I am back in the land of Oregon. I came home to presents and greetings galore. This is what you get when you are thirty. 30. I am... 30. 30 is the youngest version of old. I suppose I can deal with that. Alaska is vast, lunar, and spectacular. I was not eaten by a bear, an eagle, a civet, or a deranged foresty man.
We slept in a tiny cabin on an 900 acre homestead facing the bay.
On the last night of our stay, we wrote in the guestbook along side all the fluff people generally leave when they stay in cozy cabins:
"I have not yet met society's expectations, but who the fuck cares when you have this view."