Paper Airplanes

The first plane of the day, with it's flat tire..

There were many times during my flight to Igiugig today that I visualized the many flights a paper airplane takes. The way they sometimes sail smoothly while other times they so easily get tossed off their course by a gust of wind. I have never really detailed what bush flying truly entails, such as the adventures, the emotions, the bonds that form between pilots and passengers. One thing that I have always appreciated about bush living is the way you can so easily share such raw emotions with people that you barely know or who you may never see again. Well, today was a day in which the bonds formed for the passengers and pilot on my flight. Buckle up friends, we’re going on a bush flight, blog-style.

It started as a snowy, yet relatively calm morning in Nondalton. As I walked to school in the dark, I made mention of hearing a plane flying in the sky. I wondered what air taxi was out and about at 7:20 in the morning and hoped it wasn’t a Life-Flight (medivac). Then, as the light of the day started to appear as I was in my morning math session, I thought aloud that flights would likely be delayed again today. Flights had been cancelled yesterday due to strong winds and snow-storms that lasted all day. However, by the time the session ended, I could see the mountain across the lake and knew I’d be flying today. During my morning break, Sam and I even discussed how it had turned into a beautiful day for flying… If there’s one thing I learned in elementary school, it was how I should not to judge a book by it’s cover. Well… today I judged travel conditions by the cover of the beautiful view from my classroom window. How wrong I was on that one.

Just towing a plane,
nothing to see here.. 

I hate eating on travel days until I arrive at my final stop, but the hours were passing and at lunch time I decided to sit down to eat. It’s a short flight to Igiugig I thought, it will be fine if I don’t feel well. Luckily, I’d only taken a bite of food before getting the call that the plane would be on the ground in 10 minutes. I have been the substitute principal, so as I was gathering my belongings, I simultaneously met the visiting dentist who had just arrived, while also recapping afternoon responsibilities for the teacher who’d take over once I left. Needless to say, it was a whirlwind as Sam and I ran home to grab my bags and for me to throw on my winter gear. It wasn’t until we got to the runway that I realized how the wind had picked up. However, seeing one of my favorite pilots, I gave Sam a smooch, handed my bags over, and hopped on the plane. The plane, I’ll remind you, that has five seats. The pilot, a male passenger up front, a district specialist I work with sitting next to me, and a female passenger behind us. Now that I’ve painted that picture, let’s take off! 

When we got to the end of the runway and the plane struggled to turn to face into the wind, I knew it was going to be one of those days. My Grey’s Anatomy fans will understand that it was at the point I had a thought that compared to Meredith’s feeling the morning the bomb went off in the hospital. For anyone who doesn’t watch Grey’s, I mean to say that I knew it was going to be an awful adventure type of day. As we picked up speed and got into the air, or should I say tossed into the air, and then all over the air, my fears were confirmed. Today I was on the “milk-run”, meaning that I was the last of the four passengers to be dropped off. Our first stop would be Iliamna, a roughly 15-minute flight. We hit so many pockets of wind that I questioned whether or not to ask Sam to drive down to Iliamna and pick me up. Turbulence in a bush-plane is quite literally being lifted out of your seat, no matter how tight the seat belt is, and sometimes going as high as hitting your head on the ceiling. There was a lot of head hitting today. Igiugig would still be there tomorrow, I rationalized as I mentally planned my phone conversation with Sam. However, I talked myself down as my pilot joked and seemed as though it was any normal day. So we bid the first passenger farewell and took off again. 

Today's flight plan! 

Our second take off was comparable to the first, if not a bit worse. Our second destination was Pedro Bay. Let me paint another picture, because the rest of the flights on today’s commute all take place in villages along Iliamna Lake. Keep in mind that Iliamna is Alaska’s largest lake, and that the flight time between each location today ranges from 15-20 minutes. Today’s flight plan is conveniently illustrated in this post. 

