Denali: A Journey Home

First true glimpse of Mt. Denali!

You know when you get those sinking suspicions something is wrong with you... And then convince yourself you're a worry wort, and have watched too many episodes of House, MD, and that you're just fine, that it's all in your head? Most of the time, you're right. Sometimes, not so much, but it takes something big before you're ready to admit it. Denali was kind of like that. And so much more, and so much less, and just such a journey of a lifetime, that led to hard decisions, and easy ones, and turned my world on end in incredible ways. But I'll get to that, as I piece together this adventure that is still swirling in my head begging to be made sense of.

All my gears, in one checked bag and my carry-on. Boo-yah!

It was a massive whirlwind to even leave on this journey. From being so sick in February and then cracking a rib, to trying to make up for lost time in my training, and then being slammed with everything under the sun when it came to trying to put on a 109 year old Festival, that you think at this point should really just plan itself, right? Wrong. So very wrong. Training was proving to be a train-wreck, and Strawberry Festival was resulting in such sleep deprivation I could hardly function.

Finally making it to Alaska for the first.time.ever. Oh my!!!! Still light out :)

I guess it was fitting that the journey on Denali was also a whirlwind—in the literal sense. I think the term used was “typhoon”, but the outcome was the same: the storm of a decade, and we were trapped in the midst of it. Apparently late season trips do not insure that massive storm fronts brewing on the ocean don't slam the mountain and keep you tent-bound for days wondering if your tent was going to collapse at any moment.

Gear check at the hotel in Anchorage

Getting everything organized in the hanger

I don't know why I would be surprised that my time since coming home from Alaska was equally a whirlwind, albeit in entirely different ways; but alas, weeks have gone by, and I'm still fighting to get my head on straight.

I remember the painful fight with God that led me to surrendering to this adventure... The torture to let it become a reality when it was so easy to live in denial that the weeks were getting fewer and fewer, and that I would in fact be leaving. To do something beyond crazy. That people die doing. And that was way out of my comfort zone. I remember sitting in Cindy's office, after being nagged at for weeks by the Gateway clan, finally resigned that I had to book that gosh-darn plane ticket, and freaking out and squirming in my seat and whining and acting like such a child that she finally offered to click the “confirm booking” button for me. I remember the painful goodbyes, to my church family, to my festival people, to the Gateway clan, to my puppies... And finally to my mother at the airport. It wasn't the first time I'd flown off solo, to go do crazy crap, but somehow an expedition up North America's highest peak seemed far more daunting than going and hiking through land minds on the border of Israel and route finding in the desert of Jordan or hiring armed guards to go into Sinai... Clinging to the elements of excitement worked to a degree, and I still had total peace that I was supposed to go, but the actual act of going has always been my hang up. Once I'm gone, things get better.

I go all my life avoiding little planes, then 4 flights in less than a month!

Finally leaving!

Except this time, I had way more apprehension about how this was going to turn out. Denali isn't some little weekend climb where you can go light and quick. It's a grueling slog, with packs and sleds loaded down with 3 weeks worth of gear and food. It's the mental battlefield of staying invested when you could be enduring weather days for a large portion of your trip. It's physically, emotionally, and mentally depleting. And I already felt depleted.

Mt Denali is in there somewhere!

To the untrained eye, that looks nothing at all like a runway!

After Africa and my cracked rib, I was in such a slump physically, and time was getting short to make up for it. I trained hard. I managed to put in more miles on my legs per week than ever before, and usually in just 3 days of training. I'd do multiple 15+ mile hikes with good gains back to back. My legs were recovering fantastically. But my legs weren't the problem. All those hills I used to run down effortlessly...? I couldn't run to save myself, and couldn't even imagine ever having been able to run up big sections of them. All of a sudden, running my normal 4 miles on the treadmill was utterly impossible. I couldn't pack weight at all without tanking ridiculously. Sure, I could go crush my normal routes without a pack on, but throw in weight or some steep inclines and I was flailing, and wondering if I could get the job done. Training that hard, I should have been able to do better!

