As days reach longest hour, time to roll with Alaska time

RYAN REYNOLDS

June 19, 2008 at 3:03PM AKST

Last night I played Operation at two in the morning. You know, the game with the marshmallow fellow with a big red nose and pieces and parts all scattered about.

I didn’t do too bad either. The Charley Horse gave me some trouble, but that’s always been the case; and no matter how hard I try, the Bread Basket continues to elude me.

My point though, is that I did it all by the light of our restless, just-hidden sun.

The summer solstice is fast approaching. When it’s not drizzling rain, or cold and cloudy, and especially on days when my fingers don’t go numb during a bike ride, I can almost agree with the solar calendar when it heralds the season’s arrival. There are certainly a good number of lovely little tulips and dandelions around town that make a compelling argument.

To be honest though, at some point this spring, I stopped paying as much attention as I should have to the sun’s return. I believe my acquiescence began in late March.

Once we were receiving a solid 12 hours of daylight, a sense of normalcy returned, and I didn’t feel the need to check the paper’s sun graph daily any longer. Now however, I’m back on Alaska time, which to me means doing mostly normal activities, just at odd times of the day.

Like stirring the compost pile during the wee hours of some summer night or settling down to dinner and a movie at 3 p.m. on a cold winter day.

What does it really mean to have a solstice though? To be caught up in this onslaught of sun and light. Dusk and faint shadows. I was mulling it over the other day and decided to do a little reading of my own. Now, I must say, I feel quite cosmic.

What I find most fascinating about life in the far north is the sense of place that resonates so clearly. Everything about this wild country converses in a language at once familiar and yet sweetly inconsistent with the Outside world.

A distinct reminder of our latitude is never far from the eyes, and it is precisely those drastic changes in light and weather that allow us to see how the world turns and our place in it.

Make time to lie on your back in the sun today. Stoop to smell a flower, hidden low among the leaves. Crumble a bit of earth between your hands, soaking in all that is here in the moment, however temporary, knowing that the sun will come again, and again, and that sometimes the most important thing any of us can do is to simply be.

Be here. Now. Until next time, let’s roll with the flow.

Ryan Reynolds used to live in Texas, but we like him anyway. Please send complaints, concerns, angry letters, diatribes or the occasional compliment to ryannreynolds@gmail.com.