[x_section style=”margin: 0px 0px 0px 0px; padding: 45px 0px 45px 0px; “][x_row inner_container=”true” marginless_columns=”false” bg_color=”” style=”margin: 0px auto 0px auto; padding: 0px 0px 0px 0px; “][x_column bg_color=”” type=”1/1″ style=”padding: 0px 0px 0px 0px; “][x_text]Hiking along the riverbank, I zip my jacket against the morning chill. Take note of the changing leaves. Yellow and orange signaling that fall is on the way, a reminder that the days of tank tops and barefeet are fleeting this far north.
Damp from the rain I couldn’t outrun, we make a stop at the market for supplies. Two bags of groceries upset the delicate balance of moto-sidecar life and require a moment of disassembly and repacking. Baylor sniffs hopefully at every plastic bag crinkle. Eventually convinces me to dole out treats he earned yesterday.
Happily we arrive in Slana chilled, but not soaking. Taking advantage of the dry skies, we stop at the local B&B, say hi, wander a bit. Rich with interesting history and crazy old buildings, this area was part of the last round of homesteading land the US government offered. Running a hand along the sturdy log cabin, I can’t help but wonder if this is the same method Richard used to create his backwoods retreat.
Settling in to the cabin at Jack’s I take great pleasure in hanging up the soggy tent in the mudroom. Knowing full well we’ll be tucked into a cozy home for the night, I could care less as the sky opens up and rain pours down.
Excited to have use of a kitchen, I pull out ingredients. Go about making a simple chicken soup. Hot broth and warm conversation the perfect antidote to the cold, wet night.
Noticing a green tin to my left, I dab a gob of the healing balm on my soup-burned-hand. The smell immediately launches me into gymnast days of the past. To chalking up, mounting the uneven bars, swinging round and round. Rough bars ripping apart soft hands. Slathering on layers of bag balm for fast healing. Packing chalk into blisters and doing it all over again.
I pause to wonder what olfactory memories I’m making on this trip. 20 years from now will the right balance of damp woods and chicken soup bring me back to this cabin moment? Will I be able to recall the view from the window? Remember the conversation shared? Conjure the deep contentment of friendship, food and warmth?
I hope so.
Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I file the scent away for later.
The smell of laughter, of home, of friendship.
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