This summer, I went back to Alaska for my Medicine at 50 Below book tour. And I thought I knew what it would feel like to go back… For example, I knew I would see people I loved. I knew there would be memories everywhere from another chapter of my life. I knew it would probably be emotional to return to some of these places with a book in my hands that, in many ways, exists because of this place, these people.
What I didn’t expect was to be reminded of all the little things I had forgotten living in the Lower 48. How can I explain this? There is a way people care for each other in Alaska, particularly in the bush, that is difficult to understand, to feel, until you’ve experienced it. I lived it for so many years that, at one point, it probably stopped seeming unusual to me.
Then you live in the Lower 48 long enough and… you sort of forget. Maybe not forget, but a different style becomes the norm.
It Was Just a Cup of Coffee
Toward the end of my time in Nome, I was riding in an old van to the airport. We were bouncing along the muddy streets, and I had a cup of coffee with me. The driver told me to pick it up before he took off because it might spill. Of course, I immediately apologized. I told him I didn’t want to make a mess in his van! He looked at me and basically said, “I don’t care about the mess. I just want you to have your coffee because there isn’t any at the airport.”
That was it. He was thinking about me not himself. This man had never met me before, by the way! And he wasn’t worried about his van. He was worried that I was going to get to the airport and not have my caffeine.
I laughed about it afterward because it was just so classic. So Alaska. Such a small thing, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He wasn’t being nice because somebody was watching, he wasn’t providing “good customer service.” There was nothing in it for him. He just wanted a complete stranger to have her coffee.
You Look Out for People. Period.
So, naturally, I started noticing it (remembering it) everywhere again.
During the trip, I took a picture of one of the parking signs reserved for older Alaskans. It made me smile because I have always believed Alaska is light-years ahead of much of the country in the respect shown to older people. Have you ever seen a parking sign dedicated to the elders? Aside from in Alaska, I haven’t.
And that brought back even more memories.
In the Athabascan villages where I worked, elders held a place of tremendous importance. You listened to them. You learned from them. You made sure they were cared for. At community gatherings and meals, their place within the community was visible.
There is wisdom here in that. There is history here. These people matter. Maybe that sounds like something every society should understand. But do we? I don’t know.
The Bush Doesn’t Leave Much Room for “Someone Else Will Do It”
I’ve thought a lot about why this way of caring for one another feels so deeply ingrained in Alaska. Maybe some of it comes from necessity. When you live somewhere without roads, where weather can ground a plane and the nearest hospital may be hundreds of miles away, you learn very quickly that community isn’t an abstract idea.
You quite literally need each other. If someone needs help, there may not be another person coming. If an elder needs something, you take care of them. If your neighbor is struggling, you notice.
If a stranger is headed to an airport without coffee… apparently, you make sure she keeps her coffee.
I Think I Had Forgotten
One of the unexpected gifts of this book tour was remembering that. I went back to promote a book about my years practicing medicine in rural Alaska. Instead, Alaska started reminding me why I had fallen in love with it in the first place. Man do I miss it.
It wasn’t only about the raw adventure of it (but that didn’t hurt!) but it was mainly about the people I met there that I will simply never forget. It was seeing familiar faces I hadn’t seen in years and feeling like no time had passed. It was meeting new people who treated me like an old friend. It was watching people take care of one another without needing recognition for it.
Taking care of each other doesn’t always have to be complicated.
Sometimes you just see what another human being needs, and you help. And after all these years, I still think Alaska understands that better than almost anywhere else I’ve ever been.