Learning to Fly

What follows is, for me, a story of hope, of perseverance and of waiting on God's timing, which is always perfect. As you know life for Husband and I has been less than easy. We have been going through easily the most difficult time in our lives. Much of the difficulty we brought on ourselves through the choices that we made. However, much of it has been due to circumstances beyond our control. I lost my job over a year ago and haven't worked since. Husband lost his job last August and has been struggling to find permanent work. Bills are late, rent is late, my parent's are buying groceries for us. It is humbling.
KB is still living with us, and that has helped. Last July he cut his leg with a chain saw. It was as bad as it sounds. He cut some tendon in his knee, but thankfully not all the way through. Because of the accident he could not work for a while either.
At long last there is light through the darkness. KB is working again.
And for me there is not only light, there is a miracle. My long unemployment forced me to deal with my life. I considered many decisions I had made, I should make and what I am passionate about. I refused to take a job again that was just going to be a job. I wanted to love what I do, to effect people in a positive way. I decided I wanted to teach.
I took the CBEST and passed the first time. I arranged a visit with the principal of an outdoor school within walking distance from my house. This outdoor school is one of only three in California that uses credentialed teachers. I have secured a position as a substitute teacher at this school and began training two weeks ago. I also started school again. I will obtain my full teaching credential in February and I will have my Master's by June. This all happened in a span of two months, if you can believe it. I hardly can. I'm proud of myself for working hard and doing my part, but mostly I'm thankful to God for opening doors that I didn't even know existed.
Husband and I have been living here for almost three years. We were aware of the school, but I didn't really know anything about it. A family friend, who I have known since I was a very young child, told me that I should talk to the principal of the school because it would be perfect for me. She was right. Every week a new group of about 200 kids come to the school on buses. The group consists of mostly sixth graders from several different schools, although sometimes there are fifth and seventh graders. They come from the valley, sometime two hours away, to the mountains. They are taught sixth grade science concepts, but not in the classroom. They are taught in a hands-on approach. The school has a planetarium, an animal room with animals the children can hold, they hike every day. They are taught how to build shelters in the forest, about reptiles and amphibians, about Native American history, they pan for gold at the creek, it's nothing short of amazing. The kids stay all week, in cabins/dorms, away from their parents with kids they don't know. So they learn about socializing, making friends, being respectful. They all have to help in the kitchen at some point. I am beyond thrilled. I hike about a mile and a half through the forest to get to school. And it is perfect for me. I can't believe that not only do I get the opportunity to work at this school, but it's also my first teaching position. I am also humbled by this experience.
So things are looking up. Husband is still out of work. That's not really surprising though. He's a carpenter. The economy sucks. The housing market sucks. But, don't worry about a recession kids. Everything's under control, situation normal. So prayers are appreciated for him. He hates being out of work, most guys do. He feels useless and he's depressed.
I can't wait to begin writing about my school and life experiences. I can't wait to have things to write about again. As much as I love writing, I couldn't torture all of you with my depression, writing about what I watched on tv or how long it took to do laundry. That's just not fun to read.
For all of you who are experiencing difficulties, HANG IN THERE! Don't succumb to the darkness. Maintain some hope, no matter how small.

Officer Densmore and the Case of the Tasty Nugs

It was a brilliant spring day just a month ago. The birds were singing more loudly than usual, and the sun was out and beginning to warm the meadows and the wildflowers.

Husband was in Oregon seeing his grandpa for what would be the last time. He'd had to leave on a Sunday night, rather hurriedly, due to his grandpa's impending death. It was Monday or Tuesday and KB didn't have work. After throwing a round of disk golf, we decided to take the dogs to a place called Happy Valley.

We gathered our necessities and realized that we lacked one vital item. Weed. Pot. Marijuana. KB made a call and we were on our way, dogs in tow.

After retrieving our smokeables we started the short drive to Happy Valley. I suppose it is an actual valley, there is a river running through it. I wouldn't say it's happy though.

