airbanks, Alaska - I’ve been Flucky enough in my life to experience two great love affairs. Three years ago, my part- ner plucked me from the arms of my first love. It turns out, I am still blissfully in love with them both. In 1996, as a veterinary student, I stumbled upon an intem- ship in Fairbanks, Alaska. I was a novice dog musher and arranged to visit in the winter. After surviv- ing a -50 degree cold snap and four weeks at the clinic, I was offered a job. I accepted without hesitation because, during that brief internship, I had fallen in love. This Midwestern girl was finally home. Alaska. It surely seems that everyone dreams of coming to this vast and beautiful state. No won— der. Listen to this. Alaska has one- fifth the land mass of the continen- tal US, 33,000 miles of coastline, three million lakes larger than 20 acres, and more than half the world’s glaciers. Superimposed on a map of the “lower 48,” the tip of the Aleutian Islands is in Los Angeles, the Arctic coast sits on our long border with Canada, and the southern tip of the Inside Passage reaches to Florida. There are volcanoes, hot springs, water- falls, sand dunes, and ice fields here. The Yukon River is 2,300 miles long. Denali is more than 20,000 feet high. The local paper has a weekly earthquake summary. And remarkably, less than one per- cent of this enormous land is pri- vately owned. Oh, and don’t forget the Arctic Circle, the Continental Divide, the Northern Lights, and the Midnight Sun. How could you not fall in love with this place‘? None of this is why I fell in love with the city of Fairbanks. I grew up appreciating the skillful architecture in Chicago but I was finally home in this utilitarian (read kind of ugly) city where blue tarps abound. After years in DC and Madison, Fairbanks felt civi- lizea’. Not culturally but in some more authentic way. Life is honest here. It is hot or it is cold. Flowers are big. The tundra is spongy. sui.in the..,fpIjH.i_,,.p, I Glaciers above Summit La:ke,A:laska. THE SUMME R. OFMY ° W55 Denali is tall. The Yukon River is long. Bush villages are really remote. Buildings are no-non- sense. It is dry, beautiful, and harsh. Summers are intense and green. Fall is short and gold. Winter is long and white. Moonlit winter nights are brilliant. Nothing fake survives. My partner swears it is unnatural for people to live here year round, yet people do, and they thrive. Fairbanks is home to 30,000 hearty, independent souls. Every one loves it or hates it. Those who hate it won’t stay long. The rest swear they will never again live “outside,” meaning any- where outside Alaska. For a time, I was one of them. To be happy here, one must appreciate extremes. Summer days in the 90s are 140 degrees warmer than the typical cold spell. Winter activities are not cancelled until beyond 20 below. That is real, not a wind chill. At 40 below, the air in tires freezes and, until it warms, you feel the clunk of the flat side hitting the road. Hot coffee freezes in the instant before hitting the ground. School is never can- celled and, in spite of long snowy winters, some kids have never built -_.- . . ~ p n — . — _ _ . _ . . _ . , . - -- a snowman. The snow is too dry to pack. Oh, and the daylight! At the winter solstice, a brilliant twi- light lights up the snow-covered hills in a long, soft show of pink, violet and blue, followed each day by 19 hours of darkness. In the summer, 22 hours of direct light are chased by a brief twilight, as the sun officially sets after mid- night and rises by 3 a.m. Picture a f11ll moon in a clear sky and you can imagine how spectacular these nights are. Alaskans brag on their long, harsh winters, but this year will be remembered for fire. It is bone dry here. In mid-June, 28,000 acres were burning, ignited by lightening. Recently, the weather forecast was for “smoke with reduced visibility to 1/8 mile, con- tinued warm and smoky.” The smoke is the weather since the clear sky is obscured by ash. In mid-July, over 4 million acres have burned. Storms continue to produce up to 9,000 lightening strikes, and a few new fires, each day. This is one hot place. The fires are a few miles over the hills beyond our cabin. A towering plume of white smoke marks the horizon. Wind brings heavy smoke in one day and clears it out the next. On some days, all outdoor activities are cancelled due to poor air quality. Up the road, a few dozen people evacuat- ed their cabins when ‘fires threat-"”' ened. Part of that meant getting pets and livestock to safety. A tem- porary shelter in town was home to 57 chickens, 19 miniature hors- es, 12 reindeer, ten dogs, seven goats, four ducks, three geese, three pigs, two llama, two rabbits, a cow, iguana, and an Amazon grey. How did I ever question Fairbanks’ diversity? Three years ago, I was entrenched in this odd and won- derful town. I was alone, content, and in love with my Alaska. And then, it all ended. One day, I met her. I walked with her. She took my hand. I have never looked back. This Midwestemer-tumed- Alaskan fell in love with a woman from southern California. I lefi my home in Fairbanls to be with her. This summer, as we celebrate our third anniversary, I see just how lucky I am, to be so in love, with such a remarkable woman, in such an amazing land. V Susan McMillan and her partner Becky are working and traveling in Alaska this summer: Becky is a southern Californian to her care and not in love with the Alaskan winters. They plan to return to Burlington before snowfall.