Exhale: The Beginnings of a Story Started at The Tutka Bay Writers' Retreat, 2024

 As we pulled away from the dock, I could feel myself viscerally exhale. The anticipation of the peace and quiet, along with the creativity and adventure, that waited across the bay had me holding my breath coupled with the anxiety that followed me down the hillside into Homer.

I left Homer ten years ago with nothing more than my Jeep packed with everything I could stuff in the back seat and passenger front seat, and my dog tucked into the hatch storage area. Life there had not gone as planned, having moved there for a teaching position that was job-elimated due to funding after only 3 years, I floundered for 3 more before cashing in my teacher retirement to buy the Fresh Sourdough Express Bakery and Cafe. The owner-financed loan agreement was unattainable and two years later, on the verge of bankruptcy, an empty bank account, and no retirement, I ran away from Homer with my tail between my legs. It was not my proudest moment, and I never look forward to coming to Homer because I’m afraid of running into previous employees that may still feel slighted by me. I’ve only been back twice, and both times were only to have lunch before boarding the water taxi to Tutka Bay. I don’t stop at any of the cute shops. I don’t have lunch in town with the locals. I don’t dare walk into a grocery store. I just head straight to the spit where I can blend in with the tourists, holding my breath as I scan the faces. So, the moment that boat pulls away from the dock, I allow myself to relax and breathe. Feeling the familiar ebbs and flows of the ocean current as we bob out of the marina and into the bay calm me. Water is my solace in a world of chaos. It’s so predictable and unpredictable at the same time. I can set my clock by the tides and breath more clearly facing the wind that swoops down off of Grewingk Glacier. Once, we were caught out in the bay, miles from the spit, when an unforecasted gale blew up, reminding me how unpredictable the sea can also be. So much like life, we control what we can and let the waves of time take the rest.

Home is Where Whiskey and Water Meet

The whiskey-colored slough at low tide reveals a teaming bed of life invisible at high tide. Murky and dense with moss and bull kelp, the wet scent of laundry that’s been left in the washing machine too long catches on my inhale. I give a little cough. 

What kind of barnacles or sea creatures are on those exposed rocks, do you suppose? She asks. Too small to be edible, I reply as I remember describing the taste of swan to fellow writers yesterday.

She laughs.

I walk on, continuing down the meandering boardwalk supported by soft logs 20 feet above the bottom of the slough. When the tide comes in, the change is drastic. The blueness of the icy bay waters blends with the bourbony slough, creating a murky dark green not unlike some of those smoothie drinks that the millennials carry as they walk across the Fairbanks campus.

The grassy undergrowth disappears and the tide brings with it a freshness, a newness that covers the damp laundry smell with a brininess, bringing with it fish and waterfowl. Nearly twelve hours will pass before the sea bottom reveals itself again, bearing new treasures, perhaps a starfish or some other sea creature that will make the long wait for the tide to come back in and carry them back home. Some will live out their life in the slough, having found a quiet place protected from the vast, and often violent, sea.

We are not so unlike these sea creatures. Some of us are swept into a foreign land, waiting for the chance to return to where we came from, home. Others find their home in the new land, forcing themselves to adapt and adjust, forever grateful for the safety and security that the new land offers, far away from the madness that was our life before. 

Moving to Alaska 17 years ago was not a decision that I made lightly; however, it had always been in my heart. I yearned for the far north, even when I lived in the extremeness of northern Wisconsin, I knew there was more. I let the tide take me to this foreign place where I found a safe harbor. I did not immediately find the safe harbor; I found myself being tossed and turned, broken and smoothed, not unlike the sea glass on the Bering Sea beaches. Persistence and a sense of adventure brought me finally to the arms of a man who is my forever, who is my safe harbor, who is my home.

Had I never taken that chance, at 40, no less, to see what lay beyond the horizon, I would have never found my home. Now, the tide takes me from one corner of this fast state to the other, showing me all of the beauty and blessings that abound in the Last Frontier. However, I always find my way back home to my safe space, my center of the universe, where I prefer whiskey in my glass.