Tin roofs, dreams, stars, and letters

    Sometimes in life you just need things to be simple. A little while ago it was just Parker, Finn, and I on the RS40. The other boats had run to town leaving us to take care of any fishermen who'd happen to wander in. We quickly used all our ice packing a few boats and there was nothing else we could do but wait for the Deer Harbor to get back. We had a whole day off. A complete day of doing nothing but whatever we wanted. I spent a lot of the day in my sleeping bag reading "You Can't Win" (I highly suggest it). With no one yelling, no sound of an engine or boom, and no schedule weighing on our minds. We turned on the generator a few times to cook and watch movies, but other than that is was blissfully quiet. That is, except for the soft pitter patter of rain on the tin roof. If you can find me something more relaxing than that, something that'll put me at ease quicker or sound sweeter to my ears, I'd kneel at your feet. Under that roof, relaxed, we talked of train hopping and traveling. About Parkers dog and his friend's wedding and how big it was going to be. How excited he is to see all his friends in one place again. Intermittently we would doze off on foam atop plywood. Not beds made for kings and queens, but we aren't kings or queens so no worries. Some people get so entitled. They just make themselves unhappy by always wanting more, never being satisfied. The truth of it is, I mean the key to happiness, is just in loving what you've got. Even if it's just some foam on some plywood under a tin roof being drummed by thousands of tiny raindrops. Don't get me wrong though, if you're in a tight spot get out of it. Don't settle for shit. Some of the truest words I'd ever heard Max had told me, right there a few weeks ago. 'If nothing else, every man deserves two pillows'. 

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Boat dreams. By dreams I mean when you fall asleep and see yourself in strange places doing strange things that, at the time, seem perfectly logical. But I also mean dreams in the sense of goals you aspire to obtain. Both occur on a boat. When you get on a boat you have the strangest dreams. Mine can be so vivid they'll wake me. I don't remember what I dream, but I know it's intense. They leave an affect on you when you wake. Like you just came back from another world. You see, the dreams are so vivid sometimes that you aren't sure they were altogether a dream. They're the dreams that come with deep sleep. The kind of sleep that comes after the deprivation of sleep and a long hard day. And then you have time to daydream. And you dream of all the places you'll go once the season is over. All the sandy beaches you'll dig your toes into, all the books you'll read, and all the plums you'll devour. Your imagination runs wild, so wild. At least, mine does.

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The stars in Alaska are wild. When I'm lucky enough to get a clear night... It's not even dark enough until around 11 to see them. And God do they blaze. I walked out on deck after we'd finished all the work and shut off the deck lights. I hopped down the totes close enough to the hydros on the upper deck. I'd just had an incredible dinner of fried halibut cheeks and was on my way to the barge to try and read some chapters of the book I was currently on. I knew it was futile, every night I'd read maybe a paragraph before I felt my eyelids would start to droop. Or maybe I wouldn't even get to the book. Often times I open my book, see my friends letters that I use as a bookmark, and decide to re-read them. I was on my way to do this when I chance looked up at something that'd caught my gaze. As if Medusa had locked eyes with me and I was set in stone, it just stopped me. They're just so bright when you're truly in the middle of nowhere. And every time I look up at stars like that everything else melts away. It's like all my worries are gone. All my aches and pains and fears just ebb away as I get sucked up into the sight of them. My peripherals blur around me, the stars fill my eyes and it feels like they're drawing me up to them. Like I'm floating towards 'em, my feet no longer on the ground. And I can be content with my life. Not happy, not sad, but simply and blissfully content. No more worries, no more heartache. 

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There is something about writing a letter. There's also something about receiving a letter, but I'm not here to talk about that. Most everyone knows how exciting it is to receive an old fashioned letter, but writing them is different. It's like you're pouring yourself out, waterfalling from the soul and heart down into your arm, through pen in hand, and splashing all over a piece of paper. And by the end of it that paper should be so sodden with your emotion that the reader should forget that you're in God knows where doing God knows what and they should reach out to touch you only to be startled that you're not right beside them.  I'm not saying I can do this, because it's doubtful that I can. But that's my aim when I sit down and really write a letter. I put it all in if I have the energy, because it's exhausting to write a good letter to someone. It's exhausting knowing all your hard work and truest feelings may be lost in transit by some chance of fate. It's exhausting hoping that someone'll write back and waiting for it always until you finally give up on them. Not to say that's how it happens, but sometimes it does. Needless to say, I enjoy writing letters and a big thank you to everyone who has written me in my lifetime. It's much appreciated and always will be.

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Alaska is well, I wish I had more of an update for y'all. It's been rough, but it's going quickly enough. September 20th is sneaking up on me. Hope to see some of you after all this. I know I haven't been away long, but when you live without worrying about the time of day, day of the week, or month of the year it seems like a lot more time has gone by than really has. 

Be happy y'all, 

Beacon