When the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup in 2010 and 2013, I watched the game from my home outside of Chicago, surrounded by family and seated on our comfortable old sofa. Last week, though, when they won again, I was watching from a near-empty restaurant in western Alaska.
I watched, overcome by sports-induced emotion, probably alarming the nearby families eating pizza and the miners grabbing drinks after work, and I started to think about the strange in-between of my recent move to Alaska and my connection to home.
The night I touched down in Nome, I sent word of my safe arrival to my family and promised to get some rest after a long day’s travel. Instead, I wound up walking along the waters of the Bering Sea with near strangers. We failed to catch any cigar fish, but we see did glimpse a gigantic walrus while the sun shined brightly at midnight.
And that’s how it has gone — familiar and surreal.
I looked up photos online from the Blackhawks victory parade, an event I’ve twice attended, and then I went live on the radio for the first time. I called my dad to wish him a happy Father’s Day, and then I rafted down the Nome River for six hours to celebrate the solstice. I mailed postcards to old friends, and then I interviewed a biologist on how the summer chum salmon run is progressing.
But it’s not as jarring as it maybe should be — the overwhelming newness mixed with moments of normality. That’s where the chance to live with the 2014-15 volunteers has been a gift.
They’ve helped introduce me to issues that matter in this region, like subsistence, mining, mushing, and the importance of reporting responsibly. They’ve offered gentle reminders when I’ve stared at the studio boards blankly, struggling to recall which of the many dials does what. They even snagged extra blackout curtains when I couldn’t sleep through the nighttime sunshine.
Still, I’m aware that my burgeoning friendships with the current volunteers is also an in-between. They’ll transition out of the house in the coming weeks while the other 2015-16 volunteers arrive and acclimate.
As one thing becomes familiar, so enters the next stage of brand new.
