Tag: love

Thank You, Grandpa Harold

by Alexander Atkinson Jr.
Notes by Alex

Harold C. Hudson — my grandfather, my mom’s dad — was an amazing man.

He had that kind of quiet strength you never forget. A soul anchored in purpose. A presence that made an impression.

He loved to fish. It wasn’t just a hobby — it was who he was. A commercial fisherman, he spent much of his life on the water. But his talents didn’t stop there. Grandpa was also a gifted carver. He made some of the best cedar wooden spoons you’d ever see — all smoothed by hand, each with his unique touch. He’d carve deer calls, too. Many of those spoons and calls were given away to family — shared with love, with no fanfare. That’s just the kind of man he was.

He also loved sports. Never missed a basketball game. Baseball on TV? That was his rhythm during the season.

But if you really wanted to see Grandpa light up, let him sing.

One of his favorite hymns was:
“I Walked Today Where Jesus Walked.”

That song came to life in a very real way when Grandpa was in his 80s. He joined a group from our hometown of Metlakatla on a trip to Israel — a journey that deeply touched his heart.

I remember how proudly and joyfully he’d say:

“Yes, I walked where Jesus walked.”

He’d show us the Polaroid photos he took — Jerusalem, Jacob’s Well, the Garden of Gethsemane. That trip meant the world to him. You could see it in his eyes when he talked about it. You could hear it in his voice.

One time, while I was home from college, I was playing the guitar in the living room. Grandpa came out and sat with me. He began to sing. That moment — singing with Grandpa Harold, who was in his 90s — is one I’ll never forget. It was simple, but it was sacred.

He left a mark on my life.
I remember him reading the Bible.
I remember hearing him pray from his room.
I miss that so much.

Looking back, I realize just how much of a foundation he helped lay for my own faith — my own walk with the Creator.

So today, I simply want to say:

Thank you, Grandpa.

Your faith lives on in me.

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“Fading Light, Rising Words: How the Wilderness Inspires the Page”

“How the Evening Wilderness Awakens the Writer Within”

It’s late evening now. The kind of late that’s still not quite dark, not in Southeast Alaska. The light recedes slowly here, like a shy guest at the end of a long gathering, lingering near the doorway before slipping out unnoticed. Above the forested slopes and jagged ridgelines of the Prince of Wales-Hyder region, the sky burns with soft fire—rose golds and dusky lavenders blending into a cobalt sea overhead. The sun has dipped, but its memory lingers, casting long blue shadows across the spruce trees, across the tidepools, across me.

This is the hour that often sparks something in me—the quiet ignition of an idea, a phrase, a scene I didn’t know was waiting. It’s as if the land itself is whispering: Are you ready to write now?

And it begins with sound. The world hushes in the absence of engines and voices. A raven croaks from somewhere unseen, its echo bouncing off the cliffs like an old drum. The breeze carries the faintest tremble of the ocean—distant, steady, like breath. And then there’s the intimate rustling of leaves, the kind that almost sounds like a conversation between the trees. The wind moves through alder and cedar, stirring branches like fingers running over old piano keys. Nature, at this hour, becomes composer and orchestra both.

The air—what a strange, wonderful thing it is. Sometimes in July, it holds a ghost of warmth, especially inland. But more often, as night sets in, it breathes cool across your skin, reminding you that summer here is always borrowed time. It smells like salt and sap and earth—like wet moss, like a tide gone out, like rain that hasn’t fallen yet. I close my eyes, and it feels like a sigh against my face, a promise of another morning just beyond the trees.

My boots press into a forest trail damp with dew, the ground soft but solid beneath me. I run a hand across the rough, flaking bark of a cedar tree—the kind of tree that has seen more sunsets than I’ve seen seasons. The moss at its base is thick and bright, spongy like it was made to remember the shape of your step. Stones along the trail are slick and smooth, worn down from years of storms and glacier-fed runoff. Everything out here holds history, even if it doesn’t tell it outright.

And then, there’s this one small thing.

A single wildflower—monkshood, I think—growing from the edge of a rock. Its hooded purple bloom glows like a secret in the fading light. Most would walk by without noticing. But something about it stops me. The way it leans just slightly toward the west, catching the last amber sliver of sunlight. The way it holds its space—fragile, maybe, but not weak. That’s a story, I think. Not the flower itself, maybe. But the way it stands alone, defiant and delicate, in the dying light. The way it refuses to be swallowed by shadow.