Alright, back to the flight. We flew towards Pedro Bay and as we got closer, the turbulence caused me to have my bag ready in case I got sick. Let me note that in over three years and over 125 bush flights, I have never been sick on a flight. But, today was one of those days.. In order to get to Pedro Bay, you must fly between two mountains. As we approached the mountains, I was hopeful that the slight lack of visibility would cause the pilot to skip this stop. We trudged on, as the pilot noted to the male passenger that we’d fly o

ver and check it out before he decided about landing. So through the mountains and over the village we went. This is when I made the decision that I NEVER wanted to fly to Pedro Bay again. Perhaps it wasn’t the worst flight in the eyes of many experienced bush residents, but it was without a doubt the worst flight experience to date. I held tightly to anything I could, and couldn’t help but let out what I will call, yelps of fear. It was a reflex that I could not stop despite my attempts to suffer in silence. Surely, our being pushed across the sky like the ball in a pinball machine, the pilot would keep going on to Kokhanok. Nope, wrong again Paige. We turned back around and went in for a very bumpy and very nerve-wracking landing. Upon landing, the passenger said something along the lines of it being better than he expected.. It must be nice to be fearless. Anywho, while the pilot and passenger unloaded, the remaining passenger and I discussed the fact that the wind was pushing the plane so hard that we had not truly stopped moving, even after landing. 

Needing to talk myself into remaining on the flight, I asked the pilot, “on a scale of one to not fun, what will take-off be?”. He thought about and it said that we just had to get in the air and past the tree line where we would for sure hit “one bump” and then be quickly climbing high enough to get out of it. We all laughed as he reminded us the rule of bush flying: you don’t have reason to worry until you see your pilot start to worry. He promised that he was not worried. There formed one of those bonds I had mentioned earlier. So off we went.. We got into the air and then crossed over the tree line with no “bump”. I breathed a sigh of relief thinking we’d traveled into a good path and had gotten luck. Wrong again, Paige. The promised bump hit us, then another, and another. Each “bump” causing us all to be lifted out of our seats and jostled in the air for a brief second. But then, as promised, we got out of it. I knew we were good to go when the pilot turned around to face me with a huge grin and a thumbs up. Another bond formed. 

Our next leg of the flight was a bit bumpy, but not so bad, and the pilot and other passenger scoped out the ice looking for seals. I however was back to focusing on not getting sick. Again, we neared Kokhanok, a place I have landed many times on windy days. At this point I’ll switch gears to mention a fun fact about my anxiety; when I get too panicked, my body’s natural reaction is to shut down and for me to sleep. Without fail, I hit a point where sleep is necessary for me to rebound and continue on. So I was hitting this point when we began our descent, meaning I was rather calmly in a state of “Jesus take the wheel”. As we made it to the runway, I remember thinking that this was a pretty smooth landing for Kokhanok. Then, I watched for the tires to hit solid ground so I could cross this flight off the list. However, as I looked out my window, I noticed the tire looked very odd and seemed to be moving away from the rim. I think I had a look of shock as I glanced to the passenger next to me thinking “is it just me? Am I dreaming? Is this happening on your side? Is this normal? Do I say something?”. As I was about to speak up, the pilot turned back and asked me to confirm that we had gotten a flat. I thought I was prepared for anything. Wrong again, Paige. We laughed as we all commented at about the same time, “of course this happened in Kokhanok where there’s no service on the runway..”. Another bond formed. 

Sorry Mr. Plane, better luck next time! 

Though flat tires on planes don’t happen often, this occurrence is rather ordinary. The only problem was that we were in the middle of the runway and no other planes would be able to land. As the other passenger was going to the school, the staff member picking her up helped pull the plane off to the side of the runway. Then, in a strangely normal way, the pilot asked the other woman and I to sit on one of the back wings of the plane to help weigh it down as he sat on the other and walked the back of the plane to the side of the runway as well. At this point we were all in a comical state because if you can’t laugh, you’ll cry right? So we stopped for pictures and laughs and then all piled in the school truck. We went to school where I was able to visit with some other teachers as we waited on a plane to bring in a new tire and rim. About an hour later, the plane arrived and offloaded the supplies, a pilot, and a mechanic. Before long, "my" pilot and I got into the plane that had carried them and began our last leg of the flight. 

