the journey of river chickadee chapter five
by robin brown

January 31st, 2004. My Journey from Fairbanks, Alaska, to Asheville, NC.

This is the evening of the fourth day. It sounds sort of like the creation story in Genesis. Really, it is a creation story; or rather a re-creation story. The re-creation of my self.

It has been a long day. We drove many miles today, ending in Valleyview, Alberta, Canada, in a small roadside hotel. Today we reached the end of the Alaska Highway and beyond! We are back in civilization. No more wild animals along the road, only power lines and small communities. I even used a heated outhouse this morning!
The sciatica in my leg did not hurt today. I have been carrying that for about 7 years. It was one of my worries as I prepared to leave Fairbanks. How was I going to drive 5500 miles when sometimes it feels as if I can’t make it across town, sitting in my truck? Amazingly, the sciatic pain has diminished the farther I go down the road. I wonder about the possible meaning of that.

We did over 600 miles today. I listened to music a lot. I cried many times today, thinking again about all that I left behind--the known, many years of it. It has been with much energy and joy and anticipation that I have been traveling toward the unknown, only briefly grieving the past. Somehow I know this is the apex of that grief. I let the music help me release the emotion still deep inside. It felt cleansing and I did not hold it back. Kootenai looks at me with curiosity and licks my face. She is truly a little healer. I hope I can be too.

February 1st, 2004, Day Five. With civilization comes salted roads. Oh, my poor truck…and my bikes and canoes on top. All are caked with a layer of brown ice/salt. The passenger side windshield wiper is plugged and can only smear the same mixture around on my window. Through this brown smeary windshield I watch Calgary go by as I find myself traveling down a 6-lane highway. All I can see are business high rises and apartment buildings. It’s still winter and the city-scape is gray-brown and dull. I put on some music to try to overcome the grayness outside.

I do not cry today. My contemplation of the past has been replaced by the anticipation of seeing my family and beyond that, the unfolding of my new adventure. We should make it into Rexford, Montana by tonight. Rexford is at the most Northwest corner of Montana. My folks live about 10 miles south of the Canadian border. Traveling along the edge of the northern Great Plains, paralleling the Canadian Rockies to the west, I notice the farms and small communities slowing their daytime busy-ness.

It’s another beautiful sunset as we turn west towards the dark mountains framed in brilliant hues of orange and purple. After a couple of hours of dark, icy, winding road through the mountains, we turn south and pull off at a wide spot. We are only a few miles from the border. I can see the glow of lights from a small town and I know it is in the United States. We check to make sure all our papers are handy and try to anticipate anything the Customs agents might want to see. Then we just stand in the darkness for a few minutes. The sky is clear and the stars are bright. I take a deep breath and look up at them. The Alaska Highway is far behind. My new life is just beginning. It is here that I can let the past be memories—memories on the journey to where I am now. This is the border, a geographical line that represents an emotional, spiritual and physical landmark for me. It marks freedom. I am free. I am free to think my own thoughts, have opinions, make decisions, love people and follow my dreams. I breathe and breathe and breathe. I feel like I am going to hyperventilate. My throat tightens and I can feel the tears welling in my eyes. Now they are tears of relief and joy.

I hug Uncle Paul and thank him for coming with me. We load back up in the trucks and drive on toward the border, my heart racing in my chest. The first and longest leg of my journey is almost over.

Robin Brown grew up in rural Montana. She lived for 18 years in Alaska. In January she left job, ex-husband, friends and life as she knew it to move to North Carolina to attend the Center for Massage and Natural Health in Weaverville, NC. She and Kootenai, her one year-old Australian Shepherd, are adjusting very well to life in the south. Kootenai recently got a shave to help her stay cool and to help Robin adjust to dealing with ticks!