memories – Notes from Alex

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.

A Day with Uncle Solomon

It was a warm July day in the late 1990s, and I had a rare day off from my job flying seaplanes in our quaint hometown of Metlakatla. These days off were always a treasure, and I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it—visiting my Uncle Solomon Atkinson.

Uncle Sol was a man revered by everyone who knew him. His wisdom and honor, rooted in prayer and a life filled with faith, made him a beacon of encouragement. Visits to his home were more than just casual family gatherings; they were experiences rich with lessons and insight.

That afternoon, as I stepped into his cozy office, I was greeted by the familiar sight of Uncle Sol at his desk, deep in thought. He welcomed me with a warm smile and a bear hug that spoke volumes of his affection.

We settled into an easy conversation, catching up on life and the latest happenings. The topic soon shifted to what I was doing during the winter months down south. With pride in my voice, I told him about my time in college and the work I had taken up to support my studies.

Uncle Sol listened intently, nodding his head occasionally. Then, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes reflecting a depth of thought and wisdom. He looked at me and made a statement that would stay with me forever: “When you are done, walking the trails down south, you need to come home and teach our people and our family what you learned.”

His words were simple, yet profound. They carried a weight of responsibility and a call to action that resonated deeply within me. I knew that this was not just a casual remark; it was a guiding principle, a mission that I needed to fulfill.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, my voice steady and resolute. I took his words to heart, knowing that they would shape my path and purpose in the years to come.

That day with Uncle Solomon was more than just a visit; it was a pivotal moment in my life, a moment that defined my commitment to my roots and my community. His wisdom and encouragement were the compass that guided me, reminding me of the importance of giving back and sharing knowledge with those who mattered most.

Tag: memories

Thank You, Grandpa Harold

Thank you, Grandpa.

Words to live by…