Is It Really a New Year, Already?
- Prof C
- Jan 19
- 7 min read
by Ashley
I was sitting here this Sunday morning, with all my grading and lesson plans done, watching the snow fall outside, and I realized I never wrote about our New Year's. And I really wanted to, because there was a significance there, that I don't want to forget. We posted a lot of our pictures of the Northern Lights on facebook, that revealed themselves to us in the first hours of the New Year, which in and of itself, was pretty notable. But what I didn't talk about, was that they couldn't have come at a better time.
As you know, New Year's is also notable for our family because it's Jadyn's birthday. And this year, she turned 19. She has joked with Philip and I about how 19 is one of the most uneventful birthdays, as far as milestones go. We celebrated in our usual way. We face timed family back home and did the birthday/New Year's toast with sparkling grape juice and regular juice for Jadyn, who hates all things carbonated. We shot off the few firecrackers we had (Emily made a homemade fountain for Josh to jump over, using yarn, perfume and a lighter...), and enjoyed our neighbor's fireworks show, who lives right next door. Philip improved the show by playing a Scottish bagpipe rendition of Auld Lang Syne outside on the portable speaker. I love that man.
But in the days and hours before this all unfolded, I was having some serious doubts about whether or not we should still be here.
You see, ever since we left Texas, it's been a mentally vacillating journey as to whether or not we made the right decision in leaving the life we'd always known, and coming to a place that had far more questions than answers. For Philip and I, I've always felt there were far less considerations to make than there were for the kids. By coming here, we took them away, not only from the usual extracurriculars of organized sports, organized religion, and tougher academic competition, but we also took them away from friends and family. We put them in a lonely, isolated pocket of limited resources, far away from the trajectory of any average, suburban, American kid. It was a tough ask, and even though Philip and I did everything we could to get their honest opinion before we made this decision, there was always a nagging doubt in the back of my mind that they were more concerned about doing what they thought Philip and I wanted, rather than being honest with us. When the holidays come around, they miss family back home the most. It's in those moments that my doubts also flare up the most.
This New Year's was no exception. As I've said before, it's a lot more quiet out here for us, compared to how life used to be, when our house was one of the hubs in which extended family would gather. So when the holiday festivities began this year, I wasn't feeling particularly joyful. I was going through the motions, focusing once again on what we gave up, and worrying that we had denied our kids something essential. The minutes after midnight found us all outside, watching the village fireworks all around, when all of the sudden, the sky lit up with a wave of the dancing Northern Lights. Since we've moved here, we'd never seen them that intensely. Up until then, they'd mostly been faint green lines that would statically outline the horizon.
The early precursor of what was to come.
But in the wee hours of that morning, they were alive. The fireworks shows just sort of faded into the background, as the attention of everyone shifted to nature's show instead. Now, the weather that morning was also in the -20s, so we could only be outside for a few minutes at a time before we'd have to go in and warm up. And of course, none of us were dressed appropriately...mostly in pj pants, slippers and jackets. We were headed inside, but as I turned to go, I saw off in the distance, what I thought would make a perfect shot of the lights. Everyone else had gone in, and it was just me in the dark (which we usually don't do around here). I walked toward the trees along the edge of the bluff that's behind teacher housing, to get the shot.
I switched to video, to get the faint movement on the horizon, when all of the sudden, the lights just exploded overhead. It was so unreal, that all I could do was utter, "Oh my God!" over and over. My hand had gone numb from the cold, but I couldn't stop filming, nor tear my eyes away from the otherworldly display happening right over my head. I could actually hear voices from all across the village, exclaiming right along with me. All fireworks stopped. It was a moment suspended in time, and right then, it wasn't lost on me that the most intense Northern Lights I've ever seen were happening at the same time that my doubts had reached an unprecedented intensity of their own.
My iPhone 12 camera can't come close to catching the vibrant explosion of these lights.
