Falling into the Rainbow

Yesterday was my last big adventure here in Alaska. And it was absolutely an adventure. The weather has changed dramatically in the short time I've gotten to spend here and after record breaking sunny days, the rainy season has found its way home. Apparently some summers here are days and days of incessant, non-thunderstorm rain. I was blessed to experience one of the most gorgeous Alaskan summers to date this year, with a record breaking stretch of sunny days and temperatures above 70 degrees. So, when the rain settled in this week, I didn't feel cheated at all. It is actually kind of enchanting to me. I've been in love with the clouds in this place since first arriving - they seem to sit teasingly, low as if we're somehow closer to the top of the world and maybe even Heaven. And when the rain comes, it casts wisps of misty clouds across the mountains and turns the world around us into a dreamlike wonderland. And thus was the setting of yesterday's adventure.

  

 

Imagine the land you dreamed up in any fantasy book you've ever read or in any Lord of the Rings type movie you've seen, and then place youreself in that world complete with the fuzzy borders that TV shows use when taking us inside someone's dream. That's what I felt was happening to me yesterday. The fuzzy borders were present as the misty clouds surrounding us. And it felt like they were the borders to this dream we'd been dropped into. The feeling was inhanced by the complete stillness around us. I was with two dear friends, the hike was 11 miles roundtrip, and for the first five miles, the only other sign of movement was in an occasional bird flying away after an ominous howl. The breeze was so subtle I'm not even sure it was there. Instead we had the steady companionionship of a light rain. The rain painted the grass and wildflowers aronnd us with a hint of sparkle so that their colors seemed to radiate with an unearthly glow. It was stunning. We walked through a gorgeous mountain valley, crossed a field of slippery boulders and ended up standing in an impossiblely perfect scene of two lakes - one with a greenish glow from the moutains surrounding it and the other a distinctly clear and reflective glacier lake.

 

 

 

 

And the most magical part? On the return trip, while discussing the magical nature of everything we'd seen, we decided the only thing missing was a rainbow. We turned the next corner and found the missing piece - a glorious, vibrant, shining rainbow. Low set and perfect in its colors. So low I felt like I could touch it. So distinct we could trace its source to the lake beside it. So perfect in color and timing and position its only source could have been our loving Heavenly Father. More than any place I've ever been, I've been in constant awe of the beauty of His ceation while here. And yesterday added a whole new dimension of awe for me. Without any other living soul around us, there's no question that rainbow was a gift just for us. From a loving Heavenly Father who knows and loves us perfectly and deserves more gratitude and love in return from us than I feel even partially capable of giving. I feel beyond blessed to be a daughter of this glorious creation!

From the Storybook of a Nebraska Farm Child

It's hard to believe I've been in Alaska for a full month now. It's even harder to believe that one week from now I will be packed up and ready for my flight back to Nebraska. I have so much to say about the great things I have learned about myself and about my profession while here, but I'll leave that for next week. For today, I want to post on home. Perhaps it's because of the incessant rainy weather here this last week. Perhaps it's the various heartaches of dear friends around me. Or perhaps it's simpy a deep rooted love for family that has manifested itself in a bit of homesickness, but whatever the source, the reality is that I am so grateful for my family and for the beautiful and blessed childhood I can claim my memories from.

I called home last Sunday. My brother Andy answered the phone and told me Mom would not want to talk to me that day because they were in the middle of freezing corn, and thus she was cranky. Freezing corn. Something that every Midwest farm child can relate to. Long days of husking ear after ear of golden kernals and boiling and cutting and cooling and measuring and bagging nearly a hundred bags of fresh sweet corn. Corn that your Grandpa and Dad and brothers labored relentlessly and tirelessly over. I used to not be excited for corn freezing days. They were long and messy and people did understandably get quite cranky. But, after three successive summers of being away from home and absent for this ritual, I find myself longing for the serenity and simplicity of those corn shucking days - my dad tuning his static-y turck radio to old country music, my Grandpa listening to me complain about worms in too many of the ears of corn while he joyfully and delicately brushed silk from his perfect ear with a toothbrush, my dad eating handful after handful of the corn that he cut (that was supposed to make it into the ziplock bags and not his mouth) so that my mom never ceased to win the battle of who made the most bags from each cutting.... There's something so magically storybook perfect in all of it....

