Neither Elegy nor Eulogy

On my day off today I walked to Wonder Lake, climbed Blueberry Hill, and ate my lunch. Fair weather cumulus and sun filled the sky, moderate breezes kept the the bugs away. Buses passed (both VTS and Denali Back Country Lodge), so I waved; brief snippets of conversation and laughter from the two canoers on the lake added to the background. Over there to the southwest, Denali hid behind a cloud layer--we'll see it on another day

Everywhere wildflowers bloomed--yellow Arnica, pink plume, white shaggy-headed cotton grass, the purples of early Larkspur and lupine--but it was the Chiming Bluebells lining the road that caught my eye and my heart. They're tiny flowers, but their color is brilliant. I don't know why, but they reminded me of Nancy. Maybe because they were plentiful and she was full in my mind. But they rang for her, all those little bells.

Nancy died last Saturday. She had struggled for years, fighting bout after bout with cancer. But like the Chiming Bluebells fighting out the Alaskan winter, she never gave up; she kept showing up. Her body gave out on her in the end, but not the parts of her we remember.

We met as students at Bates College, finally rooming together as juniors. If I were back home in Milwaukee, I'd rummage through the old photo albums to find snapshots. But they're in my mind as are the sounds of us talking and laughing with others. Singing, too. We used to sing along to Pete Seeger's "Bells of Rhymney"--maybe that's why the bluebells resonated.

Who we are at 19 is not who we become. But it is a time of testing. Testing our intelligence in class, talking about family dynamics, visiting each other's homes, trying on defiance, finding new ways of defining our worlds. Part of my test was to leave Bates, to try life. It meant leaving Nancy, too, that nice corner room in Frye House now hers alone for the last month or so of the semester.

We stayed in touch for a while, stood as bridesmaids to Corky and Al, but then we didn't contact each other that much, and we lost touch. Then when I was in Atlanta for my last summer of graduate school, I received a round-about message that Nancy was in the city, too, for an NEA conference. We met, had dinner, talked and laughed, laughed and talked as if the years hadn't passed. She and John were getting married, and she wanted me to be there. And I was. Her happiness was palpable. It was a treat to see her siblings again, and a treat to see other Bates friends with whom I'd lost touch.

Because of Nancy, really, I stepped hesitantly back into that circle of friends.

So what I remember of Nancy--beyond the twinkling smile and the throaty voice in which she sang "Scotch and Soda"--is the connection, the link to others that she offered. Bless that connection.

And bless her. She will be missed.

Season Opener

The preparation is over; the formal training/orientation is complete; and the first guests have come and gone. We're still working out the kinks in scheduling, in new jobs with new staff members even as we explore life together here at the end of the dirt road.

When we arrived for office opening at the end of May, there was still a fair amount of snow patching the Kantishna hills, and in upper Camp, frost heaves and soft spots still dampened the drive outside Potlatch. Early Openers, having flown in at the beginning of May, found much more snow than we did. But as we prepared for the arrival of staff, the air was warm, smiles brightened the landscape, and people darted back and forth about their jobs.

A couple of weeks in, we're all starting to find jobs familiar. New housekeeping staff have located the battery supply for the guest alarm clocks, the greenhouse is supplying herbs for the kitchen, edible flowers for garnish--and working that compost bin! Cooks have shown their mettle with the indredible meals prepared (fresh Alaskan cod, apricot/pistachio-stuffed lamb, roasted vegetables, cinnamon bread French toast, and homemade breads and desserts you wouldn't believe possible)--you can see what my focus is!

Outdoors, along the roadside and across the tundra, flowers spring to life as winter recedes and the short summer overlays the land. Blue chiming bells, yellow Arnica, white Canadian dogwood, pink prickly rose, all these bloom next to tiny low-bush cranberry and blueberry flowers. Birds trill, ducks dip and dive in the kettle ponds. Animals move freely along the road--on Opening Day we had a moose cow and new calf in Nugget Pond (see the blog at www.campdenali.com) --we've spotted a lynx across from North Face Lodge, caribou dot the tundra, ground squirrels whistle and dive into burrows even as bears dig wildly in those burrows to snag a snack.

Of course, the mosquitos are back, too. The first hatch is big, slow, and stupid, and you can usually catch them out of the air with your fist. Following those are the smaller, quicker, hungrier ones. Those are harder to capture, and their bites itchier. It's fun to sit in the office doing my work, and in the quiet I hear a slap--pause--and a whispered jubilant "Yes!" as another of them is taken out of the pool. The good that they do, though, is often forgotten. Mosquitoes are pollinators. When I look at the flowers and scratch those itchy places, I need to remember that! It is also satisfying to know that fish eat them. The mosquitoes, not the flowers.

You'll figure from the preceding that I am happy to be here. I can't think of a stronger understatement. As much as I need time in the city, visits with my daughters, trips to see friends, and weekly church services, I find more and more that this unique National Park is home. The connection to seasonal rhythms with no televison or newspapers to "keep me current" but with an unbelieveable variety of flora and fauna and landscape to observe--this connection grounds me more thoroughly than I can describe.

What a privilege to live here for four months of the year!