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.

Just take it slow

This view from my windows helps me slow down and enjoy life.

I am one of the most impatient, fast moving people that you will ever meet. My ADHD has me constantly fidgeting. My speed pedal frequently goes to the metal and, like most people, I loathe waiting in lines.

Alaska is changing this.

Here in Juneau, it’s a much slower pace and I have to learn to adjust. That’s one of my goals in moving here: slowing down and just enjoying the journey, without worrying about the destination. Besides, right now, I am not working. I don’t start my job until Thursday. I literally have nowhere to go and no reason to be in a hurry.

The main road in an out of town has a max speed of 55. Most people here abide by the speed limit and, because there is not much traffic, we seem to be able to travel just fine. Very few horns blare, There has been one reported accident in the two plus weeks that I have been here.

But, you know, even the lines at stores move slow. The tellers check your item with no real sense of urgency. Part of this, I am sure, is due to a lack of competition, but, I also think it’s the slower pace of life here in general. People talk slower, walk slower, drive slower. Most shops in downtown Juneau don’t open before ten and are usually closed by 6. Most are closed on Sundays. This time of year, the sun is up for about five and a half hours a day, yet the slow pace seems fitting.

Because of the limited errand daylight hours, I find myself more efficient. I don’ waste time lollygagging as I would back in Portland, but part of that stems from the fact that everything is so close and I know there won’t be any traffic.

I know I’m contradicting myself here. But, trust me, I am making a conscious effort to slow down. While removing snow from my steps, I catch myself stopping and looking behind me at Mt. Juneau. It still stuns me. I swear, it’s a movie back drop. I’ll just stand there and look at it. I look up at the sky and he Big Dipper is directly overhead. Big Dipper Writing and Editing is the name of my writing/editing business, so, that makes me smile.

I wake up open my curtains to a view that can’t even be described by pictures and drink my coffee in the window by the chair. Maybe I read a book. But I slow down. I don’t start my day with a bang, I simply sit and relax and let the beauty soak in.

I stop to greet total strangers, I learn peoples’ names, I find out their stories, I find inspiration in nature and in other people and I find myself checking my bad attitude before it has a chance to take root.

I hope all these little changes last. I hope I will continue to drive a little slower, walk a little slower, be less impatient, and simply stop and reflect on God, on nature, on other people. Life is too short for impatience and speed. Alaska is helping me slow down and simply enjoy the beauty around and within. 

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. 

Welcome to Juneau Alaska!

The reactions, of course, were varied. When we announced that we were leaving good jobs, breaking a lease and packing up to leave for Juneau, Alaska, we had lots of support, lots of skepticism, and lots of tearful goodbyes. In the end, friendly jealousy and lots of loving support was the prevailing reaction.

But, we don’t have kids. Alaska was on my bucket list (only state I had not been too) and, well, why not seek out some adventure? Besides, Northern Exposure is one of my favorite shows. Surely Alaska is like that, right?

So, I arrived Thursday, Dec 1, 2016 at 1:05 PM Alaska time, and hour earlier than Pacific, where I have lived my whole life. Sure, I packed up and moved to Vegas in 2002. But, you could drive or fly home from Vegas, but, Juneau? You had to ferry or fly. No roads in or out. Some say the isolation kills you, Others would say the bears and wolves play a role. I like the fact that it takes an effort to get here and an effort to leave, 

I debarked the plane and made my way to the airport where my wife (who arrived sixteen days prior) was waiting for me with a Santa hat and a sign asking me to join her for our next great adventure. I accepted. We hopped into the car that we barged over and our adventure, officially, began.

I was told that the vastness of Alaska is what would strike me. The hugeness. The cold.  The pictures don’t do it justice, they say. Everything is so big. Well, yes. Massive. Looking out my windows now, snowflakes crash violently to the gravel. Behind the shroud of clouds, majestic Mount Juneau beckons for hikes and explorations. A mile and a half from town, my hope is to be more outdoorsy. My hope if to write more. inspiration is everywhere. The beach is a mile away.

I’ve learned that Tongass National Forest, where I currently reside, is a rain forest. It rains here. A lot. But I’m from Oregon, so that’s okay. The rain here is different, though. It’s more like a constant mist. It feels clean and fresh. Like everything else here. The people here are decidedly laid back and much more polite than my hipster friends in Portland and I have not seen anything even resembling traffic along the main drag through town, Glacier Highway.

It’s not totally foreign. Fred Meyer is here. Costco is here. My wife and dogs are here. Last night, we introduced ourselves to Downtown Juneau the way we lived our lives in Portland, Oregon by enjoying a First Friday Art Walk and then topping it off with tacos at the Taqueria. I did all the tourist stuff here even though I am, almost, a resident.

I’m a night owl but when you only have six or seven hours of winter daylight, you make it a point to get up early and enjoy the day. This morning, as my wife sleeps, I have been up for hours, reading in front of my window (Jeff Buckley’s biography, if you must know), sipping coffee, and listening to Christmas music. Last night, we bought our first Alaskan Christmas Tree Ornaments Next week, we get a tree. This is my favorite time of the year. 

It’s different here. My TV has hardly been on, the cold permeates to the bone, but brings with it, a strange comfort. It’s a fresh start in a fresh land, away from anyone I know, but I’m pleased to be on this adventure with my wife and our two fur babies. I think I’ll stay awhile. I think I’ll tell you all about it.

View from my backyard. Who wouldn't be inspired by that?