I live and write on Lingít Aaní, and gratefully acknowledge the past, present and future caretakers of this beautiful place, the Jilkaat Kwaan and Jilkoot Kwaan.

In case you were worried, there were no floods and we didn’t have mud slides. The storm front blew through. The Covid count is rising, though. 62 now, officially, as of yesterday. That is all we know right now. Information is sparse.  But as my daughter says, “That means it’s twice that.” There is some fear now, as those closest to many of us are testing positive. (Papa Bob and I have not been notified. So that’s good. We feel fine.) Some of the positives are vaccinated, some not– especially the children that can’t be. Some are just sick, but cannot be tested until Monday since the clinic is not open.

I am brave, and I am thinking, praying even–that the children’s cases especially- will all turn out well just  like Luck and Shelly did.

A few years ago, a small commercial plane heading from here to Juneau crashed in the water just before it reached the airport. One of my worst fears. The company called it an emergency landing, something even an optimist like me would not, especially when the plane had wheels and not floats. My friends Shelly and Luck were on the flight, along with a pilot and maybe someone else. I don’t remember, and that’s not the point of this story. The point is: Luck helped Shelly and everyone else swim to shore and they all survived. That’s where I am right now. With Luck and Shelly.