I tried making excuses for it in my head, coming out of that long of being laid up with a cracked rib and pneumonia, it would just take awhile. But the harder I trained, the weaker I felt, and the more and more I noticed my stamina was gone.

Base Camp!

That, in and of itself, was enough to make me worry, but it got worse. I'm not really a person ruled by physical appearance, but I've always tried to look nice—mainly for fear that if I didn't, my natural inclination of being lazy would take over and I'd become one of those that puts zero effort into her appearance, and I just feel that's not paying respect to those who's time your asking them to give up on your behalf, but that's beside the point. When massive wads of hair were falling out in the shower... And more massive handfuls when I was combing my hair... And shed hairs were covering my car, my clothes, my floors, every conceivable place I went... When my hair was becoming matted with so much hair being lost and caught up in the length... Being a person that cares about physical appearance or not, I started to panic. I again tried denial, and I'm really, really good at denial, but when my ponytail became smaller and smaller... When the hair loss didn't stop... I had to face it. I kept my head covered constantly with hats, I hate hats! I looked up reasons it could be happening—stress? Ha! Surely this is all Strawberry Festival's fault... But was it? As crazy as things were, I didn't feel stressed. I knew in my gut what the likely culprit was, but I didn't want to face it. But it just seemed too coincidental that I was weakening, my hair was falling out en masse, my skin was dry for the first time in my life, my finger nails were all of a sudden surrounded by horrific cuticles that wouldn't heal, my body's inability to deal with cold was worse than ever... And when I'd just watched New Holland suffer through the same thing... Ugggg.

Crevasse rescue and skills practice

Rope teams are always so photogenic :)

I finally broke down 2 days before I flew out, and got my blood work done to check my thyroid levels. And sure enough, my T3 and T4 were both at the very bottom end of the “normal” range—which is kind of a misnomer, since there really isn't any hard and fast “normal” when it comes to thyroids, which is why dosage rates are always a bit of trial and error. But regardless, here I was leaving for a trip I needed to be in top form for, and I was going in knowing my body was literally unable to even muster excess energy to keep my hair from falling out. This was going to be FUN. But armed with meds I took for the first time hours before my plane took off... I decided to trust that if God had wanted me to do this thing, that He'd be in it with me. The outcome wouldn't matter, I just needed to be obedient and let Him do His work.

How you travel on glacier when sunscreen doesn't work for you... Ninja Style!

I left late on a Friday night... And it never got dark. I've heard all my life about the “land of the midnight sun”, but never truly believed it. I scoffed when our gear list said headlamps weren't needed. After touching down in Anchorage at midnight, I decided to move my headlamp out of my pack and into my suitcase that would be staying at the hanger in Talkeetna. It's not that the sun is still out, but is like when it's getting really light in the morning right before the sun comes up. It's dimmer, but still totally light. I got in the shuttle to the hotel, coincidentally enough with a fellow teammate coming in from France, and got checked into my room for the night. Thank goodness for black out drapes! I slept so much, and barely had time to get a walk in before gear checks the next day. One of our teammates seemed ill prepared—very shoddy and antiquated gear, and obviously no understanding of the concepts behind some of the pieces required. Like that no cotton garments were allowed... And he didn't think that applied to underwear? Or that we needed to be prepared for full facial coverage to prevent frostbite in the event of getting caught in a storm... And he had ill fitting 1970's glacial “goggles” and no face mask. Poor guy, he'd dreamed of climbing Denali for 40 years, but sometimes things just aren't meant to be. We went out shopping to the mountain shops and REI for people to get last minute gears they were missing (or in Allan's case, most of the gear list)--I managed to find some of my favorite mountaineering socks, which I couldn't for the life of me find more than two pairs in my house while I was packing, so yay! I was going to be able to change my socks more frequently than once every 10.5 days. I really like clean socks. More so than clean underwear, not even going to lie. Then we headed out early the next morning to drive to Talkeetna.

