We are leaving Missouri this coming Wednesday, and while it will be sad to say “goodbye” to family- we are ready to leave the sprawl of the city. In a previous post I wrote about the long list of conveniences that life in the city brings, and I will piggyback off that post by writing about some of the things we miss about home without trying to talk too much trash about this part of the world.

I miss the sounds, and lack there of, our Alaskan neighborhood. The distant sound of a purring generator, a chainsaw, a tractor, or some other type of machinery that one can generally identify by ear because of the lack of other distractions. The rumble of the big yellow and black water truck that rolls by our house a dozen times a day out to the Ninichik Tribal Land. I miss the sound of barking dogs and distant wolves. The crackle of the fire in the wood stove, our dogs nails on the floor as they walk to their water bowl. The sound of our cat scratching at the door to be let in, then let out, then let in, then let out. I miss the sound of water dripping off the roof as snow melts, roosters crowing both day and night, ducks quacking and flapping their wings, and an occasional airplane or helicopter flying over. I miss the calming lullaby of Cook Inlet’s waters lapping against the sands in Anchor Point and Ninilchik. I miss the sounds of students laughing and goofing in a classroom or on the playground, and basketball shoes screeching on the gymnasium floor. My daughters’ giggles as they plays with the dogs, swim in the Ninilchik pool, take horse-riding lessons and gymnastics class. I miss the sound of Nana preparing our weekly feast in the kitchen, and Bampa’s comforting voice as we drive to a meeting. I miss the roaring wind gusts that blast against our north facing windows, and the sound of the sandhill cranes that will arrive soon. I miss the sound of crunchy snow under my heavy boots as I carry feed and water to animals. I miss the “shhh shhh shhh” sound of cross country skis, and the “plop” of rocks or snow balls dropped into Stariski Creek from our little bridge followed by giggles of excitement from our daughters. I miss the sounds of home.

The sounds here do not stop. If there was a break in the noise, I would probably appreciate them more than I do, and I would be able to pick out individual sounds that I really enjoy more than others. Instead, the incessant buzz and blowing of the furnace mixed with the “ribbon of (six lane) highway” does not allow time for quiet. Not the quiet that I am used to, at least. I have heard sirens more in the past two months of being here than in my entire life combined, no doubt. That doesn’t mean that I don’t hear any sounds here that I enjoy. That’s not the case. I just put Primrose to sleep with the sound of a train only a mile away. I hear cardinals every day, an occasional crow, the voices of my loved ones, a coffee pot robot making my coffee; hell, I heard a chainsaw today and I had to sit down with my cup of coffee and smile at the sound.

I understand that all I need to do is buy a pair of headphones and tune out the sounds of life, tune out the wife and kids and family and everybody else, but I just can’t bring myself to do it very often.

I will name a few words that make me long for home. Safety, privacy, woods, nature, dirt, ocean, stars, animals, sea life, beach, gravel, fresh eggs, fresh baked bread, music,

A few weeks back, as I’m sure most of you remember, there was a Super Bowl parade in downtown Kansas City where over twenty people were shot and one person died. My sister-in-law was there with her husband and her three kids, they were only a stone’s throw from the girl who was shot and killed. Many of the wounded were kids. The shooting was done by teenagers, fucking teenagers with guns. One kid talked shit to another kid and the next thing you know, fucking “bam” shots fired. A lot of shots into a large crowd of people. That shit tore this city apart… for a few hours… because I quickly realized that the next shootings would only be a few hours later… over and over again.

A cop was killed a week ago in Independence, Missouri while trying to evict a man from a house. Shot and killed. He was killed along side the eviction worker. Two human beings shot and killed because one crazy bastard can’t take responsibility for his actions and get his life together. A couple of days after the shooting I went online trying to find the picture of the guy who killed the officer… and I was appalled at the near impossibility of finding any information on the shooting because there had been so many other shootings since that day. Shootings after a basketball game. Shootings at a Walgreen’s. Shootings at a Wal-Mart. Shootings from car to car. Shootings all over the place.

My real estate agent lives in a very high class area of Kansas City with homes worth over $500,000. A place that is supposedly untouched by violence, crooks, burglaries and murders. But less than six months ago one of her neighbor’s stepped outside of his million dollar home and saw a man breaking into his car. He picked up his phone to call the police and before he could make the call the man breaking into his car ran up to him and shot him dead and then ran away. He was never caught.

I don’t feel safe here, and I feel very safe at home. And as a father of two little girls, a husband to a gorgeous wife, a son-in-law to a kind, hard-working woman and a brother-in-law to four talented and sweet sisters– I don’t like being here without a gun, and I don’t like the thought of needing to carry a gun just to buy a pack of Oreos. It really does feel like a war zone here, and to be in a war zone without a weapon or my own squad of killers seems insane. So I can see why so many people here close their drapes, don’t wave, drive fast past people walking on the street, and avoid eye contact and conversations.

How did this city and our country become such a terrifying place to live?
Why do people keep opening liquor stores, weed shops, and convenient stores full of trash?

Lastly, I really miss the clean woods and privacy. Another thing that makes me angry about this place (pardon me for the rant), is the fucking trash. Violence from person to person, no doubt. But also violence against nature. Nature is a place to be developed into strip malls. Wildlife is an inconvenience for suburban neighborhoods. The woods and parks are dangerous places where kids are raped, crazy people live, and people are murdered. Trash is everywhere. Little pieces of plastic are like blades of grass in lawns. Tiny booze bottles line the gutters. I don’t even know how to write about the amount of garbage that is here. It is literally everywhere. In the creeks and rivers, at the playgrounds, next to the highways, stuck in fences with maple leaves, and in my cabinet and trash can.

We rented a dumpster that is full of trash left behind by previous owners of the house. We are going to walk our street early next week before we leave to pick up the trash to throw in the dumpers. But I’m sure it will be back within a couple of weeks. I am almost too discouraged to pick any of it up… almost. If I were to stay here any longer, I would probably buy a pistol, quit waving at people, and start tossing garbage out the car window. Sometimes it just feels like there’s no hope and all I can do is join them.

But thankfully, we are not joining the mass of two million or more people who live in the Kansas City area. We will continue to visit in the future, but this is not where we want to raise our kids.