Post Traumatic Potluck Disorder

The past couple of nights I’ve had stress dreams, which I have often, too often. Usually they revolve around school and being lost – it’s the last week of the semester and I haven’t done any of the reading or work. Or I’m late to class and I have no clue where the classroom is.

For the last two nights, my stress dreams have revolved around – I kid you not – potlucks and bake sales. The first night, I had a bake sale to bake for. I was at the grocery store but had no recipe. Last night, it was pretty much the same scenario, except it was for a potluck.

2100 Miles Later

Three days, two nights, and 2100 hundred miles later, we made it to Saratoga, Wyoming. Saratoga is where Scott grew up and where many of his family and some friends still live. The landscape of Wyoming is shocking to me. My eyes don’t seem to quite grasp it.

Civilization

As soon as we got to Prince Rupert, Scott and I had to remember to lock the truck doors, something we never did in Wrangell. As Scott said, “We have to get used to civilization,” which is ironic, right? – having to be more guarded in “civilization.”

It’s always jarring to see chain stores again after being in Wrangell for some time. Walmart, and the amount of cars parked there, are a fascination, as is traffic. Where is everyone going?

Southbound

I didn’t leave the house today until after 3 pm, after hours and hours of cleaning house and putting all the last items into place. Diane came to visit with baked goods and tears and, as always, some scrapbooking works of art.

We had a superb house check-out. Our place was spotless, absolutely sparkling and clean. Leaving it didn’t feel real until I used the bathroom for one last time (I hope that doesn’t sound too strange). It was our first home together – Scott and I – and, I certainly hope, not our last. I had lived there for over two years and in that time there’s been lots of potlucks and dinners, lots of movie watching and cuddling, lots of cooking and tidying up from various adventures. As we cleaned to move out, we found heaps of Cyrus hair. Undoubtedly, there are still traces of him there, and that’ll be true for some time. Yellow lab hair is hard to rid.

Kevin was there for our check-out, which was appropriate. He’s been our best friend in Wrangell, both Scott and I, even before Scott and I were together. He was probably my first good friend in Wrangell. He’s moving also, to Montana.


After running a few last errands in town, we met up for one last drink at the Stik – Kevin, Amber, Stephen, Alicia, and Nate. It was so nice to all be sitting together one last time, with the sun setting outside, knowing we’d all be sprawling for the holidays. Scott and I were taking off for good. Nate, Alicia, and Kevin were also traveling today, but on the jet. Amber and Stephen are staying in Wrangell for Christmas, holding down the fort. The Steamer Bay cabin has already been reserved for a New Year’s Eve gathering, one Scott and I would love to be at if it weren’t for our African adventure.

Kris found us at the Stik with a bag of baked goods from Haley. Her whole family should open a bakery – they are talented in the delicious element.

We finally said goodbye to Nate, Alicia, and Kevin outside the Stikine. I write finally because we’ve had a series of farewells – parties and gatherings – which I feel very fortunate for. I guess we all try to hold on as long as we can. But they had to get to the jet and we had to check in to the ferry – transportations that don’t wait if you’re not there.

When we checked in at the ferry terminal, we found Beth inside and said goodbye to her again. I think I've said goodbye to Beth three times, but each time was equally as hard. Amber and Stephen came to the ferry parking lot with fixings for spiked hot apple cider and a goody bag filled with warm muffins, sliced homemade bread, their famous mead, along with several other treats. Melissa Cady was there as well. It was cold standing outside in a small group, although the cider warmed our hands. The truck stayed in line, and minutes later Scott and I were being called to leave. It was time to go, and that’s what we did. We hugged our friends goodbye, got in the truck, and drove onto the ferry. There were so many steps leading up to that moment, but the physical act of driving off the island meant we were really going.

And now we’re on the ferry, the Taku, with the Wrangell High School girls basketball team, a few other familiar Wrangell faces, and our good friend Jodi. That’s how it always is leaving Wrangell, whether it’s by jet or ferry – there are always some straggling reminders of home in the beginning of a departure.