This is how inspiration works for me. It starts outside. It starts with watching and waiting and listening. It starts in the fading light.

What about you?

What places stir your thoughts into motion? What time of day helps you find your voice? Do you wait for silence, or do you write amid the noise of life?

Here in Southeast Alaska, in the stillness between the tides, I find mine.

And if you’re ever searching for yours, maybe come stand in the hush of this wilderness. The story might already be waiting for you.

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What It Means to Be Connected


Why Belonging, Support, and Shared Purpose Matter More Than Ever

In a world that often pulls us in different directions, the power of connection has never been more important. Whether you’re in a tight-knit village like Metlakatla, a family business, a church group, or a professional team, the strength of any group lies in its ability to connect on a human level. But what does it really mean to be connected?

Belonging: The Heart of Connection

At the core of every thriving community is a sense of belonging. It’s more than just being present—it’s being seen, heard, and valued. When people feel accepted and understood, they naturally show up more fully. It’s the invisible thread that makes someone say, “These are my people.”

Shared Identity: Our Common Ground

Communities with strong connections often share more than just physical space. They share stories, values, and a collective history. Whether it’s a cultural tradition, a shared vision for the future, or simply growing up in the same place, shared identity is what gives a group its soul.

Mutual Support: Leaning on Each Other

True connection means knowing you can count on others—and they can count on you. It’s the neighbor who shows up when your generator goes out. The friend who listens without judgment. The coworker who steps in when you’re overwhelmed. Mutual support transforms groups into families.

Meaningful Relationships: Depth Over Surface

Surface-level connection isn’t enough. We thrive when we build meaningful relationships—when we know people’s stories, their struggles, their dreams. Authentic connection requires vulnerability, trust, and a commitment to showing up for one another in real ways.

Shared Experiences: The Glue of Community

From potlucks to fishing trips, community cleanups to youth basketball leagues—shared experiences create memories that bind us together. These moments deepen our bonds and remind us that we’re in this life together.

Active Participation: You Get Out What You Put In

Connection is a two-way street. It doesn’t happen by accident—it happens when people actively engage. Show up. Contribute. Help set up the chairs, lead the project, share your voice. Your presence matters more than you realize.

When Connection is Missing: What Can Be Done?

Disconnected communities don’t just feel lonely—they become ineffective. But we can bridge the gap:

  • Start with Communication: Honest, respectful conversations lay the groundwork for trust.
  • Create Opportunities to Gather: Don’t underestimate the power of a meal, a story circle, or a volunteer project to bring people together.
  • Encourage Collaboration: Shared work builds shared purpose.
  • Practice Empathy: Listen deeply. Be willing to see the world through someone else’s eyes.
  • Celebrate Diversity: Unity doesn’t mean uniformity. Our differences are strengths, not weaknesses.
  • Support Inclusive Leadership: Leaders who prioritize people over power are the ones who build lasting communities.
  • Address the Hard Stuff: Conflict, fear, or mistrust can block connection. Face it head-on, with grace and honesty.
  • Keep Showing Up: Relationships take time. Don’t give up when things get tough. Be patient. Be consistent.

Final Thoughts: Building Connection is the Work of a Lifetime

To be connected is to be human. It’s how we thrive. It’s how we heal. It’s how we build communities that last.

If you’re part of a group that feels disconnected right now—don’t wait. Start with one conversation, one shared meal, one small act of care. That’s how we begin again.

Let’s talk:
How do you build connection in your own community? What’s worked—and what hasn’t? Drop your thoughts in the comments or share this with someone who could use a reminder that connection is possible, even now.

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The Voices of Wisdom: Elders of Metlakatla

Guardians of Wisdom: Honoring the Elders of Metlakatla

In the close-knit community of Metlakatla, the Elders have always held a place of honor and reverence. Their wisdom, gathered over a lifetime of experiences, is a precious gift that has been passed down through generations. These stories, traditions, and teachings are the threads that weave the fabric of our cultural identity.

Growing up, I was fortunate to hear these stories firsthand. My grandparents would share tales of fishing and hunting, of the tribe and its people, of family and community. These moments were often shared in the most serene settings—while casting lines into the water with my grandfathers, or gathered in the warm glow of the living room. Each story was a lesson, a piece of history, a reminder of who we are and where we come from.

