The other day, I joked with my stepdad about how he is a man of many unsolved mysteries, or, rather, unattempted ambitions, such as salmon fishing in Oregon or making oyster stew the family's New Year's tradition. He laughed but responded with genuine trying words, and today we sat outside for a while planning a salmon-fishing trip for next summer. As it turns out, the Kenai River in Alaska is a hot spot (or cold spot) for catching sockeye salmon, apparently the most delicious salmon in existence. God never ceases to tickle my world with little signs, it seems. I have been, bit by bit, shooting for Alaska next summer. I hope to get a job singing in a chorus or something of that nature (haha, nature) in a city and camping my brains out the rest of the time. Now my stepdad is working on fulfilling his fishing dream for our family, and the road seems to point to Alaska. If I lived there next summer, I could easily meet them for a week and we'd all camp and fish together. A lofty goal but one with a ladder.
I can't even try to describe to you what the summer has done for me. Those of you who went through it with me have probably heard a portion of it in some roundabout way, or perhaps directly. I can't even describe it in my own journal. It's been an accumulation of people I've met, the biology class I took, the opportunities and avenues I've been dropped off at by some of the best companions I've ever known. It's been the summer of a lifetime, and it's led me to strive for dematerialization at its very best.
Another loft, but with God as my sturdy ladder, there's no way I can't reach it.