Since we got back from Alaska this year, I’ve been missing it more so than I usually do. And I think I know why. This year, for the first time, I think, I really realized what Alaska is all about. And what it isn’t about.

It’s not, as one might naturally assume, about catching fish. If this were the case, we would have been sorely disappointed this year, because the catch was terrible.

Instead, for me at least, Alaska is about freedom. Freedom from the usual. Freedom from the expected. Freedom from the web of communication that both stimulates and exhausts me. Freedom from the soup-like air of midsummer Maryland.

Freedom to try new things.

To spend idle hours visiting with friends who drop in for a cup of tea and the sharing of stories (you always know we have visitors when you see a row of unfamiliar boots lined up on the porch).

Freedom to let your hair be its magnificent self.

Time to figure out exactly how your tongue works.

Freedom to walk in tall grasses.

Even if it sometimes requires a bit of help.

Or none at all.

Freedom to gather flowers.

To take long walks in the late afternoon.

To get acquainted with your shadow.

To press your face against the screen.

To be happy in a simple way, removed from all the things that seem to stand in the way of it.

This year, I’ve tried to keep a tether to Alaska when I’m back here in the midst of all the clamor of our normal lives. I carry a piece of it with me, a calming oasis of cool air and brown tundra grasses. It can cut through the noise if I remember to let it.