Secreted Benefit, by Shirley Schneider, Yarnslingers Alaska

It was 1962.  The world had yet to be introduced to the iPhone, the watch or personal computer.  Heck, most of our clocks needed winding and didn’t distinguish between am and pm. It was a time when living off the grid meant giving up the conveniences of the 20th century; electricity, running water, indoor plumbing, and central heating.

One didn’t invite the darkness into their life when they chose to live in Alaska.  An abundance of night time became an integral part of one’s existence after settling inside the state. Except for one terrorizing moment, I have never had much of a problem adjusting to it.

We, my husband Larry, and I, had arrived during the endless days of summer. July to be exact. We were living in a trailer court, near Clear. Months later, owning only one vehicle, I delivered Larry to work in the morning promising to retrieve him at the end of his work shift. Mid-afternoon, as the day was turning into night, I grew sleepy and decided to take a nap. I awoke to a world covered in isolating blackness. Convinced I’d not only slept through Larry’s shift, but an entire night, I leapt from my bed. Mental confusion ruled the moment and there were no speedy means by which to figure out just where, in the twenty-four-hour cycle, I existed.

Temporary residency became permanent in 1964, when Larry accepted a position at the satellite tracking station at Gilmore Creek near Fairbanks. Although I wasn’t especially unhappy, I was a great deal less exuberant about all things Alaskan than my mate. We spent the summer of 65 constructing a basement of three-sided logs on which we planned to build our home of round milled logs. When Larry suggested, because of limited funds, that we move into the basement, I reluctantly agreed. After all, how difficult could life without the basics of the 20th century be?  I soon realized it wasn’t so much difficult as undignified. It only took a day before I missed the mix-master and vacuum cleaner and less than a week before I missed the morning shower. However, as with most over-powering challenges, there was a secreted benefit to my dilemma if I paused long enough to seek it out. In this case, it was revealed by chance.

We were still a one car family and the family budget had not allowed for construction of a driveway to our property off Steele Creek Road. Use of the state road leading to the back entrance of our home was often inaccessible due to snow and/or ice. We parked on Steele Creek Road adjacent to a path that led to our basement dwelling in the woods. The State Troopers occasionally checked Steele Creek Road. When they did, they left behind printed warnings, tucked beneath the windshield wipers, telling us we were illegally parked. The first warning caused me to pause and consider. Those that followed were tossed into the back of the station wagon to join the first in an ever-increasing pile.

That path became our connection to the world.  I carried much of what came in, my son, groceries, and clean laundry. Going out, my son, dirty laundry, and garbage. Larry carried the daily five-gallon water supply, fuel for the oil furnace and the fifty pound propane bottles. On bath day, he carried our son.

It wasn’t always possible to complete all errands during the limited three plus hours of daylight. Darkness would blanket the world before I returned home. Especially if I stopped to share a cup of coffee with my friend and mentor, Marion. It was during one of those days the secret benefit was revealed.

Our son would brace his knees against my chest and lean backward. Often my arms felt as though they would break off at the elbows. His dark eyes darted this way and that as he savored the moment. Now and again delighted by a full moon and a sky full of stars or, a particularly magnificent display of the Aurora Borealis a belly laugh escaped his lips. Absorbed in his delight, I would misstep.

“Shit.” I would mutter. A leg sinking above the knee into the loose powdery snow beside the path.

The sheer joy of watching my child’s delight of Mother Nature’s offering led me to appreciate the imposing darkness. It would also lead me to fake surprise when his limited vocabulary included a word frowned upon by polite society.