Notes from an Empty Nest

Atlanta, GA

June 19, 2021

A few weekends ago, our nest briefly emptied.

Our elder son remained in his college town on the plains, while the younger one took to a friend’s lake house in the mountains.

Even their parents flew the coop…escaping for a few days to higher elevation, where no one would ask that they fly in formation.

Last week, David returned to the mountains, this time for his annual Boy Scout camp. Alexander arrived here from Auburn the following Wednesday, giving us a couple days to catch up before David came home that Friday.

The next day, both of them boarded a plane, flew to Anchorage, and met their cousin and grandparents for a week in the wilderness. After Alexander spent a year living in a college apartment, and David several days under a flimsy tent and torrential rain, each were steeled for whatever rigor the Last Frontier demanded.

I don’t think either was too worried about their impending hardship. It was, as one might say in Alaska, a bear they were willing to cross.

And why not? “Seward’s Folly” remains mostly empty, but irrepressibly intriguing. Frozen tundra, endless expanse, natural resources, exotic wildlife, sublime scenery, midnight sun in summer, nocturnal noon in winter.

And it’s big. Alaska contains more territory than the aggregated acreage of Texas, California, or Montana, yet fewer people than any but two other states. It’s shoreline is longer than the combined coasts of all the other United States.

It has experienced the eight strongest recorded earthquakes, and features the ten highest mountain peaks, in the US. Alaskan towns are also expansive, with four being larger than any in the lower 48.

Juneau comprises more territory than either Rhode Island or Delaware. Among American cities, it is surpassed in size only by Sitka, which covers more space…aquatic and terrestrial…than any other town in the US.

The Tlingit tribe inhabited Sitka for a hundred centuries before the Spanish and Russians settled in rapid succession. Actually, the Spanish arrival was more an “expedition” than a settlement.

Sitka was as far north as Spanish ships would ever go. The long dark winters and cold wet climate weren’t suited to their fiery temperament or Mediterranean ways (tho’ they might’ve grabbed an extra coat had they been aware of the land’s latent gold). They were happy leaving this remote wilderness to those more acclimated to harsh conditions, and to return to the familiar features of the sunny south.

The Russians then took the town from the Tlingit, and held Alaska till the Americans gave them seven million dollars for it six decades later. The sale was consummated at Sitka, which remained administrative hub of the vast region till the government of the district was moved to Juneau in 1906.

Juneau rose to prominence after the Klondike Gold Rush. As whaling and fur trading subsided, Sitka declined. Alaska was designated a US territory six years after the seat of government shifted, and Juneau soon surpassed Fairbanks as its most populous city.

It held the honor for three decades. But by the time Alaska became a state in 1959, Juneau had been displaced by Anchorage…where more than half of Alaskans now live.

Our sons arrived there last Saturday night, and went straight to the Hotel Captain Cook to begin their tour. There they met their grandparents and cousin, who had come north the night before.

They’d originally planned to land last June. My parents had surprised their grandkids with a week of hiking, sledding, rafting, rail rides, glaciers, gold-panning, and flight-seeing amid and above some of the most spectacular scenery on earth.

As with so many plans last summer, these were canceled. Our sons were disappointed, but understood. Yet in some sense, I think I lamented the loss more than they did.

Not because (except vicariously) I’d miss out on their wonderful activities. After all, I wasn’t going. But I regretted that they’d not have this unique chance to be with their grandparents for a remarkable week in a magnificent place. This was something they would’ve remembered the rest of their lives.

I think my parents were resigned to having missed the opportunity as well. Their grandkids were getting older. One was already in college, and jobs, friends, and school would soon fill each of their subsequent summer calendars. Their time and interest would no doubt wane. The odds of this trip being re-scheduled seemed as low as Gandhi’s cholesterol.

But then, this spring, prospects began to open. My mother called to say the same tour that was scrapped last summer was back on this year, and wondered if Alexander and David would still be interested. When I asked them, the question almost seemed rhetorical. Neither one of them hesitated. They couldn’t wait.

Having seen photos from their trip this week, I know they’re glad they did. Terrific weather, gorgeous scenery, enervating activities, and great company are obvious in each one. And most were spectacular.

Had they not been in them, I’d have thought the pictures of Denali were fake. Clouds shield even partial glimpses of the mountain on all but a handful of days each year.

Two of them were apparently this week. Under (and, on one day, from) what looked to be crystal-clear skies, my parents and their traveling companions saw the whole thing…base to peak, for several says, from the ground and from the air.

Many wonderful images and descriptions have come from Alaska during the course of the week. They enliven our phones, enlighten our nest, and brighten our days with the thoughts of what our crew is doing.

Incomparable scenery enveloped them. Sled dogs surrounded them. A plane carried them over and around Denali. Nuggets leapt from the base of streams to the bottom of their pans (and into nicely tied little bags). The Alaska Railway took them to boats that brought them to glaciers. Rafts and kayaks buoyed them along the abundant waters of the Kenai Peninsula. And everywhere moose, bear, eagles, and elk were constant…if often unseen…companions.

I know none of the pictures do justice to the scenes or events they depict. Nor should they. After all, they are theirs, not ours, and I couldn’t be more pleased they are accumulating them.

And, on the eve of the summer solstice, they’ve had extensive daylight to enjoy them. With only a few hours separating dusk from dawn (apparently, they essentially run together), David told us it never gets completely dark. Somehow, for this trip, that seems appropriate.

I read recently that the questions that matter in life are “What?”…”Where?”…and “With whom?”. I’m glad to know that this week, in southern Alaska, one group of people seem pretty happy with the answers.

Back here in our empty nest, we are too.

JD