• Nonfiction

    A Plum’s Prance

    By Mara Lorch Every barefoot step, skip, or hop within the plum tree’s reach was a risk. As an eight-year-old with a sprinkler wiggling across the grass on a summer’s day, I bounded freely, with shoes and sensibility so far behind my mind, they may as well have fallen out when I somersaulted into the sweet July sunshine. Purple stains the wooden porch, the hands picking, and the feet dancing. The size of a cherry, these plump plums were best eaten whole. Their skin appeared a lilac gray until a fingerprint smudged the matte surface away, uncovering their dark purple shine. A yellow flesh juiced out once bitten, sticking to…

  • Nonfiction


    By Destiny B. Key Being within Alaska’s nature has always been my definition of “home”. I refuse to call any place “home” because I know my home is Alaska. It’s in the waterfalls off the side’s of the Seward Highway, it’s in Whittier at the Salmon Creek run, it’s in the view of the Sleeping Lady and it’s in the Matanuska Glacier. Immersing and submitting to Alaska’s flora, fauna and salmon filled cool waters always felt beautifully natural. It’s apart of me and it’s a part of who I am, even to this day, being far from the land I am most familiar with. 

  • Nonfiction

    The Rhythm of Drinking Mates

    By Maria Capezio Crookes You see, a mate is like a period and a space. You take one and then you can start a new paragraph. -Julio Cortazar, Rayuela Mate (pronounced Mah-teh) is a traditional South American drink, brewed from the dried leaves of Yerba Mate (Ilex paraguariensis) in hot water, served in a dried hollow gourd, and briefly steeped. The drink is sucked from the gourd with a metal straw, which is fitted with a strainer at one end to keep leaf particles from the mouth (Encyclopedia Britannica). *** Drinking mates is ceremony. You can’t hurry it up. There is not such a thing as “let’s drink some quick…

  • Nonfiction

    Italian Story 1 & 2

    By joe The Banana Lena was a sport competitive host. It was my buddy Jim’s first visit to the house, and after a couple days he didn’t look too good.  So I said , “Jim what’s up?” He said, “I can’t eat another thing. I think your mom is trying to kill me.” I handed him a banana and instructed him, wherever you go hold this banana in your hand and when my mom insists on getting you something to eat show her the banana and say, “No thanks, Mrs. Sarcone, I was just going to eat this banana.” The Biscotti Lena was on her death bed so I said,…

  • Nonfiction,  Poetry

    On Mountains: A Reflection of Danger, Pain, and Frog Water

    Thinking Back, 2002 – Spring 2022 By Laura Ditto Growing up around people who look at mountains like something they might attain for an afternoon snack leaves one with an odd sort of connection to nature. I’ve been raised with the stories of these people; who they are, their incredible feats, but also too often who they were. Early death, as it turns out, comes a little too easy for the adventurous spirits. That’s where the close, safe-feeling connection with nature becomes an oxymoron. Being who I am—somewhat cautious all the time but also clumsy—I tend to tread carefully when I’m walking in the woods. It leads me to think…

  • Nonfiction

    First Ascent

    By Samuel Henderson Have you ever stood atop a remote mountain and wondered how many other humans have stood there before you? There’s something truly unique and special about standing in a precarious location looking down upon nothing but raw nature, -not a soul insight. For that moment standing atop a mountain peak, you have a completely unique view that changes ever so quickly with the weather. Standing on the summit of a large mountain is a time limited gift, often well earned through your own physical, mental, and emotional strength. Throughout history large mountains have been natural barriers, borders for both weather and invading militaries alike. They can offer…

  • Nonfiction

    “It’s Loud Up Here”

    By Jordan Hales How do you know what to write? Where do the ideas come from? From what is your inspiration pulled? Do you stare at the wall until it tells you what to write? Do you ask Pinterest for writing prompts? Do you wait until someone tells you what to write? How do you know what to write? How does an artist decide what to paint? How does a songwriter find her muse? How does an architect know where to start? How does a dancer know which way to move and shape their body? How does a writer know what to write? How do I—as a writer—know what to…

  • Nonfiction

    The Many Facets of Flowers

    By Jordan Hales Flowers are bright and colorful. They’re light in the dark. They’re the sun when it’s set. They’re life even after they’ve been plucked from their roots. Their floriography tells the story of each individual flower. They’re medicine and celebration. They’re grief and “Get Well.” They’re art and floral fabrics. They’re wild and assorted. Flowers are peaceful and calming. They’re relatable. Tough and delicate. They make sense in life—in a field, a vase, in the hands of a newlywed, the ear of a child. They decorate and they grow. They bring joy and comfort. Flowers are appropriate for every emotion and occasion. Tears from eyes and dimples next…

  • Nonfiction

    The Knight in Shining Earrings

    By Maria Capezio Crookes The years 1999 and 2000 were not kind to me, and I was not kind to myself. My best friend, Rut, was diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma at 19, I dropped out of my first attempt to go to school, my abuelito died, I broke up with my abusive high school boyfriend, I felt lost and a failure. At least I was able to accompany Rut for the first part of her Chemo treatments (she is now Dr. Rut, has been in remission for several years, and has a beautiful family). During that time, I read a lot, and tried to figure out what to do next.…

  • Nonfiction

    The Haircut

    By Mario Jose F Vinoya Content Warning: animal abuse It was January 31, 2022, a bright sunny Monday over the city of Anchorage, with cold winds of 10 degrees. I was only supposed to be gone for an hour and a half, only to get a haircut from my friend during the early morning of 11 am. The haircut was supposed to be a new change for me, as I was starting in-person on the school campus the following week. I had excitement in my stomach to meet new people and try a new look. I was done with these thin strands of Asian hair on my head because it…