Sunday

It's Sunday. A quiet day in Sitka. The town has a similar feel to your typical southern, "Bible-belt" town; a little sleepy with nothing open for business (except, of course, for the "liberal hippie" coffee shop I'm at right now). The sunrise was spectacular this morning (one of the nicest benefits to the short days here is that I can sleep in till 9:00 and still catch the sunrise). I walked out of the closet I'm sleeping in and was greeted by the sound of hot bacon spattering in its grease, the sight of chocolate chip pancakes being flipped on the griddle, and the aroma of fresh coffee steaming out of the french press. At that moment I realized how much I lucked out with my living arrangements. Not only did I have a roof over my head and clean (sometimes hot) water; I have housemates that can cook! And I mean really cook (not quite to the level of my Mama or Uncle Karl, but decent all the same). I walked into the kitchen, sort of sheepishly, and was greeted with a warm "good-morning" and "how'd ya sleep?". After breakfast I made sure I was the one washing the dishes, but still, I couldn't get out of my head how fortunate I am. I have come to Sitka, "green" as a honeydew, and been adopted into a family. I sat for awhile at the table, staring out the window at the mountains and swirling clouds above, convinced that I am loved by a good God.

Yesterday; Patrick, Brian, Aaron, Emily, and I climbed up Mt. Verstovia - a large snow covered mountain overlooking town. With snowboards strapped on our backs we made our way up the steep slope, gaining nearly 3000 ft in just a mile and a half. Once we cleared the tree line and entered the alpine, the clouds began to engulf us and the snow consume us (there was about a 4 foot base beneath 6 inches of fresh powder). It was cold too; 17 degrees according to mountain-man Patrick. By the time we reached the top, the water in my bottle was as solid as a rock and the cap was frozen shut. On the pinnacle of the mountain there is a rock, dubbed "picnic rock" by the locals; we made it our base camp, and, after a quick snackeroo, proceeded to the main event. Backcountry snowboarding is nothing like anything I have ever experienced; there are no chair lifts, no snow-blowers, no ice-patches, and (especially) no other people. You quickly learn to savor each run down the alpine, because, once you hit tree line, you must unstrap, throw your board over your shoulder, and trudge a quarter mile back up the mountain. It was one of the more "I am now a man" experiences of my life. And was especially intense considering that it was my first time on a snowboard since my back-breaking incident. I am not going to lie, the first few times down the mountain were a little nerve racking, especially with the cliffs around and ever-present chance of an avalanche (I'm not trying to hype the story up, these are actual, present dangers); but after a while I was fine, and even took a few jumps for the heck of it. At one point the clouds lifted and I was able to see the surrounding area; unbelievable. Verstovia is surrounded on two sides by two bodies of water (the Pacific and Silver Bay) and on the other two sides by ginormous, jagged mountains as far as the eye can see. The town rests directly below, and far in the distance is Mt. Edgecumb - the massive volcano that towers out of the ocean. I wish I could explain the whole experience better, but I don't think I can (maybe a few more years of college will do the trick). After a few snowball fights and wrestling matches we solemnly trekked back down the mountain. Back to society, back to pavement, back to normality.

There is something about the mountains and the "wild". Something that stirs an energy inside of me that I cannot explain. Maybe its "the call of the wild" (thank you Jack London for the phrase), maybe it comes from having a hippie grandmother, or maybe it means I'm part bear; I don't know. But whatever this sensation is, I know that it is real. The "wild" has a power and mystery to it that is unnerving; it demands respect, generates awe, and challenges humanity to tame it. The "wild" reflects God I think. I could not help while standing on top of the mountain yesterday, but think of Psalm 121, where the author says "I lift up my eyes to the mountains - where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth". I think I am beginning to realize what the writer of the Psalm realized; the mountains not only proclaim, but exclaim(!) the power and strength of God.

There are now a few folks pickin' bluegrass in the coffee shop, the sun is shining on the snow outside, and I am drinking some very tasty apple juice. I like Sunday's in Sitka.