The Elders spoke of the natural world with a reverence that was palpable. They taught us the ways of the land and the sea, how to respect and live in harmony with nature. They shared the importance of working together, of supporting one another, and of the deep bonds that hold our community together. Their words were imbued with the traditions, songs, and stories that define us as a people.

Yet, as time marches on, there is a growing concern that these invaluable lessons might be lost. Many of our Elders have passed on, taking with them a wealth of knowledge and wisdom. In our smaller community, the oral traditions that have sustained us for so long are at risk of fading into obscurity.

But it is within our power to preserve this legacy. By actively listening, recording, and sharing the stories of our Elders, we can ensure that their wisdom continues to guide future generations. It’s crucial that we take the time to sit with our Elders, to ask questions and listen intently. We must document their tales, their teachings, and their traditions, so that they can be passed down, just as they were passed down to us.

These stories are not just a reflection of the past; they are a beacon for the future. They teach us about resilience, community, and the importance of cultural preservation. They remind us of our roots and inspire us to carry forward the values and practices that have sustained our people for generations.

In Metlakatla, the voices of the Elders are a cherished treasure. It is up to us to honor their legacy by ensuring that their wisdom is never forgotten. Let us be the keepers of their stories, the guardians of their teachings, and the bridge between the past and the future. By doing so, we can create a world where the richness of our heritage continues to thrive, guiding and inspiring the generations to come.

This story highlights the invaluable wisdom of the Elders in Metlakatla and the importance of preserving their legacy for future generations.

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HOPE in the Heart of Metlakatla

From Isolation to Unity: A Community’s Journey of Hope

The small yet resilient community of Metlakatla, Alaska, has faced its share of challenges, but nothing quite like the isolation brought on by the lockdowns of 2020. The global pandemic forced people into their homes, away from the warmth of family gatherings, the joy of community events, and the support of close-knit tribes. In a place where social bonds are as vital as the air we breathe, the sudden separation created a void, a sense of hopelessness that permeated the hearts of many.

For the people of Metlakatla, the lockdowns were more than just a physical barrier—they were an emotional and spiritual battle. The enemy of our souls, loneliness, found fertile ground in the isolation, planting seeds of doubt and despair. As the days turned into weeks and months, it became evident that humans are inherently social beings, created to thrive in the presence of others.

The lockdowns hurt our people deeply. Families felt the sting of separation, and the tribes saw the fraying of the communal fabric that had held them together for generations. The effects lingered long after restrictions were lifted, leaving many to struggle in the darkness of their own minds, searching for a way back to the light.

But even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of hope. In Metlakatla, that hope is rekindling, one act of kindness and one gesture of unity at a time. It starts with acknowledging the pain, recognizing the toll that isolation has taken, and understanding that it’s okay to feel lost. From there, we can begin to heal.

The message is clear: We need each other. It’s time to come together once again, to stand united as a community, a family, and a tribe. Hope is not lost—it is merely waiting to be reignited. We can draw strength from our shared experiences, finding solace in the fact that we are not alone.

Healing begins with small steps. Reaching out to a neighbor, checking in on a friend, gathering safely in ways that bring joy and comfort. It’s about rebuilding the connections that were strained and finding new ways to support one another. Together, we can restore what was broken, bridging the gaps created by confusion and division.

There is hope today. It’s in the laughter of children playing, the smiles shared at the local market, and the stories told around the dinner table. It’s in the determination of our youth, striving to overcome the darkness and carve out a brighter future. It’s in the hearts of our elders, who carry the wisdom of resilience and the spirit of community.

To the people of Metlakatla, know that you are not alone. We stand together, hand in hand, heart to heart, facing whatever challenges come our way. We are stronger together, and by uniting, we can create a future filled with hope, healing, and restoration. Let us move forward, with courage and faith, knowing that as a community, we will rise above the darkness and shine brightly once more.

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Walking Through Grief: A Mother’s Legacy

Finding Light in the Darkness: A Mother’s Unyielding Spirit

In the cold, dark depths of a late December, surrounded by the quiet stillness of winter, I found myself grappling with the most profound grief I had ever known. My mother, Roberta Atkinson, had been taken by cancer, a relentless foe that ravaged her body but never dimmed her spirit. Despite the pain and fragility that marked her final days, she remained a beacon of light, always smiling whenever family gathered around her.