KB had taken his son to the river in Happy Valley and really wanted to go back. It is a beautiful place. The water was clear, the wildflowers and grasses were in full bloom, so everything was vibrant greens and pinks and yellows. Upon arriving at the sandy beach we were greeted by a huge cluster of butterflies, Swallowtails I think. When they noticed our presence they flew away in a flurry of yellow and black wings, completely engulfing us in a net of gossamer.

KB and I set up the blanket and just hung out for a while. At some point KB realized that he didn't have his keys. He went up to his truck and, sure enough, he had locked them in the truck. After having no success finding anyone with a slim jim or other such device, he tried desperately to remember where he'd left his spare. He was positive it was under the bed liner. With much effort KB was able to lift the bedliner enough for me to crawl toward the cab and retrieve the spare key. The day was saved! We could go back to the beach and smoke a bowl and enjoy the rest of our time there.

And that's exactly what we did. We hadn't even finished smoking one bowl when we began talking about the Buddha and Siddhartha. I was recalling the story of the bodie tree and the Buddha's enlongated earlobes when I looked over my left shoulder. There, standing on top of the rocks that separated us from another beach, was Officer Densmore.

The pipe was laying on the blanket in plain view. I casually put my bag over it while Officer Densmore climbed down from the rocks and came over to where KB and I were sitting.

His wrap-around black mirrored sunglasses reflected our serious faces as he sqatted in front of me. Mind you, at this point I have nothing but my bathing suit on and I'm rather self-conscious.

He made some small talk and asked if our dogs were nice. Looking back I should have told him, "No, they'll bite. Hard." Then he addressed the issue that had brought him to our blanket.

"Can you move that bag for me?" he asked me.

I moved the bag, which also had KB's phone underneath it, and simultaneously grabbed the pipe in my hand. I had no intention of lying to him. He'd already seen it. KB on the other hand, was terrified.

"It's just my cell phone," he said.

"Don't bullshit me man. She's got the pipe in her hand," said Officer Densmore. "That's why we come down here. To have a few beers, smoke a bowl. It's a nice place." I'll let you all re-read that and process it. Yes, that's what I was thinking, are you saying you smoke weed Officer Densmore?

"Do I have permission to search your bag?" he asked, turning to me.

"Yes, of course."

"Am I going to find anything in here?"

"No."

"Really, nothing at all?"

"Well, my weed man, I mean, obviously. But that's it."

Officer Densmore reached inside my stripey bag, handmade in Guatamala, which I've had for almost 15 years, and felt around for the contraband. He found it quite easily and pulled out the almost full 1/8th.

He examined it closely before he said, "This is good weed, really good. Where'd you get it?"

"From a friend," I said casually.

"From a good friend?"

"From an aquaintance."

"Are either of you guys 15?"

We were taken aback by the question and answered quickly, "No! We're not 15."

"I mean, Prop 215 . . ." and he started to explain what that is, but KB and I are very familiar with Prop 215 already. For those of you who don't know, Prop 215 gives patients with certain medical conditions certificates to both carry and grow specificed amounts of marijuana without risk of arrest or prosecution.

I interrupted him, "I know what Prop 215 is, and no, we don't have prescriptions." I'm thinking to myself, sorry we aren't hip to your cop lingo, man. We aren't down with the 15.

He returned to his sqatting position in front of me. "Who's weed is this?"

"Mine," I said, "He's got nothing to do with it." I didn't want KB involved for the obvious reasons, he has a child to think about.

At that point Officer Densmore spoke directly to me.

"These are some really nice nugs. I mean, you can tell this is really good weed. I don't come across this too often. You could make this a lot easier for yourself by helping me out."

"I mean, really, what can you do? I know you can give me a ticket, but it's an 1/8th of weed sir. They're not even prosecuting those cases," I said, trying to feel him out.

"I could take you to jail," he exclaimed authoriatively.

I sat there and just looked at him, trying to show no emotion. In truth, I wasn't scared. I knew the likelihood of my going to jail was very slim. I had a feeling he was fucking with me and actually trying to get me to talk.

"How much did you pay for this?"

"$50, standard."

"In El Dorado county, marijuana isn't our primary concern. Meth is. The people who you got this from are probably connected to other things. If you give me a name I can make this easier for you."

"Sir, I don't do meth and I don't know anyone who does."

