Home

Home. A word filled with memories and possibilities. Growing up in Alaska, my friends and I all wished to get as far away from home as possible. We were bright eyed naive kids that thought the world was ready for our taking.

Surprisingly, those dear friends of mine have found and made their home without moving away, and  I thought I was the “lucky one”, the “one that moved away”, the “one that got to see the world”; experience life outside of frigid cold Alaska. I am grateful for my life experiences, I love to travel, and I love experiencing and living in new places. Yet, it feels as though that time of my life has settled down while our family grows and my husband and I are raising our son in our new “home”.

This is when reality hits, nothing will ever be like the home I had in Alaska. Living in the good old “banks”. Driving to Chena hot springs on an unofficial senior trip with a group of friends. Hitting that one snowbank on College Rd. in my old trusty ’86 red 4-runner. Counting down the days till Hot Licks opened so we could get their first batch of homemade Alaska Blueberry Ice Cream. Floating down the Chena River past Alaska Land. Cheering till we lost our voices for the NOOOOKS!

But what I’ll miss the most, are the memories I had with family. We were the crazy ones moving to the Unknown called Alaska while the rest of our sane family stayed in Sunny California. That didn't last long as one by one, they slowly came up and those Alaskan summers hooked ‘em. Our family took years but we proudly earned the “Sourdough” badge of Alaskan pride. The winter of ’92 was a great initiation!

It’s not until we have all grown up and moved away, our family separated by oceans and countless states, that I realize just how much I was ungrateful for. Our family was loud, we ate at Grammy’s house every Sunday after church, and gatherings were always centered on food and each other. We laughed, cried, and annoyed the crap out of each others’ closeness. We were there when you wanted us, and when you didn't.

The cousins gave each other initiations but we were next to each other in the summers mowing yards full of poop. We watched endless movies, and I don’t know why I ever wanted it to end. Why did we all wish for space because now having that -- too much space -- it’s too quiet? I don’t have Grammy nagging me to stop playing with the fourteen candles on her kitchen table, the house doesn't smell like fried fish, my cousins aren't sneaking away trying to watch a James Bond movie that  I wasn't allowed to go to (being too young).  I miss my Aunts folding the plastic grocery bags into perfect little triangles, or telling us kids to help unload the groceries from the truck (for the tenth time), the uncles talking about work, or dip netting for salmon. When we all wind down for the night and watch movies together lying all over the floor, couches, eating the last scraps of food or ice cream from the kitchen, pulling the eighty pillows off the couch so we can actually sit on the couch, then having to restart the movie because the aunties are finally finished in the kitchen and decided to join us and are wondering what happened in the movie!?

All this to say, God I miss my family. I am so blessed for a colorful (thanks to Grammie’s head to toe matching outfits…with accessories and shoes to match thank you) childhood filled with memories that I now treasure. We were weird, amazing, loud, loyal, and we belonged. I know there will never be another time together like we had in Alaska, and it breaks my heart. My hope is that my son will be able to play with his cousins and make memories with them, even if it means mowing through dog poop all summer.