The flight out to Kodiak takes roughly two hours. I sit in the middle row of the plane, with Clayton to my right, Mason behind me, Scott, Chris, Kate, and Brian, the pilot, in front. We fly over Alaskan mountains, frozen lakes, glaciers, and vast tundra stretching as far as I can see. People come visit Alaska each summer and take sightseeing trips like this for hundreds of dollars, and here I am, sitting and watching all for free. It blows me away to think about it.

The plane lands finally, and we all burst out, thankful for the chance to stretch our legs and stand on solid ground again. The air around me feels damper, heavier and chillier than in Anchorage. Old Harbor is right on the ocean, and Mark, the missionary we’re staying with, tells us whales and a variety of other sea life often can be spotted from shore.

After the team drops off our luggage at the culture center, where we’ll be staying for the week, Mark asks us to come help deliver milk to various houses in the village, since the food barge had just come in the night before. We all cram inside Mark’s old red pickup, and start making the rounds.

The village houses are small, packed tight together, with a faded and almost eerie look to them. Clotheslines and dog runs stretch from the corners of the roofs down to stakes in the ground. Random objects lay scattered in the yards- extra 2×4’s, old bikes, extra 4 wheeler parts… it almost reminds me of a yard sale, but not quite so artfully organized. Dirty windows have stickers plastered all over them, and many cars do also. I carry cartons of milk up to several houses that reek of smoke, and begin choking. Cigarettes are stuffed into old cans on the porches or stamped into the ground underneath my feet.

I wonder just what I have gotten myself into as Mark drives through the narrow, winding, dusty streets, feeling like we’re going in circles, and truth be told, we are. Towards the end of our deliveries we stop at the dump to drop off a neighbor’s trash. I look up and see majestic, breathtaking snow-dusted mountains and then my gaze levels to gaze upon more mountains of trash comprised of rusty car parts, candy wrappers, even an old PC monitor, every kind of item imaginable that someone didn’t want anymore. It feels ironic…such a beautiful place but with such disgusting things in it. I feel disappointed for reasons I’m not sure of.

For the last part of the afternoon the team builds an artic entryway for Mark’s neighbor a few houses down. The boys hammer and pull nails and saw and put up boards, I stand and shiver, watching the sun reflecting off the teal ocean and listen to the screams of the gulls. Once or twice I catch a glimpse of what I think is a whale spouting.

The team finally heads back to Mark and Heather’s house for dinner. I’m thankful for the promised warmth and the lights glowing inside. Dinner is wonderful and more than I could hope for, we eat crab wontons, spaghetti, garlic bread, corn, and brownies for dessert. I eat twice as much as I normally do, maybe because it’s cold or maybe because the food is so good, I don’t’ know. Finally I feel full.

After dinner Kate and I wander back over to the culture center, and the rest of the team follows shortly after. We hang out with some of the locals who show up for a while, we play apples to apples, Ninja, and card games. By 9:30 I’m fighting sleep and can hardly remember how to talk, I haven’t slept in two days, since the night before I had pulled an all-nighter to get homework finished. After what seems an eternity, we roll out sleeping bags and find pillows. I curl up in my North Face sleeping bag and fall asleep to the sound of Scott and Mason and Clayton wrestling in the next room, feeling like I’m caught halfway between the middle of nowhere and the threads of normal society. It’s day 1, I’ve come to Old Harbor, Alaska, and have got no clue on what I’m doing, or what is going to happen in the days to come.