05 August 2017

Sour and Sweet

A flower with beautiful petals smells sweet. The collective scent of millions of them infiltrate our senses as we hike through mostly untouched land.

"If the air begins to smell bad, that is a sign of a bear," we were told once.

Back then, we were fresh-blood cheechakos. Wide-eyed Pollyannas with bright smiles and adventure paving the way where money never could.

That hike was through Southcentral Alaska. I was with Denise and two boys we befriended on the ferry. Ian and Aaron.

The hike was to last three days. We packed out our tents, sleeping bags and food. Headlamps, shoes and socks. We were barely a week old in the Last Frontier, but we had been creatures of nature for weeks traveling here.

I remember the first time I walked into a Wal-Mart again after sleeping outside and being on the road. The florescent lights jarred me - the air, stale - although cool from the summer temps.

Everything was fake. I didn't need anything here.

I just needed to be back outside where I could hide within the sour and sweet smells of plants I didn't know the name or purpose of - but welcomed all the same. 

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