A seven-foot minuteman stands on a rock base where Massachusetts Avenue splits at the end of Lexington’s main drag. He was unveiled in 1900 to commemorate the 125th anniversary of the Battle of Lexington at the beginning of the Revolutionary War.
I took a drink of coffee and looked across the snowy, tear-shaped field that was roughly where the battle took place. To my right was a Tesla and on the left a Porsche.
What a place to live.
The next stop was a bakery.
I gazed in the lustful way an Alaskan who hasn’t been to a Lower 48 bakery in 360 days does.
Raspberry tea cakes, strawberry and cream cheese Danish, brownies, brownie sandwiches with filling, pistachio cherry tarts, raspberry tarts, monkey bread and morning buns. There were sweet biscuits, almond croissants, pistachio croissants, sourdough bread and challah in just the first case.
The second case had half a dozen gluten-free offerings as well as raspberry cheesecake cups, cheesecake cakes and a blueberry meringue that was just large enough to make clear that it was meant to be shared. The chocolate mousse looked perfect but there was a smooth, shiny chocolate sphere with peanut butter and chocolate mousse inside.
I was dazzled. But was it really dazzling? Objectivity and truth become less concrete after nearly 12 months in a place with no road out. Was it simply because I was in Massachusetts staring into a myriad of choices, awestruck by variety?
There are distinct advantages for a cafe on an affluent main street in an urban neighborhood.
But there is no less effort, no less dedication in an Alaskan cafe. The math makes things more complex and ends up being a limiting factor more than ability, creativity or even taste.
Alaskans often prefer Yelp stars to Michelin when it comes to eateries but we are ruthless about seafood.
A lady at Costco back here was flipping through slabs of Atlantic salmon looking for something remotely palatable.
“Just go with the sockeye,” I said, pointing to the deep red filets of salmon in front of me.
I walked away but turned to see her walk to the more expensive fish, consider, then go back to the farmed.
I shook my head. If only she knew.
Later that afternoon Abby and I talked about the differences in high school experience. Her high school in Lexington offered a delightful selection of opportunities for those on the Ivy League, or prestigious college track. Her high school was public but had an entire building dedicated to world languages that was the size of the entire K-12 school in Klawock.
That’s not to say her experience was better.
Alaskan kids also spend their summers cleaning fish, herding tourists, guiding or otherwise working for their money which better develops interpersonal skills, work ethic and complements the classroom experience. Alaska’s best go to America’s top colleges and the road from graduation to a fulfilling career in the trades, fishing or other unique industries is much more clear thanks to robust Career and Technical Education offerings.
A limited course catalog is fine until quality suffers and programs become programs in name only. Unfortunately, much of what made Alaska’s education good, just different, has been eroded for current students by the consequences of oil prices, budget deficits, funding deficits and financial mismanagement at all levels.
Education should never resemble a Flex Tape commercial, but at times it does.
There is no one entity at fault and there is no one solution because needs across the state are diverse.
Here’s to the hope that policymakers have made New Year’s resolutions that involve meaningful solutions involving education because growing up in Alaska should be an advantage not the sheltered, sparse, rigor-lacking stereotype Lower 48ers think it is.
• Jeff Lund is a freelance writer based in Ketchikan. His book, “A Miserable Paradise: Life in Southeast Alaska,” is available in local bookstores and at Amazon.com. “I Went to the Woods” appears twice per month in the Sports and Outdoors section of the Juneau Empire.
