The world through my eyes: Mendenhall Glacier, Whales and Juneau, oh my!

Juneau is a city I could live in. It clings to the edge of the sea and the mountains. The streets rise precipitously and everything is lush and green, at least in the beginning of September. Considering the city is in Alaska, it gets surprisingly little snow.

I took a an excursion led by a local and saw some stunning wildlife and views, so this is a picture heavy entry.

If you're interested, I've also posted about Vancouver and the Inside Passage and Ketchikan and Icy Strait Point.

I mentioned in a previous post that I'm just blown away by the tenacity of salmon.
Here are some salmon at the end of their journey, spawning, fighting and dying. 

Juneau is in a temperate rain forest. The flora is just amazing. 

90 years ago this area was under the Mendenhall glacier. As it receded it left behind glacial erratics (rocks). This picture shows you some of the mossiness of the area.

Another berry I cannot identify.

I wish I could properly capture the colors of the glacier, I don't know how yet. But this gives you a sense of size. Kind of. It's HUGE.
I was surprised by how dirty it was, but that makes sense when you consider how glaciers churn everything up.

Maybe this helps convey the size.

Note the blues in the ice. 

Icebergs and blues

By the shores of the lake at the foot of the glacier. Yes, the water is cold.
I sprinkled a little of Kevin's ash here. He would have hated the cold but loved the view.

These are called bane berries. So named because eating 3-4 will kill an adult. So don't do that.

A jellyfish, just minding its own business.

While the harbor seal was keeping an eye on me.

Humpbacked whale, diving. 

This whale is named Spot because of the markings on his tail.

Bald eagles were everywhere. These two clearly were flouting the sign.

I wasn't expecting to see this eagle in flight, so I didn't have the right settings on my camera.
Nonetheless, I like this photo.

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer

The world through my eyes: Ketchikan and Icy Strait Point/Hoonah Village

My Alaskan adventure took me to Ketchikan on Sunday and to Icy Strait Point/Hoonah village on Monday. I had terribly connectivity on the ship (even though  paid through the nose for it) so I'm only catching up now.

It is hard doing this without Kevin. There is a deep sense of something missing, which is no surprise. There is a cognitive dissonance, on the one hand a feeling of pointlessness (why am I doing this when he isn't here to share it with) and on the other a hint of continuation that, while it lacks joy, is at least present. So it goes. I'm not yet ready to be in the world without him, but here I am. So it goes.

Ketchikan

It poured all day. Boy, was I cold.

The salmon were swimming upstream (or trying to). This was fairly early in their journey, so they are still brown.
A few days later I saw the classic bright red spawning salmon (coming soon).
Watching these animals fight their way a few feet upstream then be swept back down and try again was truly awe-inspiring. I did see the classic "jumping up a waterfall" behavior but wasn't able to get a shot of it.

I visited the Totem Heritage Center in Ketchikan. All of the totem poles in this museum were from abandoned Tlingit villages, brought into this center with permission of the carver's clans and elders. It was a lovely place, full of reverence for these holy relics. The whole place smelled of dry, aging wood. Wonderful.

Ketchikan, like many Alaskan cities, is built on stilts and boardwalks. Creek Street is a historical street in Ketchikan, once home to many bordellos that served cannery workers, sailors, gold rush dreamers and more. This house was a little off the beaten path. I liked the contrast between the red, grey and green.

Art in the Ketchikan harbor. I love octopi.

On the boat from Ketchikan to Icy Strait Point

Rain continued.

More bigness

A flock of sea birds.

I watched this flock form and reform v's as they headed south. Winter is coming.

Red building, white anchor

Icy Strait Point/Hoonah

This may be my favorite stop on the cruise. I didn't expect to love it but it felt most authentic. Hoonah is a (mostly) Tlingit village. When the canneries closed they decided to cater to the cruise trade, but only allow in one ship at a time and seem dedicated to both making a good living and educating tourists. It was fascinating.

Road from Icy Strait Point to Hoonah.

Abandoned cannery in Hoonah. Birds.

I shared my lunch with this raven. 

Abandoned boats. And finally some blue sky!

A boggy area well into the island. I loved this place.

Fawn bones in the forest. Someone had a snack.

A coastal Alaskan brown bear, doing what bears to. Eating salmon. Sorry it's such a long shot, please double click to zoom in.

In case there was any doubt I was in Alaska.

This is a lichen called "old man's beard." It is rather like spanish moss and grows only where the air is very clean.