As we taxied down the runway, the pilot thanked me for my patience and for not freaking out at any point. We joked as we talked through the thought process I had had upon seeing the flat tire. Another bond formed. I simply requested an uneventful last leg. Almost unbelievably, my request and prayer was granted. Our final 15-minute flight was smooth as can be, the sun was shining, and the panic-induced sleep was washing over me. However, just as I was about to fall asleep, we smoothly landed and finally, about 2 hours later than planned, I got to my last stop of the day. While the pilot helped me pull my bags out, I thanked him for getting me here safely and he laughed as I thanked him for giving me something to blog about. Since the school truck wasn’t at the runway, I gladly grabbed my bags and took the short 3-5 minute walk, feeling thankful to be on solid ground. 

By the time I arrived, school had just let out. I had to get logged on for a professional development session, but once that ended, I found where I’d be sleeping during my stay, unpacked my sleeping back and let my body work it’s magic and put me to into shut-down mode. About an hour later, I woke up and was able to function normally again. That’s probably why I’m working on this blog at 11:00 and not feeling too sleepy. Even in the midst of it all, with each landing and take-off, and with each wind pocket we hit, I reflected on this crazy chapter of my life and how incredible each moment is, whether incredibly scary or incredibly wonderful. Oh, what a day, what a flight, what an adventure this thing called life is! 

Homeward Bound

The 1st journal
 to document my
 AK adventures

Three-and-a-half years ago, I packed up some rubbermaid totes with personal belongings and household items, filled my suitcase with warm clothes, and said “see you later” to everyone and everything I had ever known and loved. Three-and-a-half years ago, I took my first solo plane ride and journeyed about 4,000 miles from home to Alaska. Three-and-a-half years ago, I immersed myself into an entirely foreign culture and way of life as I began my first teaching job in a rural Alaskan village which was home to myself and about 50 other residents. Three-and-a-half years ago, I told my family, friends, and myself that I would be gone for just four months. Three-and-a-half years ago, I began the most incredible adventure of my life. Flash forward three-and-a-half years, and here I sit in my lakefront apartment, in a quiet rural Alaskan village thinking about the fact that in four short months, I will be leaving this all behind. 

The moment I set foot in Alaska, I knew that it would forever own a piece of my heart. Though family and friends joked about me meeting an “Eskimo”, getting married, and never coming back, I never imagined the love that I would find in this beautiful state. The people I have met, the family I have gained, the children I have come to love, the oddities and quirks that have become so normal, the accent my brother-in-law tells me I’ve acquired.. These are all a compilation of the things that will forever bind me to Alaska. These are also the things that make it so heart- wrenchingly difficult to leave. 

Pilot Point (my 3rd month)

Sam and I began this year knowing that this was likely to be our last in the state, for now. However, it was not until winter break that we sat down and made the decision to find somewhere new to call “home” as we begin the next phase in our lives. We had been day-dreaming of Friday nights spent at a new restaurant, weekends spent with friends, and being able to attend the events and celebrations that we have had to pass up for the past few years as one downside to living in this place we love. We talked houses, dream jobs, more puppies, and ALL the babies that I pray the Lord blesses us with. With bittersweet excitement, we made the decision that to have those things we had been dreaming about, that our time in Alaska must come to a close, for now. For those of you who can understand getting drawn into a good book series, you know the feeling of not wanting the book to end but being eager to see how the story unfolds in the next book. I think our life passes us by like the chapters of a book. Alaska has not been just a chapter, but a book of it’s own. My heart aches to be filling up the last chapters of this Alaskan book, but it flutters with excitement to begin the next chapter, the next book. 

