Honestly, it doesn't seem like it was that long ago that I was starting this blog and getting ready to begin my Alaskan Adventure. Of course, as far as depth of experience goes, I feel like a lifetime has passed since I was the girl who first posted here.
In one week and 2 days, I will leave Alaska, perhaps for the last time.
I have spent plenty of time this spring reflecting on things I will and will not miss about the village, as well as the things I have missed the most from "outside".
I will miss:
-The absolute silence that engulfs you once you are outside of the village proper. It is almost eerie; the sense of nothingness and insignificance, and the realization that the village is an almost comically tiny outpost just barely clinging to the skirts of the vast Alaskan wild.
-The ever changing view of the Bering Sea right outside my living room window. From sparkling blue to slate grey, slushy brown with floating ice chunks, to a frozen, flat desert. It is one of the most interesting cycles I have ever witnessed.
-Hearing the bush planes fly overhead, then watching them make the turn out over the water to come in for a landing. No matter how many times I see this, it never gets old. There is a certain amount of comfort in knowing that the planes are still flying - it means we are still connected to the outside world. There is also a profound sense of wonder in the miracle of flight, more pronounced in the small, improbable bush planes than in commercial jets.
-The desolate, treeless, romantically bleak tundra landscape. It is a place which requires a closer look to be truly appreciated. In the summertime, the tundra is covered in hummocks of green-brown, which upon closer inspection reveal an entire miniature ecosystem in a surprising array of colors and textures. Tiny, delicate mosses and lichens, grasses, and berry plants intermingle to create a springy, marshy carpet. A vivid color palette exists in every shade of green, from electric lime to subtle sage. Red and purple berries, rusty-leaved ground cover, and waxy, succulent-like plants add accent to the barrage of green. Of course, when the weather turns, all of this life goes into hibernation mode, and the arrival of snow blankets everything in sameness.
-Village English. Hearing it, using it, all the different nuances and patterns...it's almost been like learning a new language.
-The moments of absurd, laugh-out-loud humor I have shared and experienced with my students. Also, the moments of connection - those lightbulb-switching-on-overhead moments of "I get it!"
-Fall salmon fishing - setting the net, hauling in the catch, filleting the fresh fish right there on our porch...the first time I cut fish here was the first time I really felt "Alaskan."
-Watching the sun set behind Stewart Island.
-Beach combing for heart rocks and sea glass.
-Eskimo Dance. The beat of the drums, the wail of the singers, the rhythmic movement of the dancers as they bob and gesture - it's a window into the past, one of the last vestiges of an ancient culture that has been largely Westernized.
Things I have missed the most from "outside" during my time here are:
-My family. It is such a fiasco getting in and out of the village, there are no such thing as spur-of-the-moment visits home. Not to mention the expense, and the fact that you couldn't pay my mom to get on a bush plane to come visit.
-Driving.
-Going to the store with a shopping list, and getting everything on the list. Not only that, but having a variety to choose from (i.e. instead of one brand and kind of cheese, 50 different brands and kinds).
-Alcohol. I am by no means a heavy drinker, but there are times when I would definitely appreciate a beer after a long day. Not to mention having wine on hand for cooking. Living in a dry village is kind of a joke anyways...almost everyone here drinks except for the teachers. We have the most to lose though (job/teaching license), whereas others may just receive a slap on the wrist if caught importing/brewing/consuming.
-A social life. With a few exceptions, teachers hang with other teachers, and that's it. Living, working, and socializing with the same people day in and day out is the definition of monotony. Not that I don't enjoy hanging with my co-workers, it's just that there's little choice in the matter, and almost zero opportunity for social expansion.
-Volleyball and track. My attempt to coach volleyball last year was an abysmal failure (no turnout), and there is no track team whatsoever (weather). While I have at least had a few opportunities to play volleyball with coworkers, I haven't thrown a discus in two years. I have missed the stress relief of being able to go out and throw something heavy every once in awhile. I am very much looking forward to having both of these sports back in my life in greater capacity.
-Espresso coffee shops, frozen yogurt shops, and other restaurants in general. Just the idea of having food at your fingertips; to be able to drive up, order, pick-up, and go is fantastic. There is an overall convenience of living/accessibility factor that I have missed these past two years.
-Shopping...in a STORE. Online is great in a pinch, but it is nowhere near as satisfying as the instant gratification you get in an actual store. Not to mention the thrill of the hunt at places like Ross, TJ Maxx, and Tuesday Morning (the discount shopping holy trifecta!).
-Going out and about with my dog, and taking him on walks without having to keep my head on a swivel at all times. The local attitudes towards canines here are something I will NOT miss.
I am glad that I came here and did all that I have done, but it is time to move on to the next phase of my life. My Alaska Adventure may be over (for now, or forever), but it will always be here with me. These past two years have built the foundation for the rest of my career as an educator; I am forever changed.
