First We Quit Our Jobs by Marilyn J. Abraham

Author:Marilyn J. Abraham [Abraham, Marilyn J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-79697-4
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-06-15T04:00:00+00:00

Father’s Days

T wo days to D-day, Dad’s arrival. The drive north to Anchorage was stunning. Snow-covered mountains backed up against blue sky on either side of Turnagain Arm, an extension of the massive Cook Inlet. The tides this far north were extreme, with a range of up to thirty-three feet. We hoped to catch the bore tide, an abrupt rise forming a wall of water up to six feet high. The tide tables in the newspaper warned us to be on the lookout just after low tide. Somehow we miscalculated and missed it. Instead we picnicked at Beluga Point, without beluga. Anchorage, with its 250,000 residents and civilization, was just around the bend, though it felt remarkably rural this close to the city. The narrow two-lane road hugged the hillside as if hoping not to get washed out to sea. Beside us railroad tracks, the lifeline from Seward to the interior, drifted in and out of sight.

As we approached Indian Creek, the shoulders bulged from either side of the road like Joan Crawford’s in a heavily padded dress. Cars were scattered everywhere, parked willy-nilly, as if the drivers had stopped suddenly for an emergency. We scanned the horizon for white whales. There were none. As we looked down from the bridge, the cause of the excitement became clear: Of course, the fish were running, and this was Alaska. We remembered friends who had once told us of building a house in Hawaii. They had been delighted to find plenty of good, hardworking craftsmen. What took some getting used to was that when the surf was up, work was out. Here the call of the wild came from fish. As we drove on, we shook our heads at our own ignorance. Next time we would know better.

As we were marveling at the accessibility of nature, the two lanes abruptly gave way to four, then six. Thoughts of fishing forgotten, familiar green highway signs loomed overhead. A divider separated us from oncoming traffic, while vehicles merged smoothly on the right. In an instant we were on an expressway in Anywhere, U.S.A. We approached the city with mixed feelings. It would be fun to get some Thai food, see Earthquake Park, and pick up a few RV supplies. Sandy was curious to look around for signs of life as he remembered it from his business trips twenty years ago. We also needed a Costco stop to get more than twenty rolls of film developed. And replenish our gourmet jelly bean supply. We did still have our priorities. Yet we seemed to have less and less use for cities.

The ease of having an RV in this city amazed us. Coming into a population center, we had girded ourselves for difficulties. I imagined pulling into Times Square to camp in the Sue, biking down to Wall Street, then up to Bloomie’s and over to Central Park. A likely story. Here we located several RV parks within the city limits and chose one that was well within biking distance of everywhere we might want to go.

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