.kindofplace

Homer is the kind of place where people hug you after they meet you.  The kind of place where a stranger turns into a friend and then disappears in the vast wildness of the cold.

It's also the kind of place that is in itself a rite of passage - the kind of place where when you ask someone if they are from here, they will pause, say, well, I've been here for 12 years....so I'm almost from here.  Or, I've been here for 2 years.....so I just got here.

It's the kind of place that not everyone stays but those that do tend to never leave.  It's a place of magnetism, pulling tourists, entrepreneurs, fishermen, Alaskans from other places, and all types of workers, adventurers, outdoors men, and vagabonds from the lower 48.  

It's the kind of place people dream of living - driving in with their RVs and rental cars, taking snapshots of mountains jutting white and sacred like cathedrals rising out of the ocean and ringing the bay.  Its the kind of place where living the dream is more about guts than glory, and whose winters shift and shake what men are made of. 

Its the kind of place that pulls you in, and then shruggingly dares you to stay. 

It's the kind of place where people shake your hand, look you in the eye, go out of their way to help you. 

It's the kind of place where doors aren't locked and neighbors are neighbors, where everyone listens to the local radio and personal messages are sent over the bushlines.

It's the kind of place where you box your own groceries, recycle your cardboard, glass, and plastics, and take pride in keeping the surrounding nature pristine. 

It's the kind of place where everyone knows everyone, where mutual friendships and complicated connections abound, and where its both hard and easy to be an outsider.

It's the kind of place where you can be as visible or invisible as you want to be, as involved or reticent as you decide, and where the experience you have depends entirely on you. 

It's the kind of place where individuality and eclecticism are given room to spread their wings, where you are free to be whoever you want to be, where you can wear what you want, say what you want, and live how you want - and nobody bats an eye. 

It's the kind of place where people work hard, play hard, and drink hard. 

It's the kind of place where moose curl up 20 feet from the front porch to sleep. 

It's the kind of place where the air is unspoiled and the stars are bright and vivid and the moon is covered in frost - where the sun rises purple and slowly and disappears too soon,  dropping fiery pink under the edge of the sea. 

It's the kind of place I don't fully understand, but want to learn more about. 

It's the kind of place I want to stay.