"And you don't know the name of the person you got this from?"

"You know how it works sir, I made a call, it's a guy my husband know from work, he hooked it up. You know the routine." This of course was all a lie. I do indeed know the person we got the bag from. I know where he lives, his name, everything. But I'm not a fucking rat. Knowing he wanted a name, however, was making my mind work in mysterious ways.

He proceeded with more scare tactics, taking down my name address and phone number in his little notebook. He took down KB's name also.

"I'm going to give you three options. Option #1, I take you to jail. Option #2, you volunarily pour this bag out and destroy your weed. Option #3, you give me a name and you keep the bag." I told KB and Husband later that I was sure if I had been alone Option #4 would have been, suck my dick and keep your bag.

I looked at KB and he appeared as if he was going to have a breakdown at any moment. But my mind was racing. If all he wants is a name, I could just give him one and keep the bag. I mean, $50 down the shitter? Not to mention not having smoke, sucko! I seriously considered giving him the name of ex-roommate. I mean, I was so close. But I could feel KB's eyes boring a hole in my head, trying to figure out what I was thinking.

"I mean, I don't know the guy sir. I know his first name, but really, I can't help you here. I know what you want, but I can't give you that kind of information," I finally said.

"So what do you want to do?" he asked.

"I want to keep my bag."

At this point KB finally said something, which is pretty funny now.

"Should we review the options again?" KB asked me, rather sharply.

"No, fine. I'll dump it out," I said, getting up from my place on the blanket. Officer Densmore handed me the bag and I looked around for a place to dump it out.

"Where should I do this?" I asked Officer Densmore.

He pointed out a flat rock near the water. "Over on that rock."

I poured out the bag on the rock and tried my best to crumble it up, even going so far as to grab a rock and attempt to pulverize it. I was having limited success.

"This isn't working so well, it's not especially crumbly."

"That's what makes it good weed. You don't find that too often," he repeated. I hadn't the heart to tell him that this kind of weed, in fact, is the only kind I get. So I do find it often.

"So what should I do, just keep mashing it?"

"Just crumble it up."

"You're welcome to come over and help if you don't think I'm doing a good enough job," I said as politely as I could.

Officer Densmore came over to the rock to evaluate my progress, which apparently satisfied him. "That's good, you can stop now."

He started on his way and we both thanked him for the wonderful work he and the rest of the El Dorado County Sheriff's Department does. As he walked away he said, "I hope this little incident won't keep you away from here. I'd love to see you back down here enjoying the river."

Yuck! I bet you would pervo. And yeah, absolutely. I'll be back tomorrow with my bongs and maybe some coke, huge sacks of weed. We'll give you a call before we come out. And you can bring all your cop buddies. It'll be a party!

When Officer Densmore was gone, and we were sure he was gone, I examined our situation. There, in front of me, were the crumbled remains of our beautiful bag of smoke. There was clearly enough to salvage, though it might be a bit sandy. Plus, I'm supposed to leave a bunch of weed on a rock for kids to find? I don't think so. He didn't even confiscate the pipe with the half-burned bowl. It was my obligation to salvage what weed I could. I turned to KB.

"I'm taking that weed."

This freaked KB out again as he was certain that Officer Densmore would be following us home and he'd have someone search KB's truck. I was certain that it wouldn't happen.

So just before we left I picked out the little nuglets of weed from amongst the sand and rocks. It didn't come anywhere close to the 1/8th we'd picked up just hours earlier, but it was enough to smoke on for a few days.

I don't know that I'll be returning to Happy Valley. Although it's beautiful, being harrassed by the fuzz is not fun at all. But, I escaped a trip to the clink, and of that I am thankful.

Let this be a lesson to you. Officer Densmore's are everywhere. And they pop out of nowhere when you least expect it. Guard yourselves! But never let them intimidate you. And, unless you are an expert liar, like me, don't attempt to lie to them. It will make things better for you.

Ex-Roommate - An Update

For those of you who followed along on our rollercoaster ride with the ex-Roommate, I thought you'd enjoy this most fitting end to the saga.