Her last Christmas was a bittersweet gathering. We came to be with her, to surround her with love and warmth, knowing it would be her last. Seeing her so frail was heartbreaking, and I found myself consumed with anger towards God. “How dare you,” I would think and sometimes shout in my mind.

One evening, I stepped outside onto the front porch. The landscape was barren, the plant life dormant under the blanket of winter. As I stood there, venting my anger through prayers, an unexpected and beautiful fragrance filled the air—fresh flowers, so vivid and out of place in that wintery scene. I looked around, puzzled, unable to locate the source of this miraculous scent.

When I returned inside, my mother, resting on her bed in the living room, greeted me with a radiant smile. “Did you smell him?” she asked.

Confused, I responded, “What do you mean?”

“My Angel,” she said softly. “He is here, and he smells like the most beautiful roses.”

In that moment, I was struck by the strength of her faith, a faith that never wavered, even in the face of death. Her belief in the presence of an angel, the source of that heavenly scent, brought a sense of peace that I could not deny. It was a reminder that her spirit, her love, and her unwavering faith would always be with us.

My mother was an incredible woman, full of joy and always encouraging those around her. Her laughter, her smile, and her ability to live in the moment left a lasting impact on everyone she met. Even though it has been many years since she graduated from this life to the next, the pain of her absence still lingers. But so does the warmth of her spirit and the lessons she imparted.

Grief is a journey, a path we must walk, often filled with anger, sorrow, and confusion. Yet, it is also a path that can lead to healing, to moments of unexpected beauty, and to the enduring presence of those we love. My mother’s legacy is a testament to the power of faith, the strength of the human spirit, and the everlasting impact of love.

Though it still hurts, remembering her smile and the angelic fragrance of that winter evening brings comfort and a reminder that her spirit is always with us, guiding us through our darkest days.

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Rising from the Shadows: The People of Metlakatla, Alaska

From Pain to Promise: The Journey of Healing in Metlakatla

In the tranquil yet resilient community of Metlakatla, Alaska, the First Nations People have woven their lives into the fabric of the land, waters, and skies for generations. The deep-rooted traditions and culture of the Tsimshian people stand as a testament to their enduring spirit, despite the shadows cast by the atrocities inflicted upon them in the past.

The journey toward healing began with the recognition and acknowledgment of their painful history. It was through stories shared by elders, the keepers of wisdom, that the community found strength in remembering their ancestors and honoring their legacies. The pain was profound, and it often felt like a wound that would never fully heal. Yet, in their shared sorrow, there was also a shared resilience.

Healing circles became a sanctuary where voices once silenced could now be heard. These gatherings allowed the people of Metlakatla to express their grief, anger, and confusion. It was within these circles that they began to understand the power of collective healing. Forgiveness was not immediate, nor was it easy. It was a process that required time, empathy, and an unwavering commitment to rebuilding their identity.

Art played a pivotal role in the community’s path to recovery. Traditional dance, song, and carving became powerful tools for expressing the inexpressible. Each piece of art was a bridge between the past and the future, a way to preserve their heritage while also forging a new path forward. The youth were especially encouraged to participate, learning from the elders and infusing the traditions with their own creativity and hope.

Education was another cornerstone of healing. By reclaiming their history and ensuring it was taught in schools, the people of Metlakatla empowered the next generation with knowledge and pride in their heritage. They learned not only about the hardships faced by their ancestors but also about the remarkable resilience and strength that defined their people.

Through these efforts, forgiveness began to take root. It was not about forgetting the past, but about finding a way to move beyond it. The community embraced the philosophy that while the pain would always be a part of their story, it did not have to define their future. They could honor their past while also building a new legacy of strength, unity, and hope.

Today, Metlakatla stands as a beacon of resilience and transformation. The people have become a living testament to the power of healing and the importance of cultural pride. They have shown that even the deepest wounds can be tended to, and that growth and freedom can emerge from the shadows of the past.

In the hearts and minds of the people, the message is clear: While the pain is there and will always be a part of their history, they are more than their suffering. They are a vibrant, thriving community that refuses to let the atrocities of the past dictate who they are today. Through forgiveness and healing, they have found a path to a brighter, more hopeful future.

