A Quick Backtrack, For Closure's Sake

My life is still unfolding at far too break-neck a pace to keep track of it all, but I'll make a feeble attempt, in case anyone out there wants to read about it.

Firstly, I want to step back for a moment and fill in some of my last week in Alaska, for it was a whirlwind indeed. I worked a whole bunch the week after I returned from my fleeting visit to New England, and then I had a 3 day weekend to do and see all the stuff I hadn't gotten to yet and still wanted to at the end of my (first) summer in Alaska. (I have taken to assuming I'll be back. Maybe not next year, and certainly not every year or forever, but there is much more of that land I want to discover and explore and soak in.)

Friday was a day of intense bonding and new experiences with old friends, spent in Wasilla with Hope, Nicole, Caitlin and Matt W. I can't in good conscience go into more details about it here, so if I've piqued your curiosity you'll have to follow up with me one-on-one.

Saturday morning Caitlin prepared a delicious and lovely breakfast spread for the five of us plus Matt D. and Mack, some more new friends of ours. We took it easy for most of the day, and eventually made our way via ragged caravan to an epic equinox celebration in an absolutely amazing, magical hippie enclave outside Palmer, known popularly as Chickaloon. Caitlin and I got continuously turned around (I give her full credit for that, generous--and honest-- as always) and so we brought up the rear on the party parade.

Perhaps partly because of the late start, I felt compelled to go all out while we were there. I probably would have in any case, it was just an extra bit of impetus. The Chickaloon Equinox Celebration was everything I can imagine wanting in a party. It was outside, under a starful sky, playing happy host to Venus and a radiant half-moon. There were numerous fires to huddle by. There was a statue representation of Shiva, god of destruction, capped by a papier-mâché serpent of epic proportions. At the peak of the party, fire dancers with torch-claws set the snake aflame. All but the fangs were consumed, along with a box of wishes for the year we wrote when we arrived, but Shiva was left unscathed. She also bore us some fresh-picked personally gardened carrots, something I'd been acutely craving all summer, so I was one of the first to taste Shiva's bounty. (Shiva is traditionally considered a male deity, but I've also thought of him as female, and as far as I'm concerned deity gender is rather irrelevant and/or open to interpretation--much like all gender in my book, so I'm not going to correct myself here.)

Prior to arriving at this party I had also found myself feeling rather starved for creative and performative outlets. So much so that I felt inspired to steal The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (loosely akin to my personal bible) off the shelf at Lucy's house in Wasilla and bring it along for the surprisingly long ride to Chickaloon. I started reading King Lear aloud to Caitlin as she drove. She, like far too many people, had never read it, so it was good for both of us.

However, I was in for many fortuitous surprises in the forest that night. In addition to everything previously described, one of the centerpieces of the celebration was a stage, primarily peopled by musicians throughout the night. Chickaloon is chockfull of them. Beside the stage was a shadow-puppet screen, and beside that there was a person-sized cage a man in a monkey-suit spent most of the night dancing his heart out within. The stage and screen both served as excellent outlets for my pent-up creative energy. I was encouraged by a few of my friends to go onstage during a transition between bands, and I ended up spontaneously creating a free-style rap with a super talented beat-boxer backing me up. I had a back-up dancer up there with me as well. I'd never done anything like this before in my life, I've barely ever even listened to rap, but I do fancy myself a poet, and I'm comfortable with an audience, and have plenty of improv. experience, so I guess it wasn't that much of a stretch. Either way, it was extremely thrilling and invigorating, and although the content of that first rap were generally less than brilliant, it was on point and quite well received. I actually ended up returning to the stage twice more later in the night when people desired further entertainment (I'm always happy to provide) and on my third attempt I was challenged by my guitar accompanist to swing a sea chantey to the riff he was laying down. Of course none of the chanteys I know would have fit well with it, so I made one up. It was quite a charming little ditty, if I do say so myself, describing my future ideal life, sailing on a boat with a goat, going cool places and visiting friends. The song mentioned that I need some sailing lessons before I can make this happen.

