“Forever is composed of nows.” —Emily Dickinson

How does one weigh what is important in life against what may not be important, and make wise decisions on what to do, what to pursue, what to let go and when? How does one balance the decisions we make for ourselves with those made by other people which also affect us and sometimes have significant weight and bearing on our choices? How do we know when to ask others for help or advice, and when to simply gather ourselves and make our own decisions, whatever the outcome? Is it fair to do that when our decisions also affect other people, sometimes with a significant amount of the aforementioned weight and bearing? There are no easy answers, and we’re all just trying to do the best we can, but what if the best we can do is not enough? What then?

As most of my readers know, I spent last fall and winter traveling from Alaska to Arizona and back again, a nine-month odyssey in my 24’ motorhome which was, like most such journeys, totally awesome at times, frustrating at other times, and a few times so sad I just sat and cried and felt helpless. In other words, life went on as life is wont to do, heedless of the fact that I often didn’t know where I would wake up in the morning, although I always knew exactly where I was. 

I wrote a few posts on Facebook sharing photos from wherever I was at the time with my family and friends, and two on SubStack, one last August and another in January, when I shared the reason for my trip—a presentation on the history of sled dogs with my dear friend and artist, Veryl Goodnight, for the Western Spirit Museum of the West in Scottsdale, Arizona. Three presentations, actually, and it was an absolutely splendid adventure in every respect! The post just before this one was written only a couple of weeks before our museum presentations last year. It’s been that long since I’ve written anything here.

I’m at home in Alaska now, happy to be back amongst my family and friends, but I find myself thinking about the trip a lot, wishing I’d stayed longer in one place or another, wondering why I took this road or that one at various times, and really wishing I’d spent more time visiting more of the friends I’d planned on seeing while I was Outside. Not long ago I learned one of those friends had passed away, someone who’d been very dear to me for many years, and who’d visited Alaska about 10 years ago, when we spent a delightful week exploring together—we’d both been looking forward to another such adventure, but an unexpected turn of events made me cut my trip short last spring, thinking we’d get together the next time I was Outside. 

An opportunity missed, a friend I’ll never see again. I often think about all of the other friends I didn’t see last year, and I find myself wondering which of them will no longer be there when I go south again. Not having any idea when that trip might happen, I fear several more friends will not be there. Or maybe I won’t be here. At 76 that is also a very real possibility.

The Iditarod Trail was a fun book to write, and people keep asking me what book I’m working on now, and I don’t have an answer for them. I have lots of ideas, and half a dozen or so books in various stages of completion, and at least that many which should probably be revised and updated, such as the books about the roadhouses or the 1935 Matanuska Colony barns, but I have no idea when or if I’ll get around to any of those projects. Won’t be in the near future, as it’s almost springtime in Alaska, and that means we’re not far from the season for gardening, camping, fishing, and just exploring this beautiful state we live in. I’m looking forward to a good summer, and I hope you’ll have one too, wherever in the world you are.

Smiles, Helen