The Tlingit say if you see a raven, look for eagle. Here he is.

The shore of the island. Very rocky and lovely.

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer

Wherever you go, there you are

I am writing this from Anchorage, Alaska, a long way from home. I got here by way of a two planes, two trains and a cruise ship. It's been a long, strange week. I've posted photos elsewhere on this blog and will be posting more soon. Alaska isn't the topic of this post, so please look elsewhere for that information.

Right after Kevin died I realized that my life had become immeasurably bleak. There was nothing to look forward to, because Kevin was the north star of my future. I needed some point of reference. After some thought and research, I decided to take an Alaskan cruise with a little adventure time on either side.

I decided this for a couple of reasons.

1. I realized I didn't have the resilience or energy to travel the way I usually do, without a rigid itinerary, figuring out what comes next as needed and carrying minimal gear. Grief is exhausting and I knew I wouldn't have the strength to just wander, make decisions, or even really care for myself.
2. I wanted a challenge but not too much of one. That meant I needed to speak the language which, since I am only fluent in English, limited my choices.
3. I wanted to be reminded of how big the world is and how small I am. This same desire drove my trip to England when I was 26, shortly after I had cancer. Since Kevin was my world I wanted to see that the world still was.
4. And I wanted to do something that Kevin and I had not thought about doing together. He had no interest in going to Alaska. Kevin hated being cold and no amount of wheedling would convince him that he wouldn't freeze in Alaska.

With those factors in mind I booked myself a trip. 

That trip is now almost over. 

Parts were beautiful; Alaska is an amazing place and one I will come back to. I did find the space and majesty I was looking for. I am very small. That's okay.

The world still exists. My world has been utterly changed, but I am still here. And the world is too. I can't outrun myself.

I didn't escape any of the baggage I brought with me. I didn't grieve any less. I spent nights crying, I had a day spent largely in bed, I am no less devastated. Because that's the way it is. You can't run away from the pain and the loss when they are what you carry inside and, at least these days, they are the biggest part of me, the biggest thing I carry. 

Wherever you go, there you are. 

Watching glaciers calve, there I am, wishing you were beside me.

Chatting with strangers I will never see again, there I am, imagining you charming them.

Walking through Anchorage in the rain, admiring the strength of the bear in Hoonah, watching the whale dive, there I am. Without you and with you. 

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

We cannot escape ourselves, no matter how far we go. A blessing and a curse, since that means I will never escape loving Kevin and never escape missing him. But I would rather have this pain than never have had him. And that is something.

Look, what a lovely flower. 
Listen, can you hear the raven?
Are you there?

(23 weeks. I love you. I miss you.)

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer

The world through my eyes: The Inside Passage

Yesterday I got on a cruise ship and sailed away from Vancouver. Last night and today we've been heading north, going through the Inside Passage where British Columbia eventually meets Alaska.

Every about this is big. The ship is big. The mountains are Big. And the ocean is really, Really BIG. For all that there is land all around us, it's often not visible so I am reminded of how large the world is and how small I am. That's part of why I took this trip.

I woke very early this morning and saw orca. My camera wasn't handy, but please believe me when I tell you they were breathtaking.

Anyway, some of the things I have seen in the last few days. Pretty much all these photos are about bigness and my smallness. More Alaska-y images over the next few days as we make port calls.

You may want to click on the images since blogger often cuts them off. Clicking should bring you to a slide show. Or not. Enjoy either way.

Night time view of the loading docks in Vancouver from my airbnb.
I'm proud of this picture because it's the first really decent night time shot I've taken.
Plus, each of those little rectangles is a containerized cargo shipping box. Big made small.

The moon at sunset. Fog. Mountains.

Leaving Vancouver.
Note the sailboat and the tiny little speck to the left of it - a seaplane.
This picture really should go before the moon, but internet is so costly I'm not taking the time to fix html.

Sunrise.

Mist in the morning. There was heavy fog earlier, the ship kept blowing its foghorn.

More sunrise. 

More fog.

Someone lives there.
Little meets big.

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer

Five months: Impossibility

Dear Kevin,

As of right now, right around the time I am writing this, you have been gone for five months. It feels impossibly long. There is a part of me that still thinks Alright already. You've been dead long enough. You can come back now.

I know that won't happen. Nonetheless, the hope recurs more often than I really care to admit. It is an impossibility I keep coming back to.