I spent most of the rest of the night lounging in a glorious lobster pot hippie hot tub, cooking lusciously over yet another fire, periodically switching to the cooler tub next door, where I could swim about a bit, being the very compact person I am. I made many new lovable and strange friends that night, creative and like-minded, beautiful and bearing large and wide-open hearts. There were swings with fragile paper flowers to swing on, and there was a crystal reflection garden. It is hard to describe the magic of that place and that night, so suffice it to say, I'm making Chickaloon solstice and equinox parties a tip-top priority for my future life.

Sunday morning also played host to many moments of glory and wonder. I was awed when I finally found my way to my friends' camping spot in the daylight--they'd found a perch overlooking a marvelous valley positively exploding with golden fall hues and natural beauty. We duly communed and paid our respects over and around our oatmeal breakfast, and reluctantly tore ourselves away to catch up with our contingent making its way toward Talkeetna.

Before we regrouped in Wasilla, we stopped at an awesome little thrift store just outside the bounds of the fairy kingdom we'd found. Well, perhaps within its jurisdiction. We were on a tight schedule, so we found the things we needed, each of us, within a few brief moments. We bartered with the manager, in accordance with her invitation, and I scored an authentic wool Navy sailor coat and some dapper white butler gloves for a meagre $14.

Talkeetna was a continuation of our strangely blessed journey. We saw unbelievable, truly breathtaking views of Mt. McKinley a.k.a. Denali, "The Great One" on the way there. It was directly in the line of sunshine that was battling fiercely with a dark storm cloud of impending doom. We kept skirting a line between the two, as if perfectly poised in the center of a yin yang. We drove along a yellow-leaf road until we reached our charming destination. In the car, I requested Nicole and my other artistically inclined friends to turn my body into a work of art, and they happily obliged. My back sported an exquisite pen-and-ink mermaid and ship and one or two other designs by the time we arrived.

Within moments of being in Talkeetna, another artist and hippie-friendly little Alaskan town, one that we stopped in every day we worked on the train but were never able to properly visit or see until that day, I had found my final souvenir from the summer. I selected a halibut necklace, carved out of wooly mammoth ivory by an Alaskan craftsman and peddled by his wife. It was only when I had thus completed the outfit that it became clear my summer had been discreetly devoted to compiling a whole new set of pirate garb. Nicole made me a Turkshead bracelet and totally epic badass water bottle earlier on, and during my weekend of last hurrahs I had acquired my sailor shirt, gloves and personal necklace charm.

Shortly thereafter, I sealed the deal on the fish's multiple symbolic significances by eating some outrageously delicious fried halibut in a local restaurant. We went for special Alaskan vodka drinks --blueberry, blackberry, birch and salmon flavored vodka according to our varied predilections, at the Fairview Inn, an old haunt of President Warren G. Harding, a man of much folk-lore on the train. He died a week after he dined there. So far, we're all still in tact. Perhaps that's because we only drank and played shuffleboard. Or it could be because none of us brought both our wife and mistress along for the trip, or otherwise encourage our compatriots to poison us.

My heart and mind never fully returned from Chickaloon, nor did I ever get a decent night sleep in the mix of any of this, so it was rather tricky for me to return to work on Monday. Luckily, it was our very last run, so a certain degree of zaniness and bad behavior was tolerated or ignored by my bosses, and primarily hidden from my passengers. Again, many of these stories are better left off the world-wide web, discretion being the better part of valor and all.

By Tuesday, my body was in full revolt. I was starting to feel quite run down. So my goals for the day were twofold: 1. Don't die. 2. Don't get fired. I managed to achieve both of them, so far as I can tell. Which means I'll get an end of season bonus! Huzzah!

Wednesday was transition day. Zack had moved out while we were out Tuesday. Blair was moving Wednesday, so our pack of friends catered primarily to his needs, and we had a delicious and overwhelming farewell luncheon of pizza at the Bear's Tooth in Anchorage. I did a few errands and attempted to pack throughout the day. The end-of-season celebration was that night as well. This was yet another event of great love and joy. I had a heck of a crew of co-workers and I took a great liking to many of them. Goodbyes are always bittersweet, but I felt more celebratory than sad. I had from beginning to end considered the summer a short-term experience, so I hadn't gotten unduly attached. I will probably hang on to several new friends from the train, but I expect this to proceed naturally, and feel little need to grieve for any of it.

