By Chantelle Pence

“Remember, you are a human being.” I spoke the words to the people gathered around the fire during a song & story session that I was hosting at Cheney Lake, in Anchorage. The first session was held in December and they have continued monthly, attracting “regulars” and new people who happen to see the poster hanging from a tree.  “Fireside Session!” it reads. “Bring a song, a story, a joke, words from the heart, or a piece of wood for the fire.” Everyone brings something. That’s how you build community. 

The sessions began as a way to combat the isolation that was setting in due to the new paradigm we are all living in. I could feel myself becoming disconnected from my own humanness. Too many hours spent indoors, in front of a screen.  Online meetings. Online everything.  Even when I would go out on the trails to exercise and breathe, I noticed people had downcast eyes and few would look at me. We are not robots, I silently screamed. We are human beings.

I felt like I was gonna go crazy if I didn’t do something to create connection. So, I hung a sign out on the trail, inviting people to gather around a fire. On the day of the gathering I loaded up a portable firepit and a bunch of wood in a sled and pulled it down to the public recreation area by the lake. I wasn’t sure who would show, and hoped I wouldn’t be there alone.  I needn’t have worried. The sessions have been a hit! People of all ages and persuasions came out to sing, tell stories, and interact as human beings.  

The fireside sessions are not about talent, they are about togetherness. But it’s amazing how much talent people have! A professional musician who sings Irish style joined in.  He and his wife moved to Alaska last fall and this was the first social event they were able to attend. A professional playwright acted out a story. She had been craving a creative outlet and gave a stellar performance. People shared jokes…perfectly corny. A woman shared a poem in honor of her dad’s birthday. She forgot most of the lines but got everyone laughing. We sang songs in unison, and some in rounds. Sounds overlapping. Standing on the earth, under the sky, around a fire. We connected with each other and to our own humanity.  

The “hunker down” has made me see how complacent we’ve gotten, as a society. A system was created where we buy entertainment, rather than create it. In an urban area it’s easy to take in a movie, or listen to live music from a pub seat. Church pews are available for the spiritual seekers to come and go without much investment. Fun runs, performances, and any number of get-togethers are organized by various organizations. But, the fireside sessions were the first time I got together with those in my own neighborhood. It wasn’t sponsored by a business. It didn’t take money to make it happen, yet it was a rich experience. Everyone brought something.

I have lived in Anchorage for six years, now, and until we were forced to stay home I didn’t really know my neighbors. I don’t want to know them too intimately! We don’t need to be up in each other’s business.  But something happened during our fireside sessions. A trust was established. A connection. We smile at each other, now, when we see one another out walking. Sometimes stopping to visit. We treat each other like people, not a threat. Not a member of a particular political party or a potential virus carrier. 

One of the many things I appreciated about the sessions was the way people used their best judgment, but didn’t judge each other. Some wore masks. Some didn’t. One gentleman brought a load of wood to the fire because he wanted to be involved, but he felt he shouldn’t stay. He was being very careful to not get sick. He gave us his blessing, and fuel for the fire, and then left. We expressed our appreciation for his offering and, days later, I delivered some soup and biscuits to his doorstep. He was yet another neighbor that I didn’t know until I made a deliberate effort to connect. Now I know he is not just some guy. He is a retired carpenter who now works on his art. He is a painter and a woodcarver. When I see him in his yard, working on projects, I call him by name: “Hi Stuart!”

It took an outside force, and a mandate to stay away from others, to push me toward my neighbors and back to my roots. Life is ironic. Our family has decided to sell our house in Anchorage, and move back to the Copper River region full time. It seems a good time to get out of the city. And to not owe the bank anything. Urban systems are fragile. They are built on commerce and artificial constructs that disconnect one from nature, and our own humanness. The emphasis is often on consumerism and what we can get, rather than what we can give.

When I first moved to Anchorage, I was aware that something was missing for me. I didn’t feel fully alive until I went back home to visit. At times I felt depressed. Maybe it’s my rural upbringing that gives me the need for nature and simplicity. But, really, I think it’s a human thing.  We need the earth, the stars, the crackle of a fire and a grassroots sense of community. At the end of the day, it’s the simple things that fulfill human beings. 

I hope the Fireside Sessions continue after I’ve left.  I think they will, there is a lot of interest. The Irish musician has offered to host every now and again. Plus, I’m recruiting the teenage daughter of the family who is buying our house. She loves to sing and is very outgoing. I will help her, from afar, to create the posters to hang along the trail. Sometimes people need to be reminded or guided on how to come-into-unity (community). Especially in a city where the task is often left to formal organizations, businesses, or the municipality. It’s so important though, to stay connected to simple traditions. It doesn’t take money, just a little bit of effort and a willingness to share with others. A song, a story, a joke, words from the heart, or a piece of wood for the fire. Everyone contributes something. That’s how you build community.