This story honors the strength and resilience of the People of Metlakatla, Alaska, and emphasizes the importance of forgiveness and healing as a pathway to freedom and growth.

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There Ain’t No Grave!! Gonna Hold my Body Down!

Shame had always felt like a heavy shackle around my heart, a prison as cruel as the grave. It whispered lies, telling me I was unworthy, that my mistakes defined me. It came to take my name, to erase the essence of who I was and leave me cowering in the shadows.

For years, I let shame dictate my life. I avoided mirrors, both literal and metaphorical, afraid of the reflection staring back. I distanced myself from those who loved me, convinced that they couldn’t possibly see past my flaws. My life became a cycle of isolation and self-doubt, a never-ending descent into darkness.

But in the quietest moments, when the weight of shame seemed unbearable, a whisper of another kind reached my ears. It was the sound of love, soft and persistent, calling me to break free. Love reminded me that my worth wasn’t defined by my past, but by the potential for redemption and growth.

I began to listen to this new song, the freedom song of love. It spoke of forgiveness, acceptance, and the boundless grace that awaited me. Love taught me that my scars were not marks of shame, but badges of survival. They were reminders of battles fought and won, of the strength that lay within me.

With each note of this song, I found the courage to confront my shame. I faced the mistakes I had made and sought forgiveness, not just from others, but from myself. I embraced my imperfections, understanding that they were a part of my journey, not the end of it.

As love’s song grew louder, the chains of shame began to break. I stood taller, my spirit unburdened. I realized that no grave, be it shame or regret, could hold my body down. I was free to be myself, to live a life defined by love and resilience.

In this newfound freedom, I reached out to others who were trapped in their own prisons of shame. I shared my story, hoping to ignite the same spark of hope that had saved me. Together, we sang the song of love and liberation, a chorus of voices rising above the lies of shame.

And so, with love as my guide, I embraced the future with open arms. No longer defined by the past, but by the promise of a brighter tomorrow. No grave could hold me down, for I had found my freedom in the unwavering love that surrounded and uplifted me.

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Sky-Eyes: A Bridge of Legends

Embracing Uniqueness in the Mist of Metlakatla

Photo by Tyrone Scott Hudson

In the heart of Metlakatla, where the mist clings to ancient cedar trees and the whispers of legends echo through the fjords, there lived a young girl named Kaya. She was different—her eyes held the colors of the midnight sky, and her laughter danced like the northern lights.

Kaya’s uniqueness set her apart from the other children in the village. While they played hide-and-seek among the totem poles, she wandered along the rocky shore, collecting seashells and listening to the secrets carried by the waves. Her grandmother, Tala, recognized this difference and encouraged it.

“Kaya,” Tala would say, “our people have always been the keepers of stories. We weave them into our blankets, carve them into our canoes, and sing them under the moon. Your difference is a gift—a bridge between our past and our future.”

But Kaya didn’t always feel like a bridge. At school, her classmates teased her for her quiet nature and her fascination with the old legends. They called her “Sky-Eyes” and laughed when she spoke of the Raven Clan and the spirit bears. Kaya longed to fit in, to be like the others—to blend seamlessly into the fabric of the community.

One day, during the annual Salmon Festival, Kaya watched as her peers danced in a circle, their laughter rising like smoke from a cedar fire. She stood on the outskirts, feeling like an outsider. The rhythm of the drums pulsed through her veins, urging her to join, but doubt held her back.

That’s when she noticed an old man sitting on a driftwood log. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his hands bore the scars of countless fishing seasons. Kaya approached him, drawn by the wisdom etched into his weathered face.

“Are you not dancing, child?” he asked, his voice as gentle as the breeze.

Kaya hesitated. “I don’t belong,” she confessed. “I’m different.”

The old man chuckled. “Different? Ah, that’s a word for storytellers. You see, Kaya, the salmon don’t all swim the same way. Some leap waterfalls, while others find hidden coves. But they all return to their roots—their spawning grounds. You, my dear, are like a salmon with sky-colored scales. Embrace your journey.”

His words stayed with Kaya. She began to write down the legends she heard from Tala—the tale of the Thunderbird and the Whale, the song of the cedar flute, and the flight of the first raven. She painted these stories on canvas, capturing the magic of her heritage.

