguls” for the tournament.

While the checker moguls served in management, Gloria Burger and Susan Slifer were the reporters for “The Long Look.”

Lauesen opined in his editorial that the school of 80 was improving, but there was more work to be done.

“Now then. We need ‘More Room.’ The need is greater than you people think,” Lauesen wrote. “We sure appreciate the church for letting us use these two rooms.”

“We need a GYM. We need a playground level enough so a fellow can run across it without stumbling and breaking his neck in ‘7’ pieces. We feel that someone could crank up a ‘Cat’ and level off the ground. Maybe that our new appointed Trustee to the Board will read this and THINK?”

It wasn’t the THINK editorial that irked North Pole’s elite—it was an ad for Democratic U.S. Senate candidate Ernest Gruening and some text in the paper supporting his election.

The Democratic Party paid $10 for an ad that was supposed to say, “Vote Straight Democratic. November 25, 1958. Paid political adv.” The kids had been encouraged to get ads to pay the bills.

But the newspaper did more than make that announcement. It ran a few paragraphs heralding the accomplishments of Gruening and took shots at his opponent, Republican Mike Stepovich of Fairbanks.

About one-quarter of an inside page featured a political ad that called on readers to not throw away their “birth-right by sending down to Washington a Republican to work with Bartlett.”

Bartlett was E.L. “Bob” Bartlett, a Democrat who had wide support from members of both political parties.

“The Long Look” political ad called former Gov. Mike Stepovich a “Johnny Come Lately” to the statehood movement, borrowing an attack line against Stepovich that Washington columnist Drew Pearson had created.

This took place a month before the first election in Alaska to choose U.S. senators. It was a tense political campaign and the stakes were high.

North Pole Mayor Con Miller, the Republican owner of Santa Claus House, was enraged. So was Jack Jenkins, president of the North Pole school board.

The News-Miner, which had gone all out to promote Stepovich and attack Gruening on its news and opinion pages, denounced the school publication in a high-handed editorial.

The News-Miner said this was propaganda that had no place in a school paper. The students “and those of their elders who planted political propaganda in the school paper have done a great disservice to their school and to their country.”

Stepovich’s supporters wasted no time in calling for Ray to be fired.

Miller said this was no way to treat a future U.S. senator and that it was illegal. He was wrong on both counts. Gruening won the election and it was not illegal to express a point of view.

The adults all assumed that 13-year-olds couldn’t possibly have opinions of their own and that Butch Lauesen and Pat Carter were innocent babes manipulated by Ray into doing something inappropriate.

One of the offending passages was this, completed with random capitalization and language that is the work of a 13-year-old mind: “Switzerland, said ‘If ALASKA had the ROADS it would be our greatest rival as a GREAT SHOW PLACE OF THE WORLD.’ Who has the road-building plans? Ernest Gruening, ELECT HIM TO U.S. SENATE.”

Miller was a friend of Stepovich’s and was embarrassed to have the hometown Republican hero targeted in a school sheet in North Pole.

The North Pole school board called a meeting five days after publication and told Ray to be there, but he said he couldn’t make it because he had a church meeting to attend.

That school board meeting and others that followed quickly turned into anger mismanagement sessions directed at Ray.

“He should not be tried in absentia,” said Jim Ford, the only board member who opposed firing Ray.

‘We are not trying him,” said Jenkins. “We are firing him.”

“It’s like totalitarianism,” said Ford.

The board fired Ray, which was not the first or the last overreaction in the history of North Pole.

Butch Lauesen, Pat Carter and the other North Pole students decided to fight back on behalf of their teacher and quickly organized a protest.

“Yesterday noon 25 of the 80-some pupils of the school let it be known on whose side they stood,” reporter Albro Gregory wrote in the News-Miner. “They paraded in the business area, wearing placards. One read: ‘Unfair school board,’ and another ‘We want Mr. Ray’ and another, ‘Dear North Pole, we would like Mr. Ray to continue as our school teacher.”

In the News-Miner coverage by Gregory, Lauesen was incorrectly identified as “Butch Carter,” a student editor, an amalgamation of Butch Lauesen and Pat Carter.

The children also distributed flyers thoughout North Pole, saying they needed Ray because of the newspaper, the student council and he has “helped us in our public speaking by starting a literary society.”

The local Boy Scout leader said he would banish any boys who took part in the protest. Two boys did, including Lauesen. The scout leader backed off the threat because they were not wearing scout uniforms.

One protest card was attached to Con Miller’s station wagon pleading for Ray to get his job back. I would be surprised if Butch and Pat didn’t have something to do with the placement of that notice.

Ray hired attorney Warren A. Taylor, who spoke to the school board and said the firing was illegal. Ray did not get proper notice and the board would be on the hook for paying his salary if they did not reverse the firing.

The board complied, Ray returned to the school, but the board members were not happy and continued to argue about all this.

The adults didn’t distinguish themselves with their comportment. “This meeting is about as orderly as a fistfight,” Pat Carter complained to the board.

At one meeting board members Jenkins and Ford were each arguing for the right to speak when Jenkins screamed to “local gendarme” Walter Durham to remove Ford from the meeting. There was pandemonium, Gregory wrote, and shouts of “liar” emanated from various parts of the room.

(The Baptist Church later cited this exchange as a reason for ordering the school to vacate the building, writing: “A meeting was held when U.S. Marshals were said to have been standing by with loaded guns in case of trouble.”)

When Jenkins demanded that Durham arrest Ford, a man in the crowd, wrongly identified by the News-Miner as “Elton Lauesen,” a “bewhiskered property owner and Ray backer,” warned that Durham “wouldn’t go out in one piece,” if he accosted Ford.