As I sit here and reflect on the journey that I have been on for the past three-and-a-half years, I am overwhelmed to realize how lucky I have been. The things that I have seen, the places I have gone, the wild airplane rides I have been on, the miles walked, the injuries sustained, the losses experienced, the memories I have made, have all helped me to grow in ways I cannot full express in words. In writing this post, I am finally able to accept the fears I have in leaving this place. Though my self-esteem and confidence began to grow during my time in college, it was not until I came to Alaska on my own that I feel I was able to finally embrace who I am as a person. Somewhere along the way, I was able to own my strengths and embrace my flaws and weaknesses. 

The journal that documented
my decision to stay a 2nd year

It was here, in Alaska, that I lived on my own for the first time. Two months after arriving, it was here that I went outside of my comfort zone and fearlessly (A.K.A. awkwardly and filled with anxiety) pursued the cute new tech-guy who visited my village. It was here that, with tears in my eyes, I advocated for my emotional health and told my employer that I could not remain in the district if I was to continue working at my first school site. After months of going on walks and runs in fear, it was here that I became confident in handling a gun and purchased my own so I could explore the area I live in with peace of mind. During my second winter, it was here that Sam and I got in a four-wheeling accident that brought me bruising, scars, a hip problem that later required surgery, and post traumatic stress disorder (I do not say that lightly, jokingly, or without the diagnosis from a trained professional). It was here that I strengthened my friendship with Sam’s best friend during his two week long visit, and then grieved his sudden death just a few months later. It was here that I got engaged to my best friend. Two-and-a-half years post-graduation, it was here that I paid off my undergraduate student loans. It was here that I became a mentor for new special education teachers. Over the past few years, it has been here that I have spoken up and told pilots that I didn’t care where they landed as long as we got there safely. Similarly, it was here where I spent entire flights in tears, praying that the Lord would help get me to my destination safely. On a cold fall night, it was here that some friends and I went skinny-dipping in the largest lake in Alaska. It was in here that I learned to fly-fish and to drive a boat and a snow machine. It was here that I was approached by my employer, as a second year teacher, and told of the vision that he and my superintendent had for me to step into an administrative role, whether it be in Alaska or elsewhere. It was here that I faced my fear of not being experienced enough, ready enough, or good enough, to become an administrator and entered into an Educational Leadership graduate school program. During the past few years, it was here that I have had the responsibility of leading the hard conversations of explaining tragic loss and grief to my students as we have lost four students and a good friend’s fiancé. It was here that I realized those conversations only get harder each time they need to be had. This summer, it was here that Sam and I followed a calling that we felt drawn to and became registered foster parents. It was here that I got to journey alongside one of my best friends as she went through the incredible and wild experience of growing a tiny human in her belly. In a week, it will be here that begins the next few months that I get to spend living next door to that handsome little human and watch him grow. It was here that I became the momma of not one, but two village pups; one very cute one who is snoozing nearby and one very “Ugly Dog” who wasn’t really mine but who owned my heart during my short time with him. It was here that I showed off my home and favorite places to family and friends who have come to visit. It was here. It has all been here. Many of my greatest, and also many of my worst, moments have all happened here. 

Lake Iliamna

Each and every single one of these moments has provided me with a new appreciation and understanding of the important things in life. I have learned to learn from every single experience, because I can almost guarantee that from every experience you can learn something. That knowledge has helped to turn me into a much more confident person. Even with this newfound confidence, I will say that I am more scared to leave Alaska than I was to come here on my own a short three-and-a-half years ago. I am beyond terrified that when Sam and I relocate to wherever we will call home next, that this confidence will not follow me. Though I genuinely appreciate the support, I am not writing this in an effort to receive encouragement or pep talks. I am simply being honest in saying that as the days pass by and our leaving becomes more realistic, I become crippled with fear that I will not be this genuine version of myself in our next home. I am afraid I will lose this confidence that I have grown to have, this independence, this ability to advocate for myself and those around me. I am afraid that I will not be a good educator in a “lower 48” school.  I have always been and will forever be a “people-pleaser”, but somewhere in the past four years, I learned that I need to do what’s best for me, and sometimes that will mean that I cannot please the people around me. That was a hard lesson to learn, but after 25 years of trying to make EVERY person around me happy, what a weight was lifted from my shoulders when I finally learned this one. Naturally, I fear that I will revert to my old ways of letting people take advantage of my kindness because I want them to be happy. 