I do grieve for yet another night's lost sleep that night, though. It can be made up, and I am working on it, gradually, but it was quite cruel to do that to my body, so many days in rapid succession, especially at the end of a long summer of chronic sleep deprivation. Still, I needed to pack, I had a plane to catch the next morning, so I stayed up through the night and, somehow or other, got it all done. Hope, Nicole and Caitlin helped with the final scramble when they awoke, about 20 minutes before our departure goal, and I met my goals for Thursday: 1. Don't die, 2. Make my flight, 3. Bring all my important stuff with me.

So that about brings us up to speed, and back to where I left off and am now, in Canada. I'll resume narrating my adventures and lifestyle here when next I can nab the time.

My first day in Canada

Started with some border troubles. Apparently they think I'm overqualified to be considered a volunteer, because I have an undergraduate degree, from Brown no less, though I can't tell whether that part meant anything to them or not. Was held up for an hour and (politely) interrogated and investigated. They looked at my letter of invitation, which Tim said they probably wouldn't need, and my criminal background check statement of official cleanliness from the Cumberland County Sheriff in Maine. He asked to see my diploma, which obviously I carry with me everywhere, and a CV, which I never had to show anyone to land this job, and also don't generally carry around, being a 23 year old vagabond over all else, but I did have 2 laptops in tow, and good thing too, because the old one had some resumes saved on it. My brain was moving slowly and aching because I didn't sleep at all the prior night, I stayed up to inefficiently and meticulously pack all my belongings in Anchorage, after I finished partying and saying goodbye to all my train friends, around 2:30 in the morning. Nicole, Hope and Caitlin were having a slumber party on Blair's king size bed in his vacated room, but I was working on getting my stuff together. Despite the horrible and chronic sleep deprivation, and its eventually unavoidable and undeniable consequences, I remembered I had a resume on that computer and sooner or later found an up to date one with all relevant teaching experience etc. Shortly after that I realized that I was still carrying around the program from the Department Ceremony of my Brown graduation. Because I'm sappy and sentimental like that, and thought it was a worthwhile memento to keep around. So I showed him that as well.

I'm not sure if it was ultimately good or bad of me to prove my worth and qualifications so thoroughly to the border police. It seems they're pretty strict with their immigration policies up here (I'm entirely unsure of why, especially with their southern neighbors who have no real motive to sneak up here to stay, work and live for extended periods, at least not while we have no military draft going, but there it is nevertheless) so his options upon reviewing my credentials were to A) detain me, B) deport me, or C) charge me $150 for a 60 day visa.

He chose option C, which I guess is good because the other two would have been a great hassle, and I would have had to rework my plans for the year a bit, though I'm sure I would have made the most of it. I was rather tired to face either that night. My understanding is that now most of the work is in Tim's hands, but he needs to open my job to the Canadian labor market, and if some Canadian labor board decides I am indeed the most or only qualified person for the job then I'll get a work visa and be allowed to stay more than 60 days. I think this will mean that he also has to pay me. Which is pretty cool I guess. I hope it doesn't unduly tax the institution, but my understanding is that I wasn't going to get paid originally more because getting a work visa sounded unpromising and like a lot of unfortunate bureaucratic effort than because he didn't want to pay me or didn't think I deserved to get paid. So I think it will work out for the best for all of us.

In the meantime, upon regaining consciousness this morning after the first night's solid sleep in a while, I toured the school with Tim and quite quickly reached the conclusion that they could use a bit more cash. So I started to brainstorm ways to get it, and I'm planning to write up a proposal in the next few weeks and see what I can come up with. Appeal to one or two of the wealthy sugar daddies I know. The ones with extra dough lying around they don't know what to do with, who believe in creative, innovative, dynamic, passionate, international, community-service-heavy education and want to help a little baby school get on its feet and make some more magic happen. So, dear reader, if you know anyone who matches this description, make sure to send their name (or money) my way. For now, I have at least one lead I plan to pursue.

