The Fourth of July. Usually it passes mostly unremarked here…we have guests to attend to, buses to run, vacation dreams to fulfill. Oh, we do have a cookout and some games, but it’s still a workday.
This year was different, however. I was invited to the celebration in the town of Ferry, which, until the day before, I didn’t even know existed. I have a distant relative, whom I’ve only met once before, who lives in Ferry, Alaska. My sister-in-law has encouraged us to get together, but it didn’t really register how very close they live. Anyway, my cousin-by-marriage called me the night before the 4th and invited me to come to their town cookout. It turned out to be much more than I expected, and a delightful time.
I agreed to come after work, and I got the directions of how to get to the town. It went along the lines of: drive to milepost xxx on the Parks Highway and take the Ferry Road (which, by the way, is unmarked) to the railroad tracks. Then turn left and follow the tracks until you come to a lot of cars. Wait there to be picked up. I did all that. There’s a railroad bridge that crosses the Nenana River. Shortly after I arrived, here came my cousin on an ATV over a walkway on the bridge. I climbed on the back of the ATV and off we went, back over the river to Ferry.
I walked into an Alaska I remember from my childhood. Our host was an true Alaskan old fart who welcomed me with a kiss on the hand and an offer of food. His hand-built log cabin is a step back into history, obviously hand-built. Their “community center” was at one time the post office-also a log cabin that was turned over to Ferry when the Parks Highway was built and mail started being delivered to mailboxes on the highway rather than by the train. It has a bar, a sitting area with an original barber chair, a pool table, and enough memorabilia to make an antique lover swoon.
I also got a tour of our host’s cabin. So here, in the Alaskan bush, in the cabin of this 80-something sourdough, sits a baby grand piano. How did it get there? Well, the good citizens of Ferry carried it across the railroad bridge. Ah, the railroad bridge. That’s a whole other story. It turns out that the town of Ferry is quite famous. Maybe I’ll write the whole story once I get it right from the mouths of those who know the real story-the residents of Ferry. For now, let me entice you with a promise to tell the story of the Ferry Moon.
But Ferry isn’t completely Alaska Bush. In fact, one of the folks there said they live in the “Cush Bush”. Yes, they are highly spread out (I didn’t actually see any homes other than our host’s-people in Alaska like their neighbors to be close enough to visit…but not too often). Yes, they have well water and outhouses. But they also have electricity and 4G internet and cell service. Turns out the cell tower is right in town.
The town fascinates me, and I assured both my cousin and my host that I’d be back to visit. I itched to take time to really photograph this remnant of Alaskana, but it didn’t seem polite. Next time I’ll take my camera, and ask permission. There are literally hundreds of photos sitting there waiting to be made.
Travels with Billie 