I must have blinked. Fifteen weeks of Alaskan living quickly melted away like snow on a sunny day. Just as the “Break Up” (Alaskans’ term for Spring) readied the soil for the bloom of summer wildflowers, our time in the Last Frontier sprouted a field of delightful memories, fresh for the picking.

Arriving in late March, we caught Alaska in its last few weeks of wintry slumber, a mix of pristine snow caps contrasted by a mess of puddles and slush. As a final curtain call before the endless summer days, Aurora Borealis even made a fleeting appearance as we stood in awe, gazing at the dancing lights above us. Slowly but surely, the days grew longer, the weather warmer, and spring began to appear around every corner.

We settled into the unhurried, small town pace of Homer, an artsy community that thrives on tourism and fishing. Affectionately described as “where the land ends and the sea begins,” Homer enjoys panoramic views of Kachemak Bay and the Kenai Mountains. The sights and sounds are like no other, as fishing boats race out of the harbor every morning and return at all hours of the night. Float planes crawl across the sky, their engines sounding as though they’re giving it all they’ve got with each foot gained in elevation. While I originally found the noise menacing, I quickly grew to love the drone of the propeller growing and fading overhead with each passing plane.

Abby and Annabelle were each hired as baristas at local coffee shops, keeping the regulars fueled on caffeine and pastries. Benjamin honed his survival skills, successfully lighting our campfires with good ol’ fashion flint and steel. Meanwhile, Sam lived his best life, joining a spring soccer league and finally being able to call me a “Soccer Mom” (minivan not included).

Dave and I enjoyed hours zigzagging between trails and sidewalks, taking in the scenery, wildlife, and fresh air. Bald Eagles graced the skies with their outstretched wings, while cranes tiptoed through the Beluga Slough marsh on their tall, stilt legs. We became casual acquaintances with the local town moose, who proudly showed off not one, but two knobby kneed calves. Always keeping our distance, we would nod “hello” to one another, and go our separate ways.

Tide-pooling became a simple pleasure, as the dramatic highs and lows revealed usually hidden creatures: purple sea stars, anemones, and more. Weekends were reserved for campfires and movies with newly made friends, while Sunday afternoons were spent playing Ultimate Frisbee with the church youth group.

So if asked what my most favorite moment was, I would have to answer, “The ones that never ended at all, the phenomenon of the Midnight Sun.” To peek out the window in the middle of the night and still see daylight can only be described as “enchanting.” Dave and I found ourselves taking “late-night” strolls (flashlight not required). Bedtimes were all out of whack. Dinner was served late, because it still felt like afternoon. Best of all, I’m not gonna lie, working night shift seemed to go a little faster when the sky was bright at 4 a.m.

Eventually every season ends though, and so did our time in Alaska. We packed away our jeans and sweatshirts. We traded in our Xtratufs for flip flops. I unplugged my heated blanket…and we headed back to the Lower 48.