an email

I wanted to share this email I was writing someone.


I was emailing a friend who wanted me to tell them my story and I wanted to share part of it with my friends and family. This basically a memory of my childhood. I have been blessed with an amazing family, and I thank the powers that be everyday that allowed me to walk with them through this life. As a result of being raised with my family, I have acquired many beautiful friendships and I am grateful for that eternally.

Okay. Here is an abridged version of my life. I have been kicking around the planet for 37 years. I was adopted into a wonderful family when I was two weeks old. My parents are amazing, I'll get back to them in a bit. They brought my two big sisters into the world together at a pretty young age. I believe they were in their early twenties. My father is jewish and my mother is christian, young and ready to take on the world all in the name of young love they adopted my now big brother Reuben. He is half black and half white. Each of us four children are three years apart in age. They decided on me as their final child and at the time they were living in Nome Alaska. They went to Anchorage to pick me up...mom says the stewardesses fell in love with me from the moment I was brought onto the plane. I picture my babies today as little brown babies with a shock of pencil sketch hair and chubby brown thighs and cheeks. I really want children of my own someday. So I lived in Nome for a short period f time and we moved to Juneau. Later on in life I would call Anchorage, Juneau and Nome home again.
Mom and dad did the best they could to raise a wonderful family. They never pressed religious issues on us. I went to more jewish functions than christian. I know a couple jewish prayers, in fact the only real christian holiday I practice is Christmas. This is mostly family time and friend time. So here we are a family of six, and we have family nights, we have nights where part of our chores are to cook as part of our chores. This would help us later a bit in life, being unafraid of the kitchen. One of them started putting poetry or short story books on our plates at dinner time. We would read something before our meal. This was our version of prayer I guess and a great way to learn and teach at the same time. I am still taken aback when I think back on things like this.
We were raised in an amazing house. Humble, at the top of a hill with stone steps that wound up to the porch. The walk up to the house would take you past blueberries, huckleberries, a strawberry patch and salmonberries. I ate a lot of all of these. We had a garden that was on the top of the hill adjacent to a small lawn. Our back yard was a forest that I played in, the neighbors had beach access right across the road.
I boated, fished and beach combed quite often. Amazing I never sustained any real injuries running at full tilt across the many large boulders that lined the waters edge at high tide. One of my favorite childhood places at high tide was a rocky cave. I found it one day as I was paddling the cove in a dingy. I pulled up to the entrance and paddled right in. I was delighted to find that the ceiling was vaulted. The sun shone through a hole in the ceiling of the cave. I can still hear the gentle lap of the tide on the inside and see the light playing a beautiful light show on the rocky roof. The light would bend and bounce in the salty ocean and send lines waving on the roof. I was able to tie down my little vessel and climb up on the rocks and up through the hole. I was on the beach. I had passed this little treasure many times on my adventures on the beach.
There are few treasures in my life that can match the discoveries I went through at Lena Cove in Juneau, Alaska. I still remember tasting the salt on my lips and the wind in my hair, the lapping of the waves and the distant screeching of Gulls and Eagles. I could sit and find myself on the shores. The sun warming my face and my soul at total and complete ease with the world.
Growing up on Lena Loop road meant we had unpaved roads, we were 17 miles out of town. In fact if someone asked you where you lived, you could simply say 17 mile. They knew. So there were culverts, we had ample amounts of rain. The rain would wash over the dirt roads and drain onto the culverts. When a real down pour would occur, I would wait eagerly for the kids to come pounding on the door. It would be just a matter of time before we were knee deep in mud and water building dams and getting covered from head to toe with delicious mud.
We could walk the forest on trails we had made, build forts or play hide and seek, regardless of our activity our playground was soft flourescent green moss and tall trees covered with witches hair and more moss. There were berries all over the place and be careful of the devils club, it would sting you with its thorns, you also might have an experience with nettles, which will sting you as well, but it was more tricky. It looked like a normal piece of greenery but pow. It would nab you out of the blue. The solution? Wasn't it ferns?
So that's the house, the neighborhood and the seashore. As I walk down memory lane, I can hardly exclude the fishing. We had a basement that had our tackle in it and we could shore cast or take the boat out. Dolly Varden trout was my personal favorite. Delicate trout that could be cooked right on the shore. These fish were beautiful and during the right part of the year- very aggressive. That meant ample fish to be caught. I'm talkin' drop your line in and reel it in baby. On the way up you will see 3 or 4 chasing your lure. And the strike, and the pull the tilt of your pole as they dive for safety. The fight and the flash of their skin as they get closer to surface, they break the surface and you pull them in the boat. Action is so intense in the water you might just say, well that one is too small. Back in the water buddy, and you watch it swim away.
I loved to hear an eagle fly over me. These birds are amazing. You can hear there wings woosh as they make their way across the sky, from the distance from where they are to you and hear their wings is not easily describable. I believe their nests are the same weight as a small volkswagon. Yo. That's a bird.
Hey I went on longer than I thought I would with this story. I thought to myself I would send this to my family, so I'll break here.