If ever I would leave you...

It's time.

I’ve waited a long time to write this post.  I had legitimate reasons—the chaos of moving, transplanting and cultivating the kids in a new place, supporting Rick as he settles into the nightmarish rollercoaster of an 18 month clinical doctorate.  I had less legitimate reasons—I’m too lazy to make time to write, and sometimes I’d rather just stare mindlessly at my phone because scrolling is easier than thinking. 

Then there are the real reasons.  It hurts.  Looking back at pictures, at people, at experiences—it’s an acute reminder that I’m not home anymore.  I missed the gray summer nights, the first playful nips of winter as the mornings shade into fall, the mountains blushing with fireweed.  I miss the solitude of the river and the beavers slapping the water and the quiet of the first snow. I miss the hours, golden and otherwise, spent with people who became family at the top of the world.  I didn’t want to write this post because it would be the last about Alaska, and it would make leaving real.

I remember the first time it really hit home. During the manic weeks of packing, planning, paperwork and then the stressful race through Canada, I had been much too busy to register much of anything.  It wasn’t until we had made it to the lower 48 and stopped for a breather in Utah that it finally hit home.  I was on the porch of our Air BnB looking at the sky, which seemed unnaturally dark for a May evening.  Something looked off.  Then I realized why—the stars were too low.  For the last four and half years, the north star had sat nearly directly overhead, crowning the sky, with the Big Dipper dancing around it like the hand of a celestial clock.  Now Polaris hovered only a third of the way up the sky, and the Dipper barely broke the horizon.

I cried.

That might sound strange for someone who spent literally her entire life moving.  Before I was 9, I had moved 6 times.  As of this writing, I have moved 13 times since I was 19. Different homes, different friends, different climates. Starting over again was challenging, especially as our family grew, but it was always a new adventure. I enjoyed every place we lived for various reasons, but I never missed them when we left.

Now I can’t seem to stop looking back.

Our time in Alaska ended as it began--in a three bedroom, two-story beige townhouse on Eielson Air Force Base, a moose roaming near the front gate and an expectation of snow.  When we arrived, it had been that awkward period between the leaves falling and the first snow; when we left, it was the similarly colorless period between the snow melting and green-up.  It was fitting to once more be on the cusp of transition in more ways than one.

So many things held to the last.  My last evening walks showed me foxen and beaver, the sun was haloed with sun dogs, and the aurora, which usually flickers out by mid-April as the night shortens, flared until the beginning of May.

As if that wasn't hard enough, I had to leave family--not blood, but these women might as well have been.  We'd watched each other's kids, shared holidays, campfires, dinners, deployments. We'd given midnight rides from the airport and chased auroras and butchered moose and rafted down the Chena under the midnight sun. At the far end of the world these women became my sisters, including several whose friendship helped me heal in ways I didn't think I could.

The night before we drove out, a friend generously opened their home for one last night together.  She had tapped her birch trees for a special treat--fresh sap, strained and chilled. It was a bittersweet evening of memories and well-wishes and hugs around the firepit as car-sized chunks of ice drifted lazily down the river. The tears started as we loaded into the van and waved goodbye to our friends for the final time.  For the girls, this had been the longest home they had ever known; for several of them, it was the only home they remembered.

I don't want to be one of those people who romanticize and constantly reference a place, comparing it to wherever they might be instead of embracing the new location. It's just as annoying as those people who only complain about where they live.  I've moved enough to know that nowhere is perfect; I've also moved enough to know there is a little bit of magic everywhere, if you're willing to look for it.  If you're lucky, you'll manage to find a place that makes your heart sing, that feels like coming home and going on an adventure at the same time.  And if you're really, truly blessed, you get to stay.  

Thank you, Alaska, for four and a half years of magic.   It’s been a slice.

A few of my favorite things

I was hoping to get a couple of these posts done before now, but in the chaos and feelings of a 3,000 mile move, some things get pushed to the side. I finally have the time and emotional reserves to sit and write a little, so while this isn't perhaps what I wanted it to be, at least it exists outside of my intentions. As you can tell, there were some technical difficulties, so please excuse the rough formatting.

Wherever we live, I genuinely appreciate people who love where they are; they give the best suggestions and most helpful tips, and can help you find the silver lining in a place maybe you never planned to be.  In that spirit--and maybe with just a touch of homesickness--I write this post to share some of my favorite things about the 49th state.  

 

 Local to Fairbanks, in no particular order.

• Tanana Valley Farmer's Market.  Every Wednesday and Saturday from May to September, this is a delightful community market with fresh vegetables, local honey, beautiful flowers, and all the quirky local merchandise you might expect from people who spend five months a year snowed in.  We went almost every week just for the cream rolls and fresh kettlecorn.  
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• Chena Hot Springs. Always worth a stop.  It's not the poshest lodge, but the springs feel equally great in January when it's -20 or in July after a hike you really weren't prepared for. They also have various activities year round for whatever your adventure needs, whether that's riding horses, sledding dogs, hunting auroras or riding snowmachines.  They also do a good burger.
  

