Misfits of the North

Last summer by way of the Caribbean I found myself with a one way ticket from Los Angeles to Anchorage, Alaska. I have never been drawn to the cold and have actively traveled out of the country in my adult life to avoid anything that required more than a light jacket. Waiting for me at the airport was a Chicago Cowboy with more tall tales than years and a beat up box truck that would take me the eight hours inland to the town of McCarthy, summer population: 300. Arriving to the midnight sun and odd characters that seemed to be pulled from the pages of a book I couldn’t quite see where I fit in yet but I knew that in some odd way I had found a place that called to me. For six weeks I danced and laughed and began to settle in to a town with less inhabitants than the apartment building where I spent my college years. The night before leaving I remember looking around the small bar and noticing that without any planning all the girls had flowers pinned into their hair. As they twirled and stomped to the impromptu folk booming from fiddles and spoons there came a moment of clarity. Joy seemed to be radiating out into the still light evening air and for the first time I knew that without a doubt, I would return.

Now, midway through a very different summer that piggybacked off an extremely unique spring I find myself comparing and having trouble focusing on the light. This is the longest I’ve spent anywhere in the last four years and daydreams of life on the road have begun to poke holes in the role of new girl in the woods. Yesterday while going through the motions I had a couple sit down at my table through dinner service. They weren’t very friendly and asked for extra everything as I grinned and shook my head. Smiling, I brought what was requested and smiled once more when they left an %8 tip. Later, as plates gave way to music and I was able to join the small crowd I noticed the couple standing front row. They were in their fifties with high water blue jeans and mosquito nets around their necks that shuffled as they swayed from side to side and for a moment I felt judgement. As I took in the room what I noticed began to change. The tourists danced with their fingers intertwined and would only release to swat mosquito’s from one another’s arms. As they looked into each others eyes, love beamed through the room and I felt a grounding that has seemed to escape me the past few weeks. Last summer seemed so magical because I was still a stranger. Now that the honeymoon phase has given way to normalcy there are quirks and deep rooted opinions that had not shown through in the whirlwind of my first visit. The shiny exterior that had seemed so wholesome is still there but now that we’ve begun to learn each other I’ve had to remind myself that we are all still human and moving through the trials that have forged a way through our paths.

Most mornings waking up alone in a small cabin in the woods still feels like a daydream and as butterflies follow along the dirt path leading from my home to town I feel a gratefulness that travels deep into my being. Transitioning from the quiet that enveloped my spring back into the bustle of a town where everyone knows everyone has been a bumpy transition at times but also a beautiful reminder that life is so much more than first impressions.

Last night as the twang of the banjo carried through the small building there was such a happiness in the smiles of those who have found a piece of home in the great, strange North. As we’ve begun to learn each other’s imperfections and nervous ticks the idea of a place has finally given way to the place itself and how wonderful it is.