All Good Things Must Come to an End

 

It's hard to believe that 44 years has passed since that June day in 1976 when Jan and I drove our 72 Pinto up the ramp of the Hoonah ferry terminal into an adventure that would last for this long. Driving through the town I was wondering what I had gotten myself into. We left sunny Charleston South Carolina and came to this land of mountains and water and rain in amounts I'd never seen before. The main road was nothing more than a narrow, muddy, rut -filled lane that two cars could only pass on in select areas. Houses along the road were so covered with mud that the paint wasn't visible and if the sun did ever shine you'd never know because the windows were streaked brown with so much mud that light couldn't penetrate. People walking down the road were in no hurry to get out of your way, and stared at you like you were on display in a circus. The few cars I passed had slogans like Indian Power and Custer Had it Coming. A lot has changed in 44 years. Hoonah has become my home. There's pavement from the cannery to the airport, and though it still rains a lot, there's no mud in the roads. I've witnessed the town go from a fishing village to a logging community to a tourist attraction. Each phase has brought with it the good and the not so good. I can't begin to remember the people who have passed through here on my watch. I wish I had kept a log of all of them. So many folks came for a season of time and were gone and with each one leaving they took a part of my heart with them. I used to wonder, as they boarded the plane or ferry, when will I leave? Now I know. The time is soon. Barring any unforeseen problem, we'll be leaving our house behind on the 25th of this month. The moving van pulled up out front this afternoon, and on Monday the crew will start loading everything we haven't sold or given away into it and take it to our next home. I've got so many memories here in this home. We've lived in it the better part of thirty four years. When we first bought it there was one bathroom for nine people, six of whom were females. The only clothes closet was in the downstairs bedroom. The kitchen also served as the dining room and we all sat around an old table with homemade benches. I made our beds from lumber and we slept on four inch foam mattresses from Sears. Thanks to the Alaska Permanent Fund, every year for years we were able to make improvements to the house, from the foundation to expanding the upstairs and adding a bathroom and closets for each room to new windows in every room eventually. We went through several hot water heaters, washers and dryers. A new roof, a new kitchen, foyer, laundry room and tool room, carpet throughout. The house went through a lot of changes, as did we. That first Christmas in Hoonah was the first time the kids had ever seen a Christmas tree. We hadn't celebrated Christmas in the previous ten years on the farm. The Salvation Army must have thought we weren't going to have any gifts, so they generously brought things by in the days before, which only added to the gifts we all bought each other, and gifts from the grandparents. Christmas day dawned on a living room so filled with presents that there was almost no room for anyone to sit. It was a sight to see. God knows how many meals and snacks were served here. We went through two loaves of bread a day once the kids started going to school just so they could have cinnamon toast afterwards. I sometimes wonder how we did it. We never did without anything we needed. We didn't have a car for a number of years, but we really didn't need one in Hoonah at the time. After the kids got older, we remodeled the kitchen and the house grew by about a third. We had room now so we decided to hold a Christmas party for some our friends and neighbors. That first party we threw was attended by I believe 75 people. It was hot and noisy and so much fun. There was no music or games or dancing, there wouldn't have been room anyway, just people eating and talking and laughing and we knew that we'd do it again, and we did for quite a number of years. I'm going to miss that. I'm going to miss going down the street and looking out on the water, Port Frederick, where I have spent so many pleasant summers fishing for salmon and halibut. The bay has been a good provider. I've enjoyed seeing the people I know and worked with, gone to church with, fished along side of, maybe meeting at the post office or the store. Having a conversation or a good laugh, or sharing the latest news about the ferry or who's sick or who has passed on. We wave at each other as we pass in our cars, but increasingly I don't know who this or that person is walking down the street or pushing a grocery cart. I like the familiar, but I also know that I'm getting tired of driving the same four miles of paved road. I'd like to see something different. I want to be able to see my doctor without having to wait on a favorable ferry schedule or a good day for flying. Last year the ferries didn't run for several months, and there was no barge service. Even the airlines were flying a scaled back schedule. Fresh produce and milk became scare, and really expensive when you could get it. The store shelves were showing more gaps between products and even now there are some common things we can't get. I don't want to put up with the inconvenience anymore. I was young and strong when I first came here. Now I'm old and grey and tired. Everything hurts and I have a hard time adapting to the changes. I've never liked the cold weather, but I discovered over the previous few hot, sunny summers when you woke up to bright sunshine and clear blue skies, that I dislike hot weather even more. So, I guess I'm going north. So many people I talked to, when I mentioned going to Wasilla were alarmed for me, telling me stories of extreme cold, to say nothing of the drug problem and crime. Sure you can drive places, but in the summer it takes forever and a day because the roads are full of tourists with their campers and tents and in the winter every Tom, Dick and Harry with a four wheel drive vehicle thinks they are Mario Andretti. The stories scare me. I'd like to just sit back in my easy chair and wait for the next fishing season to come around, but I've known for awhile that it's time to go. I'm not looking forward to being without a home to call my own for a season. I like things the way I like them. My easy chair and bed will be in storage until we find a house we like and can afford, and even though my kids will welcome us into their homes, it's still not the same. This moving experience has taught me that I sure don't want to go through it again. It's incredibly stressful and expensive. I hope my next move is into the grave. One way or another, I won't be bringing anything with me next time I move. If I can't wear it or pack it in a suitcase, it's not coming along. So, there you have it. It's going to be awhile before I can write another post. I'll fill you in on our experiences along the way, both good and bad, because I expect we'll see both. If you think of us please pray for us. We're about to set out on an adventure. I  hope there are no regrets.