La Sportiva love! Worth every penny for keeping my feet toasty warm! My parka too :)

I slept most of the way to Talkeetna, but we did stop at a Fred Meyer in Wasilla, where apparently Sarah Palin is now Mayor. Once in Talkeetna, we got most of our gear organized in the hanger, and walked over to the National Park Service office to finalize our climber registration and sit through the mandatory orientation. I got my NPS passport stamped! I was excited. We picked up our CMCs (clean mountain cans/poop cans), and headed back to the hanger. Along the way, the passengers from the cruise ships were gawking at us and asking what was in the cans... One of the guides just laughed and said “Nothing yet!” Oh goodness, I often forget that talking about pooping, or the measures you take to reduce your impact on a mountain, is so foreign to the “normal folks”. I am a firm advocate in educating people though, so when they say how amazing my adventures are, I'm quick to dispel the romanticism of it and cut to the nitty gritty: I poop in a can and have to pack it out with me. Or in the Cascades, I poop in bags. Either way, we carry our own poop. Romanticize THAT! Cindy says I need to just let people have their fantasies, and to stop talking about poop... Hmph. Where's the fun in that? But bonus fact, on the mountain, there is only one approved location left to dispose of human waste, and it is quickly becoming the NPS's policy to have all human waste packed out. Until it is mandatory, it is just “encouraged”--but as a reward, if your team packs out all its waste, you get a poop flag! I'm pretty excited about it. I'm not sure how long it takes before the NPS ships them out, but for sure, I'll be sporting it proudly when it arrives!

Making camp below Camp 1

Moving on from discussing poo, though I'm tempted to relay what it's really like to try and do your business in the midst of a blizzard... We were hoping to fly out early afternoon, and had been given the “go” that we'd be flying out in about 20 minutes! So we rushed to do final packing, get our boots on, pack up our bags that were staying in the hanger... And 20 minutes came and went, and we were still waiting. Weather was looking more and more questionable, and we heard reports that snow was coming down at basecamp. We were on hold. Hours passed, we finally walked into town for dinner—ready to walk out in a hurry if the call came, which it didn't, and we headed back to the hanger to wait some more. Finally, we got word that we for-sure wouldn't be flying, so got settled in to this beautiful log cabin for the night. Oh my, I would so happily live there and be a hermit and never leave—a log cabin, in the woods... It's pretty much my life-long dream, which will never be realized since... farm ground is about as opposite from “woods” as can be, but a girl can dream! We were up early the next morning to get back to the hanger and wait some more! We had less time to wait this round, and once it was decided we were flying in this little gap in the weather, it was a panic of frenzied activity getting the final pieces of luggage on the planes that were still mostly loaded from the day before, go through final flight checks, and we were off!

Represent, represent!

I got to ride co-pilot on the flight in—super cool! But oh my, I wasn't feeling good. It was pretty rough, as the weather was still marginal, and as we were popping up over ridges to careen down into the glacial valley to land, I was soooooo beyond ready to get out of that God forsaken plane, I can't even tell you. But then it was go-go-go to get the gears all off-loaded and packed up a hill and set up camp... All while I was still trying not to throw up, so that was pretty miserable (and for me, a very slow go). We were either going to move that night (when the lower glacier was frozen up again, not melted and slushy from the sun during the heat of the day), or the following night, and the guides elected to wait until the following night, in hopes we'd be better adjusted to the night schedule. So we got up super early, to go work on some skills like crevasse rescue, sled rigging, glacier rigging, glacier travel, and finally, traveling with sleds. There were only 2 of us that had done the “mandatory” prep-course that served as the qualification process to get approved on a team, so... That was pretty frustrating to me, but whatever, it was still fun to be out there, in the crazy gorgeous terrain. We headed to bed expecting to get up in the wee hours and start the long and arduous trek to Camp 1, but... Ended up having to wait until planes were flying, to pick up Allan, who the guides had decided wasn't fit to make the move. All around, it was a pretty disheartening situation—for Allan, who wanted a chance to live out his dream, and for the rest of us who were being held back yet again after so many delays already, when there were supposed to be measures in place to approve people for the physical demands of a journey like this. Definitely not a great start to a trip where keeping your psyche in check is the greatest battle—it felt like we were already set up for failure.

