There's a cabin out there that I was supposed to camp in this past weekend. Kathryn, Jones and I left Friday afternoon to find it. Three first year grad students, none of us Alaskans (we haven't made it through a winter yet). We piled our 40 pound improvised backpacks into Kathryn's car and hit the road around five. We guesstimated having about four hours of daylight left to drive fifty miles and walk three miles into the cabin. We should have made it just as the sun was going down with time to build a fire in the wood stove. We stopped on the way and bought wine at a gas station, stuffing the bottles into our already busting backpacks. We're practical people.
We hit the trail about 6:30, slightly later than planned. We read the map - two trail possibilities. One went up into the hills and looked much longer. The other, looked like a straight shot to the cabin through the valley. So, we ignored the advice of an email and the signs that said "Winter Only Trail" (we soon found out that actually means "Only When Frozen"), and we took the straight road.
It was easy going for a while, our only concern being that we might run into a moose or a bear. We even thought out loud to each other that we would be at the cabin in no time. And then the first puddles came. They were easily dodged for the most part with minor complaints. Then, suddenly, the little puddles of mud turned into a full-on bog - something resembling the moors out of Wuthering Heights according to Kathryn, or the Dead Marshes of Mordor out of The Lord of the Rings for me. Jones refused to make a literary allusion in her head because it would have made it creepier. (Yes, we're all lit nerds.) Even the ground that looked solid was really a sponge of gush when you stepped there. The only "bright side" we could point out at this point was that there were no snakes or alligators lurking in the swamp. Reptiles aren't fans of Alaska.
Soon, we gave up on keeping our feet dry, and actually started finding it a relief when the mud and water only came up to our ankles instead of our knees. The "trail" would sometimes split, and we would choose to take the side that looked less like mire only to find ourselves sloshing through guck thirty seconds later.
At each split of the trail, I grew more concerned. I looked over my shoulder and saw nothing but bog, not even the trail we'd just come down. But we kept pressing on towards the western sun knowing we couldn't get too lost while the sun was in the sky and we were in a relatively narrow valley after all. One way in, one way out.
So, we stumbled along, nearly twisting our ankles at every step, our backpacks digging into our shoulders. Then, Kathryn got stuck - one leg up to her knee in gooey mud that refused to give her foot back. I tried to pull her out, but I couldn't get good footing in the spongey wasteland and was afraid I'd fall into the pit as well. "Is this really how it's going to end?" she said.
But she somehow pulled herself out using one of the only trees in the entire bog. We trudged on, the sun fading fast. And then the trail completely disappeared. Nothing but bog for as far as we could see. This was the point I thought to myself: We are going to have to spend the night in this swamp. At this point, we deemed it foolish to continue, so we turned around in hopes of finding out way out.
We made it back to the car just as the sun disappeared behind the mountain and we were enveloped in Alaskan darkness. We drove back to my apartment, had a picnic on my living room floor, and drank a bottle of wine a piece, toasting to our escape from the bog.
And that's how I almost got swallowed, quite literally, by the Alaskan wilderness.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Two and a Half Weeks
I live about five miles from campus, and every day on my way to work/school, I drive past this outdoor eating facility. There are a few of these places around town. They're seasonal obviously - they open for the summer, then close whenever it gets cold. This one in particular hung up a sign yesterday that reads "2 1/2 WEEKS LEFT!" I'm assuming it means two and a half weeks until they close down for the season, but I'm also looking at it as a countdown to winter.
People here are really friendly. They'll strike up a conversation with you about anything. But I've noticed that when they talk about winter, they talk about it like it's an event. They make it sound like one day you're gonna wake up, and it's gonna be 40 below and a foot of snow on the ground.
At my graduate student orientation, almost ever speaker talked about how it was fall, 50 degrees in the middle of August. How it only lasts about two and a half weeks. Then, it's winter.
I got my car winterized last week - because yes, you have to plug your car in in the winter here so it doesn't die. There is now a cord hanging out the front of my car. But the lady who shuttled me from the dealership and back lectured me about staying active, about watching for seasonal affective disorder. "If you suddenly find yourself getting depressed about the lack of peanut butter...don't ignore it."
One of my professors learned I was from Texas today. He used to teach at SFA in Nacogdoches. He told me tonight after class, "Come talk to me when it's 40 below. We can talk about how we're not in sweating in Texas."
So yeah, it's like people have a countdown. I can see it too. The mountains are on fire with yellow leaves interspersed with evergreen. Autumn is definitely here. Ane we're all waiting for winter to come. For this big event to take place. For the river to freeze, and for your breath to freeze before it can escape your mouth. They're waiting for it, but not with a sense of dread. It's almost like they're looking forward to it because I think that's when the real community comes alive. I'm learning how to be an Alaskan everyday, and so today, call me crazy, but I'm starting to look forward to the winter. Even though it's only September.
