It’s
been nearly a week since I returned from my visit to Alaska, and my sleep patterns still
haven’t returned to normal. For someone who awakens at first light every day of
his life, an Alaskan summer can be a dramatic event, because it never gets even
as dark as “first light.” One cannot grasp the significance of being in the
Land of the Midnight Sun without actually having experienced it. I found myself,
on numerous occasions, almost yielding to the temptation to call home and relay the
experiences of my day, only to realize that while it looked like late afternoon
in Homer, it was 3 AM back home, and that my call would likely startle my lady
awake (There is no such thing as a good 3 AM call).
Circadian
challenges out of the way, here is a brief recall of my time in Alaska, and –
said challenges aside – it was a wondrous trip, only possible because of the
prodding and insistence of my precious daughter and son-in-law. When I said,
months ago, that I would come, she bought the airline tickets, thus racking up
some additional airline miles, while simultaneously ensuring that I would
indeed come (and reimburse her). She’s crafty that way.
The
flight from Austin to Houston to Anchorage was relatively unremarkable, aside
from the first hop, which found me seated next to a guy who weighed somewhere
in the vicinity of 300+ pounds, and whose girth left roughly 2/3 of a seat for
my comfort. No sweat… It was a short ride. The plane from Houston to Anchorage
was delayed, allowing me to soak up an extra hour and a half of Texas heat
while parked on the tarmac, and placing me in Anchorage with a mere 3 minutes
to get to my connecting flight.
Here’s
a shot of the Yukon Territory, taken from my plane. Phenomenally unspoilt and
majestic.
Rapid
response on my daughter’s part got me switched to another flight, this one to
Kenai rather than Homer. She must have broken every speed limit en route,
because she arrived to pick me up only about 20 minutes after I landed. All I
could think of when I saw her was that I’d actually forgotten how beautiful she
is. And she looked genuinely thrilled to see me, which wasn’t always the case
when she was growing up under my Machiavellian thumb.
I won't go into the return flight, except to state that it never reached a level requiring intervention by Air Marshals. I must give credit for the "incident" to a remarkably rude fellow traveler who had made it a priority to crush my snacks, if not my knees, though the situation was diffused by the somewhat late-in-coming good judgment of an equally rude male flight attendant. And that's all I'll say about that.
Sharon
and me at the airport in Kenai
I
had expected to be alone at their house for a few of the days during my visit,
as she and Corey both held positions of responsibility at their workplaces, and
I didn’t want or expect to compromise their professional well-being. As it
turned out, they took off the better part of the time I was there, and had
plans for the majority of our time together.
Alaska
is very much a study in contrasts. You might see a multi-million dollar cabin
that looks like it came straight out of Architectural Digest, and an old school
bus turned into a ramshackle cabin, mere yards away. Some of the friendliest
and most attractive people you’d ever see, right next to someone who would look
wholly familiar alongside Jethro Tull’s Aqualung.
On
one day, we took a 2-1/2 hour boat ride across the Kachemak Bay to Seldovia,
which has the feel of an artists’ colony that has recently found favor among
the travel agents. The plan was for the 3 of us to take a hike on the wilderness
trails, but the few miles we walked through the village let me know that I wasn’t
up to it, so I suggested they go alone, and I would return to a delightful
coffee shop / bookstore we had visited. We parted ways, and I ended up spending
the next couple of hours chatting and making music with John, the owner (Well,
in truth, he made the music, and I introduced him to John Prine’s genius, albeit with my less-than-remarkable voice.). With
a clear stream flowing lazily below us, it was a perfect setting for coffee,
cookies, and new friends. I will go back there someday, but in the meantime, I’m
sending John a John Prine songbook. If you ever get to Seldovia, do yourself a favor and go visit John. You won't have to ask him twice to get his guitar out and play for you. And don't forget to sample his home-baked cookies. They're wonderful.
View
of the Seldovia Slough and the deck of Warehouse Books & Coffee
On
another day, Sharon and I took a mellow raft trip down the Kenai River from
Cooper’s Landing, under the capable guidance of Alaska Wildland Adventures. Not
a whitewater trip, per se, but remarkably relaxing… except, perhaps, that one
moment when the oarsman asked us if we wanted to shoot a small rapid, and we
all chimed in with an enthusiastic “Yes!” They weren’t kidding about the water temp
being 40 degrees. So much for being lulled by the stream, but it was actually
pretty warm outside, and the minor splashing was actually quite refreshing!
On the Kenai River
Interspersed
between these day-long adventures were visits to all the touristy shops in town
and on the Homer Spit ( A long peninsula that is home to myriad bars,
restaurants, charter businesses, and fishing companies. Again, contrasts.). Topped an afternoon on the Spit with Corey with
an essential requisite for all tourists, which entailed tossing down
beers at a famous local watering hole.
Looking
across the bay to the Homer Spit
The
scenery and atmosphere of the Kenai Peninsula is compelling, to say the least
(though I suspect it would lose a bit of its allure during winter). The most
remarkable parts of the trip, however, had little to do with topography or
Chamber of Commerce efforts. In my previous experiences, even when spending
time with the closest of friends or relatives, there comes a point at which you
begin to miss the relaxed comfort of being in your own space, and grow
increasingly aware that you are a “guest” in another’s space. In the 8 days I
was there, I never had such a feeling, and felt every bit as welcome on my last
day as I did upon my arrival. There were no “issues” lingering beneath the
surface, awaiting resolution, and no longings for solitude or more familiar
environs. Sure, I missed my Connie, as well as our menagerie of animals. But
the longing was to have them all brought to me, rather than a desire to escape
to my more familiar world. And this comfortable feeling can only be attributed
to Sharon and Corey. Whether they were truly enjoying my presence the whole
time or are supremely gifted actors, the sense of being welcome was unshakable,
and means more to me than I could ever describe. All the conflicts that
inevitably arise between parent and child were long gone and all but forgotten
(except as fodder for laughter). I know of few people who have experienced such
true communion with kin. And aside from a slightly alcohol-infused (but
amazingly animus-free) political discussion after a night at the bar, there was
little in the way of “debate.” We were all just too busy having fun and
enjoying each other. And in the end, I found it awkward to call Corey my
son-in-law, which seemed to conjure the stereotypical “in-law” images. He’s my
son. And a dear friend. And Sharon, who will always be my little girl, is someone
I would definitely seek out as a friend in her own right, had we not already
achieved that kind of comfortable relationship. The “kids’” politics, we’ll
just have to work on. My adoration of them will remain intact.
Corey
& Sharon on the trip to Seldovia
Coming
home was bittersweet, with the sadness blunted somewhat by the awareness that
Sharon will be here to visit in a few short months. I only hope Corey makes it
down soon, as well. Otherwise, I’ll have to wait until they buy their house,
which will give me an excuse to come up and help with the remodeling they want
to do.
It’s
been almost a week now since I got home. My sleep patterns are slowly returning
to normal. As are my eating habits, which were drastically modified by Sharon’s
incredible repast. From scrumptious, fried fresh-caught halibut to a breakfast
devoted to exquisite gluttony (What else would you call a pound of bacon, a
pound of sausage, biscuits, pancakes, and potato pancakes for only three
people?), to treats from the killer Three Sisters Bakery and the Alaska Wild
Berry store, I ate more rich and delicious food in a week than I normally
ingest in a couple of months. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but I did
notice that the planes had a bit more difficulty taking off on my return trip
than they did on my arrival. Just saying…
