Passage V

Living with Extremes

Whenever I tell friends about the ten years I lived in Fairbanks, Alaska, I find myself focusing not on the desolate wilderness beauty nor on the frigid arctic temperatures. But on the drastic differences in daylight hours of summer and winter. On the shortest December days in Fairbanks, a pale sun lifts slightly above the southern horizon for less than five dusky hours. For weeks in the summer, conversely, residents of Fairbanks bask in what seems like eternal sunshine, with the sun barely dipping below the northern horizon near midnight. Both the extremes of darkness and light and the constantly shifting day length effects people in subtle and curious ways.

(64)Everything has seemed possible; one want to work or play all night. Some desperate parents line their childrens bedroom window's with aluminum foil to convince them that it is dark outside, and not inside, and time to go to bed. Other parents give up the clock altogether and take their children to sunny playgrounds in the middle of the night in June and July.

On the other hand, summer days never seem to end, winter days never seem to begin. As the sun comes up later and later each winter morning, many people's initiation lowers. However, it just doesn't seem fair that the day's duties should begin at eight or nine o'clock when the sun won't rise until ten or eleven. Depression often sets in and survival seem doubtful as people go to work and come home in complete darkness. Many people find themselves wanting to do less and less each day—wanting, rather, to sleep through the winter like the hibernating bears.

Now having lived in central Michigan where winter days are still considerably shorter than summer days, but the rate of change is much slower and the difference is less extreme. As the hours of sunlight decrease in December, many people comment on how dark it is by 5:00 P.M. These comments make me realize perceptions are relative: I think Michigan winter days are rather long.