It turns out that ex-roommate has a bit of a temper. After he moved out of our house, he apparently had enough money to get a place of his own. Interesting considering he could never come up with rent to pay us. He had a girlfriend who was on crack for a while, I believe I already wrote about that some time back. Well, they broke up and he advertised for a new one. Literally, he advertised in our local newspaper and also the Gold Panner (this is a free publication that is largely for sale items and services for hire). He found a new girlfriend by using this method, so who am I to judge?

Ex-roommate proceeds to get this girl pregnant (I believe I'll be posting soon about my feelings on that subject) and then beats the shit out of her. He put her in the hospital.

He was on the run from the cops and was hiding in Sacramento. Meanwhile we were worried that the cops would stop by our place, being that it was one of his more recent addresses. Thankfully that never happened because they caught the son of a bitch and locked him up.

Now that piece of shit is looking at 5 years in a federal penitentary because, can you guess?, he's got more domestic violence charges. Suprise, suprise.

Having learned this I'm extremely glad that we opened our home and our hearts to him. It makes me feel really great. I hope you can detect my sarcasm.

However, I really am glad that he's where he belongs. What a piece of total shit. I'm really speachless.

Well, I just remembered that I have to tell the story of Officer Densmore. Oh, what a great story! I'm going to get started on that right now.

Raining and pouring

Well, the good news is that our internet is turned back on. At least there's that.
The bad news is everything else going on in our lives. There's a light through the darkness though, and Husband and I are getting through the hard times.
Since I lost my job money has been very tight. We had our cable shut off for a while (our internet provider too), which thankfully is now back on. I'm sure many of you know how hard it is to get out of a financial hole. It sucks! It feels hopeless and defeating and embarrassing. But we're taking things a day at a time and we're becoming very resourceful at finding alternative methods for making money.
Husband, KB and I recently started cutting firewood to sell, and that is really starting to take off. Our only problem is getting enough wood. It's very hard work, but well worth it.
Husband's grandpa died two weeks ago. This was very hard for him as he was extremely close and fond of his grandpa. Roy was a cowboy, an actual cowboy. Up until two years ago (He died at 84), he still rode his horse regularly and tracked wild horses in the Ochocos mountains in Oregon. He was an amazing man who left an incredible legacy and led a full life. He will be missed terribly, and we are very thankful for the time we were given with him.
But, the death of someone and the money they leave behind tend to bring out the worst in people. Husband's dad is no exception. Unfortuately he has decided to dismiss the wishes of Roy and steal money from his own son. Husband's dad told him that he won't be dispursing the funds left to Husband in order to clear the "debt" that Husband owes him. The only debt I know of is that of Husband being raised by his parents. Husband had no debt to clear. So it's obvious that his dad is just being a prick and trying to punish him for not having the life that his dad wanted him to have. It's very sad because it's driving a huge wedge between them, and consequently me and Husband's parents. It's unthinkable to me that a parent would steal money from their own children. Especially considering the financial situation we're currently in.
However, Husband did inherit a truck and camper from his grandpa, which we are selling. So hopefully that will help some.
As for me, I have been exploring options for a new career. I am strongly considering becoming a teacher. The more I look into it, the more it excites me. So I'll keep you posted on that.
Our little puppy is now as big as our almost two year old dog, Ben. Samson is six months old now and so much fun. He's enormous though. He's going to be a giant dog. I love it!
I can't believe that it's been two months since I posted here last. Dealing with all the shit that's been going on has taken much of my time and energy. When you're struggling to keep the power and water on the last thing on your mind is writing. But things are getting better and hopefully now I'll have more time and energy to write more.
I hope things are better with all of you. I miss you guys!
The picture, if you can make it out, is my most recent injury. I burned my hand very badly while making dinner last week by spilling boiling hot gravy on my hand. Can you say accident prone? My middle finger got the worst of it. It's healing, slowly, with only mild infection. Should be a great scar for my collection!

Changes

First let me say that I had no intention of taking so much time between my posts. I really appreciate those of you who are interested in what I write, and I'm sorry that I haven't posted in so long. I am actually just starting to wade through my emails and comments. I haven't even checked them in about a month.

