This is part of a series of vignettes by Jeffrey Derek Dosdall. It is based on real experiences.
Somewhere outside Fairbanks, Alaska, there is an abandoned railroad. Off that railroad there is a black spruce forest, and in that forest there is a path. I walked on that path in the middle of winter. It was 0° Fahrenheit, but I was prepared for the cold. In fact, I was overprepared; I had expected temperatures of -40° F. After a few minutes of walking, I took off my gloves and replaced my thick ski mask with a simple beanie cap.
The frigid air felt good in my lungs; I like the cold, and that winter had been particularly disappointing in Utah. It was nighttime, and the sky was smooth black. The lights of Fairbanks reflected by the clouds gave enough light for me to see. The snow squeaked quietly under my boots, rather than making the crunching sound it does in Utah. Apart from that, it was silent.
The snow is different in Alaska. It’s finer, so much that it sparkles even in the dimmest light. It’s soft, light, and dry. It covered everything in sight. Black spruce trees are thin, scraggly, hardy things. They are more slender than Christmas trees. Before coming to Alaska, I had only seen them in pictures of epic, sweeping Siberian wildernesses. They are beautiful.
The snow coated the ground like frosting coats a good cinnamon roll. For some reason, as I walked through this forest, I felt like I was in a dream. Or Candyland.
The earth is beautiful. Please, help us keep it that way.
Jeffrey Derek Dosdall is a junior at BYU Provo and a member of the BYU Earth Stewardship Club. He is majoring in biodiversity and conservation and minoring in music. He plays the trumpet and writes science fiction/fantasy novels. He is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
