When I first moved to Alaska, I remember hearing a story that taught me everything I needed to know about the state. Every military family member hears this story when they arrive from the Lower 48. It's become urban legend and I hope to hell it isn't true.
Once upon an icy cold Fairbanks day, some guy had a tire blowout on his truck. He's on the side of the road changing his tire, hubcap on the ground holding a lug nut or two, obviously working hard on the last nut but well on his way to fixing his trouble. He's crouched down low to escape the bitter wind. Several cars pass his him by. He looks up but in the blowing snow it looks like he's got everything under control.
But, you see, in Alaska, everything isn't as it seems to be. This guy really does need help. He forgot his gloves. His hands are frozen to the wrench which is frozen on that last lug nut. What looks like a guy finishing a job is really man in desperate need. And no one stops to help.
We military families learned the lesson very quickly - Alaskan's have to rely on one another. They never, ever leave someone on the side of the road. They always stop and ask if you need help. Always.
Alaskan's are a quiet bunch but when it's time to help, they come out of the woodwork. There is no stopping them. I have never seen a volunteer work ethic in any other place like that in Alaska. They understand the importance of community because they've had to rely on it so very often. Alaska is a harsh place. Beautiful, but harsh.
I remember the time when I hit black ice driving home one winter evening. My car spun 360 degrees plus a little more, then slid off the Richardson Highway between North Pole and Eielson AFB just before a small bridge. A little further, and my truck would have hit a cement wall or a looming light post. Instead, I plowed backwards into a pile of freshly plowed snow. Within minutes, two or three cars had stopped behind me, their drivers hopped out of their cars, and pushed me out onto the highway. I didn't have time to be shocked before I was driving away again. It wasn't until I was a good mile down the road that I began to cry.
When I think of why I vote in Alaska, I think of those moments. I remember Alaskans helping each other out. It sounds awfully simplistic, but I see a basic goodness in the people that gives me hope that Scott McAdams can win this race. I really do believe there are more people who believe in progress, who believe in community and sacrifice, who believe in hard work and good government than those who hate. Because that's what the Tea Party has come down to - hate. They hate the federal government, they hate liberals, they hate me and people like me.
I would love to sit down with the Sarah Palins and the Joe Millers of this world and introduce them to a military family that doesn't think like they do. And it wouldn't have to be my family. There are lots of us. We're the absentee voters sending our ballots by the thousands. A few may write in the name Murkowski... if they take the time to read beyond the ballot. Some might vote by party name because that's what they're used to... but not many of us do that anymore. Republicans have become a strange breed and it's dangerous to just mark a ballot for them without a little homework. They'll discover Scott's website and read the issues. They'll see his beefed up Veteran's and Military Community Issues page and Joe's lack of one. And, I hope, they'll fill in the right bubble and we'll see another vote for McAdams.
Voting from out of state isn't always easy. This election, it is especially hard. I find that I want to be there, helping out in the campaign offices, making calls with other phone bankers, knocking on doors, standing outside in cold weather holding signs. The Obama campaign taught me about the joy of working with a group of politically like-minded people. Alaska taught me that moisture freezes in your nose when you take a deep breathe at minus 20F, Fred Flintstone's car had better tires than our truck at minus 50F, and that everyone stays home when it's minus 70F... even the guys who normally work the runway are told to take it easy. So, this election day, when the weather is a balmy 22F outside Eielson AFB, I know those ballots will be cast and that volunteers will be helping out in anyway they can.
Military voters very often are voting in a state where they haven't lived for a very long time. For some, that place is 'home.' Or at least the place they call home. When you sign up for duty, you have a 'home of record' and you have a 'state of residence.' Your 'home of record' will always stay the same... it's where you joined the military. Your 'state of residence' is your choice and it can change. When we moved up to Alaska for my husband's very first assignment, it became our 'state of residence.' Not for the Permanent Dividend Fund... we felt guilty taking it even for a couple of years. Didn't know if we would become permanent residents or not and it felt like the right thing to do at the time. Once you move away, you can't legally claim the PDF anyway. Not paying taxes influenced our decision... the state of California demands that it's military members pay taxes even when not living in the state. Those taxes are pretty high and we're still not sure if we'll ever move back 'home' permanently. So, we became honorary Alaskans.
I still feel Alaska in my bones. Today, I feel especially close. I'm remembering the Northern Lights I would see on my commute drive home from Fairbanks. I'm remembering lazy summer evenings fishing in the lake and wondering if it's time to go home for dinner before realizing it's actually time to go home for bed. The sun is so high in sky that it's easy to loose track of time itself. I'm remembering mosquitos the size of small birds and the moose that would wake us in the mornings by using our house as it's scratching post. I've eaten lunch with marmots, and hiked along side grizzlies; I've camped with caribou and rafted glacial rivers. I've played practical jokes with a bartender at Chatanika Lodge and explored Anaktuvuk Pass while working with Girl Scouts and the BLM. I didn't realize how much I miss living there until I sat down to write this diary.
Good luck, Scott McAdams! I'll be watching and hoping with the rest of you. I think your hard work, and that of all your wonderful staff and volunteers, is about to pay off. I'll be proud to call you Senator.