I came to Homer in October to work for six months. When I arrived my soul was soaring: the wonderful smiling people, the incredible people I worked with, the Spit, the ravens and crows on the beach, the silly movie theatre, people dancing in rubber boots, the bald eagles, the moose, the seals, the otters, the crab, the salmon, the halibut, the nice ladies at the post office and that view.
Surviving the winter hasn't been easy: the ice, the snow, dry skin, vehicles spinning and sliding like bumper cars, falling on my butt, shoveling snow and walking through waist-high drifts. With the dark-dark days, the howling winds and the car locks freezing, I wondered how people could live here except for a chance to see that view -- that magnificent view.
When I could manage to stop nesting there was a lot to do: art openings, the Nutcracker Faire, dance recitals, mediation circles, the Pratt, eating at Cups, skiing, skating, eating at Local's Night, music at the Champagne Palace, eating yummies from Two Sisters, perusing the Old Inlet Bookshop, shopping at the Blackberry Bog, snow machining, eating at Starvin' Marvin's, sitting in the hot tub at Land's End and looking at that view. I even got kicked out of the movie theater for inadvertently smuggling in a Sobe.
By December it seemed like there was never any daylight, but spring has arrived and my energy has returned along with the daylight. The snow slowed down and the sun came out along with that view. People are happy and I know why they live here. Alaskans are strong of mind and spirit. They help each other, they depend on each other, they love each other and they love it here. Just as I realize and appreciate it all, I have to leave. Goodbye, Homer. Goodbye all you beautiful people.
Sandi Mohr, Placerville, Calif.