We're All in This Together

Just a drive through Mendenhall Valley

I have only been in Juneau since December first but I already know that this is unlike any other place I have lived or visited. People say here that we are all in this together. It’s not a bad thing. Juneau is not something to be endured. It something to be experienced. Juneau is beautiful, small, and isolated. To leave town, you either have to take the ferry or fly or, be like bears in Haines and swim. But, really, with swimming, you aren’t going to get far. Even if we take the cold out of the equation. 

This isolation, this sense of being all together in a rugged environment, with cold winters and tourist filled summers, really affects how you treat your fellow man. I’ve noticed that my normally short fuse is getting just a little bit longer and, when I have gotten upset with someone, I have been quick to apologize. This is a state capital, yet, with a population or right around 30,000 folks spread over a mind boggling 3,255 square miles (my home town of Portland is only 145 square miles) with only 91 miles of paved road, running into your neighbor, your bank teller, your pastor, your bartender is an everyday occurrence. It helps keep your attitude in check. It helps you fake that smile and that friendly greeting and what I’ve discovered is that it those faux-happy expressions into true expressions of friendliness ad gratitude.

Starting to make some friends, the festive type. 

Whether you live in Downtown or Douglas Island (where I live), or in the Valley, or Out the Road, people seem pretty much the same: laid back, easy going, salt of the earth, just, good people. I’m not used to that. I’m used to the hipster snobbery of Portland, Oregon. I’m into the me-first attitude and the what’s mine is mind and what’s yours is also mine attitude. I'm used to those with friendly faces and daggers for your back. This attitude, the Juneau attitude, is refreshing and really gives that feeling of everyone being in this together.

Like many folks, before moving here, I sold most of my belongings… especially my furniture. Basically, if I couldn’t fit it in my car (which I barged over) or get mailed in a regular sized box, it didn’t make the trip to Juneau. I liked the idea of simplifying. Selling half of my books, most of my DVDS and a bunch of other stuff that was not being used and was taking up space. Part of the desire to move to Alaska was for a fresh start. To simplify. To breathe in the things in life that matter. To be outside and one with nature. To fall in love again with the Creator and with the Creation. To renew my poor opinion of mankind. 

This is starting to happen. 

One of my friends here called me a couple of weeks ago. His girlfriend was moving in and he had some extra furniture. He asked if we wanted it. A sectional. A bench. An ottoman. He topped it off with some cookware, pots, pans, plates, etc. Of course we sad yes. Later, I posted an ad on Next Door asking if anyone had any dishes that we could buy for the holidays, as we had company coming into town. I had to take the ad down because, within minutes, I had more texts and e mails for people willing to give us dishes or let us borrow dishes. Nothing in return. That’s just how people are here: generous, kind, unassuming. I guess that’s the norm here. People don’t throw stuff out. They don’t sell it at exorbitant prices. They just give it away. And why shouldn’t they? After all, we are all in this together.

Checking for Bears

View from our first hike

We have one of those sunrise alarm clocks. Despite the pervasive and glorious darkness of the nights here, this alarm allows us to wake up with an artificial sunlight the helps ease the apparent gloom that can set in up here. I like the darkness, which is one of the reasons that I moved here and, with the snow on the ground, it’s really not that dark anyway.

The previous tenants left the gate open one night and woke up to a bear slumbering in the backyard. Knowing this, we have a morning ritual that includes one of us venturing to the backyard and doing a quick search for bears before letting the dogs out to do their business. I did ask my wife once what would happen if we found a bear. Could I really get in the house before the bear could get me? I hope I don’t find out!

My wife testing the strength of Bear Proof Garbage cans. 

The attached apartment has a broken gate, broken by a bear, who then broke into the bear proof garbage can and helped himself to a fine meal of leftovers. These Garbage Bears, as we call them in Juneau, are the most dangerous because they have zero fear of humans. Outside of the Juneau Public Library, in the heart of downtown Juneau, large garbage cans marked “Bear Proof” reside. My wife tried to see how strong they were. 

 This is a different world.

Of course, it’s the dead of winter. The bears are hibernating, so, the ritual of bear checking is an empty one.

We hiked the other day. There is no shortage of places to hike. We climbed this trail—I swear it was a ninety degree slope—and it was no more than twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit. But the view, wow. Nature is a whole new beast here. And, come springtime, I may even encounter some of these beasts on a hike.  

And the snowy beach, middle of a mild blizzard, we piled one of the dogs (the little one was not interested) into the car and drove two miles to the beach. As you can see from this video, she went absolutely mad with delight. And, she is impervious to the cold, as she bounded into the ocean as if it was the middle of August in Miami.

Watching the snowflakes gentle parade to the icy ground, the trees wearing their coats of white, and majestic Mount Juneau disguised behind a shroud of fog, this is my idea of paradise. Never have I longed to be more outdoorsy, never have I admired creation, and never have I been more inspired to write and create and express my awe at my surroundings and my overall feelings as I have since I moved here. I never doubted that we made the right decision to come here. I still don’t. I have no regrets.