We struck a spontaneous deal that if I get the school some money (the off the top of my head goal is 500,000-1,000,000,000, but I'm going to try to hash out a few more budgetary details before I write any official proposals) Tim will make sure I get to go to the world's biggest Shakespeare festival, which is apparently not far from us in Washington state somewhere. I'd never heard of it before this morning, when his wife Melissa mentioned it to me, but it piqued my interest, so I chose that as my incentivizing prize for success. I still can't remember the name of it.

I was awoken this morning-- in my new bedroom, in a dorm, which I found with Tim last night around 9 pm or so, after dining hurriedly on leftover chicken stew at his house after he retrieved me from the Victoria airport 45 minutes or so of driving away--, by Tim and Jerry, the Head of School. (Tim's the Principal.) I doubt I made a great first impression on Jerry, exhausted, groggy and bedraggled and pajama-ed as I was at 11 am, but I said hello and apologized for my extreme fatigue, feeling it was fairly justified. Tim recommended I make it to lunch at noon, so I roused myself, took a shower, got dressed and made it. I met a few of my fellow teachers over there, and ate some food. When I was finished, I went to see Tim in his office, and he took me on a private campus tour. What a lovely chap. We struck up our deal on the way down to check out the lake. I also met another coworker down there, Diana, who teaches French and two or three other things. They like to make the most of their faculty here. One of the many repercussions of not having many students or quite enough monetary revenue. But it's also kinda cool, they're making the most of everyone's varied skills and expertise. Making us work for our money, or theoretical lack thereof in the case of some of us.

I made my way back onto campus with Diana, into the French Annex where I met the campus lizard, quite lovely, and told Diana a bit about myself. Shortly thereafter, she demanded a chance to read my literary arts thesis, my 30,000 word whimsical magnum opus of silliness and gargantuan proportions. So we're off to a good start there.

Eventually it was 2:15, and time at last for me to meet my class. I did so, with style and panache. Sonia, my co-teacher and fellow-at-arms, who's been graciously holding down the fort and forging a productive and symbiotic class dynamic for the past 2 weeks, kicked the year off with a newspaper project. The students are writing articles, and had brainstormed some interview questions, many of which were written up on the white board. Sonia suggested that they practice on me, to get to know me and concurrently hone their interviewing skills.

No punches were pulled, on either end. They asked me tough and excellent questions. Including, but not limited to: "Where do you see yourself in 10 years?" "What are your 3 biggest fears?" "What do you hope to learn or do in BC?" "What's your spark?" That last requires some explanation. The Dwight school motto is something to do with uncovering each student's unique "spark of genius." I suppose it means one's passion, reason for being, motive for getting up in the morning. I don't feel I entirely understand what specifically is meant by the expression or the question, and it would be hard for me to pick just one thing even if I did, so I waffled about and listed a few things I love and am passionate about. Friendship, people, love, travel, writing, reading, acting, I believe were all included in that verbal list. I probably forgot to mention sailing and adventure, but oh well. We have all year to get to know each other. It's good they didn't get it all in one shot.

I already like all the little buggers. There are 14 of them. One sixth grader, the rest are 7th or 8th. Most are Canadian, there's one who's from South Africa but has lived for a while in New Jersey and there's another from Hong Kong. Most of them are day students, rather than boarders. It'll take a while before I can talk at length about any of them, or remember all their names, but I had a good chat with a few of the boys about hockey, and I think I made a friend out of the resident class genius. When I came in I told them to call me Shana, since we all agreed "Miss Tinkle" sounds extremely silly. I unintentionally opened a can of worms by saying I would call them anything they wanted me to, within reason. One fellow requested I call him King Edward III. Actually, this will probably be a good way for me to have pseudonyms for them on here, so I don't have to worry about talking about them behind their backs, if I feel so inclined. I probably won't much, for the sake of professionalism and confidentiality and all that important good stuff, but for the sake of writing entertaining anecdotes, I might have to from time to time. In any case, Eddie 3 is clearly a very bright individual with a curious mind and a knack for history in particular. Towards the end of the class, Sonia mentioned that she wanted to work on articles with some members of the class, and pulled them out of the interviewing session. After that, the class structure was mostly broken down. It was 2:45-3:20 on a Friday afternoon, last block, and I didn't have much interest in keeping them all in their seats to barrage them with more info about me. So we threw around some bean bags and listened to some music and talked about hockey, and the King asked if he could go to the library to read. I told him I had no objections, as long as he checked in with Sonia on his way in and she had no problem with it.