This is the primary reason for my absence of late. This is our new puppy Samson. He is 10 weeks old and already a big toughy. His mom is a German Shepherd/Husky mix and his dad is a Rottweiler. We love him tremendously, and even Ben is starting to accept him into the family. As you know, puppies are a shit ton of work. Fortunately I have had the time to be with him because I don't have a job anymore.

I'm over it, the job thing. I really hated it and wanted to leave and appartently my boss decided to downsize. Whatever. It's very strange being out of a job for the first time in, gosh, at least 10 years. I'm not sure what I want to do, and it's kind of scary to be honest. That is another reason why I've been MIA. I decided to just take some time to consider my life, my career, my decisions, all of that heavy stuff. I have not been in the frame of mind to write like I usually do, or draw. Perhaps a bit of depression sunk in while I wasn't looking.

Anyway, I'm back. I feel good about myself, my life and I'm looking forward to the next chapter. I've got more of a housewife routine now, which makes it nice for Husband. He gets to come home to a clean house everyday, I make him lunch now, his clothes are always clean, it's nice. And there's the puppy training. Between the housework, walking the dogs, training Samson, cleaning up his shit and piss when he goes in the house, I remain pretty busy. Probably more busy than when I was at work. Just a different kind of busy.

I was working on a post that I intend to put up tomorrow, more back to normal. I really enjoy writing and my time with all of you, so I look forward to getting back into it.

In the meantime, I need to catch up on all of your lives, which I can't wait to do!

A bit 'o green for the special day.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Us and Them

There are few things in this world that make me as upset as the government overstepping it's boundaries. For the record, I am a registered Independent, but I also embrace many of the Libertarian philosophies.

In 1996 the people of California voted to legalize marijuana for medical purposes. Now, I'm not going to address the ridiculousness of marijuana being illegal in the first place. The history of marijuana prohibition is an unfortunate blemish in the annals of America. You can go here to read about how the United States government came to despise the evil weed. I also won't discuss the facts regarding marijuana's status as one of, if not the, largest cash crop in the US, supporting many families who would live in abject poverty otherwise. I obviously support the legalization, or in the very least decriminalization, of marijuana. But what I also support is a state's ability to govern itself, and that's really what this argument is about.

In 1999 Husband and I attended the Million Marijuana March in San Francisco. In addition to smoking bowls on the steps of the federal building, we saw Angel Raich speak. It was extremely moving. Yesterday the Supreme Court decided that Angel Raich would still be subject to criminal prosecution for using marijuana, at the advice of her doctor, to keep her alive. She suffers from many chronic problems, not the least of which is a brain tumor. Because she has no appetite and suffers from chronic nausea, the doctor suggested that she use marijuana to combat these symptoms. Other prescription drugs she tried hadn't worked. This case has been in the nation's highest courts for several years. The decision that terminally and chronically ill people can't use a drug that eases their suffering because the federal government arbitrarily decides it's bad is just wrong. WRONG!

What is equally as wrong is that the federal government has ultimate control over individual states. It makes no sense whatsoever that states can pass laws, by an overwhelming majority, and the federal government can override the decision of that state. It's not only presumptuous on the part of the feds, it is a gigantic waste of time and money.

It is wrong for the feds to presume that they know what's best for a state just because they're the federal government. The people who live in the the great states of our nation have a greater sense, hopefully, of what they want done in their state. Since the people are the ones who live and work and pay taxes and contribute to the economies of their state, they should have a good idea of the types of policies and legislation they want. How does the federal government, thousands of miles away with it's own more pressing world issues to deal with, going to extend its' oppressive thumb to squash the will of the people of California?

And if the case is that states can't pass laws without the approval of the feds, then the whole system needs to change. Why should states waste valuable resources on bills, and voting, and legislator's salaries, and the subsequent litigation that occurs when the feds challenge a law? If states need approval from the feds, shouldn't that be the first step in passing a law? Shouldn't there be some system where all potential laws from all states receive approval from the federal government before the people can vote on them?

