This is my Cathedral
Soft evening sun cascaded over the nearly deserted town; low-hanging gray clouds diffused its glow, as if to agree with me: "Yes, so familiar, but distant too." The sites passed by reminiscently. An intersection near where I used to work. The mortgage company where I applied for a loan when I almost bought a house. The construction project I wrote about for the newspaper. Such mundane memories that grabbed time, twisted and folded it, until yesterday blurred with eons, leaving tomorrow upside down.
Alaska's succulent smell brought me back to the present - high mountain tundra mingling with arctic sea breeze, mediated by budding woodlands. I breathed in deeply, allowing the vastness to pulse through me and wash over me. Ever since I moved to Alaska in 2003 my favorite part of returning home was smelling the state with fresh nostrils, appreciating its utter contrast from crowded cities and dry, dusty roads.
On the flight from Denver to Anchorage the pilot nearly made me jump out of my seat when he announced over the intercom: "To your right you'll see Jackson Hole and the Tetons." I pressed my nose hard against the scratched window. Below I spied Jenny Lake - the destination for Karen's and my bike-ski excursion in April. My eye traced the long straight road leading from Jenny Lake to Jackson. Every inch of my being felt like I was peering at home.
I always thought Alaska would be home. I'd referred to it as base camp, and more than once spoke about my love affair with this rugged northern state. What, in six short months, evoked such a change of heart?
The day after I arrived to Alaska I climbed with a couple of friends up Mount Baldy - Eagle River's iconic mountain. My feet have plodded up its steep, slick sides so many times that I know its every groove, rock and alder. As we approached the summit, I caught a glimpse of Eagle River Valley spilling out - frothy and green - to the east. Behind us the Knik Arm shimmered under the sweet sun and my favorite blueberry field seemed to be just a stone's throw away. "Now THIS is home," I thought.
The mountains - whether the Tetons, the Andes or the Chugach - will always be my cathedral, my sanctuary, my playground, my home.
Alaska's succulent smell brought me back to the present - high mountain tundra mingling with arctic sea breeze, mediated by budding woodlands. I breathed in deeply, allowing the vastness to pulse through me and wash over me. Ever since I moved to Alaska in 2003 my favorite part of returning home was smelling the state with fresh nostrils, appreciating its utter contrast from crowded cities and dry, dusty roads.
On the flight from Denver to Anchorage the pilot nearly made me jump out of my seat when he announced over the intercom: "To your right you'll see Jackson Hole and the Tetons." I pressed my nose hard against the scratched window. Below I spied Jenny Lake - the destination for Karen's and my bike-ski excursion in April. My eye traced the long straight road leading from Jenny Lake to Jackson. Every inch of my being felt like I was peering at home.
I always thought Alaska would be home. I'd referred to it as base camp, and more than once spoke about my love affair with this rugged northern state. What, in six short months, evoked such a change of heart?
The day after I arrived to Alaska I climbed with a couple of friends up Mount Baldy - Eagle River's iconic mountain. My feet have plodded up its steep, slick sides so many times that I know its every groove, rock and alder. As we approached the summit, I caught a glimpse of Eagle River Valley spilling out - frothy and green - to the east. Behind us the Knik Arm shimmered under the sweet sun and my favorite blueberry field seemed to be just a stone's throw away. "Now THIS is home," I thought.
The mountains - whether the Tetons, the Andes or the Chugach - will always be my cathedral, my sanctuary, my playground, my home.
posted by Amy | 1:21 AM
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