In February of 2020 our family made a very big decision: we were going to spend our summer family vacation in Alaska. It made sense for us in many ways. Alaska was always on the top of our "one day list." We had friends who lived in Anchorage so seeing them would be a bonus but also we knew they would be helpful in making plans for visiting. Not everyone would think to take three young kids to such a wild place, but like I’ve said before, we travel with our kids to make memories. We knew this would be a big one. We could hardly wait until July.

You know where this is going. March 2020. I don’t need to explain that part of the story.

Big travel felt like a luxury for our family we did not need to make. So we put Alaska on hold. 

In March 2021, as vaccines started rolling out, we decided to take the leap and re-plan the trip. It felt like a risk, but one we felt comfortable making with the knowledge we had.  At the time of our flight taking off in late July, Delta-variant was just starting to rage his ugly head. Did I question our decision? For a moment, yes. But we decided we were going to be as safe as we could be in the circumstances we were given.

I’m so glad we did. It was a trip of a lifetime, just as we hoped it would be.

If you are considering a trip with your family, I would love to tell you all about what we did, what we would recommend, etc. We had amazing intel from locals with kids and it made the trip perfect.

However, maybe you would like someone to talk you out of this trip idea and what you need is a list of all the reasons to avoid Alaska. If that is the case, here are my top 10 reasons NOT to visit Alaska…

1. In Anchorage and the Kenai Penninsula, where we spent most of our time, you might often witness both the majesty of the mountains and the mighty power of the oceans all at the same time. The combo of the two will make you feel small. No one wants to feels small. Also the incredible views will cause you to forever judge the boring grassland that is the Midwest and living in judgement can be toxic.

2. And don’t even get me started on the daylight. Do you know you could be on a mountain at 10:00 at night watching the golden orange sun slowly make it’s way down the valley? And then go out for pizza and beers at Moosetooth Brewery and STILL have daylight outside? Awful. Who likes that much sun? Monsters, that’s who.

3. If you don’t like spending a vacation sitting on your own private deck of a cabin on a cliff overlooking a roaring ocean with volcanoes in the background, then this is not the place for you. If the idea of spending an entire evening on that porch watching an eagle perched on a tree eye level with said cabin and then watch that eagle swoop down from his tree to catch a bright pink salmon straight from the ocean is your idea of a boring time, then you really won't enjoy yourself here.

4. Have you ever said "eww, soft, cool sand under my feet and bright warm sun on my face, gross"? Then do not bother booking a ticket. 

5. Did I mention the views? Not worth it. Really. Stay away.

6. You might have to eat things like salmon caught fresh the week before you arrived, moose that once roamed wild in the forests, crab who just that morning crawled around on the ocean floor. It will ruin you for any meat source here on after. What a shame.

7. And for all you wildlife haters out there, well you’re gonna want to avoid Alaska at all costs. You could find yourself on a glacier tour on the quiet bay of the pacific ocean where you will definitely spot not one, not two, but maybe even FOUR humpback whales spouting water and riding the gentle waves feet from your boat. Or sea lions lounging on rocks. Or puffins speeding by. Or sea otters lazily floating in the harbor. Or moose munching on trees along your hike. Who wants that?

8. "I love puppies!" said no one ever. And if you come to Alaska, you might have to visit an Alaska Sled Dog Farm owned and run by a multi-year champion of the Iditarod Sled Dog Race. You will meet that owner and they will teach you about the Iditarod race and it will change your whole perspective on animals and caring for them. You will be impressed. And then, oh sheesh, just you wait. Then you will get to meet the sled dog puppies. They will be the cutest things you ever saw. And they will turn your dog fearing three year old into a puppy lover. It’s a very bad idea. Trust me. 

9. Do you just hate picking wild blueberries in the mountain valleys just like Sal and her bear friend and then bringing them home to make blueberry pancakes the next morning? You do? Then don’t come. Seriously, stay away. It’s too tempting and then you’ll just be miserable.

10. Lastly, if you do come, which I hope you don’t, but if you do, I surely hope you don’t have the kindest, most gracious and generous hosts on your visit like we did. You might find your children becoming best friends with your best friends’ kids. They will make life long friendships and turn a beautiful place into a lasting memory. Then you will want to come back every year because you feel like you only got a taste of this amazing place. Don’t do it. It’s dangerous. 

Or do, and it will be a trip you talk about as a family for the rest of your life. 

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Glutton for punishment? Here’s more Alaska content in this video.

“We travel for this moment. We travel, even when it’s hard and uncertain because our curiosity tells us we must. We travel to see our children’s eyes light up when they first discover something so new and amazing they can’t help but shout “LOOK!” We travel so we can experience the world through their wonder, like the first time, again and again, leaving us with nothing left to say but wow.”

“This is Why We Travel” for Twin Cities Mom

In April coming off the high of hope and a vaccine, we scheduled a summer of yes. Yes we’ll join you for that camping trip. Yes, we’ll take a 40 hour road trip to visit Mesa Verde National Park. Yes, we’ll go to our cabin in Colorado with twelve people crammed in a one bedroom space. Yes, we will sleep on the ground for a week. Yes, we’ll keep our plane tickets to Alaska and yes we are taking the kids with us. Yes, we’ll visit Wisconsin and then Chicago and then Ohio and then Chicago again and then Wisconsin again because we want to see you and you and you and you. All of you. We just missed every single one of you. And we missed new places and new faces and new other things that rhyme with aces although I’m coming up short at the moment but you get it. This was our summer of yes and yes, we said yes to nearly everything.

