Have you ever taken a first step in a place that feels like you’ve lived there forever? That is Homer for me. Irony at it’s best. Desert rat meets glacial views and sparkling ocean and falls in love. There’s something about the light; the way it plays off the glaciers and water; it is visual beauty at it’s best. Some call September “Rainbow season” in Homer, AK. It is a parallel home on vastly different latitude line.
My brother from another mother, Sean, toured me over the hills, through the valleys and down the beaches. Together, Hilda, Sean and I ate succulent local food, drank delicious wine, laughed and told stories long into the evening. Coffee and stunning views of the Kachemak Bay and Kenai Peninsula greeted me each morning.
I shared walks, weekend adventures and sampled local restaurants with my dear friend, Donna. It is heartwarming to pick up a friendship as if there was no 30 year gap. These folks are true friends. It was a much anticipated and long awaited blissful time indeed.
It’s a beautiful place, the Kenai Peninsula and Kachemak Bay. The sea is unbelievably rich with life, the landscape breathtaking. The weather in September is like the fall down south. Cool, colorful, changing moment by moment. Opportunity for adventure hangs in the air like the intoxicating scent of jasmine after the rain. Kayaking, hiking, feasting on the bounty of the hills and the sea. Gathering and packaging blueberries, raspberries, mushrooms, and sablefish. Even though I knew I would not be in Homer this winter, I felt the pressure of the waning sunshine to harvest and stow before it was too late. There is something compelling about Homer for me, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.
And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. As his words wafted into my ear, my eyes involuntarily teared up. “I knew your Dad. He was the math guy, right?” How is it even possible that this could happen? My Dad has been dead for going on 13 years. It is astounding to me that almost 6500 miles away from the place of my birth, where my Dad spent the majority of his life, I find someone that knew him. What are the odds? Homer is one of those kind of places. There is a sense of the familiar, a timeless connection. After being here only three short weeks, I am beginning to question faces in the crowd; do I know him? I will return…