At some point this summer I stopped keeping track of how many days I’d been here, how much I missed home, how much it rained, how cold it got at night and started to love Coldfoot.
I don’t know when it happened. But now that I have two weeks of mountains and Dalton Highway and muddy puddles and Koyukuk river left, I’m realizing I’m going to be really sad to leave.
The last three months have not been the easiest three months of my life. A lot of things frustrate me about living here, and I can go on and on about what they are. That’s easy.
It’s a lot harder to explain the things I do like about Dalton Highway, mile 175. The sound of rain on the tent in the middle of the night, the girls I work with, hiking in the hail, eating an apple on the top of a mountain, the midnight summer sun, the mice hunts, sitting at the picnic tables outside and wasting the evening away like we have nothing else in the world to worry about.
But there’s something else intangible. Some kind of big, beautiful thing about Alaska that’s so present in everything here. Something I can’t really explain. It’s beautiful and genuine and wild.
On more than one occasion, I’ve caught myself calling Coldfoot home. This truck stop, this tent, this stretch of highway has become home to me in less than three months.
I’m still excited to go back home to Anchorage. Beyond excited to go to Italy. But for the next two weeks, I’m just really happy I’m here.
I don’t know when it happened. But now that I have two weeks of mountains and Dalton Highway and muddy puddles and Koyukuk river left, I’m realizing I’m going to be really sad to leave.
The last three months have not been the easiest three months of my life. A lot of things frustrate me about living here, and I can go on and on about what they are. That’s easy.
It’s a lot harder to explain the things I do like about Dalton Highway, mile 175. The sound of rain on the tent in the middle of the night, the girls I work with, hiking in the hail, eating an apple on the top of a mountain, the midnight summer sun, the mice hunts, sitting at the picnic tables outside and wasting the evening away like we have nothing else in the world to worry about.
But there’s something else intangible. Some kind of big, beautiful thing about Alaska that’s so present in everything here. Something I can’t really explain. It’s beautiful and genuine and wild.
On more than one occasion, I’ve caught myself calling Coldfoot home. This truck stop, this tent, this stretch of highway has become home to me in less than three months.
I’m still excited to go back home to Anchorage. Beyond excited to go to Italy. But for the next two weeks, I’m just really happy I’m here.
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