Return to the North: My Alaskan Odyssey, Part 3.

A slamming car door jolts me from sleep. Light is flooding in the windows, despite my meticulous arrangement of towels and sweatshirts in an effort to keep it out. A few hours ago, I could hardly keep my eyes open; now I can hardly wait to get on the road.

“Good morning,” a groggy Bix greets me. “Aren’t you glad I arranged our stay at the luxurious Hotel Subaru for our anniversary?”

Continue reading “Return to the North: My Alaskan Odyssey, Part 3.”

“Home is the nicest word there is.” –Laura Ingalls Wilder

The idea of home is one that has given me some trouble in recent years. It’s sort of intangible, the assemblage of places and people and feelings that make up a home. It’s hard for me to come to grips with things I can’t fully define. Perhaps that’s why I stopped believing in the Tooth Fairy at the age of three or so and, rather than really committing to my inclination toward atheism, have remained stoutly agnostic in my adult life, mostly abstaining from attributing things to any sort of god but occasionally feeling swayed by beautiful scenery and heartwarming human interest pieces.

But I digress, as I usually do when faced with a notion I find challenging.

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May Day: A holiday made even more joyous by sixteen hours of light

The changing of the seasons is often used as a metaphor, even a euphemism. “She’s no spring chicken,” we say of those who have entered the autumns of their lives. We turn over new leaves and blossom (or don’t) in our careers and, when the going gets rough, spend some time in hibernation.

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A treatise on the nature of adventure (for what it’s worth)

As I wrap up my second year in Alaska, I spend a lot of time ruminating on the idea of adventure.

The word “adventure” suffers the same serious overuse as its cousins, “epic” and “amazing.” Everyone’s Instagrammed lunches are epic; any old sunset counts as amazing; every trip to an all-inclusive beachside resort is an adventure.

Tell that to Ernest Shackleton.

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