Courage's Fire

Photo by Julia M. D'June

The strange disquieting and dare I say enlightening pandemic years brought me the oddly wrapped gift of courage. It was mid-July that first year and the Alaska midnight sun was showing signs of its reverse trajectory south. It was now or wait till Courage set its sights on me again and who knows how long that might take. Giving Courage a nod, I filled out the online admission forms for an East coast university offering a distance program. I set in motion a transfer of the meager college credits I had accumulated over the years, and waited.

Reading this you might think, why tell me the admission form was 'online,' of course they are. Well, as someone born last century, my first college experience was paper, pencil, and long lines of wide-eyed youngsters nervously clinching index cards colored with unfamiliar abbreviations and random numbers. We twisted around the gymnasium in hopes, that by the time we reached the table advertising the course we were to enroll in, there would still be a seat. If not, it was back to the beginning. All quite discombobulating in the unfamiliar. So online, strange as it sounds in 2025, is part of the larger story for me and quite possibly you.

I was a human desperate for a change, a chance to shake up my story for a different ending, the catalyst of a world pandemic was lighting a fire. Some fires are small, contained, others have more access to fuel and I burned hot with dry tinder over this one.

My first and only full year of college took me down the Alcan to Nebraska. I had chosen or maybe it was chosen for me, time has blotted out this part of the memory, to attend a junior college outside. The keys and title to our trusty 1978 Buick LeSabre, complemented by a new set of not very expensive luggage, was my parting graduation gift.

Turns out I was too far from home. The view from the overpass that crossed interstate 80 was flat and uninviting. The tilled soil felt gritty in my eyes and the musty barnyards grew rank in my nose. I yearned to be home. Come spring I sold the ol' Buick to my uncle in Iowa and flew back.

Since then, I've taken a smattering of classes but other duties kept me from fully engaging in a college degree program. Raising a family and working for the dollar tools, another universal thread that knits us together. A familiar and albeit dried out version to write about but it's a foundation for mine and many a story. There is comfort in sharing our similarities.

I was approaching the end of 30 years working for 'the man,' for 'the establishment.' The family grown and on their own. The husband situated in a career at a company that will fly him and me well into the future. Now is my time. Courage's loud and clear voice said 'it's time.' Time to gather twigs and bark, to buck and split birch, stacked high as I could reach. This fire was going to need tons of fuel, plus a hidden stack behind the shed for that just in case.

Paper and pencils at the ready I lit the match as Courage fanned the flames. Hot off the presses, soon I will celebrate unwrapping the hard-earned gift of a B.A. in Creative Writing and English! 

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