Well no, I don't think it should work that way. I think in reality it does work that way and the federal government does it's damnedest to hide that fact. The federal government has grown to a point that it can no longer be controlled. It's unfortunate that there are people who wish the feds would do more and be more involved in our lives. I feel very confident that I can make reasonably good decisions for myself. And when I fuck up I don't want the federal government involved. That's the last thing I'd want. I think there are services that the feds provide that are good and necessary. But that begs the question, could those services be even better if they were run by private organizations?

I'm not offering solutions because I frankly don't have any. My ideal life involves about 20 acres deep into the mountains, being almost totally self-sufficient and living off the grid. This isn't the life for everyone. My point is that I desire to live far out of reach from the feds. I just know that our current system of government is not working. Period. And it's getting worse. I have ideas about how it could work better, namely leave state decision making to the states. Fuck federal funding! But, I'm not a politician or a lobbyist or an attorney, the three most evil careers one could have. I've said more than once that if we got rid of all the politicians, lobbyists, attorneys and tele-evangelists the world would be a much different, and better, place.

Back to pot. I'm not a pusher and I appreciate people who don't want to smoke weed. I will never try to convince anyone that they should or should not smoke. But marijuana is like alcohol in that, it can become a problem for some people. People can form a type of addiction to it, though there is still no definitive proof that marijuana is actually addictive. But it can suck people in to the point where they become useless stoners, just like they can become useless alcoholics. I'm both a stoner and alcoholic, but I'm certainly not useless. Uselessness is not a good quality.

Here ends my diatribe.

The Alaska Story - Part 7

Alright friends, this story is almost over. Thanks to several Greyhounds last night I am suffering, again, from hangoverus majoris. When will I learn? Probably never. When also will I learn that it's much too easy to get into arguments with loved ones when you are slightly, or significantly, intoxicated? Hopefully soon. Anyway, here is your next installment.