Now, I've always been cautious about reading too much into things, and naively applying God's intention to situations, simply because I am aware that I am a finite, selfish being. What I may interpret as something uniquely done for my benefit, has a potential inverse meaning for someone else. And yet...in that moment, I had a hard time not believing that these lights were illuminating my darkness, and extracting the underlying hope that always lays so quietly underneath. In that moment, my mind was freed to reflect on all that's been gained by us being here. Yes, it's been tough leaving a "normal" life to experience one that has no clear path. But what we've come to mean to the people here, the opportunities that have drawn our kids out of the invisible existence they had experienced back home, being put into new and tough situations that force us to examine ourselves and our intentions... I can't say we were doing that very well back in Texas. There was too much distraction, too much automaticity, just too many ways to blend into the background and take the compliant path of least resistance.
As I came back inside, my pinky on the verge of some actual frostbite, I looked again at our family. They all were laughing together, and the conversation was a combination of randomness and reflections on past years. And it was then that I realized we are where we need to be right now. Yes, it's come with some tough sacrifices on all fronts: emotionally, mentally, physically, materialistically. But what has been forged and extracted is immeasurable. I wouldn't trade that for all the comfort in the world. There will be a time to be comfortable again, I suppose. And we have long term goals that will put us back within reasonable proximity of friends and family. But right now, there is a need for us to be here. We will continue to work and play here until it becomes obvious it's time for us to move on. We will take the memories and truths learned, and apply them to whatever the next chapter holds.
The rest of New Year's Day was wonderful. It started with me working on Jadyn's cake, a tradition that I've always enjoyed- the making of the kids' birthday desserts. We had also set out the food we wanted to give to the village's tradition of Medzeyh Okko, where villagers walk from house to house with a canvas, collecting food that will be given back to every villager, as a way to ensure sustenance for the long, brutal winter. We were glad that this year, we had more native things to offer, like moose meat and fish, along with other healthy foods that are hard to come by. This tradition is one of the most important ones for the village, one that lifts their spirits the most, because they embrace the hope for a better year. It's a time where many try to renew their energy in overcoming past sorrows and past struggles. Not so different from those of us from the lower 48.
When the villagers stopped by our house, they did the usual banging on our door, calling for us to come out, and singing the chant, "Medzeyh okko, hutnee, hutnee." Translated, that means, "Please give us your caribou!", from the days when the caribou used to roam here. We opened the door, and each of us took our turn throwing out an offering into the canvas. It was good to see the smiles on everyone's faces, as we participated in a long-standing tradition that is unique to this village.
We've been told by many, how much it means to people here that we participate in their traditions. It really has helped us feel more a part of the village, rather than the white outsiders. Then, after we had thrown all of our food, they called out for Jadyn to come to the door. She hesitantly approached, and then they began to sing to her.
They had remembered her birthday, the only other New Year's birthday in the village. (The other belongs to one of the village elders, who lives up the road from us.) Even though she was clearly embarrassed, it was endearing that they had remembered her. Afterward, Philip and Avery joined in with the group, to go around town collecting food, while the rest of us stayed back and prepared for Jadyn's birthday celebration.
The birthday meal was good. Philip made grilled shrimp with a fettuccine alfredo, as well as coconut shrimp on the side, and then we had the marble cake. Again, it was a small affair, but we had fun playing games and watching movies together. I was so thankful once again for us all being together, and that another year had come and gone, finding us all in good health. I still can't believe our first born is 19, and that the rest aren't far behind her. I am soaking in this ever shrinking window of time that we have, before they all really branch out, with independent lives of their own.
Jadyn is now back in Juneau, starting her second semester at UAS, and although it was still hard to say goodbye again, it was encouraging to hear her say there were things she was looking forward to going back to. My hope for all of our crew is that they will be brave enough to forge their own paths, and take healthy risks that push them beyond that familiar path of least resistance. After all, that's one of the reasons we made this crazy move...to learn and grow in ways we never could have imagined. The hardest part is deciding to push off from the shore. Once you're en route, necessity forces you to adapt, and lessens the impediment that fear can create.
Our life lately, in photos:
Thank you for sharing your lives!!