As the darkest and most gloomy part of the Alaskan winter set in, people began asking me (mostly relatives) in why in the hell any of us ever choose to live up here in this cold dark nothing. They usually asked me this question when I told them the sun came up that morning at 10:30am, and was setting at 3:30pm, oh, and did I mention it was also negative 11 degrees outside?

But it's simple really. 

One minute it's like this. 

High noon on the solstace
And on the shortest day of the year you're absolutely APPALLED by how low the sun is at "high" noon. You shudder because you know that you are smack in the middle of some of the darkest time you've ever lived in, and yet, you made it this far, so you remind yourself it can only get better from here. Tomorrow won't be as dark as today, the next day a little lighter, and on and on until summer is here. 


Before you know it you know you look out your window and surprise! Where you had become used to seeing complete and utter darkness as early as 3:30pm, suddenly you realize the sun is setting, and it's only 4:15!!!!!

You may even find yourself jumping for joy. 

Maybe you'll even send pictures to your family talking about how excited you are, and they might begin to worry about you. 

But you don't care because IT'S STILL SUNNY AT 4:15PM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sunset at 4:15

And if that didn't make you happy enough, not a few weeks later you look out the window and yet again, Alaska surprises you with a slowly fading sunset at GASP, 5:15. 

Sunset at 5:15
After the solstice we were only gaining a handful of seconds, hardly even a full minute of extra daylight with each passing day. Now we're nearly into February and everyday we're gaining minutes upon minutes of extra light. Suddenly I can remember that world of too much light. Realizing that I'll actually use my blackout curtains before I know it. 

Thank you Alaska for having light related A.D.D. and never letting us get used to one type of daylight for too long. 

Oh, and for moose. 

Damn I love those goofy animals.