Along For the Ride

Sleep is important. The older I get the more I realize this. I got almost zero sleep last night and, as a result, suffered greatly today at work. I pretty much accomplished today what could’ve been done in two hours or less, which is why I decided to give up with fifteen minutes left at work and write a blog entry instead.

I’ve been getting more and more sentimental in my reporting. I feel as if I’m retreating from the line of newspaper reporting more and more each week. One story I’ve written for next week’s paper lent room for this retreat – I reported on a woman who is getting two books published, both of which mention Wrangell either in breath or length. She and her husband actually lived here for two years as part of their six year journey living aboard their boat, Cabaret, which spanned 25,000 miles from Oregon to Alaska, then harbor hopping down the length of the North American continent to Acapulco, onto Polynesia and Hawaii and then back to Oregon.

I phone interviewed her with a few prepared questions, but it was one of those phone interviews where the interviewee was thirsty to talk. She went on and on about her love for Southeast and Alaska and expressed her extreme disappointment that I had been the person so far in Alaska that has taken an interest in her success. She really sounded sad about it, really.

When I asked what about Alaska and its people did she find so inspiring she answered, “There’s something about the isolation that is very comforting. I’m a person that when I see emptiness, I love it. I found that the emptiness and the beauty was just unparalleled, absolutely unparalleled. It was strikingly beautiful. The people in Wrangell at that time, I don’t know about nowadays, but they were so friendly. I could not have lived in a friendlier, more accepting town.”

But my favorite thing that she said was in reference to what inspired her and her husband to take the 25,000 mile boat journey: “…very, very impulsive. We did not ever start off to sail around and do a 25,000 mile trip. A madness got hold of us, a craziness, and we just sort of went along for the ride.”

There is not a better response in the world than that.


Oh, this writer and her husband had never sailed before their journey.

A Part of a Whole

I have a blog entry in mind to write but since I have not written it yet, I am going to fill an entry with part of an email I wrote to a very good friend. What follows was not specifically written for the blog, but it is about Wrangell, and it is how I feel at the present moment, so why not put it in a blog.

Today was one of those great days. I think for a few reasons. One, I wrote an email last night to Danielle (the friend you met in Delaware who still works at Lingnan) and said I was sick of my thoughts (my most recent ones being of wanting to leave here but making a resolution to stay here at least until September, through the summer) and that as long as I was here -- after all, the actions I took, the decisions I made brought me out here -- I would make the most of it. I would enjoy the stress, enjoy the relaxation, enjoy the small town drama, enjoy it all, as much as I could. Two, one of the two people who I really feel close to in Wrangell is leaving tomorrow at 5 am on the ferry. For good. I’ve known her for maybe three weeks, and I feel genuinely... its weird to say, cause I'm happy for her but sad for me. She’s not someone I would've necessarily been friends with outside of Wrangell (which is a weird thing to say since we connect with different people at different times and places in our lives, which is what makes life) but I really connected with her, and felt she was awesome. And she's leaving. She’s been here for more than two years and she’s more than ready to leave. It’s sad she’s leaving, but I guess I’m happy to have met her and made that connection. And there has to be a three. Three, I’m 25 and healthy. And underlining books (like I just started doing again with Portrait of a Lady) makes me really happy. It was one of those great days, where perhaps nothing, or almost nothing, could've brought me down. Thank you for completing the good day. I may not be international, but I still have international friends who call me.

A Few Things

There are a few things about my town that I think are obvious that other people (who do not live here) still seem shocked to find out.

My friend who is currently living in Philadelphia was telling me about starting her own book club, and I was saying how I would love to do that here. In fact, I have brought that up to a few people here. But there is one major setback to that goal – the lack of a bookstore. My friend in Philly was shocked when I told her this, which shocked me because I feel like I’ve been quite clear about how small Wrangell really is. There is no bookstore. The closest one is in Petersburg, and theirs is really quite nice. I’m envious of it. Here, all the members would have to buy books off the internet in order to have a successful book club. That, or only read books that the library has five or more copies of. This same friend said that no bookstore is reason number one to not live here. Despite the fact that I do live here, I may agree with her.

I was IMing with another friend and we were talking about breakfast which led to us to talking about how good McDonald hash browns are, and I said I would love to have McDonalds now (yes, I admit it, I like McDonalds. My intestines must be clogged). And he asked, “There isn’t a McDonalds there?” And this is a friend I have talked to a lot since moving here. A McDonalds? Here? When people go away to towns that have McDonalds, like Ketchikan or Seattle or Juneau, they’ll bring back happy meals for their little cousins or kids or whoever. Cold happy meals.

