oh Alaska...

The arrival of spring in our little village has me thinking back to spring last year.  We spent two days, sunny, but still cold, in Seattle, attending a job fair for Alaska's school districts.  We had planned on attending the job fair for both days, but ended up only needing Saturday to meet every district represented.  Every moment of that Saturday is etched into my memory, as if we had spent a month there, not six short hours.

I remember the size of the room, the excitement of the formally dressed teachers, and the little standing white-board that each school district had on its table, spelling out what positions it needed filled: Science teacher. Math teacher.  High School teacher.  And then the one we looked for, Elementary Education, k-8.

I was 32 weeks, eight months pregnant, my belly protruding to greet people before I could stop it.  It was a conversation point, which was great as we were making rounds, meeting Human Resource Directors, discussing job possibilities.

We first met with a round grey haired man with smiling eyes who wanted Josh in a position further North, in a village larger than ours.  He assured me, with those comforting baby blues, that he would allow his grandchildren to be raised in this village.  "I would never send you," he promised, "anywhere too rural.  Not with a baby coming."

This was the same district whose pamphlet Josh had brought home from a prior job fair the year before, with a page and a half on instructions for placing Bush orders.  I had laughed in.his.face.  Yeah. Right. We are going to pack up, leave our families, our entire support system and fly our twins and ourselves to the middle-of-nowhere, in the dark, in the snow, so you can teach.

And while my answer was immediately NO, I could see, even though I didn't want to, that he was considering it.  I could see that the adventure intrigued him.

I remember grabbing the pamphlet the next time I went to my mom's house, so I could show her the price differences, the instructions on how to purchase Medivac insurance, and the little map on the front that showed the entire district with one tiny star on a HUGE map of Alaska.  We rolled our eyes, me sitting on her yellow stool, her standing, flipping through each page, talking about how impossible it would be.

If only... 

If only I had known.

As we rounded the back of the room, we met with Robert Stewart, and his wife, who with their southern drawls introduced us to the Lower Yukon School District.  Something about it clicked.  Perhaps it was her charm, his calm, supportive manner, but I felt good.  I actually felt like we could do this.  When they decided to do an on-site interview with Josh that afternoon, we drove away from the hotel, headed to Denny's where we simultaneously ate lunch and looked up the district, the area, and the people it served. I furiously wrote down every question I had about life in the bush, and we returned.

As planned, we met in the foyer of the hotel at 3pm.  The sun was just lowering itself in the sky, and as we made our way into the hotel's beautiful restaurant, she suggested we sit in the warm sunshine.  There I sat, nestled between she & my husband, pen in hand, paper at the ready, feeling grateful she let me sit in on what would be the interview of his life.  The beginning of the adventure.  We started with his formal interview, where he nailed just about every question, taking time to think before answering, and winning her over with his enthusiasm.  Then she asked me if I had any questions.  Oh, boy. Did I ever.

And in those few moments, ten at the most, it happened.  Alaska, who already had her grips on my husband, dug her claws into me.  I started envisioning my children there.  I began to imagine us making a life in the new teacher housing, with Josh at work a few steps away, and me, home with our boys as I had always dreamed.

Two weeks later it was official.

 Alaska was to be our new home.  

Here I am one year removed from that interview, the proud owner of Medivac insurance, well versed in placing Bush orders, and looking out my window at the snow-covered tundra that has become my front yard.  I am living the life I conjured up in my mind that afternoon.  I am living that dream.

Josh joked this morning that Alaska's state motto should be "Don't tell me what to do".  Moving here has removed our filters, and boiled life down to the essentials.  I am loving what it has done for me, for our family, for Josh.  We have both found our niches and I am so grateful.

---

I came across a song by Sugarland this last week, and I adore it.  This morning it brought to mind my sister's sweet friend Emily, who hopes to relocate at the end of summer & recently started her own blog Questions.

Fly Away

Oh I swear this town gets smaller everyday,

and I'm waiting for my chance

I'm gonna break away

I'm so sick and tired of being told what's good for me

People got lots of ideas, of who I'm supposed to be

Angel carry me, oh so far away

May my body never touch the ground

And if I promise you that I'll be back someday,
will you set me free so I can fly away?

  

Well most folks here well they don't dig too deep

They can't dream too big

cause they've got fields to keep
I could walk away and leave behind my family

Or get buried alive in this legacy

Angel carry me, oh so far away

May my body never touch the ground

And if I promise you that I'll be back someday,

will you set me free so I can fly away?

I wanna sleep under a different piece of sky
I wanna live a little bit before I die
I wanna be so close to heaven I see angels...

Carry me, oh so far away

May my body never touch the ground

And if I promise you that I'll be back someday,

will you set me free so I can fly away? 

Emily, do it.  Go somewhere.  Start something new.  Try something exciting.  Don't let anything hold you back.  Moving here terrified me, and the whole process was so much work, but looking back it was worth all the effort and more.  Being here, trying new things everyday, experiencing life outside the comforting walls of Vancouver, has been so good for my soul.

I can't wait to follow your journey! 
~Shelly