As far as I'm concerned, that's how teachers should always respond to a student's request to go read in the library. It's not how mine were usually received when I was in middle school, but I think my time would generally have been better spent that way, and it was a mistake on those educators' parts to say no to me.

Basically, I appear to be in an environment where I am allowed and encouraged to put into practice the philosophy of education I started out being raised on and have always believed in. So far, I'm a pretty huge fan of the situation.

After class got out, I attended a faculty meeting in the intimate and renovatable, but still rather charming little campus library. I mostly listened, trying to soak it in and get a sense of the place and how things work. I definitely have a lot of bearings to determine and catching up and settling in to do. Thus far, I've been doing so efficiently.

Meeting got out around 5. Chatted with Sonia and Melissa about having a meeting with the girls in my dorm because apparently there have been some pretty serious issues already emerging this year. Dinner was 5:30-6:30. The food here is, as promised, quite nice. Simple, and limited in options, but tasty. And there's salad, fresh fruit and vegetables, so I feel like train world detox is under way already, and I feel pretty good about the situation before me. Not so sure how I feel about the drum set on the stage in the cafeteria, but regardless of how I feel in practice, I certainly find the concept quite delightful. Tim thinks the dining hall needs a more creative name. I suggested the Nosh Nook. He also wants better names for the dorms, currently A, B, C and D. We're thinking something thematically linked. Like Azalea, Begonia, Chrysanthemum and Daffodil. Or Daisy. But these are just early brainstorms, given time I'm sure we'll come up with something better.

I got caught up in conversation at dinner with a couple of upper level students, 11th and 12th grade boys from Iran and…somewhere, Hong Kong perhaps, and Chiara, a girl who has been helping out in Sonia and my classroom and who plans to stick around until November or December. She attended the Dwight School in New York, which is where she hails from, and she is planning to attend Harvard next year, after her gap year gets done. The boys were asking me about college, and about why I chose Brown, and one of them, before long said, "You really hate Harvard, don't you?" I tried to explain that I was trying to be polite and not rag on Harvard, but that I actually don't hate it at all. I just didn't think it was the right fit for me, and I think it's the kind of school that many people go to or want to go to for reasons I'm not crazy about. People want to go there because it's super famous, and has a big-ass reputation, and it can help them get high-paying high-profile jobs after they graduate. None of that interests me. I wanted to go to a school where people wanted to be themselves and enjoy learning and not take themselves or anything else too seriously. And I think Brown is kind of a good middle ground, because it's that, but if you want it to, it can also help you go cool places in life. But I see that more as a convenient side effect, rather than a reason for going there. Or something like that.

I actually ended up chatting with several of the older students, those boys at dinner and some girls in my dorm (Dandelion Dorm, upper level, where the 13 boarding girls and Sonia and her family live) about colleges. Because it's something I know a thing or two about, and have thought about on and off, one way or another for at least 6-8 years now. And I guess it's the kind of thing that comes up now and then at a boarding prep-ish IB-ish school, even a hippie dippie follow-your-bliss sort of school. I don't mind, I think I have some good wisdom to impart. Mostly I try to tell youngsters not to stress so much, and just to go places they think they will be happy, learn something and have a good time. Everything beyond that is fairly irrelevant.

I had a little down time after dinner, during which I rang my parents and chatted a bit. Then we had our problem-solving powwow in our classroom module--me, Sonia, Melissa and seven of our thirteen ladies in residence. It took about an hour and a half, but I think it was productive. In any case, it ended with chocolate. Not a bad place to start.

I spent most of the rest of the night chatting with the various (hopefully former) factions of girls, about this and that, and nothing in particular, mostly fun light-hearted stuff. I seem to have most of them on my side anyway. This is promising to me. I have high hopes of harboring a happy, healthy, fun, comfortable, respectful and kind kind of living environment. My ultimate goal is dance parties in the hallways, but I'll take what I can get for now.