And so it began...

Ice was building up on everything, the wind was CRAZY

But on we went. We made it to within an hour and half of Camp 1, and had been moving great—although I got some nasty blisters on my heels, which isn't uncommon for me, but a major bummer that early into a trip—when the guides said we'd just make camp there, so we could get an earlier start the following day to stay on the “night” schedule. I really wasn't in favor of the decision not to continue the push to Camp 1 while rested on a roll, but at some point, you have to trust that the guides understand better than you do. It was just unfortunate that it meant we had to travel farther to cache supplies, yet it wasn't as high as it would have been had we left out of Camp 1 to place the cache, so when we moved to Camp 2 (or traditional Camp 3—traditional Camp 2 so rarely gets used anymore that most have just dropped it from the numbering), we had to go further down the mountain than we would have had to in order to retrieve our cache. We set up camp, had dinner, and headed to bed.

The snow was a bit crazy outside!

Do you see all the tents below us...? Me neither.

We followed the plan for setting our cache the next day—so instead of carrying the entirety of your gear with you, you take the excess gear (mainly fuel, food, and gears you'll only need higher on the mountain), and carry it up part way and bury it, then move camp carrying a little lighter load than you would have, and once you set up the next camp, go back and retrieve your buried cache. There are different trains of thought on whether or not this is the most efficient moving system—it allows you to make bigger moves from one camp to the next, rather than smaller moves and setting up camp more times, but it is the style adopted by most large expedition teams. We got the cache in, and made it back to camp, and planned to breakdown camp and move the next day, which is when things got interesting. Reports were coming in that a big storm would be hitting, and depending on timing, we'd either get up early and move camp, or have to stay put if it came in earlier than expected. We went to bed not knowing which would be the case but hoping for an early wake up indicating we'd be able to move... When we got woken up later than expected, I was pretty surprised to hear we'd still be moving, but thought oh good, the storm must be coming in later than expected. WRONG. We had only made it part way when the storm hit. Those that know me even a little bit, know I don't like snow. I prefer to stay inside and utterly ignore it until it has melted away. It fills me with anxiety, and thoughts of things being horrifically out of my control and dangerous. Jered seems to love driving in the snow, sliding his pickup all over... I sit on my hands, in and effort to not white-knuckle grip anything I can get my hands on. Mountaineering? Still kind of a shock to me that I'm able to tolerate snow on the ground, but getting caught in an utter white-out blizzard, while on a mountain, searching for camp, when you're on glacier, and there are crevasses who knows where, and there is no more boot track, you're trail breaking, and wands are few and far between...? To say it was a stretching and growing experience for me would be an understatement.

Meet Ben and Neil! The best tentmates EVER!!!

We were in 3 rope teams of 3 climbers. I was in the caboose position of the first team, and could barely make out my leader most of the time, and some times, I couldn't even do that. I felt better when the second team was close enough I could make out their leader, but even that was hit and miss. So I pretty much just moved blindly through the storm following the rope in front of me. It felt like all I had to give to get to camp, I was exhausted—when your body is already physically weak, and you add in mental and emotional stress (and trail breaking!), it's a doozy! But we made it to camp, and in the horrific winds and snow, worked to hastily set up camp and get out of the elements and ride out that ever intensifying storm. The following days were a bit of a blur. Conditions were bad enough the guides would bring us food to our tents, and pretty much took the full responsibility of keeping the tents shoveled out (when snow is coming down that fast, and there is that much wind bringing in snow drifts, your tent can quickly become completely socked in. People suffocate because there is no longer enough open space around the tent for air to get in). The winds were pretty horrific, especially when they are blasting you with snow. There were times I really wondered how much more our tents were built to withstand. The wind would pull at the tent so hard you could feel it lifting you up! And when you had to venture outside (I was really kicking myself that I hadn't brought a bigger pee bottle! Ohhhhh how I loathed when it was full and I couldn't hold it any longer and thought my bladder would explode, and I simply had to go out in the craziness!), you had to be careful or you could get lost easily. I couldn't make out any of the other camps, even though I knew they were just meters away! Even finding my own tent again was sometimes a challenge. There would be the occasional lessening of winds, but then they'd be right back. I can't imagine how bad it was up at Camp 3! I spoke to some climbers that had gotten trapped between Camp 2 and Camp 3, and it was all they could do to keep the tent held down for days!

