the journey of river chickadee
by robin brown

When we heard that Robin Brown (her email is riverchickadee) was about to load up her belongings and her 11-month old Australian shepherd Kootenay in Fairbanks, Alaska and head to Weaverville to study massage, we thought it would be interesting to follow this pre-Western North Carolina woman on her journey. So many of us have left behind all that was familiar and headed for WNC and the unknown. What follows is a series of emails to her friends as she heads towards her new home. - Ed.

It was a strange feeling when I turned in my key and identification. This Air Traffic Control Tower is now out of my hands. It has been in my care for those 10 years and is now no longer accessible to me. It’s not just the front door. That building is a character, kind of like a friend I have come to know. It has taught me lessons, sheltered me, challenged me and seen me laugh and cry and pray. I have explored its darkest recesses and sung off its roof, seven stories from the ground. I have kept it warm, and kept it cool, kept it greased and fueled and lit and safe for its occupants. I have seen it change and grow and get a new outer skin! In my more ambitious days I would race its elevator from the ground floor to the top, proud that I could win. Huffing and puffing at the smiling people that came out of the elevator car.

On winter mornings I liked to climb up to the tower cab as I did this day and with a hushed “good morning,” quietly sit with the Air Traffic Controllers, welcoming the light slowly emerging in the southeastern sky. The tower cab is dark, only dimly lit by equipment indicator lights, a radar scope and some computer monitors. There is not much traffic yet, though the small carriers are warming up their planes, getting ready to take passengers and mail to the bush villages. The city lights dwindle into the vast cold and lonely places of the tundra and somewhere along the hills, merge into the giant night sky with bright stars. Gradually the day begins to reveal the Delta and Alaska Ranges a hundred miles away and still so spectacular. The silhouetted peaks blend from dark shadow to orange glow and stay orange quite a long time. Longer than I can sit and watch. I have work to do. It appears that all is well in the Tower Cab. “Have a nice day,” and I’m on my rounds. I know I will be back in the afternoon to see if “The Great One,” Denali, is out. It is best seen in the evening glow, which in mid-winter might be around 2:30 in the afternoon. A good time for my second daily check of the building systems. Denali is about 200 miles away and at this distance is usually a very soft, pastel, but impressive mound on the southwest horizon. It is guarded all around by some very big mountains and glaciers. You can not see its sharp ridges and icy crevasses from here, but you can see its magnitude. It creates its own weather, so being able to see its top peaks is a treat. “The mountain is out today,” and everyone knows what you are talking about. It gives off an aura of power, even from this far away. I feel its power and it makes me strong.

Today is my last day at work. Though I’ve planned and dreamed, I feel like I hardly know what this means. It’s only a beginning. My dreams have been like The Mountain, so big and yet so far away. I will soon be drawing closer to them and as I do, will be able to see them more clearly. Though it is fascinating and drawing me nearer, it makes me tremble at the unknown. Will I be able to navigate? Will I be adequately equipped? Will I get lost or lonely or exhausted? More than likely. But I will see what I have never seen before. I will feel and touch and dance like I have never danced before. I may someday make it to the top of the mountain, but if I don’t, I will have grown from the journey. Its more than just growing...it’s living. I can’t stay where I am and live.

Continued Tuesday, 1:30am

This is my last night in Fairbanks. I am almost finished packing. I have been going constantly the last three days and I’m exhausted. But I had to write and tell you that I will be leaving tomorrow afternoon. There have been so many details to take care of—especially now, crossing the U.S. border after 9/11 and more recently Mad Cow. I will not be able to bring any moose meat with me due to fears of Mad Cow disease. I may be able to bring salmon though and plan to try. My diet is going to change drastically. Moose meat and salmon have been staples in our house. I haven’t had to buy hamburger from the grocery store in years and the thought of it makes me wrinkle my nose in disappointment and worry. The moose meat is clean and free of chemicals.
I am fizzling out tonight. I’ve got to get to bed so I can drive tomorrow.

Robin
To be continued.