So…so far so good. I think I'm off for a fruitful and delightful, exhilarating and extremely educational year. Here's to it.

I figure I'll feel overwhelmed and exhausted a great deal of the time. But when I do, I can remind myself that Sonia does everything I do along with raising and parenting 4 kids. And Tim does everything he does (and more) with a wife and 3 kids and 2 cats and a dog in his house. I think this will help me count my blessings, hours of sleep, and maintain a sense of perspective. And it should help me stick to my singular sense of singleness and celebratory celibacy. Heck. Yes.

I am thinking about adopting a cat though. We'll see.

A hustling bustling time of transition

I haven't written in a whole month this time, which is simply a testament to how insane life has been. The last chunk of the train tourist season has been quite different to the earlier part in a number of ways. Shifts, for me, have become more plentiful. My last two stints of working were both scheduled six day runs, which they aren't really supposed to do to people, but have done to me quite a few times now. Before that, I had 4 days on and a day or two off before and after. Hard to think back that far. That was around the time that all my friends - Caitlin, Hope, Nicole, Matt, Lane and Sherri, went ice-climbing on a glacier without me. I'm still a little upset about that one. I've wanted to try ice-climbing ever since I knew it existed, a discovery I made when I was 12 and visiting Quebec with my French class. I love climbing things in general, and that activity seems especially dangerous, exciting, off-the-beaten-path, epic and fun. And it's not something one can do just anywhere, and Alaska, on a glacier, seems like the ideal spot to give it a go. I wasn't invited because my friends thought I was working that day, although they should have known better, and it wouldn't have been that hard for them to ask. They just sort of forget about me sometimes because I don't live with them, and we are often on divergent schedules, so I am not necessarily included in their logistical plans. This has been mildly frustrating a few times this summer, but the ice incident was by far the most notable. Hope and Caitlin also took a kayak trip a few weeks ago. They invited me, but not until it was too late for me to request those days off from work, so I was scheduled and unable to join them. Oh well. I was better able to shrug that one off. I'll get plenty of other chances to kayak.

I also had to miss what sounds like a very fun and exciting raft-float trip this past Tuesday. This time about 8 of my friends spent the day drinking and riding an inflatable raft down the Little Susitna river. They all look very happy and amused in the pictures they showed me, but it also had a number of downsides as an experience. The trip ended up taking much longer than they expected, and they had to go into survival mode as it got dark and they were all wet and extremely cold. They were rescued by some kindly Alaskans whose door they knocked on when their situation started to seem truly concerning, but they were all completely exhausted these last two days when we were working together (our last ship day!), and they have some lingering concerns about maintaining their temperatures. It sounds like the adventure was well worth the suffering therein (what's an adventure without some unpleasant inconvenience, after all?), but I was once again able to let it slide. I had to work, and I didn't begrudge the hours too much because I just took my longest break of the summer last week, 5 whole days(!), to go home to New England.

Although most of my time during the past several weeks has been spent on the train, I have found a few diversions and ways of getting through it. I was starting to get pretty burnt out on the whole thing in late August, a bit early to be fully mentally and emotionally and physically finished, considering there was still an entire month to survive. But things took a turn for the more bearable. My 4 day run August 24-27 was like a return to the summer camp feeling I had at the beginning of this job. Days one and three were both dead-heads all the way North, so I got to rest and relax and play cards and chat and hang out with my friends who were all on the train with me. I spent a good deal of that Friday trying to make plans for Healy/Denali for that evening. It was a nice sunny day, and we'd rested for most of it, so I felt like the time was ideal for whitewater rafting or rock-climbing, or going into the park for a hike, or SOMETHING. At first it seemed like many people on the train were on the same page, but once we got in, around 5pm, most people's ambitions had retreated. I had also lost my phone in a movie theater a few days earlier, which made coordination trickier. Still, I was determined to venture, regardless of whether people came with me or not.

