Today we cleaned up the veggies and herbs that never fully came to be this summer, admitting aloud that up here in Alaska, we prefer growing flowers to food. We also meandered through the market and bought others’ hard work, and sat by the sea with fresh oysters, and walked to watch our children perform at the local theater, and shared gelato with our neighbors, and wondered aloud at this marvelous town in which we’ve landed.
I bolted out of work just after lunch, grabbing a coworker on the way to my car. We scooped up the kids and headed straight for the harbor, where the Yale Whiffenpoofs had set up for a quick concert in our amphitheater on their hometown tour. I was back in time for my next meeting, and the whole thing was just as magical and sweet as our Gilmore Girls experience told us it would be. We love you, Richard Gilmore. We love you, Homer, Alaska.
Last week, I told my family that I wished to welcome autumn on August 1. Not Thanksgiving, not Halloween, just autumn. I have my reasons, and nearly all of them involve allowing the land and the weather to lead us. As summer crawls on, we begin to feel a nip in the air most mornings and nights. We start to see the sunset at bedtime, instead of midnight. And the fireweed. The fireweed! In early summer, the fireweed grows as a tall green stalk and begins to bloom from the bottom, a pale pink peeking out to the world. In August, fireweed plants shoot their magenta blossoms all of the way to the top, and then begin to blow them away. And so, I follow the fireweed and declare August 1 the beginning of autumn. I asked for an unpacking of the fall decor box, a halibut stew with crusty bread and red wine, and something fall-ish on TV. My family collectively rolled their eyes, because we are still very much in summer, but they agreed to my wish list.
Today, I sat at a woman’s bedside on our makeshift COVID unit, coaxing and cajoling her into eating small bites of watermelon. I am learning, you see, that this viral variant makes them lose their appetite and their will to stay awake. They only want cold, sweet things and barely open their mouth between fitful, feverish naps. As I sat there, feeding her watermelon, bite-by-bite over the course of thirty minutes, opening my mouth to encourage her to do the same, only to remember I am layers-deep in an N95 and eye protection and she cannot see my mouth at all, I looked up and out. Beyond the negative-pressure hoses that snake from her window, I saw it. The fireweed had officially reached the top of the plants outside. On August 1, of all days.
I asked Chris to mow down the wildflower garden halfway through summer… the experts say it’ll help with next year’s blooms, but it felt sad this year nonetheless. Lo and behold, the land of the midnight sun brought us this year’s flowers and then some. Poppies. What joy.
Autumn approaches us. I can feel it and smell it and I am not afraid. Last year taught me well; we do not fight the weather. We welcome her.
I got called in to see a patient last night, just as I aimed my sights toward bed. I finally returned home to shower and fall into bed around 2am, tossing and turning and checking my patient’s vital signs on my phone all night long. (It was sepsis. We caught it in time.)
The next morning was berry picking; I know better than to cancel such an adventure with a friend when they’ve agreed to show me their secret berry spot. And so, I went along with my day, fumbling and stumbling and even falling asleep at the farmer’s market. My girls delivered scoops of berries to each stand, in hopes of a barter. We came away with falafel, sunflower sprouts, Haskap grapes, and garlic scapes.
There is no better town in which to learn the practice of medicine and the practice of foraging and food. I love it here.
My boss often says, Don’t listen to your instincts. Obey them.
My instincts told me this weekend’s trip would be too much for us — too hard, too cold, too rainy. I hadn’t meal prepped in time. I hadn’t checked the weather enough. It was all true. We came back a day early, because this time I didn’t just have to listen to my instincts… I had to obey them.
