Where are the Gershwins of yesteryear?

First of all, I want to thank everyone who donated to the project or passed it along to a friend. I just recieved word that the project has been fully funded and in a few weeks, I’ll receive the money and we can get started. There’s a joke that in Alaska there are two seasons: winter and construction, and even though it hasn’t been a typical dust bowl summer here, the same still applies and right now is the best time of year for construction. So thanks again for the quick and generous response.

We still have a month of summer left, which will hopefully be enough to finish the various larger projects around town: the new municipal building, the new roof for the school, and incredibly, mercifully, gorgeously, the road. Due to a measurement error, only enough funds were allocated for seven kilometers of beautiful asphalt for our eight kilometer road. This means when they’ve finished you’ll be able to drive a Ford Fiesta eighty-eight percent of the way up, but you’ll still need a heavy 4x4 for the remaining twelve. They’ve already flattened, widened, and put the initial layer of gravel on those seven kilometers, so the ride down feels less like a forty-five minute crash landing, the chivas run more regularly, and the stores always have eggs. The days are longer and sunnier, people are working to finish whichever home project before the rains come, and in general, things seem to be happening. Kinda. There is a strange duality in the summertime because even though there is undeniable proof that things are happening, sometimes it feels like nothing is happening. School is out for the summer, so the streets are empty of the constant movement of teachers and students. Often, especially in the middle of the day, the town feels empty. So much needs doing in the window of summer, but maybe not today.

I am feeling a similar dichotomy with the time I have remaining here. With little more than seven months left, this is my last summer here. In fact, my lasts started back in November – I won’t be here for another Independence Day – and each one that passes reminds me of how little time I have left. I’m making progress at the cooperative and on a few of the other projects I’m involved with, and there is still a lot I want to accomplish. I know August’ll sneak up on me and I’ll be incredulously saying my goodbyes. Buuut, some days are static and sleepy, some days are a mile long, and those days remind me that seven months is not a weekend retreat. The World Series will be over by the time I get back, and the season, the preseason, hasn’t even started yet. Seven months is more than two hundred days, more than five thousand hours. So sometimes I get caught up dreaming about the next chapter of my life, but that seems to be best remedied by a good game of soccer.