In the end, I took several different shuttles into an unfamiliar part of Denali National Park (which describes, well, all of it), the final one taking me about 15 miles in, along the Park Road. (There's only one. And the park is 6 million acres. Roughly the size of Massachusetts, I think.) I was at first the only person on the bus at that hour, because it was coming on nightfall and there were only one or two opportunities to come back from my destination, the Savage River, that day. We picked up one more passenger on the way, a girl named Jenna, my age, who was spending the summer working at the Holland America lodge. As I was alone, didn't have a phone, needed to work early the next morning, and hadn't eaten lunch or dinner, I wasn't sure I wanted to hike, I thought I might just take the bus to its terminus, look around at the scenery for a few minutes, and then take it back around 7:30. Otherwise, I would have to wait until 9:30 to head back, which would mean quite a late dinner and return to the Deathstar in Healy.

However, I made acquaintance with Jenna (and the bus driver) on the way out, during which we stopped to peer at a huge bull moose with a huge antler rack, eating just off the side of the road and thus causing a tourist traffic jam. And we were both more interested in hiking with company than without, so I went along with it and we went out and hiked for a while. She'd been there several times before and knew the area. It had turned a bit rainy, cloudy, and cold as we went, but the colors of the brush and trees and mountains were just incredible. And the sunset that greeted us upon our return was alone worth it.



Those will give you some idea, but they certainly don't do it justice.

Not having a better camera and more photography expertise has been one of my greatest regrets this summer. Still, even given perfect tools, it is nearly impossible to capture the magnitude and splendor of the visual displays Alaska regularly puts on.

In any case, it was a great little adventure. I finished it off by going to the Salmon Bake, a restaurant owned by the same fellow who created 49th State in Healy. Both have truly excellent food and lots of good beer and whiskey as well. I scarfed down a halibut taco, and then ran to catch the 11pm shuttle to my sleeping place.

I had the following Sunday and Monday off. Sunday I stayed up all night for one of those crazy nights of Shana-hood. I'm not sure what I was doing. The next day was also sunny and beautiful, so I roamed around Anchorage, treated myself to a tasty brunch at Humpy's, and then went to a local theater, the only one I've discovered that's producing this summer, to see the musical 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. I was quite sleepy, but it was wonderful and good for my soul to be in a theater again. The next day I went to the Alaska State Fair with my Seward deckhand friend Jacob. It was an amusing phenomenon, and I floated through it very placidly.

Then I worked another 6 days, which was hard and exhausting. I got almost no dead legs, and I had to work with a rail guide who was quite unpleasant to me for the first two days. But I knew all along I'd get to go home at the end of it, and that helped sustain me.

My last night before heading home, I found myself in Healy again, and this time I enjoyed a bonfire in a dried up glacial riverbed of silt with some other train employees. I saw my first wild caribou that day on the train and a fox in the riverbed that night. The fire was huge and very excellent.

My New England tour was rushed, too rainy, and I didn't get enough quality time with anyone, but it was really nice to get away from work and the train and my crazy sleep-deprived, sleeping in different places every night, living on scraps and mostly spending time alone Alaskan lifestyle. It was wonderful to go to Brown and see many of my friends there. I threw a party my first night in town, drank too much honey whiskey and hungoveredly attended a brunch with friends the next morning. I crammed in as much social time as I could, in the brief 30 hours I was there (after also not sleeping at all on my red-eye flight, and around 12 hours of travelling to get there.) Then I met up with my parents in Boston, drove back to Portland, and was there for Wednesday and Thursday, before heading back to Boston Friday and investing another 12 hours into getting back to Alaska, and heading back to work for 6 more days.

I took care of some important business while I was home. I shopped for a new computer (mine is nearly at the end of its 5 year rope), snuggled with Tiger my cat, ate some wholesome and delicious food, Thai and lobster, mostly, got a criminal background check done for my teaching gig in Canada, and paid off the rest of my college loans. So now I am truly free. And I went through my stuff and attempted to pick out everything I want/need my mother to mail to my new temporary home in BC. Mostly I chose books and old journals.

Going home so close to the end of the season seemed silly to many of my coworkers, but I think it was brilliant. I got through 3 more runs this past week, now I have 3 days to enjoy end of season festivities with the mini-gang, then one more run this coming Monday, a day to pack and one week from today I'll be greeting my class in British Columbia, and trying to figure out a brand new lifestyle, before I have any time to debrief this one. But that's the way I like to live, for the most part, from one great event and adventure to the next.