Another summer begins

It's been a long time since I've blogged. It's our third year living in Kodiak, and it's become increasingly difficult to see the place with fresh eyes, as a visitor or tourist might. That doesn't mean my love for Kodiak has diminished. It's just become more ordinary and comfortable.

So I'll get back to blogging by writing about our recent trip to Anchor Point, Alaska, and then to Eugene, Oregon, to visit family.

Once again, we took the 9-hour ferry ride from Kodiak to Homer. This is becoming an annual trip to which Rainbow looks forward. Since I was traveling on the later end of being 7 months pregnant, I also looked forward to the physical freedom of movement and access to bathrooms that taking the ferry affords.

Waiting to head out on the ferry

We spent a few days with T's parents in Anchor Point. T went fishing with his dad, while Rainbow and I hung out with his mom for most of the time. Rainbow really enjoyed the time she had with her grandparents.

After a few days, we hopped on airplanes (three in total) to visit T's sister, her wife, and their three kids. Rainbow was particularly smitten with her older girl cousin. Inspired by the boldness of the older children, Rainbow tried several new things, including chicken chasing/holding, skateboarding, and riding a scooter. 

This is pretty much the meanest I have ever  seen my child be to an animal.

Helping Auntie S feed the chickens

The Mainland

As mentioned in a previous post, we spent the last two weeks of July on the Mainland. I'll just say here, bluntly, that we tried to pack too many things into one short trip--including family time, shopping, fishing, cultural experiences, and camping.

And now I'm going to try to pack too many things into one blog post.

First of all, the ferry ride: We had the good fortune to ride on the Kennicott, the larger of the two ferries that stop in Kodiak, and I have to say that, while the trip was not without queasiness, it was smoother and more enjoyable than I expected. 

Guess who loves riding on the ferry?

No ferry ride is complete without whale sightings.

One highlight of the trip for Rainbow and for and me was watching T and his dad go dip net fishing for sockeye salmon. Rural Alaska residents, a category that includes us, can apply for a subsistence fishing license that allows them to catch significantly more fish via dipnetting than people with "regular" fishing licenses. 

When the sockeye are coming in, hundreds of people drive their vehicles on the beach near the mouth of the Kenai River. Whole families come. They set up lawn chairs and grills. It's not rowdy, it's not a party scene, but there is a feeling of celebration. These people are catching food for their families. The fishermen and fisherwomen carry their ridiculously large nets into the water, where they stand and wait. The fish literally swim straight into the nets on their way to the river. On good days, a dozen fish can be caught quickly and easily.

T's dad in his fancy dry suit

T and his dad waiting for the fish to swim by

T and his dad didn't end up going on good days, but they did catch enough to get some salmon in our freezer. I'm thankful to them and to the fish.

Rainbow sharing a snack with her grandpa while he takes a break from fishing

Girl needed a day of rest after her big dip net fishing outing.

Most of the time when T and his dad were fishing, Rainbow and I hung out with T's mom. We also spent some time in Homer, Alaska, a beautiful, artsy town at the end of Alaska's well-traveled Sterling Highway. T's parents live near Homer. 

Rainbow got lots of snuggle time with her grandma.

View from the playground at Karen Hornaday Park playground in Homer

This seagull relentlessly shadowed this sea otter, hoping to get some nibbles of the crab the otter was eating.

We borrowed his parents' truck and camper for a five-day camping trip with stops in Anchorage, near Whittier, in Hope, and at Skilak Lake. 

Clinically Competent

Yesterday I received an email that stated this:

We are pleased to inform you that you have met the Standards for the Certificate of Clinical Competence in CCC-SLP and your application for certification has been approved by the Council for Clinical Certification in Audiology and Speech-Language Pathology (CFCC). 

This felt like the so-very-near-completion (it will feel entirely complete when I receive my certification award packet in the mail) of a multi-year, multi-state, and even multi-country journey. 

If memory serves correctly (which, admittedly, it often doesn't), the journey began six years ago when I got the crazy idea to switch careers. At that time, I lived in Wyoming. I took prerequisite and graduate courses, and also did a 5-week Kentucky-based "boot camp" in the field, while living in Morocco. I interned in Maryland and Nebraska while living in Maryland and Alaska. I birthed, nursed, and stayed home with a child. I worked part-time. I worked full-time. 

