After what was supposed to be a thirteen week assignment, I finally hung up my stethoscope in Colorado after eleven months. That assignment was so good to me. That state is incredible, the hospital and staff are great, and Henley and I spent the last seven months with an amazing human roommate and a very cute/squishy/slobbery/dependent dog roommate. I was both sad to leave and excited to go — How lucky am I?
This new assignment I am very happy about! Alaska was at the top of my to-go list when I started travel nursing. I tried last summer, but didn’t find an assignment I liked. But I found The One for this summer! Not only is it in Anchorage, where I decided was the only place I wanted to take a job, but it’s an infusion center! AN INFUSION CENTER! For twelve blissful weeks I will not be a bedside nurse.
People go to scheduled appointments at an infusion center often for outpatient chemotherapy, antibiotics, blood, iron, and immunotherapy to name a few. There are so many things about working in an infusion center that is so much better for me than working on the floor. The list is so long I won’t even get into it. But one other cool thing I’ll mention is that this medical center is just for Alaska Natives. It’ll be so different and interesting. I have a few books I’ve been digging into to learn about this culture to better serve them.
And a long, sad story they have. Of course, Alaska covers a huge area and all of the people did not have the exact same experiences. However, it is my understanding that I can generally say that ever since white men (at first, Russian explorers, but then European traders, whalers, and missionaries) started coming over in the mid 1700s, the lives of Alaska Natives has been turned upside down. The white men brought diseases that the Natives had no immunity to. Around sixty percent of Native people were erased. In addition, the missionaries would not let the Natives live their own way. Although the Natives believed in harmony among the land, sea, and all beings there, the white men didn’t understand their ways and considered them “backward savages." The Native survivors of the epidemics, traumatized, were forced to follow the white missionaries. The Natives were made to believe that their old beliefs were evil and that they should be ashamed of them. They were not allowed to speak their languages or to speak of their old ways. They were forced into Christian church and to discard their old spirituality, dance, ceremonies, and traditions. Even their names were taken away and they were given white names. The survivors stopped speaking of their history to their children. These children grew up and had children who never knew anything of their people’s past. The missionaries created a people who would not speak of their hurt and pain and that is probably the worst thing they did. A few generations later and we still have a population with no coping mechanisms which has led to all of the diseases the Alaska Natives face today: depression, alcoholism, drug addiction, and the consequences of these: homelessness, unemployment, violent acts, criminal behavior, and the chronic diseases born from stress and poor lifestyle factors.* Needless to say, not every Alaska Native is suffering, but this tragedy affected enough. It is a part of our country's history that most Americans are unaware of so the story should be told.
Anyway…
It’s been a month now since moving into the van. I’ve been writing here and there, often after waking up on the beach somewhere, sipping on coffee, like I am now. Here is that log, a random selection of days living in a sixty-five square foot tin can on wheels and exploring this extraordinary state.
Day 1
We woke early and packed the last few things in the van. This is it. I’ve moved into a van. It’s official.
We stopped at a dog park in Casper, Wyoming. I just gave Henley a bath last night, but he forgot this and ran straight to the giant puddle/small pond in the middle of the park and lied down, a few feet away from a dog taking a poop in said puddle pond. Now I’ve toweled Henley off and I’m left with a wet towel and a still-wet dog. In a van home. Where do I put this wet towel?? It’s these little annoyances that I’ve started to pick up on already. Some of them I imagine I’ll learn to control and resolve. Some will just stay as the inconveniences of living in a van.
We drove on to Bozeman and then to Missoula, Montana where I am sleeping — where else — but a Walmart parking lot. There are about fifteen other RVs and vans here. I’ve never minded sleeping in lots like this or at highway rest stops on road trips. With others doing the same, it feels safe and kind of cozy.
Day 3
Today was a day of epic views and so many bears! I drove from Calgary, through Banff National Park and Jasper National Park, and then through hours of just trees until we stopped for the night in the largest town in any direction for hours, Grande Prairie.
I take back what I said about not minding sleeping in lots like Walmart and rest stops. There’s two different vibes you can experience in a place like this. The more frequent is that we’re like-minded people, all doing this funny thing, we’re not going to bother one another, this is a quiet and safe place. The other vibe that I’ve experienced only a couple times now is when people are living in their vehicle in that lot long-term. We are no longer like-minded and we’re not doing the same thing and it is no longer a safe place. You can imagine the population that would live in a Walmart parking lot in a town in the middle of the woods. Until this point, I actually thought white trash was special to the States and never imagined it in Canada, a place Americans secretly admire and envy.
Day 4
We got to Liard Hot Springs in Yukon in the early evening and set up camp. One of the great things about the van is that when you go “camping,” you don’t have to set up anything or take it down. And it doesn’t matter that it’s raining. It’s nice and cozy inside and you don’t have to do any of that tent crap outside. I walked to the hot springs. It felt wonderful, but had a hot ground-water smell. Wish I brought some aromatherapy. In the water, I sat on a bench around the edge of the pool. The water came up to the middle of my chest. Once I got warm, I brought my feet up to the bench so my knees were out of the water. I stretched my arms out, resting on my knees, palms up. A cold rain hit my face and arms. It was perfect with the warm springs on the rest of my body. I got my fill and left once the other people there bothered me enough. It wasn’t crowded at all, but enough people to bother me. Wouldn’t it be nice to be alone in a hot spring? There were two MAGA hats at the pool’s edge and I was inspecting everyone, judging, trying to see who they belonged to. There were a few kids playing too loudly. An older woman entered the pool and sat on the bench about five feet away from me, too close for the size of the area, and made soft, gentle sex noises the entire time she was in the warm water. It was time to get back home. The door’s open, I see the nice wilderness, feel the cold breeze, but am quite cozy inside. Henley’s on a long cord attached to the van so he can come and go as he pleases. Right now he’s on his bed in the van chewing on a bone. I’m sipping on canned pinot noir. The fairy lights are on and a lavender candle is lit. I’m very content. Not just with right now, but with my life. I had risky decisions to make, but it feels like I made the right choices.