The Last Leg

Usually calm and unruffled, Sue was clearly distraught about our circumstances. When we told her that Dusty, Annie and Nick had gone over Sugarloaf by themselves and quite unprepared she almost came unglued. While we were all worried about our friends, it hadn’t really occurred to us that their lives could actually be in danger. Nate, Husband and I became immediately sobered by the thought of our friends stuck on top of the mountain without so much as a stove to keep them warm.
We were headed towards the cars to leave a note for Dusty explaining that we were on our way to Chuck and Karen’s. Rather than picking us up, he should drive straight there and we’d give him the details later. As we drove down the highway we saw three sorry-looking backpackers walking along the road. We knew at once it was Dusty, Annie and Nick. We all yelled out-loud in excitement upon seeing them. Sue pulled into the parking lot of a nearby lodge and dropped Nate, Husband and I off before turning around to pick up Dusty, Annie and Nick.
Husband, Nate and I stood in the lobby of the grand lodge looking quite out of place and pitiful. I was soaked to the bone, my shoulder was now immobile, we’d just spent three days camping in the wilderness and looked every inch like that’s where we’d been. Husband walked around the lobby in search of a cigarette vendor. Nate and I examined the huge 3-D map of Alaska while I tried to control my shivering. A woman approached us and asked me if I was okay. I smiled and gave her my best “Yes, thank you”, not wanting to get into details with a complete stranger. Finally Husband came back, cigarettes in hand, and we adjourned outside to indulge. Nate even joined us.
We hadn’t even smoked half a cigarette when Dusty, Annie and Nick pulled into the parking lot with Sue following behind. When Dusty saw Nate with a cigarette in his hand he proclaimed, “It must be bad if Nate’s smoking.” We all laughed at that but decided to save the details for Chuck and Karen’s house. Once again we loaded ourselves into the vehicles and drove back to Waugaman Village to retrieve David and Mary. When we were all together again we headed to Chuck and Karen’s house. We were all exhausted and our minds were set on hot showers and cold beer so our conversation was relatively limited during the drive. Husband and I were riding with Sue and she continued to tell us of the dangers of Alaska. She said that probably the reason Dusty wanted to go over the mountain was to avoid another river crossing. Apparently that is one of the more dangerous things one can do in Alaska, and many backpackers don’t make it home after drowning in flooded rivers.
Chuck and Karen’s house is a secluded paradise. They built a log home on many acres outside of Cantwell from the ground up, mostly by themselves. They cut and stripped all of the logs they used to build it. While they were stripping the logs, Karen filleted her thigh with the stripping tool. It was very deep, requiring stitches. They live two hours from the nearest hospital though, and the situation was pretty dire. So Chuck got the gun they use to staple the dogs’ wounds closed and proceeded to staple Karen’s leg closed. When they did finally arrive at the hospital the doctor examined Karen’s leg and said the staples looked great and to come back when she needed them removed. That is a tough lady. Thankfully that setback didn’t keep them from finishing the house. They picked out special logs to serve as columns inside the living room and paid particular attention to details like that. The kitchen counters are made from formed and dyed concrete and are simply gorgeous.
As we pulled into the driveway we heard the sled dogs barking to greet us. At that time they had about 30 dogs that they actually used to pull sleds in the winter. Neither Chuck nor Karen was home from work yet, but we were instructed to make ourselves at home. Husband and I were getting out of the car as Annie and Nick pulled up behind us. It was the first time we’d talked to them since we separated. Husband asked Nick how their hike was. His answer was chillingly serious. “I seriously thought we were gonna die up there.” This was coming from a cop. We couldn’t wait to get inside and share our adventures.
We took several trips back and forth from the cars to the basement in order to unload everything. What food we had left in the bear canisters was now soaked and inedible. Practically everything we had was wet and dirty, so Sue started a load of laundry. Once everything was unpacked and in the basement we headed upstairs to collapse for a while. Nick and Husband volunteered to get beer while the rest of us rested or started helping Sue get dinner ready.
Chuck and Karen arrived home shortly after Husband and Nick got back with enough beer to ease our aching bodies for the night. They were eager to hear about our trip in full detail. While David and Mary showered the rest of us were happy to tell our tale of adventure. I was almost embarrassed, feeling like our experience was minor compared to what they deal with at the park. But as we talked about crossing the Healy Creek, Karen’s eyes widened in amazement. This was obviously something she didn’t hear about every day. One of the things I learned from Karen is that you should always unbuckle your pack before you cross a river. That way if you do need to get out of it you’ll actually be able to. She examined my shoulder to make sure it wasn’t dislocated and decided it was most likely a pulled muscle.
After a couple of beers, it was Husband's and my turn to shower. The bathroom in Chuck and Karen’s is something out of a spa. The bathroom itself is spacious and airy. There’s a huge window in the shower and double showerheads. Not just double, but the giant heads that feel like you’re in a rainstorm. Lucky for Husband and I, Chuck and Karen are tall and short respectively. Chuck is easily a foot taller than Karen, like Husband and I. They have the showerheads adjusted for their height, which suited us perfectly. As I undressed for the shower I noticed that I had a fairly serious injury on my lower leg. About six inches above my ankle, my shin was swollen to the size of a lemon. Right in the middle of the blue and purple swelling was a hole about the size of a ’22 bullet. It was black, as if it was trying to scab over. I hadn’t even noticed pain in my leg since my shoulder hurt so bad, but it looked disgusting. I have no idea to this day how it got there. I showered the best I could through excruciating pain and in the end I felt wonderful. It’s easy to appreciate a shower when you don’t get one for a few days.