The journal to hold my prayers

While these fears are present and terrifying, and obstacles to work through, the blank pages ahead of me also bring so much excitement with them. I cannot wait to work in a school with a larger staff and where parents are active in their children’s education. I look forward to exploring a new area and calling a new place home. I CANNOT wait to work on the tree farm next Christmas season and watch Sam experience a Wyckoff’s winter. After missing the weddings of six important women in my life, I pray that I will finally be able to celebrate with the next friend(s) to tie the knot. I am excited to be able to wander the aisles of stores, as opposed to browsing items online and then waiting anywhere from 1 week to 2 months for the items to arrive. Oh how eager I am to have an address that I do not have to explain to customer service agents, post office workers, or anyone in between. One thing I will truly miss is being able to make up whatever address I want on my license; and the holographic snowflakes.. I’ll miss those too.

Perryville

The “things" I will miss the most and will be hardest to leave behind, are my students. I have been walking on eggshells, not feeling ready to tell my students that I am leaving them. It is so much harder for the kids here than elsewhere when their teachers leave. In other schools it is normal for students to get a new teacher each year, or two if they loop, but in the villages teachers usually stick around for a few years. Not only that, but there are only four other teachers in my school besides me, so the impact of a teacher leaving is much harder on some of the kids. I have worked with the same students for three years now, and we have been through the good, the bad, and the ugly together. I recently made a deal with one of my students that she can come visit Sam and I in two years, the summer she turns 13. Though Sam and I have wanted to tell the kids for awhile, we did not want to bring reality to the them sooner than we had to. 

The journal that
 documented my engagement

Unfortunately, the decision of when to tell the kids was taken out of my control when, during a jamboree at another school this week, a teacher in the school introduced one of our high school students to my replacement. As my job listing had been posted in-district a few weeks ago, the teacher assumed that I had told the students. I know they only meant well in trying to build relationships between the student and my replacement. However, when my friend texted me to tell me that this student had found out, I knew I had to tell the students immediately, or they would not hear from me. For all of them to hear from someone else would make matters so much worse. After consulting with my principal on how best to approach it, I gathered a few of my students and shared with them that Mr. Sam and I would be leaving Nondalton in May and that we would not be back next year. Oh, what a beautifully bittersweet moment in my career and personal life this conversation was. We talked about how we need to do what is best for our families and how the best thing for Mr. Sam and I as we begin our family is to be closer to our relatives. We talked about how exciting it would be for them to get to know a new teacher. I looked into the teary eyes of my one student as I told her that she wasn’t allowed to back out of our deal and that I still expect her to come visit me when she turns 13. We action planned for how to make our last 46 days of school the best 46 days EVER, and what we’ll do in May once school is out. We discussed the best ways to stay in touch once I am gone, and my hopes to hear from them often. Surprisingly, our conversation went really well, but I know from previous experiences that there will be a lot of emotions in the next few months. The feelings of sadness and abandonment, the feelings of excitement for a new teacher, and every feeling in between will be had by myself or one of my students during the remaining time we have together. But I know we will take these moments to learn and grow together, and I will treasure these moments forever. 

Anchorage

I could go on and on and on about my kids, the things I will miss, and the things I look forward to. However, my tear ducts are empty and the box of tissues Sam set near me an hour ago when he came inside to find me a blubbering mess on the couch has become a little less full. It has been snowing on and off all day, but there is a break in the storm and I need the healing soul medicine of a walk in the crisp fresh air. I know I had promised to try to post before Christmas break ended, but I have not been able to find the words to share the decision that Sam and I made during the break. I will try to be more active in my posting, especially in these last few months, and I will say now that my blogging will continue on even after my time in Alaska comes to a close. I mentioned earlier that our relocation is “for now”, and I will say it again, because I have no doubt that one day Sam and I will return home to the little slice of paradise that is known as Alaska.