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