Monday, September 3, 2012
I'm Making This Place My Home
I've been in Alaska for about a month now. I've settled into my apartment with my perfect roommate. I got an amazing non-retail, flexible schedule, relevant-to-my-life job at the university press. I've been to exactly one class...and spent all weekend doing homework for that one class. Grad school is going to be tough but also incredible. Everything is coming together, and I have to say...I'm really happy, and I love it here. So, my first impressions? Okay, here we go...
1. I had to use lotion on my hands for the very first time in my entire life!! Maybe this isn't an exciting fact for you, but 12-year-old Natalie with the sweaty-hand - people wipe their fingers on their pants after touching me - anxiety complex would be thrilled. My life would be so different now if I had grown up here using lotion instead of leaving slimy trails across piano keyboards and erasing the blue lines on notebook paper.
2. I had my first class on Thursday night, and we were talking about our expectations for the class. There are 16 of us in the class, and we all agreed that we hate when people don't come to class prepared. i.e. they haven't done the reading. At first, I was laughing at how nerdy we were, and then I got really excited about how nerdy we were. It suddenly clicked...everybody in my class wants to be here; they want to learn, and they want everybody else to want to learn too. The community depends on this. It's incredible.
3. I'm getting the beer process under way. First challenge: pumpkin beer! I went to the farmer's market today to get me a pumpkin, and I was a little disappointed when I found that squash were being sold for $2.50/pound...and we couldn't find any pumpkins. But my roommate and I struck up a conversation with a farmer about his different squash, and when I said I was making pumpkin beer, he suggested I use a Boston Marrow squash instead. I asked him how much he wanted for it, and he said, "Nothing. Just bring me some beer when you're finished and let me know how it turns out." What?
4. I have a knack for choosing the same town to live in...just dislocated. They're all variations on the same theme. Small town. Close-knit community. Generous and friendly people. Everybody knows everybody. A black hole in one way or another. And a little on the po-dunk side. All five towns I can claim as "home" fit most of these descriptions. They may have different scenery: snow-capped mountains instead of mosquito-ridden bayous. They have different characters...but they're all pretty much the same. Fairbanks is the latest stop in my tour of small towns, and maybe it's too soon to tell...but I think it might end up being my favorite.
1. I had to use lotion on my hands for the very first time in my entire life!! Maybe this isn't an exciting fact for you, but 12-year-old Natalie with the sweaty-hand - people wipe their fingers on their pants after touching me - anxiety complex would be thrilled. My life would be so different now if I had grown up here using lotion instead of leaving slimy trails across piano keyboards and erasing the blue lines on notebook paper.
2. I had my first class on Thursday night, and we were talking about our expectations for the class. There are 16 of us in the class, and we all agreed that we hate when people don't come to class prepared. i.e. they haven't done the reading. At first, I was laughing at how nerdy we were, and then I got really excited about how nerdy we were. It suddenly clicked...everybody in my class wants to be here; they want to learn, and they want everybody else to want to learn too. The community depends on this. It's incredible.
3. I'm getting the beer process under way. First challenge: pumpkin beer! I went to the farmer's market today to get me a pumpkin, and I was a little disappointed when I found that squash were being sold for $2.50/pound...and we couldn't find any pumpkins. But my roommate and I struck up a conversation with a farmer about his different squash, and when I said I was making pumpkin beer, he suggested I use a Boston Marrow squash instead. I asked him how much he wanted for it, and he said, "Nothing. Just bring me some beer when you're finished and let me know how it turns out." What?
4. I have a knack for choosing the same town to live in...just dislocated. They're all variations on the same theme. Small town. Close-knit community. Generous and friendly people. Everybody knows everybody. A black hole in one way or another. And a little on the po-dunk side. All five towns I can claim as "home" fit most of these descriptions. They may have different scenery: snow-capped mountains instead of mosquito-ridden bayous. They have different characters...but they're all pretty much the same. Fairbanks is the latest stop in my tour of small towns, and maybe it's too soon to tell...but I think it might end up being my favorite.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Hakuna Matata
Well, I'm on the eve of my departure for Alaska. I've said my goodbyes, and I'm about to take, perhaps, the biggest step of my life thus far. I've spent all this time preparing for this moment, and now it's finally happening. It's kind of surreal - like my life is moving in fast forward and slow motion all at the same time.
A few months ago, I was wondering to myself why I decided to put myself through this. After all, I was laying in the hammock in perfect 75 degree weather reading a book and drinking wine I didn't even buy because I live at home. While living at home had its trifles, I had finally become content with being in Oregon. And here I was uprooting myself again to start over in a place I honestly don't know much about.
