Two full days – 3 nights – has provided me with only a glimpse of this place that is Halibut Cove. The silence, the sounds, the smells, the pace, the feel of it. I’ve barely scratched the surface. Which makes me a little sad. Yet a glimpse is better than nothing at all. I understand now what Sister Marguerite meant when she said, “I like to spend three weeks here every fall when I can.” I think that it would take that – weeks, rather than days – to fall back, to ground, to fall into and begin to really align with the rhythms of the mountains and the forests and the sea.

But time, again, informs. It’s definitely getting colder here. By the day. More contrast. Frost remained hard on the ground at mid-morning, and clung to the leaves and cones on the trees. I feel so blessed to have had the weather that I have at this, the very tail end of fall. It has been simply beautiful, every day here on the Kenai. Certainly cooler than I’m used to be, nothing that a jacket, socks and a new pair of shoes can’t compensate for. If I were to come again I think I would still choose fall, after Labor Day. Early September, rather than late. I can’t imagine any of the places that I’ve been filled with bustling tourists, like they tell me it gets. It would be a totally different experience. The weather is the wildcard though. I could have had rain all week. It’s common this time of year here. So, feeling very blessed.

This afternoon I leave Halibut Cove and head back to Homer one more time, just for an overnight, and then homeward bound Saturday. Friday to Saturday – 9 days total, and much of that travel time. Not enough. But just enough, to begin to remember. My hope and intention now is that I take some of this with me, that I allow the remembering that has only just begun within me to continue as a result of this adventure. I’ve learned a lot, logistically, and experienced so much. But it’s the non-logistical learning, or maybe remembering, that interests me more.

Not quiet finished yet, but when I get on that boat in a couple of hours, the direction will have changed, from outbound, to inbound. There’s a bit of an ache to that, and I’m not at all sure that I’m ready for it yet.

Meanwhile, back in Homer… all of a sudden I notice that there are a lot of trucks here. Cars make a lot of noise. So do trucks. There was one down on the flats at low tide late this afternoon when I got in, a boy-toy truck, Alaska style, tearing around back and forth… noise…
and checking flights, and arranging for cabs, and…

So, this time tomorrow I will be home. And I wonder what awaits me. This has been a very transitional year, and this trip has been a grand… distraction, as well as a reminder of my essential nature… which is peaceful, and organic, and very, very quiet… I’ve learned a lot, more than I can convey in a very public blog like this… a part of me can hardly believe that I’m getting on a plane tomorrow, and everything will change. Again…