Date: 2020-09-12
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I really intended to post an update to this thing weeks ago, in celebration of my five year trailiversary. It's kind of been a mess of a summer, though, so it didn't happen. But yesterday my lovely mother sent me a, "You need to update it" message. so I guess it's about time I pulled my head out of my bum and got back to work.A lot of things have changed in five years. I am still ME at my core... still a bit introverted (though less so), I'm still a train wreck when it comes to relationships (I mean... my one serious relationship of the last five years was a DISASTER - worthwhile but a disaster nonetheless). I still really, really like making dumb impulsive decisions. Miraculously, I have managed to avoid any huge disastrous fiascoes (except the boyfriend, and I loved him, so it's okay) and am relatively safe and healthy and somewhat sane.At the same time, I'm a totally different person now. I have developed more of my individuality. I'm a bit more confident, a bit more capable, and a bit more knowledgeable. I'm still overall generally clueless in life, but progress has been made! I have some semblance of a possible beginning of a career. I'm still absolutely terrified of "real" adulthood, though, and trip over every opportunity to grow up and scramble for every excuse to continue to build a life of silly adventures.2020 has been a year of heartbreak, isolation, and an amazing amount of RAIN. However, my mother had the timing of telling me to write on one of the best days of the summer, which continued into one of the best nights of the summer, which has put me in a decent place to do some typing today. Also I am procrastinating packing and that always helps.So here's an update on how weird my life is. Trust me, I wish I could tell you all of the ridiculous details which keep my mother choking on laughter while I cycle through rage, frustration, exasperation, and sadness on every phone call... alas I cannot type forever and the government would hunt me down anyway if I did :)The beginning of my year was a mess, because my boyfriend was a mess, and the relationship was a mess, and it made me a mess, but I did get in a pretty good road trip with Jeralyn and Matt (who no longer live in Vermont, near the AT, but are now conveniently located more southwest, perfect co-conspirators on winter adventures).This year, however, the biggest adventure was Alaska. It's the adventure that is drawing to a close, when the sun has finally reappeared after months of oppressive rain, and my heart is finally starting to lift and remember what happiness is like after covid slammed the door on any sense of team and community that I could have fostered here.I have been rangering here since mid-April, just in time for the pandemic to hit. In a small, rural community, the stakes are more dire with medical facilities hours and hours away by boat or plane or helicopter (the roads don't go anywhere except... here). Add in the slow, painful death of my heart's investment in a man, and you get a recipe for Sad Panda. It's been a sad summer.I have to counter that with how it has also, in its glorious moments, been amazing. I've had a taste of what a normal summer here could have been like, and I know that I would have loved it. There are good people here, and I MEAN... IT'S ALASKA. The bears, moose, fish, and porcupines are plentiful. I've learned to DRIVE BOATS (not well, but hey, gotta start somewhere) and the feeling of skimming over the waves of the ocean in a skiff on a sunny day makes my heart catch in my throat - nothing else has made me feel that way in years. It's different than climbing a mountain, or the view from atop a peak, or sitting on top of a drifting kayak. It sometimes is close to waking up on a crisp fall morning and sitting outside in the warmth of the sun as it peeks up to welcome you, but... better. So much better.Honestly also slamming through four-foot waves, getting soaked and salty and cold, is similarly amazing though also slightly terrifying. I want to do it again though. Ocean roller coaster boat time was another good part of this season.The last few weeks have been reviving my spirit. In between the rain, the time I've spent out in the field has stoked my soul and reminded me why I wanted to come here. Time on the water and in the woods has helped bring back a sense of perspective that I needed. This place is beautiful and amazing, and it won't be the same forever. I feel grateful and lucky that I was able to participate in protecting this place, even if just in a tiny, tiny way in a quiet, slow, messed up year.Last night was the icing on the cake (ha! keep reading, you'll get it...). My friends here are limited, as social distancing and responsibility have shrunk my social bubble to nothing, but a coworker within my work unit and I had breakfast and coffee in the sun yesterday morning. Finally breaking down barriers we erected to keep ourselves safe, we have decided we can be careful and simultaneously keep ourselves sane, and we broke out of our bubble. The day started well with hot food and sugary coffee, but got better with out stop to the tiny town grocery store, where a prematurely distressed self-scan turned into victory when I found the cake mix in the discount bin. Victory escalated as I nabbed the last six-pack of eggs from the fridge, the last jar of salsa off the shelf, backtracked for rainbow chip frosting and unicorn cupcake liners, and my plan fell into place. After a delightful dinner of grilled Alaskan salmon and halibut, with ACTUAL COMPANY, a group of friendly faces migrated to the shore for a bonfire, where I required my friends/coworkers (in the ranger world, often they are always the same) to listen to the song "Cake By the Ocean" while eating cupcakes next to the ocean and it was ridiculously glorious and I don't even care that it's ridiculous and stupid and cute, it made my freaking day.It kept getting better, though. For a long time, the days lasted forever, but now the darkness comes early. It's been rare that I've even seen the stars out at night, but as I sat on the beach by the campfire last night, my back to the warmth as I stared up at the sky, a green glow started to peek over the treeline to the north, I saw a green glow over the treeline as whispers of "the aurora" were passed around behind me.As we sat and watched the stars and the light, someone noticed a different glow peeking up through the waves in the water. We crashed and tripped down the rocky shoreline to the water's edge, pitching stones into the waves, crying out in laughter and joy (which we've sorely been missing) at the glowing green splashes that plumed up as our projectiles sank, the bioluminescence of the tiny ocean critters making up for every other shortcoming this summer had dealt us.After we finally tired of hurling rocks into the ocean, we started to drift towards our beds, but made a final stop at a less rocky beach along the way.  to find that every stomp in the sand was rewarded with a splash of green, that every step left behind a brief glowing footprint, lighting up our spirits as much as the mud on our boots (oh that description totally deserves that corny of an analogy, too).And as we stomped and splashed, slid and danced through the mud and the sand and the pools of magical water, the northern lights danced above us, no longer a dim glow of green, but the dancing, churning streaks of light we've been desperate for all summer.Just as I was beginning to give up hope, Alaska got me, and it got me good. Many lonely months, a broken heart and the loss of a love and a friend might have been worth the lessons I've learned here, the experience I've gained, the days on boats in the sunshine, the glacier ice pilfered from the water into coolers on backcountry overnights, the view of the aurora and splashing in the glowing mud like a child at midnight.A week from now, I'll be on the ferry, the first leg of a long journey home. The openness of the future always catches in my throat. I anxiously dread the loneliness and restlessness of cold, dark winter, and the long-term feasibility of the lifestyle I've cultivated over the last few years. The loss of having a partner meant the loss of my vision of the future, and now what the heck am I going to do with my life? The freedom is exhilarating and crushing at the same time.This year kicked me where it hurt. Repeatedly. But it gave me some pretty great gifts, too. And you know how I like to make dumb impulsive decisions. I've started plotting a plan, an adventure for the new year to escape from the cold and dark of the northeast after the holidays. A few months with my mother and the Pizza Fairy will help heal some of the weird things going on in my heart, give me time to prepare and plan and acquire a bucket to poop in (NOT EVEN KIDDING), and then it will be time to embark on another amazing dumb escape into nature. As my fantastic friend Jeralyn said, "I should¢ve known your rebound boyfriend would be an adventure and not a boy".