And now, finally, I've been officially notified that I'm a "real" speech-language pathologist. I don't even remotely feel like I am. Nevertheless, if I ever will feel like I am, this is a big step in that direction.

Whittier, Alaska

Alaska is full of unique and fascinating communities. Kodiak is one of them. Another is Whittier, a small town on the mainland that I have been somewhat obsessed with ever since listening to an episode of This American Life that featured a Whittier resident. 

Being an isolated Alaskan village (population 220) does not make Whittier unique. It's history, it's accessibility, and it's housing do. 

Unlike most small, isolated villages in Alaska, Whittier is not an Alaska Native village. According to the Milepost, Whittier was created during World War II as a port and a center for petroleum delivery to northern bases. 

View of the tunnel from the Whittier side

Originally, Whittier was connected to the rest of the state via rail and water. Trains traveled through a remarkable 2.5-mile long tunnel through a mountain. Not terribly long ago, this tunnel was opened up to vehicles as well. The one-lane tunnel alternates in being open for trains, for traffic to Whittier, and for traffic out of Whittier. As we learned when we visited Whittier last week, not familiarizing oneself with the tunnel schedule can result in long wait times (for us, 45 minutes). 

Begich Towers

Even though the Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel is North America's longest tunnel, it's not even what makes Whittier so unique. Over half of the village's residents, and many of its businesses, are housed in one building--the 14-story Begich Towers. The building was originally housing for the U.S. Army. What I find particularly interesting is that Whittier villagers have a history of living under one roof that goes back further than Begich Towers--the now abandoned Buckner Building played the same role in the past. 

The Buckner Building. If no one has yet written a horror or murder mystery taking place here, somebody should.

We visited Whittier last week on a short camping trip on the Alaska mainland (I'll blog about the rest of the trip later). Most people go there to get on a ferry or to take a glacier viewing cruise. We were led there by my curiosity and stayed only for a couple of hours. We stopped at a coffee shop (the Lazy Otter) on the harbor. Then we walked in the rain and then through a pedestrian tunnel (apparently Whittier is all about the tunnels) that runs below the railroad tracks and links the harbor to Begich Towers. There is a small covered playground beside Begich Towers (Whittier is known for its extreme weather as well), where we let Rainbow play for a while before heading back to the tunnel and waiting for our turn to go back through.

The day was cloudy and rainy, but I think that only highlighted the beauty of the village and surrounding mountains. Would I go back? Yes. There are hikes in the surrounding mountains with closer looks at the spectacular waterfalls that we could see from below. There are lovely glacier tours allowing one to view up to 26 glaciers in one day. Will I go back? Probably not. I got a taste of Whittier, and it only intrigued me more, but the world is great and vast and full of many other wonders I have yet to see at all, and I think their beckoning will pull stronger.

But then again, I said I'd never live on an Alaskan island, so you never know. Maybe I'll end up in Whittier again one day. 

Something new

You don't have to live in a place like Kodiak to start to feel like you're trapped or stuck in a rut. However, I think it might be a little harder to get out of that rut in places like Kodiak.

I think it's important, when one is feeling that way, to do something new. The "something new" for us these last couple of weeks was trying some new hikes.

On the first, a six-mile hike up Kashevaroff Mountain, I didn't take many pictures. It was nearby Heitman Mountain and thus had similar views to what we saw on our hike to Heitman Lake last year. 

Today we did a much shorter and easier hike, a 1.8 mile loop (we love loops!) to Jack and Lee Lakes. It was a lovely hike along very well-maintained trails (which were also well-used by four-wheelers).

The trail was even wide enough for vehicles. This SUV, abandoned near Sargent Creek, has apparently spent years as a target for shooting and as an empty beer bottle receptacle. 

We think these people abandoned their car after it got hopelessly stuck in this mud.

Same with these shoes, I  guess.

Jack Lake...or is it Lee Lake? Now I've got them mixed up...

This is the other lake, whatever its name is. The fireweed was in full bloom and added to the splendor of the scenery.

Parents/Grandparents

Today my parents left after spending two weeks here with us. Kodiak was very kind to them, providing much more sun and warmth than usual. The combination of sunshine and guests to show off our island to has helped T and me to finally feel like it's summer.

