Everything was big in Alaska—the mountains, the glaciers…even the raindrops! My husband, Gary, and I ran through the streets of Ketchikan, where our cruise ship had docked, trying to find shelter from the deluge.
We had so much to see on the eight-day cruise we’d booked for our fortieth wedding anniversary: calving glaciers, fjords, whales, historic churches and, today, a lumberjack show. But how were we supposed to enjoy anything in this weather? The rain was coming down so hard we could barely see.
“There!” Gary pointed. The open doors of the Nazarene church. We ducked inside. Sunday services were about to start. Shivering, we slid into a pew.
“Hello,” a robust voice said behind us. We turned around to see a man with a salt-and-pepper beard. “I’m Dave,” he said, “and this is my wife, Marsha. I can tell you two are visitors. Welcome.”
He extended his hand. “Hello,” I said shaking it. We made some small talk before the opening hymn.
I couldn’t help but think of my 90-year-old mom. She and Dad had traveled a lot in their day and always said the highlight of their trips was meeting people.
“It’s the new friends you make as much as the places you see,” she said. She’d been particularly excited about this cruise. At least the folks here are nice, I thought, even if the weather isn’t.
After the final benediction we headed for the door, ready to finally see Ketchikan. But it was still pouring. “Maybe we should call a cab to take us back to the ship,” Gary said, disheartened. Before I could answer, Dave appeared. “Where you folks headed?” he asked.
“We were hoping to go to the lumberjack show.”
“We’ve got our truck here. Glad to give you a lift.”
They gave us more than a ride. Dave and Marsha pointed out landmarks on our way: Creek Street, the shopping and restaurant district, a heritage museum, the state park. They gave us a little dose of history, told us where to get the best souvenirs. A perfect tour, from locals who knew the city best.
By the time we reached the lumberjack show it had stopped raining.
“Enjoy Alaska,” Dave called from his truck as he and Marsha waved goodbye.
Back aboard the ship that evening I couldn’t stop thinking about the helpful couple. They had saved our whole day.
I grabbed some ship stationery, sat down and wrote Dave and Marsha a thank-you note, care of the Nazarene church in Ketchikan, hoping that someone there could somehow get it to them. We hadn’t even gotten their last name.
The weather was better for the remainder of the cruise. We crossed off everything on our to-do list. It was the trip of a lifetime.
Back home I told Mom about all the fun things we’d done. “Sounds like you two had a wonderful time,” she said. “Did you say hello to our friends the Porters?”
This again? Months before we’d left, Mom had been talking about the Porters, who she and Dad had been close with back in Rapid City, South Dakota, years ago.
They’d lost touch after the Porters moved, but Mom heard they were living in Alaska. She acted as though it would be as natural as running into them at the supermarket. “Make sure to say hi to the Porters,” she kept insisting. Was this her idea of a joke? Now she was back on the subject.
“Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes, “Alaska is twice the size of Texas.”
“Oh, yes. Well, that’s too bad,” Mom said. “You would have really liked Dave and Marsha.”
Wait. Dave and Marsha? The friendly man with the salt-and-pepper beard and his lovely wife? No way. Lots of couples have those names.
A week later, we got a letter in the mail. The Nazarene church had delivered my thank-you. “We’d love to stay in touch,” our impromptu tour guides signed off, “Dave and Marsha Porter.”
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