AlaskaRosalie Writes

You never know where life will take you. This makes it hard to know what you are going to need when you get there.

I am not talking about things you put in a suitcase, although a good flashlight and a length of nylon cord are the exceptions that prove the rule. And I am not talking about the tools that my husband sells at garage sales and then buys back again later. I am talking about the skills that we acquire as we go through life.

I never dreamed that my life would bring me to rural Alaska. I grew up in the outskirts of Boston and lived in big cities, around the world. I spent years perfecting my urban skills and adaptations: I could drive freeways and parallel park, I could walk in high heels, I could calculate internal rates of return, negotiate cab fare in several languages, and make my way through any public transportation system without losing my wallet to a pickpocket.

Then, in a lobby in Washington DC, I met a tall young man wearing an Alaska Grown T-shirt. It’s that old story and you know how it goes. Suddenly Alaska didn’t seem like the end of the earth. It seemed like a great adventure.

But very few of my hard won urban skills were applicable in rural Alaska. At first it felt like I was starting from scratch. I had to learn how drive on glare ice with blinding snow whipping up over my windshield, how to dress a toddler to play outside with the thermometer stuck the single digits, how to feed my family without relying on takeout, and how to back away, slowly, from a brown bear.

But, I was also pleasantly surprised by the things I had brought with me. As a child I learned to cross country ski and play pond hockey during our chilly New England winters, and these skills, atrophied during my urban career, bring me great joy today. The EMT certification that I first did nearly twenty years ago as summer program counselor sure comes in handy when the nearest hospital is a medevac flight away.

And, of course, it is the basics that carry you though, no matter where you are. A good attitude and a friendly smile, even when the weather has been bad for a long time, will help you to make new friends in any language. The ability to laugh at yourself when your cooking sets off the fire alarm, for the third time, in a week, is what it takes to learn new skills. And being able to ask for help (and being willing to give it) can get you out of a jam here or there.

So, I don’t waste my time regretting the things I have left behind because, well, you never know where life will take you next.

My lesson to take away is this: if you live in a major metropolitan area and someone inexplicably offers to teach you how to drive a snow machine, take them up on it. You never know when it might come in handy.

While I cannot deny the existance of shoveling, plowing, dangerous driving, collapsed roofs and other inconveniences, in this, the week before Thanksgiving, I am feeling thankful for snow.  I have noticed that sometimes my fellow Alaskans can forget to feel thankful for snow.

First, I am thankful for the beauty of it.  In a few hours the bare mud and brown sticks of autumn are transformed into a dazzling wonderland with diamonds scattered by the sackful around my yard.  Snow draws a merciful veil over the broke down cars and splintered outbuildings which are the hallmark of Alaskan landscaping. 

I am thankful for the way snow opens up the world around me.  The mountains behind my house, previously an impenetrable tangle of deadfall and briars, become accessible, my snowshoes taking easy bites from a glittering white trail, cleaned and smoothed with every new snowfall.  Where my summertime walk ends at the shores of the lake, my wintertime ski takes me over and across with barely a hitch in stride.

I am thankful when the snow shows me how full of life our winter world is.  A fresh inch reveals that what I thought was a riverside still life is, in fact, a riot of activity.   The loping heart shaped prints of rabbits can be seen next to the tiny scampering loops of squirrels, all dotted with spruce cone scales.  Here is where the river otter slid down to the river, and where the long-clawed barefoot bear got up from his bed to take  a drink of water.

I am thankful for the way my daughter’s eyes sparkle and her cheeks glow rosy after a day of playing outside.   After sledding, skiing, fort building, snowman making and  snowball throwing, no one asks to stay up past bedtime.  This, in turn, brings up my own happy memories of growing up with snow; of falling asleep watching the flakes float down past my black windowpanes, each one a tiny feathery reminder of all the promise that the coming day hold

So, the next time all that scraping, sanding, salting and slipping has got you feeling down, take a moment to remember how you used to catch snowflakes on your tongue, and remember to be thankful for all the wonderful things that this world has to offer.  Even snow.  Especially snow.  

AlaskaRosalie reads aloud on KHNS’ ‘Small Things Considered’

To hear it go to KHNS’ website and get to their Local News tab:  http://www.khns.org/localnews

Then click on the news for 15 November.  My essay will be about 4 minutes from the end.