Another thing I’d like to share is that before each city council meeting there is a prayer. We say the Pledge of Allegiance first and I can barely stomach that. Perhaps I’ll ask someone about that soon – why is there a prayer before a CITY council meeting?

I keep thinking that a trip away will be a cure-all. But I know, I do, that there is no cure-all. I’ve never been able to escape loneliness altogether. How did I go from book clubs to McDonalds to loneliness? I guess it’s always in the back of my mind somewhere, if it’s not in the front. I want to conquer this place, I do. I don’t want to cower away and let them think I couldn’t handle it. Or worse, I don’t want to move away just yet and know that no one will be missing me.

I received a fabulous email today from a very dear friend whose words always enlighten me, always give me a boost I forgot existed.

It’s just about the three-month mark, of me being here. It’s that point in a relationship where someone oftentimes feels like bailing, like escaping, as if things could potentially get more serious. This is what I’ve heard from others. I’ve never had this three-month cold feet thing.

Until now.

"And They Taste Good, Too."*

I just finished writing about the most recent Zoning and Planning Commission meeting. I usually do not attend these meetings but there was a public hearing and discussion on a controversial issue here – whether or not the city should allow horses to live within city limits. While the drafted ordinance actually addresses ‘livestock’, among many other components, the maintaining of horses in the town was the main point of debate.

What I found very interesting, which I had not observed attending the city council or school board meetings, was the conscious effort to make allowances and to keep the ordinance open enough to include specific circumstances of individual people; meaning the commission was more than willing to change a part of the ordinance if it didn’t agree with, say, how the Smith family did things (I actually do not know any Smiths in Wrangell; I am just using the name as an example).

For example, in defining the term ‘animal establishment’, part (d) of it is “for animals other than fish or fowl, any property used to house more than 5 adult animals of any one type or more than 10 adult animals total.” This means that if you have six adult cats, your house would be considered an ‘animal establishment.’ And for certain households, depending on what zone you lived in, this could mean the household would have to get a Conditional Use Permit, which for a number of reasons is a nuisance.

One woman who was at the hearing said she has 12 adult dogs. Apparently, this woman rescues strays. Because of this woman, the commission changed the part (d) of the ordinance to state, “for animals other than fish or fowl, any property used to house more than 20 adult animals total.”

This is essentially how the rest of the discussion went. If someone in the commission or someone in the audience mentioned a family or person for whom the ordinance might cause trouble or inconvenience, the commission was willing to discuss it at length and try to be accomodating.

I found this to be quite ridiculous and time consuming. But understand that this way of doing things is just another consequence of living in a small town. People here, even those who have some say on city ordinances, look out for you – or that is, they look out for you if they like you.


*This was one of the individual comments attached to a signature on a petition supporting having horses within city limits.

Thank You

We never had a hard time of it. For some reason Mike, the reporter in Petersburg, and I became friends effortlessly.

Maybe it was because I was relieved to have someone else close to my age new in Alaska, someone who, like me, was crazy enough to take a chance on such a ridiculous idea. It’s not everyday you find someone you have that much in common with that instantly. Maybe it was because we both saw each other as the other – the other non-Alaskan.

Despite the few times we see each other – after all, our islands are a 2 ½ fast ferry ride or 3 hour slow ferry ride away – each time we do, we manage to fall into a groove with each other, so simply. He might be the closest thing to family I have out here.

We both live for outdoor music festivals even though we don’t necessarily have the same taste in music. We both enjoy drinking even though I’m the one who gets hung over. We both knew there was something to be found on small islands in Southeast Alaska.

In tiny, isolated corners in the world – and Southeast is indeed one such place – it’s remarkable to find someone who will buy you a delicious sandwich, carry it for three hours and not take one bite.

What’s more remarkable is the way someone will totally be there, and save your day.

Real Crime in Wrangell

So I am officially covering my first murder case. I heard about it last night over the phone from a friend around midnight. He said someone was murdered. I didn’t quite believe it, mainly because I didn’t want to. I would still prefer not to handle that type of news. After all, murders are the stuff of big cities covered by news anchor people and front-page reporters – people who know a thing or two about investigating. Murders, the actual events and the news of them, are faraway and distant. They aren’t touchable; they are just pieces of news that one hears about.

