Being a relatively new mother of young children is one thing — but getting to be a mom to a pair of wild Alaskans explodes the notion of parenting into a whole new world of extraordinary. Here we are mid-September: backpacks flush with new school supplies, water bottles labeled neatly with the fresh ink of a new sharpie, and kiddos ripe with the bubbly potential of a new school year.
And of course I am excited for their new experiences, social encounters and a new era of academics, but, as we head into fall, I can’t help marveling at the living curriculum that summer in Alaska routinely feeds to my kids.
How, for example, the low tides on Kachemak Bay leave pools adorned with sea stories, the massive bull kelp punctuating the dynamism of the shores. How the jiggle of a jellyfish reminds us that all is always in flux, and how the patterns in wet sand form wordless sentences in a language that maybe only skies can understand.
Or the lesson of circadian rhythm, and how during Alaskan summers, it isn’t the sun that tells us when it’s time for bed, but our own body, after what can seem like an infinite day tromping on beach and bluff. Or the perfect symmetry of a blooming dahlia that shows up like a geometric gift. Or the whimsical song of a sandhill crane. Or the cameo appearance in one’s yard by a cute family of moose.
Even (and especially) the comings and goings of fishermen at the harbor narrate to our children the stories of hard work — which isn’t even close to being over when said fishers dock their boats. Because next comes the handling of the fish, from cleaning and gutting to fileting and storing. The whole operation, a lesson on completion, tradition, dedication and lore.
So, I move into the school year with gratitude to Alaska for filling our cups, for nourishing our souls with the lessons of this place and for rooting my children to the glory of their motherland.
Live Wild!
Monica
Pictured above: A smattering of summertime moments in Alaska, during which rocks, sticks, puddles and flora become the tools and toys of our days. When the day becomes our canvas, land and sea orate the stories — and when no night is a school night, though we learn so much each day.
