Following Elias

When the Land Slides

When the mountain crumbles across the only road to town, when trees act like dominoes falling into the sea, when boulders the size of trucks hang precariously overhead, when three hundred feet of earth stand before you like an unstable aggressive older sibling, your only choice is to find another way past.

The night before Mother's Day, Cuz-Uncle David called us around 8:00 p.m. with news of the landslide. We hopped in his truck and drove down the half-mile of our driveway, past the fire station, over Spruce Creek Bridge, beyond Storm Chasers Marine Services, by the small waterfall, around a few more bends, until about a mile-and-a-half down Lowell Point Road, Bear Mountain stopped us with her giant pile of debris across our path.

We joined other folks watching from the edge, the tangle of Spruce tress, the colossal rocks that continued to fall, the craggy scar on the mountain side where a forest once stood.

Two eagles circled overhead.

("I hope their nest wasn't in one of those trees," Olive would say, the next day, when we showed her the slide.)

Within an hour, word spread that Miller's Landing-- a local fishing, camping, adventure company, run by the family that originally homesteaded Lowell Point--turned their boats into shuttles, offering free rides to anyone stranded behind the slide.

This is the the true essence of Alaska. The true essence of community. The Miller family didn't wait for the the authorities or the government to come to our aid, but jumped in their boats and offered a hand. No time for questions, paperwork, or meetings.

Just do.

When disasters strike it is often our neighbors who come to the rescue if we are lucky enough to live in community. I remember reading about the volunteer boat brigade in New Orleans that rescued stranded people from rooftops after Hurricane Katrina. Ordinary people taking action-- becoming extraordinary.

During summer months, our gravel road that travels from town, winding between Resurrection Bay and Bear Mountain, receives an average of 1,100 vehicles a day. People drive it for the scenery, spotting sea lions, otters, seals, eagles, and sometimes whales from their cars. They drive out to Lowell Point to visit the State Park, hike the Tonsina Trail or walk the beach to Caines Head. They come out for kayak trips, fishing charters, and boat tours. To see the waterfalls, play on the beach, or camp at Miller's Landing.

Saturday evening, May 14th, the late setting sun shone, and so though still early in our tourist season, hundreds of people found themselves trapped by a landslide that wasn't going to be cleared overnight.

Nick who volunteers as a firefighter headed to the station to help anyone who was stranded. His fire Chief, Karl, who lives in town, took his own skiff out here to help, and along with another volunteer, Jason, they handed out blankets and snacks to folks sleeping in their cars. They set up a barrier on the road so folks wouldn't drive too close or attempt to climb over the still active slide.

(One man climbed over it within an hour of it sliding and is lucky to be alive.)

I paced my house until I got the kids to bed and then biked down with our dogs running free besides me. No need to worry about cars, I peddled back to the slide and watched as rocks continued to fall. A family drove up, their day trip from Anchorage turned into an overnight.

"Are they clearing it yet?" The woman asked.

"Oh no," I replied, "Its gonna be a while." Turns out they were on the road when it first slid and recorded a video of the trees falling down into the sea one after another. Their video ends with them running to their car to back it up and the Dad asking "Where's Maddy?" Their daughter saw the hillside fall and jumped out of the car to run the opposite way.

Fight or flight.

How do you fight a mountain? How do we outrun natural disasters?

Tomorrow it will be two weeks since the hillside slid, and with two giant excavators working twelve hour days, no-one knows for sure when our road will open again. Maybe June first, depending on weather, human progress and mother nature. The bravery of the men operating the heavy equipment astounds me, risking their lives as the earth continues to rain down, working strategically, tirelessly, to restore land access between Lowell Point and Seward.

Thank goodness for Miller's Landing with their water taxis transporting us to school, work, the store, the postoffice, our greater community. Government entities are now involved and disaster money finally kicked in, so this weekend the state will take over ferry operations, but imagine if we all had to wait two weeks for services?

Instead my kids and I never missed a day of school. I ditched my previously planned end-of- year lessons and facilitated discussions in every classroom about the landslide, with a focus on the miracle that no-one was injured and, channeling Mr. Roger's Mom, the idea that anytime a tragedy occurs, there are always so many helpers. We discussed how neighbors become heroes and made sure the daughters of the excavator drivers went home and thanked their Dads for their important work and bravery.

And though its been more logistically challenging, bound by the water taxi schedule, we've enjoyed time with our neighbors on our commutes through Resurrection Bay. Especially Elias, Mr Chatty in the mornings, when most of us just want to sip our coffee and scan the sea. He loves sitting with the single women and talks nonstop the whole trip.

