I came here when the dust clouds rolled down the streets like something out of a Western. That first weekend, someone pulled out a hose to water down Steadman. Walking around town, I learned quickly to close my eyes and mouth when a car passed. Even then, I usually came home feeling some grit on my teeth.
The station’s engineer took Kristin and I on a tour of the facilities and lamented his never-ending battle against Nome dirt. He said it squeezed into the nooks of every piece of equipment and machinery in town, causing all kinds of malfunctions. Nome dirt, it seems, is impossible to escape.
I read once that scientists could learn where someone had lived by looking at their bones. The water we drink, the air we breathe, the dirt under our feet—all of these things build up in our bodies and leave their own permanent signatures inside of us.
I love this idea, because I’ve always imagined my own life building up that way. Whenever I move to a new place, a lot of my old habits and pastimes slough away so that new ones can replace them. But some habits stick no matter where I go. Some skills and memories linger long after they’re a real, present part of my life.
As I pack my bags this week, I’m wondering what will stick. There were times this year when I disappointed myself and questioned my decisions. But this was also the first place in a long time that I have stood on solid ground. I have far more good memories of taking risks that were worth it, learning and growing and finding purpose. The Nome dust has filled in so many little spaces in me that I’m scared to guess what will fall out.
So thank you to my friends, coworkers, thespians, singers, collaborators, and listeners. I’m a quiet person, so I’m not sure you’ll realize how grateful I am for every song you requested, every conversation we had, every invitation or idea you offered. I am deeply grateful, and humbled by the generosity and kindness I have encountered here. Farewell for now.
Love,
Courtney
