Spittin’

We had to stop in Soldotna to ride this homemade Alaskan animal carousel.

Walkin’ and spittin’

Some super solid bread, for sure

We’ve been here almost two months and the tighknit nature of our community is starting to grate on some people.  You wait in line with a plate for dinner; you hope no one “borrows” your personal shampoo in the showers; you find yourself socially exhausted because there’s always a friendly face around — ten of them in fact, asking how your day was but they already know because they heard about the bear you saw or the fish you caught from someone else already.  Yes, there are actual millions of acres of forest and mountains to retreat into, but our tents are six feet apart and no one can hide who they’re sleeping with.  And we’re all pretty supportive and team-oriented, but of course there are spheres of influence and power, favor to bestow and future jobs to angle for.  

You would never think it, but some of the best possible preparation for remote seasonal work is a) living in a densely-populated urban center, and b) the behind-the-scenes ego, gossip, and plundering at a church.  When people here get exasperated about the lack of personal space I think fondly/glad-it’s-over of the 12’ X 15’ office Matt and I illegally lived in, toting drinking water up two flights of stairs, showering at the gym, and wedging myself in and out of subway cars every stop for other people to enter and exit because it was packed so full.  And while it’s regrettable that seasonal jobs end up employing people who embellished their resume or aren’t the brightest bulbs, I’ll take them any day over a spiritually bankrupt, money-grubbing, selfish, sexist, piece of shit liar of a minister and boss.  (According to Dante, your special place in hell is a ditch full of vengeful reptiles whose ceaseless biting disfigures you and causes you to repeatedly spontaneously combust, Greg.)

Even the dense forest fire smoke is like so much city bus exhaust.  I’m glad neither really bother me, but I’m slightly concerned by my high tolerance.  Ok, ok, I digress.  All of this adds up to four of us hightailing it to Homer for a day and night.  Even allowing for Alaska’s excessive beauty, Homer hit a home run (one might say, a homer).  Mountains and glaciers meeting the sea in a quaint-sized town with a three-mile spit of sand to walk out on and enjoy gelato!  And an idyllic farm-campground just far enough out in the country, with charming paths through wildflowers and seashell-driftwood cabins!  Not to mention the first haze-free sky we’d seen in three weeks.  Alright, I do relish my own stretch of beach with sun-sparkled waves, fresh salt breeze, and nature’s good news unfiltered through words yet communicated crystal clear.