Unmoored
and about to set sail
This summer has not been easy, which is a bit strange to admit. One might think that by quitting a stressful job, I would feel more at peace. Instead, the weeks have been hectic, and my moods too. I can no longer blame it on work.
Summers of the north are forged from terrible conditions into exquisite and sparkling rare stones. When the world warms after so many dark and cold months it feels like a secret few people get to share. It’s the best version of summer, with the cleanest air and greenest foliage, everything the most alive under near-constant sun.
But these conditions do not last. The good days are fleeting. After a month of warmth, the weather last Friday felt ominous. The heat lingered well into the evening and made me remember how much I miss hot nights. The next day it began raining and has continued through this week. The rain, a welcome respite, was undeniably a change. Rain usually means the end of summer, which quickly becomes fall. Yesterday, I biked around the neighborhood attempting to forage a lilac bouquet. Bushes that were exploding with blooms days earlier now have a forest of pale petals below. Their scent lingers. A damp world rich with growth. We likely have more than a few weeks left and still it is never enough.
Tomorrow I head to Wrangell to help a friend sail her boat through the inside passage to Washington. I have the least sailing experience of the three of us going, and the journey should take a few weeks. I’m not ready to leave the comforts of home but also need to get away. Without the tethers of work, I’ve started to see lack where there was once plenty. I’ve started to count what isn’t here instead of all that is.
While moderating a panel discussion about eating in Alaska, writer Julia O’Malley1 posed a question to the panelists:
“One of the things that comes up in a lot of discussions about how Alaskans see food is two kind of polarities: one would be deprivation, and the other one would be abundance. Because, just like the light comes and then goes away, so, too, does the abundance of local food.”
Sociologist and restaurant owner Zeynep Kiliç, who grew up in Turkey and was on the panel, credits this question with changing how she views Anchorage. Although she once saw it through the lens of all it lacks—sun-ripened tomatoes, olives, and everything Mediterranean—she now sees it for what it has. Salmon runs. Berries. And “a bowhead whale harvest that feeds an entire village for a year and brings honor to the young man who caught it.”
Summer is often the season where I am also most apt to view Anchorage for what it lacks. In places with large seasonal shifts, we wait all year for the time when our skin softens as if physical comfort will solve everything. The pressure of “making the most of” summer weighs more heavily than winter’s darkness, when the world at least matches my mood.
Yet I love summer. I love humid nights and warm air. If, like Kiliç, I continue to compare Anchorage summers to those of New York, Anchorage will never measure up.
This melancholy finds me each year, and each year I attempt to ignore it. I fear my unhappiness will infect others if I speak out. Predictably, my attempts to reject the negative thoughts only make them louder. Meanwhile, as soon as I voice them, they tend to disappear. After some confessions earlier this week, which were met not with judgment but acceptance, my weight of unhappiness lifted. I do love this place, and I love other places too.
Recent examples of abundance include multiple hikes rich with wildflowers. Hitting a tennis ball on well-kept and rarely-used courts. Spontaneous gatherings, a car launch, salmon smoking and fireworks against still-lit sky. I may feel unmoored, but my feet are here. And now, it’s time to get on a boat.
-Julia
P.S., The boat is for sale! She’s named Unda and looks like a beauty; see the listing here.
Julia O’Malley has a great newsletter about local food to which I recommend you subscribe.
I like Anchorage in the winter better too :) Enjoy your trip!
Bon voyage Julia. I’m sorry this summer has been hard. This was some of your most beautiful writing though. Have a great trip.