As far as the Big Foot beanie made it with me as its keeper!

Finally getting to see Camp 2! So beautiful!!!!

Earplugs against the howling winds and thrashing of the tent were a necessity. I actually enjoyed the blessing of being able to sleep so incredibly much. All my weeks and months of sleep deprivation had taken their toll, and I could finally REST. And having nothing much to do in the daytime, I was able to spend hours upon hours catching up on some much neglected Bible time. And to get to read some just for fun...? It had been years! But even with that, I was going a bit stir-crazy. I had the most incredible tentmates (Neil and Ben), and both were masters of the Rubik's Cube by the time the storm started to subside. There was definitely lots of laughter and stories, and fun memories made in our tent—I could not imagine being in that close of quarters for that long with people you didn't get on well with, oh my!The blessings and God's favor abounded for me on this trip, in so many ways!

Headed down to Basecamp

We were on fuel rations (for hot food and more important—melting snow for water), not knowing how long the storm would last, and not having been able to retrieve our supply cache, so finally had to take advantage of a slight break in the weather to try and get down to our cache. We didn't make it far before the weather hit again (okay, we hadn't even fully left camp), and soon found ourselves in another white-out. Our 3^rd rope team got separated from us, and we had to wait for them to find our coordinates. Another expedition team that had gotten stuck between Camp 1 and Camp 2 when the storm hit initially had made camp where we were at, and offered to let us hunker down behind their snow walls to wait for the 3^rd team to find us—so nice! I had woken up feeling like it was going to be an “off” day for me—one where you just struggle physically anyway, but when we finally were able to continue on and found our cache and rigged my sled, it was pulling a little crooked and was really irritating my back (working in a seed cleaning warehouse takes its toll, and my back is prone to having issues, but not having tossed bags since January, it had been doing amazingly prior to this). We were on a 50 minute move/10 minute break schedule, which is already a struggle for someone like me who likes more frequent “micro breaks” while climbing, but I tried to tough it out until our break so I could readjust my sled. In hindsight, I should have just stopped the team for a minute to readjust, because by the time we stopped for a break, my back was screaming. The pain was encircling my rib cage, making it difficult to breathe while stopped without being in immense pain, let alone while struggling for air while climbing. My recently healed rib was no longer feeling healed and was adding its own protestations. And all of a sudden, I was seriously worried I wouldn't have it in me to get back up to camp. I didn't have the energy to be in this much pain... I had to stop the newly tied together mega-rope-team so I could catch my breath on the last hill, and forced them to slow their hurried pace to one I could just barely manage. I felt awful.

As close to "sunset" as it gets in the land of the midnight sun.