A humpback whale showed us her tail on our first Monday morning commute. Sea Otters often greet us in the harbor. Friends offered us vehicles for use in town, places to crash, errands to run. A lovely neighbor even brought us pizza by boat last Saturday night.

Its quiet out here on the point, when this is the time of year we normally feel inundated by strangers. I've met neighbors I didn't know and feel far more connected to my community, especially after the last two years of isolation. When we pile into the Michael A or the Fox Willy, for our shared commute, I feel a kinship with folks of all ages and political stripes, because as different as our perspectives, we are all, quite literally, in the same boat.

I look forward to the road opening, to being free to travel on my schedule instead of cancelling commitments that don't work within the timeframe of my boat rides home.

And yet if you look closely from town to the small quirky--what CNN called "resort"-- community of Lowell Point, you might see a silver light wrapped around us, on the other side of the 300 foot slide.

If you know a teacher...

...you may want to check in with them.

Chances are they are barely holding on till summer break. Waking and hoping they make it through another day, without breaking.

To say its been a hard year is an understatement. For many teachers I've talked to its been their hardest year yet, and these are seasoned professionals.

Perhaps because we all thought last spring that this would be a "normal" year; and then got slammed by another wave of Covid-19 and all the political in-fighting this pandemic brewed.

With the distortion of masks into a political statement, everyone wears their ideologies on the outside; and no matter which way a teacher sways, they are always in the wrong, according to some.

Teachers put their own health and safety on the line to foster the development of young minds, only to be criticized from every angle--on the news, in social media, in angry phone calls and emails.

Accused of teaching topics not in their curriculum, of pushing their own political agendas, of indoctrinating students into "alternative lifestyles", and all these allegations made by folks who have not spent a day in their classrooms.

That is like me accusing a chef of sneaking spoiled ingredients into a meal, without ever standing in the kitchen, or trying a bite of the imputed food.

Hearsay can still ruin careers.

The threat of defamation can silence even the wisest of speakers.

And why is it that everyone who attended school, as a student, thinks this makes them an expert in education, with the authority to tell professionally trained educators how to teach?

Just because I attend an Opera does not mean I can stand up on stage and sing.

This year, teachers still hold the responsibility to teach a wide breadth of academic subjects, while also attempting to keep students six-feet apart, or sanitizing their classrooms, or teaching virtually and in-person simultaneously.

There is never enough time or support to do it all, so there is always the feeling of failing at something. And judgement comes with attendance rates, discipline reports, test scores, evaluations...

As inflation and healthcare rises, teachers salaries generally remain the same, as their responsibilities double, due to state budget cuts and loss of much-needed support professionals. Classes grow bigger and every child arrives with a complex variety of different needs. Teachers act as nurses, social workers, entertainers, drill sergeants (fire, earthquake, lock down, school shooter...) and in some cases parents to the students who arrive from homes filled with abuse or neglect.

These same students are expected to perform on state tests, despite staying up all night hoping the lock on the door holds or that a parent will be present in the morning.

The rise of standardized testing over the years has acted as a pressure cooker, squeezing out the creative juices that come with the job. Even science and social studies get pushed aside for the All-Consuming Tests-- as if reading speed and math facts matter more than the education of the whole child.

And no matter how engaging, funny, relatable or wise these humans strive to be, it's becoming harder and harder to compete with the screens students carry in their pockets. The screens students stare at for countless hours a day, absorbing an online world that can feel more real than the tangible world of paper, books, and educators with concerned eyes.

Teachers can't compete with TikTok, with its challenges promoting school destruction and sexual harassment. Teachers can't beat Snapchat, with its snippets of inappropriate conversations that pull kids from their studies.

Teachers can continue to strive to connect with children, who grow more and more disconnected from each other, from adults, from their communities.

Teachers can continue showing up every day, and loving these children when they are in their classrooms.

Teachers can continue offering safe spaces, with high expectations and clear boundaries, and countless opportunities to learn and grow.

If you know a teacher, you may want to buy them a coffee, or a beer, or a box of tissue, or a bag full of school supplies that they usually purchase with their own money, spending thousands of dollars on their classrooms, where they spend most evenings and weekends, despite folks thinking they have such easy schedules.

If you know a teacher you might want to ask if they could use a hug, an extra hand, a volunteer, a shoulder, an escape, a million dollars, a trip to a tropical island, a much-needed break.

If you know a teacher, help them to hold on-- because we all need these brave compassionate human beings who choose to teach our children.

We all need teachers to make it through another day.

We all need teachers to stay.

We all need teachers.