64 Days

She watches the snow fall while she can. The sun will be setting soon. It won't rise the next morning. In fact, it won't rise again for 64 days.

It will be her first experience with the strange phenomenon. Last year, she lived in the Continental United States, in the tropical climate of Florida. Why is she here? You may ask. A fair question.

She moved to Utqiagvik, Alaska specifically for the next 64 days. When reading about the queer two plus months twilight/ darkness, she knew she had to experience it, at least once.

It is minutes until sunset on November 18th. The idea of it being mainly dark until the following year was just too intriguing not to be here for. So, she sits, bundled up, watching as the thick snow coats her new home. She will watch until the sun sets. As long as she can.

The moon rises high, big and round, as white as the snow it reflects on. She stays outside, watching it until the cold drives her in. It was hard to adjust to the difference in temperature. Coming from an average temperature of 70 to now an average temperature of 10 with a promise of farther dropping as the Polar Night continues.

It isn't even night, not as she knew it in Florida, where even in the dead of winter, the sun set at 5. Today it is set at 1:30 pm.

The horizon will not see the sun fully above it for over two months. The Iñupiat, the proud Inuit indigenous people that make up the majority of her neighbors, tell her that there will be a few hours of twilight type light through the polar night.

“Around noon.” Her nearest neighbor, a man who has also come from the mainland, “it is a bluish light. Quite beautiful.”

He has seen this phenomenon for ten years now. A writer, he moved to the northernmost part of America, 500 miles northwest of Fairbanks, to find the solitude needed to finish his novel. Once he did, he decided to stay.

“You may choose to make it your home as well.” He had added. She had laughed.

“I am just here to experience this once.”

“You may wish to stay here through the Midnight Sun, as well.”

“Right. The polar opposite.”

“Yes. Three months of continuous sunlight is pretty amazing.”

“Warmer, I would imagine.”

“He laughed. “A bit. I will make sure you have enough firewood before the polar vortex.”

She recalls shivering. “Sounds ominous.”

“Actual temps will drop well below zero.”

She places another log in her big black wood burning stove. It catches immediately and the temperature rises in the small cabin. Taking a seat by it, she places her hands out warming them up. It is just beginning.

Her new neighbor is right as are the Inuit that had marveled that another pale face had chosen to be here for the coming polar night. The deep freeze comes in a sudden blizzard of ice and snow.

Gray, her neighbor, was as good as his word and had made sure she had plenty of firewood, stacking it neatly by the door of her cabin. Still she has to step out to get it.

“Holy!” The rest of her exclamation is cut off by the howling wind and the cutting ice that hits her face. Her thick scarf still hangs by the door. It does her little good there. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she quickly gathers a few pieces of wood and hurries back in.

The cabin is relatively warm after the icy conditions outside it. Placing the logs on the fire, she watches with satisfaction as it catches. A welcome heat soon floods the little room.

With the storm raging outside in the ever present darkness, she didn't expect any visitors. So the knock on the door later that day has her jumping.

Opening it just a crack, she finds the smiling eyes of her other closest neighbor, Sarah. The Inuit woman lives on her other side, her, her husband, and three children. She quickly opens the door for her, inviting her in.

She enters carrying an insulated container. “We still think you are crazy to be here,” it is a sentiment she is well aware they hold, these brave people who make their home here, on the sharp edge of the earth, “but brave. So, I will bring you some hot fish stew. It will warm you from the inside out.”

She, who has been existing on ready made meals, is happy to accept.

“Thank you Sarah. Can you stay for a visit?”

The other lady smiles. She can still see only her eyes as her face remains bundled up. “I’m sorry but the baby sleeps at home.”

“Of course. Some other time. Thanks again.”

She sees her out.

She knew she would be isolated and thought she could handle it. She was raised in the Foster Care System after all. Never had a real home. It wasn't close to enough preparation for this. Yes, Sarah and her family are next door and Gray is on the other side. With the storm raging in the ever present darkness that has even, over the last few days, taken the hint of twilight away, well, they might as well be on the dark side of the moon.

“Is it normal?” She has to shout to be heard over the rising wind. The storm seems content to stay. It is the seventh day and deep loneliness drove her out of the cabin. Bundled up from head to toe, she is dressed like Sarah, with only her eyes showing.

The other woman laughs. “Sometimes. The deep cold brings strange weather with it.” They talk outside. The Inuit are used to the biting cold and Sarah has her youngest, wrapped tightly up, laying against her chest in a papoose. Her older two play in the snow.

“You aren't worried that they will get sick?” She is.

“No. Sickness comes from the still air. The breeze blows it away.”

She watches the children until she feels her eyelashes start to freeze. The scene is lit by a series of oil lamps. It gives the scene a Norman Rockwell feel. You can't feel the cold in the paintings though. She makes her apologies and heads in.

As she warms herself by the fire, she questions whether she made the right decision.

The storm finally breaks the next day. With the return of the unique twilight, she feels better about it. She joins her neighbors as they gather to socialize under the twilight sun. She attends school functions, cheering on Christmas concerts where Sarah ‘s oldest and others perform. They make it work, these strong unique people.

She gets to know Gray better and spends some of the long night reading his writing. When Sarah's baby takes her first steps in the snow, she cheers with the family.

The months pass faster than she could have imagined. Before she knows it, it is January and the sun rises again. Seeing it rise above its twilight place, the sense of awe is worth every second of darkness.

She might just stay, after all.