Jenkins’s wife leaped up to defend her husband, who the News-Miner said was shouting at the red-faced bewhiskered property owner Lauesen.

“Stop acting like a bunch of kids,’ thundered Lauesen as he lumbered to his feet. Then, speaking more calmly, he said, ‘Let’s bury the hatchet. Let’s carry on from here.’”

“I’ll be happy to,” said Ray.

“Lauesen smiled.”

Jenkins was not ready to do so, however, the News-Miner wrote.

There were more harsh words and back-and-forth and the meeting ended after midnight. “About par for the course at North Pole,” Gregory wrote.

Sixty-odd years after this contretemps, Elstun wrote about how that year with Ray made his life better than it would otherwise have been. “Dave Ray shall always be my favorite teacher, he said.

“When I was 12-ish I fancied myself something of a tough guy. It turns out nobody else saw me that way at all. I was told by Dr. Ray that while I tried to be a tough guy, I was a tender-hearted boy. I was so embarrassed by that assessment that my face burned. But it turns out he was correct,” Elstun wrote.

He always remembered that on the first day of eighth grade, Ray taught him some lines from Tennyson:

“That beauty, Good, and Knowledge, are three sisters that doat upon each other, friends to man. Living together under the same roof and never can be sunder’d without tears. And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be Shut out from Love.”

Dear Wanda and Wayne,

I never thought I’d be the person writing this letter, but after this winter, I think I might be done with Alaska. I was born here, grew up here, raised my family here, and never imagined living anywhere else. I defended Alaska to the haters. I rolled my eyes at people who retired to Arizona. I told myself long winters are worth it because summers are the best.

But this winter broke something in me. It was so long, dark, icy and relentless. By the time spring finally arrived, I felt angry that winter took so much out of me and that I spent months feeling trapped by weather, darkness and road conditions. Angry that I’m getting older and still structuring my life around surviving winters instead of enjoying my life. And at the time I’m writing this, this spring has sucked! My heat is still coming on every day. I’m still wearing my puffer jackets!

Part of me wonders if it’s not really about the winter at all. I’m divorced and my two kids are grown and doing their own thing, both staying in Alaska for now. For the first time in my life, nothing is really anchoring me to a place. And if I’m being honest with myself, in addition to feeling trapped by the weather, I’m bored with it here. The dating scene feels impossibly small. Every time I open a dating app, it’s the same people. Half the time I already know them, or know someone who dated them (and broken up with them for a good reason!).

So I’m sketching out plans to move somewhere warmer, bigger and completely unfamiliar. I think I want to know what life feels like somewhere else while I’m still young enough to enjoy it. I really feel this is a moment for a big change.

The problem is that nobody seems supportive. When I bring it up, people act like I’m having a midlife crisis. Friends tell me I’ll regret it. Family members remind me that the kids are here. Other Alaskans give me the usual speech about how the Lower 48 is generic. It’s gotten to the point where I almost don’t talk about it anymore because I’m tired of defending myself.

But all the resistance has me questioning myself and whether moving is a legitimate and logical step, or whether I’m just exhausted from a hard winter and romanticizing a different life. How do you know the difference between running toward something and simply running away?

Wanda says:

You’re asking whether you’re running toward or away from something — essentially if you’re taking a positive step or being reactive. Those aren’t mutually exclusive. Sometimes we leave both because we’re exhausted by what we’ve been carrying, and also because we are moving toward something new at the same time.

Every reason you listed for staying in Alaska has changed. You raised your children here? They’re grown. You had a marriage here? That chapter is closed. You tolerated winters for the sunny payoff? Nailed it: This spring has sucked.

Now you’re primed for a reset, and questioning how you want the near term and future of your life to unfold is not a crisis, it’s taking action. And it’s way more productive than floating along season to season in a fog of monotony, settling for an unfulfilling existence. Your friends and family may genuinely believe they’re protecting you from a mistake, but they’re also protecting their own worldview. Your decision to leave can feel like an implicit criticism of their choices.

But this isn’t a committee decision, and you’re a grown woman capable of major decisions, who absolutely should explore life’s possibilities without defending it to everyone you know. So go explore. Visit places. Rent before you buy. Spend a winter somewhere else. Gather information instead of arguments. And know that no matter where you land, you can always come home again — even if it’s just for a long visit in the middle of summer.

Wayne says:

This isn’t a midlife crisis that can be glossed over with a motorcycle, lip filler, a 20-something boyfriend (who probably went to high school with your kids — yikes), or kicking off your Cowgirl Era with a hat, boots and a two-week Nashville dive bar tour.

This is an existential crisis with your health and happiness at risk. And you’ve faced it thoughtfully, sat with it thoroughly, and are now making the best decisions selfishly. Good for you! You can’t fault your family and friends for also being selfish and wanting you to stay in AK. Of course they don’t want their mom and friend moving far away. But you’ve got to mute that noise and focus on what’s best for you.

Yes, Alaska life is special, but it sure isn’t easy. And we don’t get medals for stubbornly battling through decades of winters. What we do get is some sweet and fleeting summer moments followed by more winters. You know that, and it’s not enough for you anymore.

Most people would totally understand an 18-to-20-year-old Alaska kid taking off to see what else is out there in the world. What, we’re supposed to stop being interested in new experiences once we hit a certain age? And we’re expected to stick around someplace forever just because we’ve always been there?

It’s time for you to go. See what life feels like when you’re not scraping ice off your windshield in May. See how much fun you can have with new people in new places. It’s exciting, it’s living, and you deserve it.

[Wayne and Wanda: Is it the winter blues I can’t shake off, or something more?]

[Wayne and Wanda: Rebuilding my social life after a divorce]

[Wayne and Wanda: My relationship is poised for big steps, and I’m anxious]