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• Fairbanks Shakespeare Company.  This is one of several local theater troupes, but definitely my favorite.  Every summer they have a production, and in the off season they have educational opportunities and the Bardathon in February.  I have great memories of sitting in their outdoor theater, ringed by old growth birch and spruce, watching Shakespeare under the midnight sun.

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• The Chena River is the heart of Fairbanks, and one of the best places to be.  During the summer, there are so many awesome opportunities to raft or kayak, often with dessert at the end.  During the winter, it's a popular skiing spot and the initial leg of the Yukon Quest dogsled race.  Breakup is amazing just because of the giant ice that ebbs and flows as Alaska's rivers wake up.  
  

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  The Knotty Shop, Expressions in Glass, The Santa Claus House, The Craft Market Gift Shop, Arctic Traveler's, Roaming Root Cellar, Riverboat Discovery Shop, The Raw Fur Company...so many awesome choices for all your gift or souvenir needs.  Some skew a little more touristy, some have a more local flavor (i.e., don't have "ALASKA" stamped on everything), but all are worth a stop.  The Raw Fur Company is included because, even though I don't personally agree with fur trapping, it's interesting to see all the different furs--from squirrel to skunk to caribou to bear and everything in between.
  

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  Dogsledding.  I've already waxed poetic about it twice, so I'll spare you, but if you get the chance...well, the dogs love all the pets.
  

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• Northern Lights--and the sky in general--are breathtaking.  There are a ton of tours, but often you just need to be awake and looking up.  If you don't want to freeze to death, the lights are often the best during September and March, during the fall and spring equinoxes.  The sky delights every day.  I literally have over a thousand pictures of the sunsets, the pastel mornings, the sun dogs, full sun-halos, and ice pillars.  It was a blessing to have the opportunity to live somewhere that made me appreciate beauty every day.
  

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• Food trucks.  Fairbanks isn't exactly a foodie paradise, but there is a surprising amount of variety.  In addition to solid favorites like Lavelle's Bistro, The Silver Gulch, Jazz Bistro, Aurora Mediterranean, and The Pump House, there are a ton of food trucks and drive-up shacks that offer everything from schnitzel and spaetzel (Mein Diner) to gyros (Zorba on the Run) to hot dogs, falafel (Pita Place), and at least a dozen different Thai huts, each sketchy and delicious.
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• Museum of the North. A small but pleasant museum on the UAF campus that showcases the archaeology, culture, and art of Alaska.
  

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  Botanical Gardens.  Yes, plants grow up north.  A gorgeous place on a hill just below UAF and some of the hiking trails.  They put on multiple community concerts during the summer, but it's an equally nice place to turn the kids loose in the treehouse or find a bowery nook with a good book. 
  

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LARS (Large Animal Research Station). Also located in the hills near UAF, this is a branch of the university dedicated to studying the large herbivores of Alaska, particularly caribou and muskox. They do daily tours during the summer, which are interesting with the added bonus of watching the knee-high mox calves do zoomies around their pen.

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• Hiking.  The view is always worth the burning thighs, bug-bites, and feeling like you're going to vomit.  Well, that last one's probably just me being out of shape, but still.
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• Creamer's Field. Lovely area for easy nature trails and seasonal bird watching.  I've been a dozen times and still love the Boreal Forest Trail.
  

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Around the State--might have to drive an hour...or eight. Don't be scared.

• Coastal Cities--Homer, Seward, Valdez.  You can't go wrong with any of these, it just depends on your flavor.  Homer is a quintessential beach town, with beachcombing, tide pooling, halibut fishing, and a quirky boardwalk on the Spit.  Seward also does fishing, but its bread and butter are wildlife and glacier cruises (which are definitely worth your time) and the Sea Life Center, which is also great. The road to Valdez is one of the prettiest drives in the state, with waterfalls and glaciers literally just off the highway; the town itself offers various cruises, kayaking, and fishing adventures, along with all the wild bunnies and quirks you'd expect in a town that routinely gets cut off from the rest of the state and left largely unsupervised during the winter.
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• Festivals and all the touristy stuff--Mermaid Festival, Chickenstock, Tanana Valley Fair, Alaska State Fair, Pioneer Days, Midnight Sun Festival, Fur Rendezvous, Highland Games,  Dark Winter Nights, World Ice Art Championship, Fairbanks Fiber Festival, the Gold Dredge, Riverboat Discovery, Christmas in Ice, all the various craft shows and excuses to get together... Alaskans don't waste the summer, so no matter where you go, check the local calendar and see what's happening. You won't regret it.  If you come up during the winter, do the same.  Fireworks are a winter thing in Alaska, and events keep rolling even during the snow and cold. Keeping busy is the best way to make it through winter.
  

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• Driving. There are roughly 14,000 miles of public roads in Alaska; that number includes all the state parks and forests.  Texas, which is half the size, has 675,580 miles of road.  I have never been disappointed driving a highway up north. The view is always worth it.  Just make sure you pack snacks and have a full tank.
  