Five months ago I clutched your hand. I uncurled your fingers and cupped my cheek, your palm so much a part of me that I couldn't imagine it gone. I wiped away your tears. I felt the warmth of your skin and listened to the uneven rhythm of your breath.

Five months ago I told you it was okay to go, that it was time. I told the truth. And I lied. It wasn't okay. It will never be okay that you aren't here with me, that you aren't here to guide your kids, that you aren't here to invent new things, think new ways, tell new stories. It will never be okay that I can't touch you again. Never. It was never time for you to die. But those things needed to be said so you could let go and go on to your next piece of work. Without me. Saying it was okay, that it was time, was the last gift I could give you, the last act of love I could perform while you still were breathing. It was the hardest gift I have ever given.

I miss you. Those words don't capture my meaning. I miss you with every breath, with every observation, with every hope that then shrivels into meaninglessness.

I am still breathing.
I am still observing.
I can't say I'm still hoping because I don't know what to hope for. Instead I am learning to live a life of present moments. In this moment I am sitting in a cafe in Vancouver BC, trying not to cry obviously. In this moment I feel like hell and understand that this life is hell. In this moment I am without. And in the next? We'll see. Not all moments are like this one.

Because that is what I'm moving towards, I think. My life is only in the present now. My Buddhist friends will read this and they may want to rejoice, but I want no such festivity. This present moment life is about survival. It's as though I am facing a life sentence and the only way to survive it is to focus on this strike of the key, this sip of tea, this cafe on this journey. If I dwell on the past the present becomes unbearable, too full of loss and emptiness. If I consider the future there is only a dull flat stretch with no ease or promise; I can't imagine a future without you. It is only in the present that I can write, that I can feel whatever the emotion is of the moment, that I can look into the world and say Yes, he still is because he is in me. Whatever else I may believe, whatever other signs I may look for, he is.

You still are. I find unendurable the idea that you are gone from this universe, so I find ways to remember that you still are. Some are only minimally comforting. Some help for a little while. And that has to be enough. Because the best way to remember that you still are is to remember the love. That was the most important thing in the end. It always was the most important thing. And I still love you, as do others. I believe that in some way you still love me. Energy can be neither created nor destroyed and you, my darling, were a notable, energetic force. Your love for me was energy directed.

Five months is an impossibly long time, an impossibly short one. It is impossible that you are not beside me, watching the river of people pass by. It is impossible that I am sitting in this cafe trying to pretend I am not crying, avoiding the glance of the woman across the room who is clearly wondering what's going on. It is impossible that you are not here, but...

My life is measured in impossibilities now.

I love you.
I love you.
I always will.

I remain yours.
Laura

p.s. Kevin, a beloved friend suggested that I might want to consider changing "My life is measured in impossibilities now" to "My life is measured in unknown possibilities now." I see his point. But you and I were always about finding ways around the impossible, so who knows, maybe that's what I'm already saying. Right now though, it feels like the things I most yearn for, the things I measure again, all those are beyond possibility. I will eventually invent new possibilities I'm sure, but not yet. For now I remain suspended in my own sundance.

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer

The world through my eyes: Seattle

This visit to Seattle is a light touch - I arrived yesterday evening and I leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Here are some of the things I have seen. Please forgive me, I'm still learning to use my camera, so there are some shots that could be better. Glare still confounds me.

A mural near my airbnb

Sunset. The mountains are stunning.

The bay with shipyard and ferris wheel.

I took a tour of Seattle underground (like many cities it is built in layers).
This is a self-portrait, underground. See me?

More Sesttle underground. The debris is from an earthquake in the 1940s.
It was all dumped underground. Handy!

More underground. A story?

One of several fish markets in the Pike Place Market.

Hello handsome!

I loved these pepper bouquets.
Sorry it's washed out, I am still learning how to take pics when there are light sources nearby.

My favorite part of the whole day. This man is the last traditional totem pole carver in his family. His sons are in Iraq, so he is teaching his brother-in-law how to make these. He told me stories about each totem pole. I took this picture with his permission.

Raven

This man was singing songs in Spanish, using the long pipe as a percussion instrument and playing the harmonica. He was speaking, with great animation, to people I couldn't see.
These young men stopped to speak with him and treated him with such respect. It was a wonder.

The grossest tourist attraction I have seen. Part of the gum wall. 

You know how you sometimes see glass inset into the sidewalk? This is what it looks like from underground.
Cool, huh?

I love alleys. 

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer