Yesterday I got an email from a friend asking me if we were going to Alaska this year, noting that we had failed to mention the journey here. She was disturbed that such a significant item had been omitted from our reporting. And I must agree she’s right. We have been selfish and withholding, thinking only of ourselves and denying you the right to know the full details of or comings and goings.
Here’s the story. Robbi and the kids leave early tomorrow morning for the tundra. They will board a flight in DC at 8:00 am. They will arrive in Seattle roughly six hours later. From there, they’ll catch a plane to Anchorage, and after admiring the 10 foot grizzly in the tall glass case, they will depart for King Salmon, the jumping-off point for many Alaskan vacation packages. Instead of catching a charter for a cruise, they will cram themselves into the unpressurized cabin of a five-man prop plane and will fly at low altitudes for 35 minutes across the scrubby tundra to the gravel airstrip at Coffee Point, a non-town where the Behr fishing compound rests nobly above a bluff overlooking a small corner of Brisol Bay. They will arrive around 9:00pm, Alaska time, which is 1:00am back here on the east coast. They will live and fish for wild Alaskan sockeye for four weeks or so.
I will not be going with them. Neither will Iggy. We have decided to take a year off, I to catch up on my writing and Iggy to lie about on her dog couch. Both of us are conflicted.
I will be taking two full weeks of writing sabbatical, free of work and family obligations. I have big plans, which I will relate to you in future posts. But the thought of being without my kids for almost a month is pretty hard to take.
I’ll probably spent a lot of time looking at photos, like this one taken from the scenic 1880’s steam train we rode last week between Keystone and Hill City (note, the train was not moving when this pic was taken).
The shot perfectly captures the difference between my kids, Kato smiling blithely at the world, Alden staring out in steely contemplation. I sit here thinking about all that I will miss: new words for Alden, new outrageous deeds and observations. Kato might learn to sit up while he is gone, might figure out the crawling thing, even.
I’ll be giving up a lot. I need to make sure that what I gain is worth it.
These posts will return to their former vigor soon. For now, I have to help the crew get packed. If history holds, it’s going to be a long, late night.
Safe travels!
Lot of thoughts, here. I really feel for you Matthew, and would not be at all surprised to hear that you might end up joining them after about two weeks, especially if you have a good run at the writing. But, either way, what a wonderful partnership the two of you have, that allows for this kind of arrangement. And I don’t know whom I admire more, you for bucking up and committing to the time apart, or Robbie for heading off into the Tundra with two babes (the long journey there being the most daunting aspect, IMO!)
Best to you all, and look forward to hearing more about it.
P.S. That’s a beautiful photo, BTW. Their expressions!
Aw … I feel for all of you, I really do. But I know you’ll each soldier on because that’s the best thing to do. I guess.
Hang in there (I wish there were a better way to say that).
Hugs all around.
My two kids (almost three and 17 months old) are away with their Dad this weekend. I am blissfully happy with the peace, quiet and toy-less floor, but realize that I love being a Mama to those two monkeys…can’t wait for them to come home. Can’t imagine 4 weeks, shoo-wee! I saw an article about the you all in a July issue of a Balt. mag. I wanted to tell everybody in the nail place (pedicure, kids are out of town, remember?) that I know you all through my friend Don and I knew it must be a fairly recent pic/article cause Robbi’s hair is short. I decided to refrain from shouting from the salon rooftop and express my excitement here. Yeah!