It's been years since we've had a grill, and we were looking forward to "grilling weather" for months.

I took this picture at the beginning of a hike that we didn't end up taking--the trail was too overtaken by brush.

But my parents' presence and departure also brought on a bought of reflection and introspection. Their visit brought into sharper focus for me both the things I love and the things I don't love (I won't say "hate") about Kodiak. 

My blog has largely been dedicated to the best of Kodiak--the sunny days, the breathtaking scenery, the wildlife, the unique culture. I try not to dwell on the less positive (and, I think, less interesting) aspects of living here. However, what's on my mind right now is the impact that living in such a place has on relationships. 

Many people come to Kodiak with a strong but temporary desire

for the unique experiences that living here offers. I have lived here fewer than three years and have already watched several friends move away. Particularly as an introvert, I find the prospect of continuing to face such losses to be rather painful. The family members we live "close" to--T's parents--are not as easy to visit as I had hoped. Most of our friends and family members are too far to visit with any degree of regularity. My awareness of this was much more acute with my parents here, especially as I watched them interact with Rainbow, who immediately and intuitively treated them as family.

When my parents got on the ferry this evening, I cried in no small part because the cost and distance and time that would soon stand between me and them felt overwhelming. I do not like parting with loved ones when I do not know when (or, I'm sorry to say, if) I will see them again. This will continue to happen over and over again for as long as I live here or anywhere similar. 

When I jump down this rabbit hole of introspection, I wonder why I don't just move "home." But it's not that simple anymore. Where is home? Nebraska, where my parents live? That would put us thousands of miles away from T's parents and his sister. And unless we move to New Zealand, we'll always be far away from T's brother. And what about my friends, flung across the continent and world? 

I can't bring all the people I love to one place, so is it really so bad to just live in a place that I love, regardless of its distance from all of them?

Shuyak Island

Kodiak Island, on which the town of Kodiak is located, is only one of many islands in the Kodiak Archipelago. This large collection of islands is about as big as Connecticut. In addition to Kodiak city, the archipelago has six villages. All but one are located on Kodiak island, and all six are off the road system. 

Most of the archipelago is uninhabited by humans and untouched by marks of civilization such as roads, electricity, and cell phone reception. This includes Shuyak Island, located at the northern end of the Kodiak Archipelago. Most of the island's wilderness is part of Shuyak Island State Park, which T, Rainbow, my parents, and I visited this week. 

So how did we get to such a place? Well, we chartered a six-seater float plane to take us there. Both on the way out to Shuyak Island and on the way back, we flew low enough over the land and ocean that I could see individual seagulls flying over the water. 

It's a strange feeling watching an airplane fly away after dropping you off on a remote island. 

We stayed in Deer Haven, a rustic State Park cabin located about 100 feet from a calm rocky beach on Carry Inlet. We were the first guests of the season and had to do a bit of housekeeping to get the dusty cabin inhabitable for our three-night stay. 

Amenities on the premises included an outhouse (with a door that had rotted off its hinges); an outbuilding equipped with a hanging bucket that could, at least in theory, be filled with hot water for a shower; a stocked wood shed; a metal sink connected to a bucket outside the cabin that could be filled with water; a wood burning stove; and two sets of bunk beds consisting of thin, dusty foam pads glued to wooden boards. The cabin's fresh water supply had been mostly cut off by the local beavers, so we were glad T had thought to bring 10 gallons of drinking water with us.

I suppose we would have been surprised if we HADN'T seen deer from our cabin, given its name.

This picture doesn't do justice to the golden evening light. 

Somehow, miraculously, we had four warm, spectacularly sunny days and spent most of our time on the beach near our cabin. We gathered sand dollars and looked for crabs and jelly fish in the clear water of the inlet. We made a fire on the beach each evening. We cooked our suppers on the open fire and roasted marshmallows while we watched fish jump and listened to Canada geese, oyster catchers, and loons call to each other. 

Marshmallows!

We went for walks in the woods and saw lots of signs of bears but, luckily, never came across one. It wasn't quite the right season for fishing in that area, but my dad still gave it a try for the first time in his life. 

All in all, the trip was everything a vacation should be. T and I were delighted to get to see the more "wild" side of Kodiak and to share that with someone else. 

On the beach with all of our wilderness gear, waiting for the plane to pick us up