Day 5
I drove all day through trees, beautiful mountains out my windows. So many grizzlies! I had never seen bears before this drive and by the end of the day, I had lost count of how many I had seen thus far. Once when I went up to northern Maine for a weekend, I had the goal to see both a bear and moose. I didn’t see either. I kind of thought this trip was going to be like that. I know those animals are here, but I probably won’t see them. I was wrong! I can pretty much turn around now and call it a success.
Day 7
I’ve made it to Anchorage. That contentedness I felt before — it comes and goes. I often think instead “What the eff am I doing?” Vanlife in the city has done that to me. But, it’s still worth it! No regrets. I’ll get used to this and get a system down but get out of town whenever I can.
Day 13
Yesterday, I got out of work at 5:30, picked up Henley from day care, and drove an hour and a half to Hope, Alaska on the other side of Turnagain Arm — a waterway off of the Gulf of Alaska that reaches up to Anchorage. We came straight to a cafe in this historic town. It sits on a corner of land where a river meets the Turnagain Arm. I sat in a small, wood-filled, dark bar with locals. I drank an Alaskan lager and ordered a grilled halibut sandwich. I could see out the old four-pane window that there were places to park in a gravel lot. There were two small RVs and a pickup truck with a small towed camper. I asked the sweet bartender about it and she said it would cost me ten dollars to sleep in my vehicle. I added that to my bill and moved the van over there. Even though I’m still in the van I sleep in every night, it’s so nice being out here as opposed to Anchorage. Vanlife in the city isn’t great. I always feel like I’m sneaking around and just trying to park legally but still quietly and not attracting any attention. It’s been fine and still worth being up here and not paying rent, but I look forward to leaving every day off and weekend. Henley is on the cord attached to the van and can do what he wants. I leave the doors open. I can cook, which hasn’t been fun to do in the city. I feel freedom and contentedness again.
This morning we woke and opened one of the back doors and the sliding door. I made coffee in the French press and crawled back in bed. I let Henley come up and snuggle. The sun is warm but there’s a constant cool breeze. I can hear the river. Between me and the river there’s tall grass then mudflats. There’s mountains on two other sides of me, bright green reaching up to dark gray-brown rock with snow. I’m reading a memoir about Alaska — John McPhee’s Coming into the Country. I’ll make eggs in the cast iron soon. As soon as I can get out of bed. It’s eleven a.m. now. I’m just so comfy here, it’s been hard to make the move. We’ll drive to the end of the Arm today and go to Whittier and take a hike. Eventually, I’ll head back to Anchorage, go to the gym tonight, and go back to work tomorrow. Then I have the weekend off to get back to this feeling.
Day 15
Repeat to self: It’s just a fucking adventure.
This is my new mantra. It reminds me that the discomfort is temporary, it’s not a big deal, stop being a baby.
Day 22
Last week I drove down to another coastal town, Seward. Now, I’m in Homer for a long weekend, the fishing town at the end of the Kenai Peninsula. I’ve always loved moseying around boat docks and now I get to do it regularly. I’m trying to immerse myself as much as possible in the fishing culture without actually having to fish.
Day 29
Today I’m driving the Denali Highway, a 134 mile mostly dirt road that ends near Denali National Park on the west end. There are only a few establishments on the road, but I’ve stopped at one when I saw its sign claiming they had pie. Blue and white checked vinyl tablecloths. Powdered creamer and red translucent plastic cups on the table. Mismatched mugs. Mine has an Asian nature scene on it with a panda. Thin, cheap silverware. The kind you used in the elementary school cafeteria. Hospital-grade coffee. VFW hall chairs. I can hear bacon sizzling on the grill. The food is unsurprising, which is comforting. It’s hard for me to stop at places like this. I don’t like dining indoors at a table alone — I’d rather be outside and with Henley. I’d like to get coffee to go but this isn’t Starbucks. Places like this are special and deserve to be sat in and appreciated for what they are.
Day 30
My favorite part about traveling is pulling over whenever you feel compelled to do so. You see a beautiful lake in the distance and then you see a dirt road and you hope it goes there. You cross a bridge and think the water beneath looks good for swimming. A dirt road in the desert that goes seemingly nowhere. My best days on the road have been because I pulled over when I felt the draw. Because of that intuitive draw, today I dove into a river with icy-cold clear waters then later stood at the edge of a lake at the bottom of mountains and thought it was one of the most beautiful and peaceful places I have ever been. I sat in the scent of sun block and bug spray and did nothing but watch Henley swim and admire our Earth.
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The world is my backyard now and I am grateful for this freedom and life every day.
*Yunyaraq: The Way of the Human Being by Harold Napoleon
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