By the time Husband and I were done dinner was ready. Sue brought all kinds of food with her: spaghetti, salad, bread, I think even brownies or cookies. She went all out to make us a great meal. And it was great! Husband was very interested in the house so he and Chuck talked a lot about that. The rest of the night was in that vein. Lots of talking, retelling our favorite parts of the story we just made, talking about the rest of the trip for Nate, Dusty, Annie, Nick, David and Mary. They’d be kayaking near glaciers the next day and were all excited for that. As the evening turned into night the party died out, people made their way to bed, and Sue eventually went home. Dusty, Nate, Husband and I stayed up late into the night talking about everything and nothing. Dusty was really concerned that we’d had a good time and didn’t think of him badly. He felt terribly responsible, for some reason, about what had happened. We assured him that we’d had a life-changing experience, an incredible one at that. We’d seen and done things we never dreamed we would. At some time late that night the four of us called it a night and retired to our respective beds. The others had an early day and a long drive to Fairbanks or wherever they were going. Husband and I would also have a long day, but we didn’t have to leave quite so early.
I slept a somewhat restless sleep with every move sending shooting pains to my shoulder. Nevertheless, the bed was heavenly, much better than the ground. When we awoke Chuck and Karen had already left for work. Dusty and the gang were packing up their gear and having a light breakfast. Chuck told Husband that we could hang out as long as we wanted as long as we put the dog in before we left. We helped the gang pack up and soon said goodbye. Husband and I watched them roll down the driveway and down the road until they disappeared. We went back inside and cleaned up what we could before taking some time to enjoy the house a bit. We lingered on the deck and looked out over the mountains in the distance. The birds sang to us and the trees whispered their goodbyes in the gentle breeze. We were sorry to leave and wanted to soak in the last bits of beauty that we could. Soon we would be back to the reality of California.
Annie and Nick rented a car to get to Dusty’s house, and now Husband and I were returning it in Anchorage. We packed up the mid-sized sedan after making sure Chuck and Karen’s house was in order and started the two and a half hour drive to Anchorage. Our flight wasn’t until midnight so we decided to walk around the city and have dinner until we had to leave for the airport. The only remarkable things about the drive were all of the fireworks stands along the highway. By stands I don’t mean your typical “Red Devil” stand that you see every Fourth of July. These are STANDS, easily as big as a small convenience store with every type of firework imaginable. One of my favorites had two giant blow-up gorillas on the roof, of which one was wearing a pink and yellow polka dot bikini. Classic.
Anchorage sits on a large bay with various shipping liners dotting the water. Husband and I found a place to park that was in close proximity to downtown and the beach. We walked towards the large wooded staircase that led down to the sand. In the middle of the wooden platform stood a statue of Capt. Cook and a plaque commemorating his discovery of Alaska.
After walking along the ocean we made our way towards the tourist zone of downtown Anchorage. We meandered through the stores, browsing the 1000’s of moose and grizzly bear related items. After picking up a couple of gifts for friends and the hand-drawn map of the Nenana River Gorge we were ready to eat. After passing up a couple of very crowded restaurants we found a brewpub, I think called the Blue Heron. We were seated at a window booth that looked out over the expansive bay. The food was great; likewise the beer, and we relaxed and enjoyed our last few hours in Alaska.
When time beckoned to us that it was time to drop off the car, Husband and I walked slowly back to our parking spot and headed to the rental car office. After an uneventful car return we waited in the parking lot for the shuttle to take us to the airport. What can I say about the airport? Flying at this point in time is at best marginally annoying and at worst, the biggest pain in your ass ever. Our check in was somewhere in between. We had the advantage of carrying only our backpacks, which we had to check and we were checked in, boarding passes in hand, in relatively good time. When we got up to the terminal we spotted a Cheers, yes in Alaska. Husband and I figured the best way to kill time before our flight would be to drink, so we did. We sat in the Cheers, watching fellow travelers and reveling in our memories of the last few days. Eventually we made our way to our gate and prepared to board the plane.
The red-eye flight back to Oakland made me never want to fly again. My favorite part about it was the screaming child who screamed at the top of its lungs throughout the entire flight. It was almost humorous that the cabin lights were off encouraging people to sleep, but no one would attempt to silence the screaming child. At long last we made our decent into Oakland where my parents would be waiting for us. We were exhausted from the flight and from the trip, and happy to be back home. Although Alaska had been one of the best experiences in either of our lives, there was something very comforting about being home.
We told my parents about our trip as they drove us back to Sacramento. They were both in disbelief upon hearing about the Healy Creek crossing, but thankful that we were home safely. It still amazes me when I think back on our trip. An unbreakable bond was formed between the eight of us. We experienced something that will unite us forever, if only in our memories. I will never forget our adventure in Alaska, and look forward to passing this story on to my own children someday. This was one of the best experiences of my life and it taught me more about myself than I expected it to. I learned that I possess a strength I didn't realize I had, and that I am capable of maintaining a rational mind through the most challenging circumstances. Among the lessons I learned there, these are probably the most important to me. Above everything, however, the relationship and the memories I share with my traveling companions are the most important.