About this time every year I disappear into the Alaskan wilderness for a few weeks. I'm still actually visible for that duration, but by modern standards, I don't exist. No electricity. No running water. No phone.
Okay, so I'm not totally telling the truth. There is running water by way of the Takotna River flowing past the cabin. A small red Honda generator hums for a few hours each day to charge the laptop battery. And I could climb a tree and make an emergency radio-phone call if I needed. Important messages come by way of public radio announcements on KSKO McGrath. The only web connection comes when walking down trails in the morning and feeling the sticky spider snare on the skin of your face.
Yes, this is where I go to recharge my writing batteries and reconnect with the Alaska I love most...
The only tweets come from camp robbers and their friends. The status updates from beaver tails slapping the river. The calls from ravens, magpies, and late at night a wolf or two.
Here I'll spend several hours each day repairing sheds, the cabin roof, or cutting trees and clearing brush. Take a hike or two. Pick berries. Swat at and curse mosquitos and no-see-ums. Then at night I'll sit down at the table beside the crackling woodstove and write like mad in the perfect stillness.
And for those stormy rainy days, if I'm not curled up with a good book, I'll be hunched over the laptop working away at the next novel.
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