I was greeted in Camp 2 by two guides I knew with AAI Team 6, but even seeing them did little to boost my energy/excitement. I knew Neil was probably headed down mountain to get back to work, and I had to consider seriously if I should join him. I knew there wasn't a right or wrong decision to be made, just what decision I could most live with. We'd eaten up most of our “extra” days, and wouldn't have much wiggle room waiting for a weather window to move to high camp and summit. If the weather even relented and allowed us to move to Camp 3! Which they were still expecting the possibility of days of waiting out remaining storm fronts... And I knew my back wouldn't just magically be better... I've never let the pain stop me from getting my job done, but this was different, my body had never been this weak. Even with my chopped off hair, I was still getting massive wads lost every day, and the stray hairs in my buff that were getting in my mouth, and down in my shirts and tickling me, and just finding my hairs everywhere was driving me insane! There were so many variables. A smaller, stronger team put the remaining team in a much, much better position for getting a chance at the summit—and would gain them a few precious “extra” days by not having to place a cache for Camp 3, instead being able to utilize a leftover cache placed by an earlier AAI team that wasn't able to retrieve it. It was all running through my head at a million miles an hour trying to assess what was best... Was the chance at a summit worth it to me to risk putting my team in danger if I wasn't physically able to continue? If I had to turn around later... I'd doom them to 2 days minimum stuck in camp while they were down a guide to take me down mountain. And then there was Ben, who was on a quest to become the youngest to complete the Explorer's Grand Slam. He'd already done so much, just two weeks prior he'd been atop Everest... I tried reassuring him that if he didn't make the summit this time (since things were looking a bit grim), that there was still a chance, that there'd be time to come back before his deadline for another go of it... But that chance would be slim. He wanted to inspire people to go after their dreams, to have hope... God had so very much beat the idea of hope over my head for long enough, I knew all too well how desperate our world is for inspirations of hope, and here was this passionate, inspiring, 19 year old committed to doing just that. There were a million reasons to go, and a million reasons to stay. Ultimately, it came down to one thing that gave me peace in the decision. The one thing I felt like God was telling me more and more with every passing moment on that mountain.

Flying back to Talkeetna!

I left for Denali not knowing what to expect, but expecting something. God has never failed to meet me on mountains, and I knew this wouldn't be an exception. I was feeling like, I'd lost my way... Like mountains had been where God wanted me, but not where he wanted me for the next phase of this crazy life I live. Strawberry Festival was wrapping up, harvest was coming (or rather, had started), and as much as my heart was feeling broken and like a piece was missing being away from the farm—not just for Denali, but pretty much for the past couple of years as the warehouse has dominated my schedule and left me ineffective at maintaining a place on the farm as well—I didn't know how to exist in that life and juggle my schedule. It felt like I couldn't “have it all”, and yet the things I had left, didn't seem like the things my heart was leading me towards anymore either. I didn't know where God was leading me, but I had been feeling like a shift was coming, and had buckled up for the ride of trying to figure out where that shift would take me... Home. It would take me home. The place I finally felt I belonged again.

They crossed the line messing with the toilet of someone who's been stuck using a CMC...

I had anticipated missing out on swathing the earliest variety of grass, but harvest came earlier than expected... We got 1.5 inches of rain, but late enough it wasn't going to help the early stuff. Swathing started, and I was still socked in with weather at Camp 2. Camp 2! The thought of staying on mountain another week and a half... I could be missing combining, not to mention the entirety of swathing. As much as I had tried to convince myself I was okay with missing a little swathing, the truth was, I wasn't. I've always loved harvest, it's what made me fall in love with agriculture. Sure it's hectic, and sucks at times, and usually is super stressful and causes family drama, and can be a pain... But I love it. And I wanted nothing more at that point than to be home and in my swather. I wanted to be home and figuring out a way to juggle things that I could still have farm work in my life and not just be a slave to my warehouse. No summit could ever matter more than that—as great as they are. I've been so blessed to have this crazy time in my life of going on these epic adventures, meeting the most amazing people, seeing some of God's most amazing creations on this crazy beautiful planet we call Earth... And I truly hope that the journeys and adventures continue—and more importantly, the lessons He brings in the midst of them, but I'm really excited at the prospect of adventures not being the focus for the time being. I can't imagine what my life would look like without the adventures I've had—if it weren't for mountains stripping away all the crap of life and showing me my raw and real and bare to the bones self... Would I still be struggling to have confidence in myself? Or to know what truly matters to that woman? Would I still be so worried about what aspects of myself to show to the world, because I don't think people can wrap their heads around all that is “me”? Life is better knowing exactly who I am, and being able to embrace (with confidence) who that person is. So despite the high toll this crazy path of adventures has taken, I know I'm better because of it. I'm stronger. I'm happier. I'm more confident. I love deeper. I feel more. I know what matters. And in that moment, it wasn't a summit.

