Holding Space

You probably know I spent part of my childhood living on a floating logging camp in Thorne Bay, off the coast of Prince of Wales Island in Southeast Alaska. I knew it was wild and beautiful, but only yesterday did I learn that Prince of Wales is actually the third-largest island in the United States; bigger than Delaware and almost the size of Puerto Rico. That blew me away!

Life on the camp was rugged and simple, but it was full of magic for a child. We would walk ashore and watch beavers building their dams. We picked wild Alaskan cotton, soft and white. It was such a good life for me.

I was talking to my mom on Sunday and she reminisced about groceries in the early 70's, living on a floating logging camp. There was no store. Everything you needed came in on the barge, or by float plane. If it came in by plane, such as fresh veggies, milk or other dairy, guaranteed you were paying more.

I was lamenting the cost of sour cream here and she mentioned powdered sour cream used to be a thing. Turns out, it still is! I have ordered a bag through amazon and I plan to use it in my cooking. I'll let you know how it compares.

When I was a kid, living in Alaska, it was powdered milk. And I hated it! I remember mom mixing up the powdered milk and trying to serve it to me. No way Jose'! I refused to drink it.

Unbeknownst to me (until years later) mom began mixing the powdered milk when I wasn't looking. Poured it into an existing milk jug and stuck it in the fridge. I was no more the wiser. 

One of my favorite outings was a walk to the dump, not for garbage, but for the bears. They would come lumbering out of the forest, rummaging for scraps, and we would watch them from a safe distance like it was the best reality show in town.

We spent countless hours exploring in Dad’s boat. We visited glaciers, wandered into secret inlets, and hopped from one small island to the next, each with its own character. Some of them had old hunter cabins, still standing strong against the coastal wind and rain. I remember being told that even if they looked abandoned, they were left intentionally for the lone hunter who might need them. And those few precious canned goods left behind on the shelves? They were not forgotten, they were waiting. A quiet offering of survival. That image has stayed with me all these years: a shelter in the wild, holding space for a stranger in need.

That old hunter’s cabin, weathered but enduring, feels like a metaphor for so much more than survival. It reminds me that even in the harshest, most remote places, someone made room for another; someone they had not, and perhaps never would, meet. They left warmth in the form of shelter, hope in the form of canned beans or soup, and a message written in wood and tin: you are not alone. 

Is that not the way we should be living, regardless of the "where"? 

That is what I want my life to be, a place that quietly holds space for others. A soft landing. A flicker of comfort in the wild. 

Like powdered milk in a jug, or sour cream in a pouch, it might not seem like much, but sometimes, sometimes, it’s enough. 

"If you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday." Isaiah 58:10 ESV

Go ahead. Be a flicker of comfort in the wild.

by Jeanette Stark - Tuesday, April 8, 2025