Let me take you back to 2006, and my ill-fated trip to Akiachak, Alaska.
One sunny day, mid-January, temperature a brisk minus thirty degrees Fahrenheit, I was walking to school, attempting to maintain some sort of body heat, when I noticed “little sparklies” in the air ahead of me. Despite the fact that I was losing the feeling in my toes, I stopped, and I spent a good minute staring at this magical light show happening before me, dancing particles of light, hither and yon, unlike anything I had ever seen.
A fellow teacher pulled up alongside me, him a veteran of six years in that village, bundled in one more layer than I, showing no discomfort, riding a snowmobile, turned off the engine and asked me what I was looking at. I pointed, he looked, he smiled, and said ‘those are called sun dogs, Bill. That’s what happens when miniscule droplets of moisture, in the air, freeze, and they weigh so little that all they can do is float in midair. It’s kind of cool, right?”
Kind of cool it was, on several different levels.
The wonders of life, my friends. Absolutely jaw-dropping unreal, so much so I almost forgot that in about ten minutes, if I did not stop marveling at that sight, I would become a block of human ice.
The village of Akiachak is located along the banks of the Kuskokwim River, the third-largest river, I believe, in Alaska. The village is in central Alaska, about 150 miles west, maybe a bit more, of Anchorage, in an area known for its tundra (permanently frozen ground). Because the ground is always frozen, very little grows in that area. What trees there are will only reach about fifteen, twenty feet in height, simply because their roots can only go so deep into the soil before thwarted and all growth ceases.
Occasionally a herd of caribou would run by on their way to who knows where. Salmon the length of your arm are pulled, regularly, from the river. Eagles constantly circle above, waiting for the detritus after a fish cleaning session, hydroelectric power is provided by that river, and technology allows for WiFi to be signaled to the homes, as remote as you can imagine but still within the grasp of the satellites.
The Indigenous trap beavers, and skinning them is taught in the classrooms, science class, of course. Summer means mosquitos the size of your fist, winter means sun dogs, and the endless nights of winter are punctuated by the Northern Lights, proof positive that there is magic available to you no matter where you are.
1.6 people per square mile, that’s the population density of Alaska, if my memory still serves me. Go airborne in a small plane, fly over the tundra, and you will think that number might be a bit high. Literally, no exaggeration at all, you can see no signs of human habitation/life over that portion of Alaska. And it occurred to me that it was entirely possible that I was looking at some sections of land where man has never walked, and if that doesn’t blow your mind, well, perhaps it is unblowable. Best estimates have the total number of human beings who have lived on Earth at around 100 billion, and it is entirely possible that not one of them, in all the years of homo sapiens, had walked on land I was seeing from 1000 feet in the air.
Mind blown again!
I’m bouncing around, but not really.
I live on a farm & forest school. In exchange for a place to park Puddle Walker, electricity and water, I feed animals on weekends. It’s a good gig, relatively peaceful on the four acres. I mention this because of the nature of the school. A farm and forest school. The farm, and the woodlands, are the classrooms. Children walk off into the pasture, or the woodland, or wade the small stream, teachers close by, and the most common question asked is “why?” Children are born scientists. Children are born explorers. Children lead the human race in asking questions. You do not have to teach a small child about the wonders of this planet; they instinctively understand what a magical place our home is. Their clothes are wet, dirty, hands muddy, leaves and pine needles stuck in their hair, faces streaked brown, and ever-present smiles adorn their young faces, and that look of awe in their eyes, and I’m struck again by how important schools like this one are. Children need to spread their wings and fly. They do not need to be confined in a stifling environment, their creativity and imagination tethered to recess hours.
And I will take that a step further. Adults need the same. I just read the latest statistics. Adults, in the U.S., average three hours of television per day. They average two hours of social media per day. If my math is correct, that’s five hours, per day, spent staring at an electronic screen. Stay with me on this . . . average seven hours of sleep per twenty-four hours, means seventeen hours awake and moving about . . . of those seventeen hours, we spend five of them staring at some sort of screen . . . just short of 30% of our awake time is spent doing that . . . “and the people bowed and prayed, to the neon god they made.” The Sound of Silence, 1963, referring to the amount of time, sixty years ago, that people spent with television. It would appear we did not heed that warning.
How many of you feel fulfilled? Serious question. I’m not a preacher man but good God, folks, is this how you pictured your life, back when you were a kid, running through the woods, exploring your corner of the universe?
I want more for me. I want more for you.
What say you? There are wonders to witness. Shall we begin?
Ann, I’m with you with the Northern Lights. It’s impossible to describe the feelings upon seeing them. They are a wonder which must be seen, not described. They left me speechless and filled with the type of wonder I had not experienced since I was a child.
Bill
I’m proud of you, Sis. What’s the point in aiming for the shoulder? Maximum effect is the glass jaw!
Bro……Surely you Jest! I’ve “matured.” I now aim precisely for the Jaw!! You have a few coming, Big boy!!
Okay, Sis, enough with the superlatives. I remember when we were kids, you would say something nice about me and then you would punch me in the arm . . . hard! I’m waiting for that punch to come. 🙂
Love you, Sis!
Of course!! We should have known, Bro! The great writer you are, combined with your love of nature & people from here, there and everywhere…….as well as your rambling heart and soul…..There can be no doubt, you have the talent & amazing ability to “INSPIRE” above and beyond the best of Preachers!! This submission, my friend, is simply brilliant enough to give me goosebumps! Peace & hugs for Bill & Bev
It certainly is a wondrous world, Bill. I’m privileged to have seen the Northern Lights in Norway and I wasn’t prepared for the deep emotion of it all. Impossible to describe isn’t it, the awe at something so beautiful, so wondrous.
I’m lucky in that most of my grandchildren love being in the great outdoors, doing a nature trail or a birdwatch or a sculpture trail. I love the trees, the plants, the birds, all the creatures one can see if we’re patient.
I did all that when I wad a child, brought up in the countryside and there’s nowhere as relaxing and joyous.
I’m with you on this and I love the idea of sun dogs!
Ann
Where there is a will there is a way. Thank you for taking the time to comment, my friend.
Genna, what a lovely surprise. Old friend indeed, although you never aged like I did, which I find to be terribly unfair. 🙂 I hope this finds you well. Thank you so much for commenting. It was lovely to reconnect with you.
Blessings always
bill
Hi Bill…
Although I haven’t posted any comments, I still peak in to read your posts. You and Bev have had a fascinating journey, my old friend, imbued with a fresh vitality of life, and some interesting discoveries. I’ve enjoyed tagging along in the background, so to speak, and wish you both well.
Genna Eastman
I appreciate your fortunate post. It was very funny, and it seems like you’ve reached a much nicer level now. How are we going to talk to one other now?