Scott and I stood outside in the freezing windy cold for a few minutes to see Wrangell lit up and get smaller and smaller. The metropolis of Wrangell. I’m excited about our next step. I’m not sure Scott is there yet, but I know he will be.

Moving Forward

For the past several weeks, the first thing I think about when I wake up is how much time we have left in Wrangell. Well, now Scott and I are down to one day. One more full day in Wrangell, and it’s a jarring thought. I can only write for myself, but I can imagine it’s that much harder for Scott who’s been here for six and a half years and in Alaska for seven and a half.

We’ve had some farewell parties and some parting gifts. Our house is a clutter of leftover objects that need to find a place, whether it’s in a tote to be put in the truck, in the garbage can, in a box for the Salvation Army bin, or eventually to a friend’s house. I gave away the last two plants yesterday to Kim, which felt good as I’ve always admired the plants at the Fish and Game office when I frequently visited, and now two new plants will exist there also.

We’ve been scouring and washing, vacuuming and wiping. The kitchen cupboards are empty and clean. Now it’s on to the counters, then the floors. We have a few errands to run today, but they are all minor compared to saying goodbye. I picture myself an endless faucet of tears at the ferry terminal, but we’ll see. Others are leaving tomorrow as well, before us on the jet, so perhaps there won’t be too many people at the ferry.

I’ve gone through a series of emotions over the past few weeks – of dread, of sadness, of fear mostly – but the excitement is just beginning. The excitement of our journey ahead, which includes a ferry ride to Prince Rupert, a drive through Canada to the border of Montana and eventually to Saratoga, Wyoming, a flight from Denver to New York, then a flight to Cairo, and from Cairo, four more stops until Tanzania, where the real journey begins.

Life is about motion, which I think is an idea Bob was saying yesterday when he said goodbye, perhaps to make sense of the moment. That’s all Scott and I are doing – we’re moving. I don’t think we’re moving on; that statement makes it sound like we’ve outgrown the place we’re leaving, but that’s not it. It’s more like if we didn’t leave now, we might never. And so, we’re moving – not on – we’re moving forward. And who knows, each step forward might just lead us back to Wrangell.

A Farewell to Remember

This is how our friends saw us off.

2 hours at Wrangell's rollerskating rink + 2 kegs at Kevin's = 1 night to remember.

A String of Goodbyes

As we get down to the final days of living in Wrangell (we have less than four left), when Scott and I say good-bye to people, we’re really saying good-bye, perhaps forever. I never want to believe it’s for forever. To some people, I’d rather say, 'see you soon,' which I think can apply to friends. We all like to think we’ll see friends again, and if enough efforts put in, we likely will.

But there are those in the community for whom saying goodbye means goodbye. They are many and they are who have made up Wrangell for me. I’ve always appreciated what Wrangell’s had to offer in terms of natural beauty and wonderment, but Wrangell’s number one appeal to me has always been the community – the wonderful array of faces who smile when I say hi, the conversations that go beyond small talk making it impossible to run a 'quick' errand, and all the tiny gestures that have made living here the best four years. When I say good-bye to these people, I can pinpoint moments and memories that will remain with me forever.

As I said goodbye to Ottie at Scott’s Fish and Game farewell party, I thought about how he’ll always remained etched in my memory as the first person to welcome me to Wrangell. On my first flight to Alaska from Seattle in November 2005, Ottie was on my flight and overheard me tell the flight attendant that I was moving to Wrangell to write for the paper. Ottie came over to me, stuck out his hand, and said, "Let me be the first person to officially welcome you to Wrangell." I’ve thought about that moment almost every time I’ve talked to Ottie since and the warmth and friendliness from our first meeting always comes back.

And as we start saying goodbye to friends, true friends, the shared memories are countless and a whole slew of them come flooding back in that instant. There’s a whole history, a string of memories, and an infinite amount of laughs. Saying goodbye to a friend and hugging them tight is paying homage to the time well spent.

I'm about to do my final morning newscast on KSTK.

In order to be at the radio station by 6:30, the alarm clock is set for 5:23 and Scott usually presses snooze at least once. But this morning, I was up before 5 and couldn't go back to sleep.

It's our last Thursday in Wrangell.