Since I was a kid, I always knew that I wanted to be a writer. During summer breaks, sometimes I'd join my father at his office, where he'd plop me down in front of the typewriter. There, I'd furiously click-clack onto page after blank page kaleidoscopic streams of consciousness. Playful little tales brimming with equal parts cheer and innocence. Youthful manifestos full of creative longing.
As I grew older and my interests began to emerge, I imagined that I'd one day write about lofty subjects such as film and music, smart book reviews or in-the-know restaurant reviews. Cultural, art-centric stuff that I envisioned being penned from a regular seat in a hip Manhattan coffee shop, delivered to a chic magazine editor with a well-kept, asymmetrical haircut and really good handbags.
But I can assure you that it never once crossed my mind that some of the most poignant writing I'd ever do would center around fish. Or that I'd write it from the snowy hilltops of rural Alaska, while watching the footprints of a big old moose track in a sluggish but impressive rhythm outside the window, right in my own yard.
But when my husband Arron (WAC's founder and CEO) started this company, and it became evident that "communications" would be part and parcel of the business's important tasks, I raised my hand and recast my expectations — about what kind of writer I thought I should be. Because as the organization began to grow, it became clear to us that as fulfilling as it was to provide you, the members, with some of the most delicious, nutrient-rich protein on the planet, it would be just as meaningful to arm our newly burgeoning community with wonderful little manifestos about the essence of this food and vital resource.
Caption: A typical breakfast in the Kallenberg house: Flaked salmon, perfectly runny eggs, and a warm tortilla.
To not only nourish WAC members with food, but also with knowledge. To help poise each and every one of you to make the most out of every single box of wild-caught Alaskan seafood that's delivered to your door. To share not only the lore and legacy of our family with you, but also the morsels of lived experience that have emerged over the years with our regular cadence of working with so many of the delicious, wild-caught species that regularly show up in your box.
When our first-born son was just a six-month old baby, we decided to set our family’s young roots in Homer. With our new home base, it became clear that in marrying Arron, I was also marrying Alaska. I was a newbie in this land of the midnight sun, and my trajectory of learning mirrored that of my son’s. I gleaned wisdom from watching Arron lead, as a father and entrepreneur. But his mystical motherland would also be loaded with lessons for me. Each cycle and season here would live and give as its own amalgam of insights. And so it was that the practices and principles of this place would also begin to take root in me.
Caption: Arron with our first son when he was still a newbie to Alaska.
As such, many of these lessons became Anchor Point entries shared in these weekly emails, during which I relished the opportunity to pen the unforeseen glory of getting to inhabit this magical place.
In this sweet cocoon of intentional solitude with my family, the kitchen became a playground and laboratory for me. A hub of sensory exploration centered around the countless possibilities that come with preparing Alaskan seafood. With each box delivered to us, I'd feel compelled to push my own comfort zone about what was gastronomically possible. To go beyond the trusted (yet perfectly delicious) simplicity of the pan-seared fillet.
And from my pop-up Alaskan test kitchen came dishes like Seafood Soufflé, Salmon Onigiri, Vietnamese Summer Rolls with Spot Prawns, Pink (salmon) Arepas, Sockeye Bolognese, Spot Prawn Ravioli and Yukon Coho Rosti (to name some of my faves) — all of which I also felt compelled to share with you. And in this way, Anchor Points became a vessel for a love language — a moment to share with you not only what I see outside my window in Alaska, but to also give you a window into the culinary happenings of our home.
Caption: My version of an Alaskan bolognese, made with ground sockeye salmon.
Please accept these letters as a token of our deep gratitude for this lovely WAC fish family, which grows and expands alongside our nuclear one. And as Arron and I prepare to welcome our second child and I get ready to sign off for my maternity leave, I'm feeling cheerfully nostalgic about our currency of communication, this anchor point to our connectedness.
So, in the spirit of this sentimentality, some of the upcoming Anchor Points letters you’ll receive will be a look back at some of my all-time favorites. If they're new to your eyes, we hope you enjoy them; if you've seen them before, we invite you to revisit them with a new perspective. Either way, know that crafting these letters deeply makes me feel like the writer that I was always meant to be.
Live wild...and see you soon!
Monica
Pictured above: Clockwise from the top left, a flashback fam moment when our firstborn son was still an infant; a mama moose in our backyard, with a couple babies in tow; a gorgeous fillet of sockeye on a bed of spring veggies; a boat leaving a gentle wake in Kachemak Bay with a backdrop of mountain peaks, shrouded in clouds.