On August 23 we pulled our car into the driveway, brought all of our bags into the house for the final time that summer, and then we lit a match and set our car on fire, or at least we did in my exhausted imagination.

We were so done—with the packing and the unpacking, with the pre-packing lists and the post unpacking hangover, with the snacks and the arguments and the indulgence and the unknowns. It was a lot for our family. And for this highly sensitive person (hi that’s me) it was a lot of everything.

“So you’re setting an alarm for February 2022 that says PLAN LESS NEXT SUMMER, right?” my friend asked me in the backyard one cool evening as we debriefed the highs and lows and “what did I miss?”s over a bottle of pinot noir.

“Well, no, not really. We already started planning for next summer.” Insert nervous teeth showing emoji.

It sounded ridiculous when I said it. But the truth is, when all the laundry finds its way back to the drawers and the car airs out and we settle back into home, the summer lands differently. That’s when we start scrolling through all the pictures. That’s when the stories pop up, the ones that keep us all reminiscing at the table together weeks later. That’s when we remember why we travel with kids.

I wrote about this for Twin Cities Mom Collective, on what a park ranger taught me about wonder and travel.

“But as I walk behind their energetic bodies up the path, I am smiling. This moment—the oohs and ahhs and excitement so big it propels them forward—this is why I travel with my kids. It’s my favorite part. And no matter what memories they retain, I know for certain this I will never forget.”

I also know collecting memories in word and image is another way to remember why we travel. And so that’s what I must do.

Today I’m remembering:

how good it felt to dip our toes into a cool lake after a 12 hour day of driving.

mixing up a fancy cocktail on a humble broken down table.

how much i love to do dishes when I’m camping, and only when I’m camping.

the middle of the drive pit stop where we got to give my brother a quick hug in the middle of his work day.

finding the perfect camping site when we thought every good one might be taken.

how amazing pizza and mac n cheese tastes when cooked over a campfire.

sipping hard cider in a quiet town overlooking a slow river.

watching them learn and ask questions and get excited about places we’ve talked about for months.

taking a pajama drive and witnessing an unexpected sunset that took our breath away.

the rainbow over a deep canyon.

that first “I see it mom!” exhale upon sighting the palaces we’d studied for so long.

ice cream surprise after a successful hike.

the quiet of three children watching their favorite shows, eating all the snacks, and the comfortable peace knowing our own bed is only a few hours away.

We did it. Another trip. Another reminder it’s worth it.

Until next time, holding on tight to these memories.

Crank. Crank. Hiss. Gurgle. Gurgle. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Anticipation. Anticipation. 

Surprise. Squeal. 

Laughter. Release.

What is it about a sprinkler? A simple turn of a faucet, a splash of water on skin, slippery grass under feet, streaking sunbeams on the face. Some call it yard irrigation.  We call it joy.

There is a waterfall near our house called Minnehaha Falls. In Longfellow’s epic poem “Song of Hiawatha” he incorrectly translates the Dakota word to mean Laughing Waters. You can understand the confusion. The rushing creek at the top of the falls is at ground level so you hear the water before you see it, like laughter that carries through a city neighborhood on a warm evening. You can’t come to this park without being called to the falls, the edge of the rock, to peer at the source of the sound. And when you do, infinitesimal sized droplets bouncing from the force of the falling water hit your face like a surprise, like unexpected laughter. It’s a joy every time. 

The water that falls is the same water that flows into the Mississippi River. The same water that collects into pipes and flows to our home. The same water that arrives when we turn on faucets and the laughter bubbles up once again. 

In another poem “The Waterfall,” Mary Oliver says the falling water “seemed / surprised by the unexpected kindness of the air and / light hearted to be / flying at last.”

It is me that is surprised today, by the kindness of the air and the sunshine and the water that sounds like laughter. It is me that feels like I am falling. They do that to me. Just when I reach my edge, when I can handle no more, I fall, we fall. Yet not in terror, not in defeat, but rather in the joyful release of laughter, like a long held breath, stress and tension and failures held tightly at the top pulling with the mighty rush of gravity down and away, leaving only the light hearted spray of their simple delight. Like flying, at last.

Even the littlest one, disgruntled by the surprise of cold water, eases his grip in my arms, moves from shock to curiosity to wonder. Not quite laughter, but close. I feel this tension, too. Sometimes their joy takes time for me to understand. While other times, like today, it hits me with a hiss, a gurgle, a pop. They laugh and so do I. Oh how good that feels.

Still I wonder, what is it about a sprinkler? I may never know, and I hope I don’t. It’s much better to be surprised.

Image created by @phoenixfeatherscalligraphy for C+C, 2021

This post was written as part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to read the next post in this series "Illuminate.”
PS. Have you signed up for the Raise & Shine Letter yet? It comes out mid month-ish, and like a cold sprinkler on a hot day, it’s sure to bring you surprise.