The moments leading up to this moment are mostly based on a gut feeling. That's why when people ask me why I'm going to Alaska, I never have a concrete answer for them. Yeah, sure I could have gone to school in Oregon or Texas. It would have been cheaper and a lot easier move. School is part of what this is about, yes. The other big one is the deep desire for adventure. (Which, if I'm being honest, that's the major thing I've lacked and become complacent with here in Oregon. That's another story though.) In the end, my going to Alaska comes down to this gut feeling I had the moment I found the school, and then the way it was confirmed by all the things that came after that.
There was this moment a little over a year ago when I was on a road trip with Leslie. We had just spent 4 days in Big Bend National Park having our minds blown by the epicness of the scenery. We were sweaty, coated in a layer of red dirt so thick we could have written our names in it. It was the best spring break of my life. Hiking, lots and lots of Lone Star beer, hotdogs cooked and uncooked, and some unbelievable stories in an amphitheater that only Leslie would understand. As we were leaving and driving through south Texas in some dusty border ghost town in the desert, and we finally appeared on the grid again, I had Leslie turn down the music and I checked my voicemail.
It was a professor in Alaska telling me personally that I'd gotten in to the school. I listened to it twice. Leslie and I screamed, and I giggled and yelled "Oh my god, I'm moving to Alaska!" And then she turned the music back up, and "Hakuna Matata" from the Lion King started blaring through her car. It was like this colliding of colossal forces coming together to tell me that my gut feeling was correct. It was just the combination of all the factors.
So, yeah, that's my real reason for moving to Alaska. Not the only reason, but that's the one that makes the most sense to me and the least sense to everybody else. It all comes down to a gut feeling and the adoption of a "no worries" lifestyle. So, in 6 hours, I ship out and begin my newest adventure. Stay tuned. It's about to get a lot more interesting.
A few months ago, I was wondering to myself why I decided to put myself through this. After all, I was laying in the hammock in perfect 75 degree weather reading a book and drinking wine I didn't even buy because I live at home. While living at home had its trifles, I had finally become content with being in Oregon. And here I was uprooting myself again to start over in a place I honestly don't know much about.
The moments leading up to this moment are mostly based on a gut feeling. That's why when people ask me why I'm going to Alaska, I never have a concrete answer for them. Yeah, sure I could have gone to school in Oregon or Texas. It would have been cheaper and a lot easier move. School is part of what this is about, yes. The other big one is the deep desire for adventure. (Which, if I'm being honest, that's the major thing I've lacked and become complacent with here in Oregon. That's another story though.) In the end, my going to Alaska comes down to this gut feeling I had the moment I found the school, and then the way it was confirmed by all the things that came after that.
There was this moment a little over a year ago when I was on a road trip with Leslie. We had just spent 4 days in Big Bend National Park having our minds blown by the epicness of the scenery. We were sweaty, coated in a layer of red dirt so thick we could have written our names in it. It was the best spring break of my life. Hiking, lots and lots of Lone Star beer, hotdogs cooked and uncooked, and some unbelievable stories in an amphitheater that only Leslie would understand. As we were leaving and driving through south Texas in some dusty border ghost town in the desert, and we finally appeared on the grid again, I had Leslie turn down the music and I checked my voicemail.
It was a professor in Alaska telling me personally that I'd gotten in to the school. I listened to it twice. Leslie and I screamed, and I giggled and yelled "Oh my god, I'm moving to Alaska!" And then she turned the music back up, and "Hakuna Matata" from the Lion King started blaring through her car. It was like this colliding of colossal forces coming together to tell me that my gut feeling was correct. It was just the combination of all the factors.
So, yeah, that's my real reason for moving to Alaska. Not the only reason, but that's the one that makes the most sense to me and the least sense to everybody else. It all comes down to a gut feeling and the adoption of a "no worries" lifestyle. So, in 6 hours, I ship out and begin my newest adventure. Stay tuned. It's about to get a lot more interesting.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Choose Your Own Adventure
A couple weeks ago, I realized that I have officially been a college graduate for a year. It was a weird thing to think about. A year ago, I was depressed because the party of senior year was over. I had no plan. I was starting this blog. I was homeless. I hadn't yet resigned myself to moving to Oregon, but I knew that if I did, that I would feel like a failure. I felt like it would just be killing time until I went to Alaska - that it would be a static point in my life. And I was right. I've spent more than half of this year thinking it was the worst decision I'd ever made, mostly because I hadn't made the choice for myself.
My friend Ashley came to visit me this weekend. We've been friends since our freshman orientation nearly 5 years ago. We spent the weekend wandering the back roads, wine tasting, hiking waterfalls, and seeing the Redwoods, and every day was just a reminder of the way we decided to live life last year. Last January, we went on a week long road trip of the South. We didn't have a plan. We just hit the road, going wherever the wind took us - sometimes literally. We started talking about the trip (and then eventually, life in general) like it was one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books you read when you were a kid - where every page is like a fork in the road. You just have to take it one choice at a time.