Of course, I know that murders are also the stuff of really small towns where rumors are more believed than facts, where news gets around by word of mouth a lot faster than any news media could capture it. When murders happen in small towns, the crime is a lot closer than you’d ever want it to be. The places involved, the people involved are no longer anonymous. Crime is felt on a very local level and there’s no escape from that.

I heard about it this morning on the radio, which meant it was official news and I would definitely have to cover it in some capacity or another.

Tim Wade, age 51, was found dead by one gunshot in Panhandle Trailer Court #42. The gunshot was not self-inflicted. Wade was visiting Steve Cross who occupies trailer #42. The police were called around 4:30 pm Tuesday afternoon and whoever called in the report (I wasn’t given a name) was inside the trailer.

These are the few facts I know which I got from an interview with the police chief. It was a surreal experience to question a police chief about a real murder – someone has died and I’m reporting on it as if it’s just another story. I don’t think I was very good at the questioning. I haven’t ever been trained on how to do this – what questions should I ask concerning a murder, when should I be pushy?

Since I don’t have a car here, I had a co-worker drive me to the trailer park so I could get a picture of the crime scene. I expected it to be all taped off with yellow police tape or whatever color they use, especially since the Chief had said the crime scene was secured. But there was no flailing tape wrapped around doors or stairs – nothing.

We had to drive around a bit to find the right trailer, as the numbers on all of them do not follow any rhyme or reason. # 42 was located in the last part of the park we drove through. [It was also my first time in that trailer park, my first time in a trailer park in general that wasn’t used for camping or recreational reasons]. I got out of the car to take pictures and there was a woman outside the trailer across the street. The garbage truck was there and she was bringing hers out when she yelled over to me, “No one is home there. Someone was shot there.” I told her that I knew that, that I was from the paper taking pictures. It didn’t even occur to me to question her about anything she may have seen or heard. This is how much being a reporter isn’t ingrained in me at all. I didn’t seize a perfect opportunity to get some potentially good information. I might be hopeless.

When I first came into the office this morning, a couple of minutes after I walked in, the pharmacist, Steve, came in also. He said that the police might try to put a drug twist on the whole thing, and that if they do, I will need to probe further. Steve was apparently friendly with Tim Wade, had invited him over for Thanksgivings. He said he was going to turn in some paperwork to the police, paperwork that I guess that Tim had given Steve in case something did ever happen to Tim. Steve said something along the lines of having to put up good fight or something that Tim would be proud of, now that he’s gone.

Apparently Tim had been in the middle of multiple law suits that he had filed to get high up people fired, like the police chief or the mayor, something like that. Again, this is just stuff I’ve heard between last night and today. He had even approached the Sentinel a few times over the past couple of years with Letters to the Editor or a potential paid space to voice his opinions, but none of them ever actually ever made it in the paper for one reason or another. I wish they had so that I could read what he wanted others to know so badly. There is other stuff I’ve heard but don’t feel comfortable writing them down.

I wish I had asked the Chief how many people were in the trailer when they arrived. Since the Sentinel is a weekly – the newest issue comes out tomorrow – I have some days to come up with more information, but I am nervous about approaching this correctly, trying to figure out exactly what my role, as the only news reporter in a small town, is in all of this.

Friday Afternoon Lull

I walked to Zak’s to pick up lunch and it was sunny. Now it’s almost 3 pm and I stare out the office window into a picture of grey and snow. I have to run some typical errands – mailing a copy of the paper out to my cousin Minh, which I’ve been doing every week since I saw him in San Francisco, and deposit a well needed paycheck. But I’m finding it hard to work up the motivation to leave the office. Because I find wearing the same jacket every single day boring, I decided to wear a thick sweater and a jean jacket all the while knowing today’s high was only supposed to be 32 degrees. Sometimes I’m a moron, but sometimes I know I am and actually strive to be so – it brings me back to those days in high school when 50 degrees meant every reason to wear a skirt to school.

I’ve been having a hard time recently suppressing the desire to leave this island and go far far away to a place where snow doesn’t exist, where I wouldn’t have to worry about covering the 100th day at the elementary school, where a pick-up truck isn’t the vehicle of choice. I actually find these things quite interesting (not the 100th day thing); I’m not faulting Wrangell at all for my desire to flee.

It just stopped snowing.
And it just started again.