Growing Up On An Icefield Essay

So, here I am, at the bottom of a crevasse, in the middle of a field of ice so thick that the expedition’s Geomatics group’s radar couldn’t even penetrate its depths and measure its thickness, 25 miles as the bird flies from my vacant bed, a lone wool mitten drenched in ice water hanging from a clip on my harness, and I feel content. That is, until the call of the wild startles me back into the human condition and reminds me of all the mundane activities necessary to maintain my body in working condition. We were practicing different pulley methods for rescuing people if they fall into crevasses but hadn’t mastered them quite yet. I hear a call from above; it sounds like it will be a little while as they sort out a tangle in the ropes. At first, I was anxious to get out of the crevasse so that I could relieve myself, but then I think of the research that I’ve been conducting on the wealth of life that persists on this Icefield, and the great honor that it is to be a part of the cycle of growth and development.

Growing up, I never had a home, because I always had two. Even though my Mom and Dad are on speaking terms, live relatively nearby each other, and hold similar values, having parents that aren't together has caused problems. Transitioning between their households every Friday meant that I never was able to settle down and feel comfortable. When I think of times that I have been truly content, one early example that comes to mind is a two week trip to Hawaii. These periods of true happiness all share two common factors; just like my summer on the icefield, Hawaii was a place away from either of my homes that I spent an extended period of time in. The important part is that I was part of a single tribe, and not trying to split myself into two different