Greer Road

Of all the symptoms of youth, perhaps the greatest is the inability to see beyond the world that currently is. The intoxicating illusion of permanence that permeates the early years of our lives is proven false by the transient nature of young adulthood and slowly we begin to see existence for what it is; an endless process of becoming. Despite these evolutions we as individuals possess innate yearnings, and our days are determined by whatever it is we yearn for. For as long as I can remember I have not wanted to live in this world. When I was a child this feeling manifested itself in the form of endless hours spent reading The Lord of the Rings, and gallivanting off on epic quests of my own in the woods behind my family’s home. When I was teenager the feeling remained, and yet the expression of it shifted. I discovered anarchist rhetoric, befriended local squatters, and began traveling in slowly expanding circles away from New England via hitch hiking and freight train. I tattooed my face and hands with a sewing needle and india ink, drank wine from a bag, and slept out in the woods with others who had chosen the same path. This is how I met Nate. I picked him up along with a mutual friend at an Occupy encampment in Lancaster PA in 2011, and together we circled the country in a $500 van I had purchased from an Alpaca farmer the week before. We drove endless hours, begging for gasoline often at fill up stations, and at times from the side of the road. Wrapping our 5 gallon gas jug like a newborn in a blanket, we cradled it from the shoulder in unseasonable North Texas snow. We busked for our money, ate out of grocery store dumpsters, and for at least a few years successfully evaded time. I imagined we’d live this way forever. That our bodies would never betray us, that the excess of society would always be enough to scrape by on and we’d never live in the shadow of greater want. However, as we entered into our early twenties the increasing plague of heroin addiction and subsequent death spread rampantly throughout our community. Our days no longer existed in a weightless suspension; change was coming. Nate took a job on a fishing boat in coastal Alaska and I moved to Vermont to attend a small liberal arts college. Our bi-yearly visits became bi-yearly phone calls and we began to lose touch. Then, in the Summer of 2016, Nate lost his pinky in accident while out on a 3 month fishing contract. To avoid a lawsuit the company offered him a large cash settlement in addition to his pay for the 3 month voyage. With nearly $100,000 in hand, Nate bought 5 acres of land in Fritz Creek, AK and began building a small homestead. Through word of mouth this story spread throughout the nomadic punk community and soon many others came to Fritz Creek with similar pursuits in mind. If there is a common thread between travelers of this nature, it is the disbelief that you could ever truly belong in this world. That there is nowhere for you to go and so you must learn to live between things. This is simply not true. There is a place amidst the white spruce and pacific yew, where in the summer months the alpen glow suspends, and it is always almost morning. There is a place past the spit up on Greer Road where the paved road ends and the fireweed takes root; thriving, becoming.