I just barely met some of the 2013-14 volunteers, but they live on quite vividly in the volunteer house and at the station.
Officially, my first two weeks at KNOM were dedicated to training from the current staff, but they were also the time when information and advice were passed on, indirectly, from already-departed volunteers. “Zach said never to do this.” “Daynée used to do that.” “Anna Rose would have said this if she were here.” I heard it from my fellow volunteers, from the staff at the station, and from the people in town that I met. Their advice and example stood as markers for how to understand Nome and KNOM, how to do my job well, how to live here and how to be a good volunteer. At times it was intimidating, hearing about all of these interesting, talented individuals that had come before us, to say nothing of the decades of volunteers who have helped build KNOM. But it was mostly comforting to know that as I struggled to relax behind the microphone and learn how to create spots and make friends here, many, many people had come before me.
But this has also been the time that must happen every year, when we all stretch and shift our roles to accommodate our new personalities and work styles, and try to find a new flow for the station. And the people in town who are close to KNOM are starting to take an interest in our class of volunteers for ourselves. We hear that we have the “KNOM look.” We hear that we should get involved in the community, but make sure to keep the volunteer house a community, too. We hear that we all seem pretty laid back, and that five girls in one house will kill each other.
We linger in the kitchen a lot in the evenings to catch up on each other’s days and talk through the struggles and doubts and successes of the work we do. Honestly, we’re all still getting to know each other. Our lives will change, and with it our dynamic will shift. But a few days ago, when we were all tired and grumpy and disheartened, and we discovered that buffalo seasoning and cod do not make the best dinner combo, we all piled into the truck to take a drive. We looked at the red and orange tundra, and the choppy waves. We pulled off the road to examine a dead walrus that had washed up on shore. It was a strange, and strangely calming, hour.
I’m grateful to be here, doing what I’m doing, working to make sense of it all. And I’m really grateful for the people I’m working through it with.
