Sight for Sore Eyes.

An endless stream of traffic crowds my small town of Soldonta.

Restaurants, left and right, close due to lack of staff, shortage of shipments, and just plain exhaustion from scrambling to accommodate the thousands of tourists that stream through.

The grocery store shelves are empty. The wait times are atrocious. The line of cars looking to station their vehicles and accompanying boats clog the parking lot and a list of frustrated expletives usually lets loose out of my mouth as a result.

Welcome to Alaska in July. Welcome to dip netting season. Welcome to hell.

What’s supposed to be the prettiest time of year in the 49th state (unless you’re a snow bum) is unfortunately also the one time of year in which seemingly every single resident in Alaska (including tourists from out of state), barrel down to our small town and make the lives of residents a living…

You get the picture.

I get it, it’s good for business. Our local economy flourishes and it feels good to be bustling and busy, but this year feels different.

After the pandemic that took over all of last year, gone goes the kind “Support your local businesses!” and in comes the impatient, inconsiderate, irritated, and unwelcome attitudes.

It’s exhausting to deal with. My weekdays are already stacked with working doubles, triples even, and having to force friendly to those who are take take taking more than I can give them is quite literally draining me.

I’m not the only one. Alaskans everywhere, especially those who work in food service, are understaffed and overwhelmed, and there is evidently no sympathy from those traveling through, hangry and grumpy. All we’re trying to do is serve them our best.

So I need escapes. Whenever I can get them.

Which is why, on my one day off, I once again took to the outdoors and traveled with some friends out to Homer to hike the bucket list Grace Ridge Trail.

(it’s only 8.7 miles)

(casual walk in the park)

Rated as difficult, I rounded up the best of the best and on early Monday morning, my dad took us by boat across the Bay.

Paddling to shore via dingy, we were wished best of luck, and after stretches and adjustments of our packs, we began the trek.

I’ve hiked many trails in Alaska, and I have to admit: this may be top three for me.

Starting on the south end, we took the trail up through the woods, across the ridge line, and then down on the other side, views of Kachemak Bay beckoning us forward.

Amply supplied with snacks, sunscreen, and bear spray (only the essentials), it took us a total of 8 hours, and every minute was worth it.

(though at the end, we did develop an attitude of when is this ending?!)

In total, we saw maybe a dozen other fellow hikers enjoying these outdoors. We didn’t have to deal with unruly customers, persnickety fishermen, traffic, or vendors who were “so sorry” out of supplies.

Oh, and no cell service.

(total removal is the absolute best)

It is without a doubt one of the strangest summers I’ve ever experienced here in Alaska, but it’s also turning out to be one of the more beautiful ones.

The scenery I’m seeing, the relationships I’m developing, the memories I’m making, and of course the views.

Which I think “peak” for themselves…

Poof.

It was one of the more embarrassing moments of my life.

Caught up in the middle of a tickling match (and no, that is not a euphemism for something else), I did what I feared I would someday do: I tooted.

*gasp

No! She didn’t.

Yes! I did.

But it wasn’t just the tootle, oh no. It was who I tooted in front of, which just so happened to be the gem that I’m dating.

Yeahhhh.

Let me back things up for you.

We had just driven home from a lovely dinner in Cooper Landing. After having wined and dined out on the patio of Kenai Lake, we started the drive home, which is when I felt my stomach cramping.

Crouched over with stinging pains, I voiced my predictions. It could be one of two things:

1.) I had to pee. A whole bottle of wine can do that to you.

2.) I had gas buildup.

And I knew what it really was; begrudgingly, the latter.

I had been holding them in all day.

(we’re talking about the same woman who didn’t once go you-know-what for three days whilst staying the weekend with a guy)

When we got to my house, I immediately went to the bathroom to expel these poofs and then we started doing what young frisky couples do:

We engaged in a rigorously handsy, passionate tickling war.

And right smack in the middle of my total domination, he pulled me over and I let loose what I had been restraining all day.

Loud and proud it came tumbling out and in that horrific instant, I froze.

He erupted in laughter, and feeling awkward, I joined him. What else could I do? Pretty quick though, those chortles turned into crying.

With tears in my eyes, I pulled a pink blanket up and over my head to hide in the embarrassment.

“Oh nooooo,” he said, gingerly trying to pull the blanket away and see me.

But I stayed hidden, tears cascading down my cheeks as feelings of humiliation and shame came flooding in.

No matter what he tried, I couldn’t escape the torrent of self-deprecating thoughts now overwhelming me.

At some point, the blanket was pulled away, to which I got up, adjusted my clothes, and told him, “I have to go.”

Looking back now, I know, soooo dramatic, but in that moment, I was beyond embarrassed and wanted nothing more than to disappear and wallow in my indignity.

Although, that was kind of too late.

There’s no hiding in my home.

He soon found me cooped up in my closet, arms wrapped tenderly around my knees, tears still flowing.

Kneeling beside me, he put an arm behind my back and assured me again that it was okay.

“I don’t like you any less because of it,” he chuckled.

And I knew, deep down, that it was all okay.

Tooting is natural, everyone does it. I mean everyone does it. Even girls, who are indoctrinated at a young age that tooting isn’t ladylike and therefore forbidden and unacceptable to do in the presence of others.

Tooting is a normal body function and even though previous reactions to doing it in front of men has been negative for me, labeled “disgusting”, I should’ve known that the only person in that situation who would ever judge me for it wouldn’t be him, but me.

(and I totally started judging myself)

And God forbid I broke the oh-so-sacred rule of being human.

I just felt embarrassed that it happened in an intimate moment.

Giggling about it now, I look back on the incident and actually feel gratitude.

I broke this barrier of farting in front of my date, a barrier I’d previously put up between me and the guy I was seeing at the time.

He’s seen me now, fully. Toots, tears, and all.

And when it happens the next time (for it will happen again), feelings of embarrassment and shame will (hopefully) go…

poof.