Greenland

Two of my best childhood years were spent on Greenland, first in a small town on the southern tip, and later on a remote island up north called Uummannaq. Living there changed my life, and to this day I can still draw an unbroken line from the beautiful isolation to who I am now. So many of my firsts were experienced there: flying in an airplane, helicopters, walking on ice, eternal days, unending nights, the northern lights dancing impossibly bright. We were stuck in storms for days, ate strange birds, watched dogsled racing, and climbed the mountains to see desolation until the horizon gave way.

My parents didn’t coddle anyone, often letting me roam alone as a young child with a freedom that when I think back on it would be considered reckless today. Probably then as well, though without that level of autonomy the experience would never have shaped me to nearly the same degree.

The only times I was strictly forbidden from going out was during polar bear sightings. Occasionally these enormous bears would roam near the village, then some of the hunters would go check to make sure everything was in order and give the clear once the bears decided to leave. I’d stood next to one of those models that show how big these animals are, leaving me no doubt the right decision was to stay inside for a little extra time. Blizzards, on the other hand, were a different matter. I once convinced my mom to let me go out in a particularly harsh one, and she agreed with “just don’t go too far” before wrapping me in a nearly comical amount of clothes. Frankly, upon investigation, storms were more fun watching from inside the house, though the less severe ones still allowed for some outside play.

In hindsight it helped that my parents were on an adventure too despite their adult obligations. They once woke me up to see particularly strong northern lights, another time to try some big shrimp they had acquired, and my mother often pointed out little details to experience. In the late 1980s there was no Internet up there, and no widespread satellite coverage either, which meant our family relied mostly on nature for pastime.

I remember being out with my dad to go walk on the ice. The water always froze over for much of the year, allowing easy transports to remote settlements, dog racing to other mountains, and casual strolls for those who enjoyed the idea of walking on the ocean. As the two of us got down to the edge where the ice sheet began, we found there was an enormous crack so deep you couldn’t see the bottom. Just a dark abyss and awful possibilities brought on by a vivid imagination. My dad stepped over the obstacle with a stride impossible for a child, all while he hoisted me over in one arm as I “leapt” along, then we carried on our walk like nothing happened. I still remember the sight of that emptiness, black with an odd, mesmerizing blue fading along the sides until it too was swallowed.

Every day brought something new, but mundane things were also different. We used the entryway of the house as a freezer, there was no plumbing for the restroom because it was too cold for pipes to work, and vehicles like cars were practically non-existent. Everyone had to work together to make everything operate on a day to day basis. My dad, for example, handled provisions for the village and nearby tiny settlements through the closest thing we had to a grocery store. Thinking back, I could fill a book with just my memories from childhood, and perhaps two if I were to include the perspectives that were developed after reflecting years later.

No one can really tell you what a place is like because that depends on you, but Greenland I struggle with most of all. Since it was during my early years I may have lacked the emotional tools to process many of the things I saw there, instead experiencing how it built the foundation for how my mind interprets other places now. But I always knew it was awesome and beautiful, and it made me.