While Ashley was here visiting, I started seeing the juxtapositions of my old world and the new world I've created for myself here - the differences between who I was a year ago and who I am now. She met my new friends, and we went on another adventure in a new place after more than a year. Ashley and I are already in two completely different places in our lives, but we easily slipped into the same mode of thinking from our January road trip. It was just so much easier to take each day one choice at a time when I had her back in the front seat with me.
It was also in the juxtapositions of this old friend in my new world that I realized that this year hasn't been a purposeless at all. I've changed, not reverted backwards like I suspected. This year hasn't been static. Working at Macy's hasn't been a waste of time. I've made great friends I wouldn't have now if I'd stayed in Texas or gone somewhere else. Overall, perhaps this "worst decision I've ever made" wasn't really that bad after all. Perhaps it was just one of those pages in the adventure book where you only get one choice, and it's what you make of it that determines whether you survive or not.
My friend Ashley came to visit me this weekend. We've been friends since our freshman orientation nearly 5 years ago. We spent the weekend wandering the back roads, wine tasting, hiking waterfalls, and seeing the Redwoods, and every day was just a reminder of the way we decided to live life last year. Last January, we went on a week long road trip of the South. We didn't have a plan. We just hit the road, going wherever the wind took us - sometimes literally. We started talking about the trip (and then eventually, life in general) like it was one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books you read when you were a kid - where every page is like a fork in the road. You just have to take it one choice at a time.
While Ashley was here visiting, I started seeing the juxtapositions of my old world and the new world I've created for myself here - the differences between who I was a year ago and who I am now. She met my new friends, and we went on another adventure in a new place after more than a year. Ashley and I are already in two completely different places in our lives, but we easily slipped into the same mode of thinking from our January road trip. It was just so much easier to take each day one choice at a time when I had her back in the front seat with me.
It was also in the juxtapositions of this old friend in my new world that I realized that this year hasn't been a purposeless at all. I've changed, not reverted backwards like I suspected. This year hasn't been static. Working at Macy's hasn't been a waste of time. I've made great friends I wouldn't have now if I'd stayed in Texas or gone somewhere else. Overall, perhaps this "worst decision I've ever made" wasn't really that bad after all. Perhaps it was just one of those pages in the adventure book where you only get one choice, and it's what you make of it that determines whether you survive or not.
Monday, May 7, 2012
"Where the People are Unusual..."
Where I'll be spending most of time. It's kind of the ugliest building on campus, but whatever. At least, when spring begins, the students drop watermelons off the roof?
Because every town needs an arch made of moose antlers...
Where I went running in the mornings. Yes, it's a pond. Yes, it's still mostly frozen at the end of April.
My "I hope the bears don't get me while I'm running" face.
I think he'd win. Even in his taxidermic state.
I don't normally have such an audience when I'm using the outhouse...
Hey, look, Santa's my neighbor! Well, the 40 ft creepy looking version of him is my neighbor anyway.
1. My hands didn't sweat! Not once did I have to nervously wipe my hands on my pants before shaking someone's hand. This is huge for me.
2. Dress is casual...all the time.
3. We went to eat at Silver Gulch Brewery one night. Their slogan (printed on their pint glasses, t-shirts, and coasters) was, "Fairbanks. Where the people are unusual and the beer is unusually good." Enough said?
Monday, April 30, 2012
I Belong Here
You know those rare occasions when there is no doubt in your mind that your gut feeling was right? This is one of those moments. People have told me I'm crazy. They have reiterated over and over again that Alaska is cold and very far away. But since I stumbled across the MFA program in Fairbanks on September 24, 2010, there has been this inexplicable feeling that I belong in Fairbanks...even though I had never set foot there. Until now.
I had only been in Fairbanks a matter of hours before I could say one thing for certain: that feeling of belonging was absolutely correct. Okay, I know I don't live here yet...and I know it's not winter, but it's this vibe leaking out of every crevice of the town that's screaming, "Natalie...where have you been?" And I'm going to listen to it. My gut feeling was right, even though everybody told me it might be wrong. Lesson learned? Listen to my gut more often.
How could I not when I will have views like this?
I had only been in Fairbanks a matter of hours before I could say one thing for certain: that feeling of belonging was absolutely correct. Okay, I know I don't live here yet...and I know it's not winter, but it's this vibe leaking out of every crevice of the town that's screaming, "Natalie...where have you been?" And I'm going to listen to it. My gut feeling was right, even though everybody told me it might be wrong. Lesson learned? Listen to my gut more often.
How could I not when I will have views like this?
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