At ten years old, Eric Henry and his family moved to Seward, a small town at the southern tip of Alaska and the only human settlement within a hundred miles. At the time when Eric was growing up, the population of four thousand there could not support a grocery store. There were few shops—a convenience store, two pizza shops, and a Chinese restaurant. So Eric and his friends spent very little time in the shops; instead, they hiked, camped, and rode dirt bikes in the woods. “We spent so little time in civilization,” he felt. The permeating sense of distance from the hustle and bustle of civilization planted a culture of self-reliance as well as a close bond with nature in the residents of Alaska. Eric especially feels most grounded and safe in nature. When recalling Alaska, he describes the distinctive flora and the feeling of feet touching the soil. He remembers running in the woods almost every day training for cross country. He misses the snow that builds up by the roads into hills taller than people’s heads and does not melt until March or April.

Every week or two, Eric and his family had to drive up to Anchorage for groceries; they would fill their Suburban with huge boxes of food and return home to load their freezer and two refrigerators. They also bought meat from their neighbors, who regularly hunted. When the power went out, the neighbors invited them to sleep over because they had a generator. Many of the people who ended up in Alaska, especially when Eric was growing up, sought to escape previous environments that brought about discomfort—his parents were one of those people. This background of many residents created a culture in which people didn’t ask each other about extended families and previous troubles. Instead, they formed new families—friend-families; close bonds. Eric’s parents put much effort into filling the fridge with food that he, his sister, and their friends could enjoy. So, even though Eric was a nerdy kid and had a hard time making friends, there would always be a dozen people coming over to his house everyday to enjoy treats like chocolate muffins. His house felt like a safe and warm place for everyone.

Eric’s years in Alaska shaped him as a person and left him some of the most central and intense experiences of his life. He explained, “For me, [experiences] that I think of as somewhat universal take the form of Alaska and visions of Alaska.” Now as he lives in Boston, he misses Alaska: the snow, his old friends, and his family… He fondly recalls, “When I think of the core memories that shaped who I am, [my understanding of] what it means to be a man, and what’s important to me, I can hear [my father’s] voice singing to me.” He would go on to bring the self-reliance and fearlessness rooted in Alaska’s culture in his later life and here in Boston. Most of all, he remembers the sacredness of nature and cherishes his deep connection to it.