Reset

I last wrote of feeling truly uprooted -- a feeling I'd not felt before. Housing plans had fallen apart while friends were visiting, and I scrambled to find us a place to stay. I was worried that my guests would have a less than perfect time because of my inability to host them the way I had initially planned.

I momentarily regretted my decision to come "home" for the summer. What even is home if you don't have a consistent place to stay, when you are living in other people's houses while they are on vacation? I am facing a reality that I had previously hoped to disprove. Home really does have something to do with a specific place. The old wood stove, the view of the mountains, the strangely placed stained glass of an iris above the toilet, the buoy swing in the yard, the stream I built dams in as a kid, the beach a quarter mile through the woods. It has to do with the people, too; sitting at the dining room table with my parents and brother for hours after we had finished dinner, laughing and telling embarrassing stories about one another. I shouldn't forget the dogs, the cats, the chickens, and the (briefly lived) goats and bunnies, either. Nor the bears eating the chickens, the dogs eating the bunnies, and the eagles trying to eat the cats.

After that pathetic week of self-pity, my job whisked me away and I had the chance to reset while in Blue Fox Bay of Afognak Island. I slept in a tent all week long, ate most of my meals outside in the rain, and used a particularly aromatic outhouse. Along with my work crew of four teenagers and my incredible boss, Shelly, I got to hike a new mountain, on which we found centuries old bear tracks that are imprinted in the alpine moss. We explored the beaches and a nearby creek, ate wild blueberries, water colored, and watched a tiny vole nibble on grass only a few feet away.

Since my trip to Blue Fox, I feel reset. I'm once again pleased with my decision to return home to Kodiak for the summer. To top it all off, this past Sunday, I had the opportunity to hike to Shelly Lake on Sharatin Mountain for my first time with Shelly and Kari, two women I look up to very much.

It is easy for me to forget how incredibly privileged I am, and that is something I need to work on. Despite being geographically far from my family and living out of a duffle bag in someone else's home, I've got it really, really good. In this community of Kodiak I know that I will always have a roof over my head. I have an incredible job and amazing role models. I can afford to eat well and I have time to exercise, read, and write. My legs carry me up mountains. Most importantly, I have parents that no matter how far away they are, support and love me. I have it so. freaking. good.

While the end of July was emotionally challenging, I'm thankful to have come to terms with the fact that for me, home is at least partially place-based. Still, this is only a teeny, tiny piece in the puzzle of finding home in the (un)familiar.

Bear tracks on Devil's Paw Mountain on Afognak.

Shelly Lake on Sharatin Mountain in Kodiak.