This is me many years ago with my dear Grandpa Starman - a man of faith, strength, character, diligence and love. He passed his loyalty to his faith and his work on to his son - my Dad - and I am forever grateful to him for his example and love and for being such an integral part of my childhood on the farm.

 

I wrote a semi-professional poem about this special, cliche, Nebraska childhood experience of freezing corn back in my days of college English courses. My newest mission shall be to see if I can find that little piece of art.... :)

The Winding Path

I spent a lot of time at the hospital this week. It was an intense week on the pediatric floor, so a good portion of that time was spent feeling rather incompetant as far as pharmacist knowledge goes. I am struggling with feelings of having been prisoner to pharmacy school and endless hours at the library for the last three years of my life, and despite the time I served, still feeling like I absorbed nothing of the important details. It's really entirely overwhelming to step back and think about how much I am supposed to know as a doctor of pharmacy and how much I feel like I do not know.

And I think about that and then step back further and wonder what the heck I am doing in Alaska. Let's be real, that's a super far journey to travel just to find a hosptial to have my limited pharmacy knowledge tested in! But, regardless of the length of the journey or how absurd it may seem, I feel like this was always meant to be. Guided by the skills and knowlege of the staff here, I am slowly starting to feel some sort of my passion for the profession restored. I'm working with pharmacists who truly care about the patients they are treating and who apply that same care to the students they are teaching. And while it doesn't necessarily take away the fear of knowing nothing, it does finally restore that desire I started out with in wanting to know everything and in feeling like I am capable of making it to... well at least an admirable point in pharmacy knowledge... :)

 

It's somewhat like I've been walking through this dense, endless forest for years, and finally, the sun is starting to shine through. And Alaska is doing that for me figuratively and literally (I took this photo on a quaint little hike yesterday afternoon). There is just unequivacol soul searching potential in walking through a stunningly silent forest with a good friend - so quiet that even conversation seems inappropriate. It was as if we were created to go there and to release all fearful, failure-worthy, or entrapping thoughts in the safety of the shining and all-encompassing green foilage (don't think we didn't relate the scene to every fantasy movie we'd ever seen :).....).

 





We ended up in this pseudo-Alaskan-rainforest land after having many other hiking efforts thwarted. We had brought a little map with us that promised a nice service road up to the top of a breathtaking mountain, with the promise of a free ski lift ride back down if we made it to the top. We searched for this road but instead wandered through an enchanting maze of roads leading to hidden vacation homes. Once we realized the real road was not to be found, we returned to our starting location and discovered where we had missed it. Feeling hopeful, we set out again, only to discover the trail - and all other trails on that side of the mountain - was closed due to construction (with risks of explosion and death ahead...). Plan B? Take the nice ski lift man's advice and drive to the other side of the mountain for an upward trail there. Upon arrival to this other side, however, we were told that the ski lifts were closed due to wind and that hiking up, though beautiful, would be a treacherous feat in light of the requirement to hike back down the sleep slope in it's increasingly soggy condition (enhanced by the rain now falling..).

So we took an entirely different trail. One that didn't climb up at all, but instead weaved through the dense forest and opened up to a magical river.

 



So what it comes down to is that my life is one giant lesson on journeying. People might steal your bike in Alaska (yes this happened to me as well) hindering your daily travel routine, or the road you thought was real might not be a road at all, or all of your paths might be blocked. But, as my pharmacist mentor said to me this week, "You'll find your niche. It might take awhile, and the road might not be as straight as you want it to be, but you'll get there."  

 

 

These are from my kayaking adventure last week. My friend Kristen posted them, and they are so charming that I couldn't help but to share them here.

 

looking classy with those rubber boots....

Just traveling up the ocean shore...Lewis and Clark style...