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• Matanuska Glacier--Apparently some of the access has changed, but it was worth the cost back in 2020 to be able to walk out through glacial topography and actually onto the glacier, a remnant of the Ice Age that is over 20 miles long.  One of my kids' favorites out of all the random things we did.
  

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• Castner Glacier.  Always worth a hike. There aren't many places where you can just walk into a glacial cave.  The only down side is that there isn't a bathroom available...and that it's become more popular over the last couple of years.
  

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• Denali.  Some people find it overrated, but who cares?  That means there are fewer people on the park road.  I've enjoyed every trip I've made to the park.  Go in the spring to see animals, in the summer for hiking and the blueberry festival, in the fall for the colors, and in the winter if you really, really, really like snow. Make sure you stop by the kennels to see some of the hardest working park rangers.
  

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• Rafting the Nenana River.  It might be tame compared to some of the rivers in the lower 48, but it was amazing for my first time whitewater rafting.  Between the fun and informative commentary by the guide, the bucking rapids, and the opportunity to slip out of the raft at the end and test the wetsuit against the 35 degree water...*chef's kiss* 
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• Horse riding in Healy. Alaska doesn't exactly have what you'd call a "horse culture," but there are a couple of places around the state that offer some gorgeous rides and a unique way to experience Alaska.
  
• Salcha River.  About an hour outside of Fairbanks you can find a trail that leads to a gravel beach in the bend of the river.  The water is cold but shallow enough to play in, there's enough room to bring a couple friends, and bathrooms are just a short walk away.
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• Extremes.  Some people have a hard time with the 20+ hours of darkness in December.  Others struggle with the 20+ hours of light in June.  There's at least a 100 degree swing every year between the summer high and the winter low; sometimes it's closer to 130 degrees.  I love it.  By the time you acclimate to one thing, the year has turned and things are already changing.
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• Glacier View 4th of July.  Shooting cars off a cliff?  Funnelcake and woodfired pizza? Ziplining? 'Merica.
  
• Foraging/hunting.  Eating off the land is a big part of life even just recreationally.  There are some who live fully off of what they can hunt, trap, pick, or grow.  That's a little much for me, but a couple handfuls of berries (blue, cran, rasp, straw, or cloud) are a good snack.  I also recommend a cup of birch sap if you are offered one.  And if you ever get invited to help process a critter or two with your neighbors...Do it.
  

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  People in general. Alaskans are fabulous. They generally keep to themselves and don't like being told what to do, but if you ask for tips or express appreciation about their state, they are full of hilarious stories and good suggestions for anything you might want to do.  They are quick to help in an emergency, and resourceful as all hell.

Wish list...because four years wasn't enough to see everything.

• Whittier.  A coastal tourist town that specializes in cruises and can only be accessed by road through a one way 2.5 mile long tunnel under a mountain.
• Juneau, Ketchikan, Skagway, and the rest of the Inside Passage. We never made it down to southeast Alaska, but it's a world apart from the interior and has a flavor all its own.  Some places are only accessible by plane or ferry.
• Tongass National Forest--part of the largest temperate rainforest in the world, and the largest national forest in the U.S. It also has seasonal hummingbirds.
• Utqiagvik (Barrow) and the Arctic Ocean.  Who wouldn't want to go to the northernmost city in the U.S. and step in the Arctic Ocean?
• McCarthy Road.  I regret two things about driving in Alaska.  First, that I didn't drive the Dalton to completion in Deadhorse, and second, that I didn't ever make it down to the McCarthy Road in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park.  It's second only to the Dalton for its remoteness and the rough conditions of the road.  It winds through some of the most beautiful mountains in Alaska, and ends at an abandoned mining town.
• Kobuk Valley National Park.  The only sand dunes in the world above the Arctic Circle, and only accessible by plane.  Freaking cool.
• Katmai.  Remember that scene about hundreds of grizzlies guzzling salmon in that documentary you watched?  It was probably shot at Katmai National Park or the neighboring Lake Clark National Park, both of which are a plane or ferry ride across Cook Inlet.  All the bears, all the time.
• Alaska Native Heritage Center.  Less picturesque than everything else mentioned so far, but I somehow never managed to make it to this place that highlights and celebrates the various indigenous peoples of Alaska.  I've heard great things.
• Fur Rondy (Fur Rendezvous). Truly a missed opportunity.  It's a 12 day festival held in Anchorage every February that involves a carnival, Native Alaskan games, Outhouse races, and the Running of the Reindeer (the Alaskan version of the Running of the Bulls) among other things.  I'm still kicking myself for not going.
  
• Glacier Kayaking. Another big regret. There are various tours in Valdez and Seward that will take you out to one of the neighboring tidewater glaciers and you can paddle through drifting azure icebergs with seals sunning themselves on the ice and curious otters popping up next to you and even whales cruising the frigid 900 foot depths beneath your 1/2 inch thick plastic kayak. Yes please.

There's so much more, but I can only vouch for what I've personally done.  If you ever get a chance to go to Alaska, take it.  It may not be your forever place, but you'll find a little bit of magic.