Soon, the village noticed. Kaya’s art adorned the community center, and people gathered to listen as she recited the old tales. She wasn’t just different; she was a bridge—a storyteller who wove threads of memory into the fabric of the present.

And so, Kaya danced. Not in circles, but along the shore, her feet sinking into the sand. She swirled like the aurora borealis, celebrating her uniqueness. The other children joined her, their laughter blending with the rhythm of the waves.

Kaya learned that fitting in wasn’t about becoming like everyone else; it was about finding her place within the grand tapestry of Metlakatla. She realized that being different was not a flaw—it was her superpower.

And as the seasons turned, Kaya’s eyes continued to hold the colors of the midnight sky, reflecting the stories of her ancestors. She knew then that she was not just okay; she was extraordinary.

And so, in the heart of Metlakatla, where the mist clings to ancient cedar trees, Kaya danced—her laughter echoing through time, a bridge between worlds. 

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The Song Stones Echo

The Song Stones Echo

Once upon a time, in the heart of Metlakatla, Alaska, there lived a young storyteller named Kaya. Kaya had inherited the wisdom of her Tsimshian ancestors, and her soul resonated with the rhythm of the waves crashing against the rocky shores. She believed that stories were like the wind—sometimes gentle whispers, other times tempests that swept through the forest, carrying secrets and dreams.

Kaya’s days were filled with ink-stained parchment and melodies that danced in her mind. She would sit by the fire, the flames casting shadows on the walls, and weave tales of courage, love, and resilience. Her poems flowed like the nearby river, capturing the essence of the land and its people.

One frosty morning, Kaya ventured into the ancient forest. The trees stood tall, their branches reaching for the sky, and the air smelled of pine and moss. She closed her eyes, listening to the wind rustling the leaves, and felt the heartbeat of the earth beneath her feet. It was here that she discovered the Songstone—a smooth, obsidian-like rock that held the power to transform words into melodies.

Kaya carried the Songstone with her wherever she went. When she sat by the water’s edge, she sang verses about the salmon’s journey upstream, their silver bodies shimmering in the sunlight. The waves joined in, harmonizing with her voice. When she climbed the mountains, she whispered stories to the eagles, who soared higher, their wings catching the sun’s golden rays.

But Kaya’s greatest creation was the Moonlit Lullaby. She wrote it during the darkest nights when the moon hung low, casting silvery threads across the bay. The lullaby spoke of hope, of dreams cradled in the arms of the night, and of ancestors watching over their descendants. When she sang it, the stars blinked in approval, and the auroras danced in celebration.

Word of Kaya’s gift spread beyond the village. Travelers came from distant lands, seeking her stories and songs. They brought gifts—feathers from exotic birds, shells from distant shores, and rare herbs that whispered forgotten tales. Kaya used these treasures to create new verses, each one a tribute to the interconnectedness of all life.

One day, a weary pilot named Elias arrived in Metlakatla. His plane had battled fierce winds, and he had lost his way. Kaya welcomed him with warmth, offering him a cup of spruce tea. Elias shared stories of the skies—the constellations that guided him, the storms that tested his resolve, and the sunrises that painted the horizon in hues of orange and pink.

Moved by Elias’s tales, Kaya composed the Skybound Ode. She sang of wings slicing through clouds, of sunsets melting into twilight, and of the moon cradling the stars. Elias listened, tears in his eyes, and knew he had found something precious—a connection to the land, the sky, and the human spirit.

As seasons changed, Kaya and Elias continued to exchange stories. They wove their narratives together, creating a tapestry of shared experiences. And when the time came for Elias to leave, Kaya gave him the Songstone. “Carry our stories with you,” she said. “Let them guide you home.”

And so, Elias flew across oceans, the Songstone nestled in his pocket. He wrote letters to Kaya, describing distant lands and the people he met. Kaya, in turn, composed poems inspired by his adventures. Their words circled the globe, bridging cultures and hearts.

Legend has it that on clear nights, if you listen closely, you can hear the Moonlit Lullaby echoing through the Alaskan fjords. And when the northern lights dance, it’s Kaya and Elias, their stories intertwined, painting the sky with wonder.

And so, dear reader, remember that every word you write, every tale you tell, has the power to connect souls, just like Kaya’s Songstone and Elias’s wings. 

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