This is my kind of "night schedule" = SWATHING

I packed my gears, and roped up with Neil and one of our guides, Kevin, and said goodbye and a heartfelt good luck to Ben (he summited! I'm so excited for him, now he's off to tackle Elbrus), and headed down the mountain. My heart was on cloud 9. It was probably a good thing I was in caboose position on the rope team, because there was definitely plenty of times I couldn't help but raise my arms in worship to God at this amazing experience. At how magical it all was, at how incredibly awe-inspiring the scenery was that was laid out before me... Or event the fact that I had done it, I submitted and followed God up to Alaska, to go off on an expedition team... what.the.heck. It was surreal.

Unpacking is the bane of my existence.

We made it back to basecamp, and had a couple short hours to try and nap before a plane was inbound to pick us up. It was a frantic rush to get the gears on the plane, no moment to lose if we were going to get out before the weather hit again... But we did it. And flew out low over the glacier to stay under the weather that was coming down upon us. We got back to Talkeetna, and after washing my oh-so-thin hair in the shop sink in the hanger, I packed up my suitcase and was ready to catch a flight yet that night. We got a ride back to Anchorage, and since I had a few hours to kill, got to hang out with Neil a bit longer and get some real food before heading out (my stomach and its oh so fun “issues” were thrilled! Food that didn't leave me in pain, praise be!). Neil even lent me the use of his hotel room so I could take a proper shower! I'm sure my neighbors on the plane were even more appreciative than I was. Mom was at the airport to pick me up, and I came home to two very, very excited puppies, and a shenaniganed house, compliments of the Gateway clan. It was all blissful, and made my heart swell with gratitude even more.

Yes, I may sometimes drive swathers home... Don't judge.

It's been hard to adjust back to “reality”, and phones and internet and responsibility. I want to be a hermit and just ignore everyone and focus on the puppies and harvest, being cooped up in a cab of some piece of equipment mindlessly going in circles, and... food. Food is kind of a big one. But that's part of the adventure. My hair is barely falling out anymore, and I can tell my body is healing. I've been taking it easy, and denying myself trail-time, but I'm feeling stronger. People keep asking “what's next??” and if I'll go after Denali again, and the truth is, I don't know. And I'm okay with that. I haven't existed without some big goal or trip on the horizon for so incredibly long now, that I'm kind of excited to have nothing on the calendar, not a single climb or adventure, not even a vacation. I'm not going to lie, I had a moment of panic and was already looking at ways I could still get the JMT in this fall, or maybe a trip to Hawaii to go tackle one of the hikes that God used to speak to my soul and start me on the journey of mountains... Any maybe those things will happen, but not as a distraction. Not as running away from life. It's been a long road to get to this place, of coming home—not just literally, but emotionally and spiritually as well, and I'm going to enjoy it for a bit before leaving again. I think whatever comes next in life, this is where it's going to happen. Sometimes I doubt that I'm hearing God right, or I distrust my understanding of what He's wanting out of me, but I'm trying hard to just let His peace be my confirmation. Those moments when His peace washes over you, and you know with all certainty you're exactly where you're supposed to be, are my absolute favorite. And that's what I've had during my nights out in the swather, my days out in the combine, even catching up on the months of housework that had been sorely neglected... I know this is where I'm supposed to be. And I'm so beyond grateful for the journey it's taken to get back to this place (I wish it hadn't taken losing my hair and stamina, but even those I can find gratitude in because they played a key role in bringing me back home), and know how very blessed I am to be here. I hope I never again take it for granted, or let myself get so lost in my own mind's craziness that God has to take me on such an epic journey to rediscover myself, but at least I can rest assured that if I do, He will be faithful to pursue me to the ends of the earth if necessary to get me back where I belong.

Puppy paws, cowboy boots, and combines. THIS is where I belong.

P.S. -- Alaska is so amazing! A sightseeing trip is definitely moving up on the bucket list... And the shows are true, people ride around town on quads, there are these amazing homesteads out in the most remote of areas, so many get around by float planes, sled dogs are soooo a thing, and the mines are legit! It definitely exceeded all expectations, even during my brief exposure to actual civilization.