I will be leaving camp in twelve days.

For weeks we've enjoyed clear, dry weather with temperatures in the low 70's. Today it is around 30 degrees Fahrenheit. Yesterday evening became windy and rainy and overnight changed to snow! I went to bed with my weatherport rocking in the storm, and woke up to a transformed landscape. The hills around camp are dusted in white, and low clouds to the south are beginning to lift, revealing the crags of the Brooks Range sharply delineated in blues and greys against the pure white of its north slopes shining under the morning sun.

The light coating of snow has a way of bringing out the contours of the tundra much like a charcoal sketch, unlike the velvety effect that occurs at the height of summer when the land is covered in actively photosynthesizing greenery.

I will be leaving camp in twelve days.

To say I have enjoyed my stay here is a poor way of conveying all the I have experienced during the summer. At this point with just under two weeks to wrap things up, I can say that I wish I had more time and yet I am ready to leave. Last night before falling asleep I realized that it has been sixty-two days since I have heard a car's honk, a dog's bark, a child's cry, a jet plane engine, an ambulance or police siren, a car alarm, or the jingling bells of the ice cream men that ride through our neighborhood with their tricycles this time of year.

I have heard very frequently the wail of the yellow-billed loon, the two-note chatter of the siksik (the arctic ground squirrel) which sounds just like its name, and the shrill caw-caw-caw of a small band of ravens who like to come sit on our our chimneys and check us out. I have decided that what they are saying is: LOOK EVERBODY, A WOMAN HAS JUST COME OUT OF THE TOILET!

I've also heard on a practically daily basis the roar of the helicopter, various vehicles, pumps and machinery that are what keeps this place functioning, and at night it's not uncommon to hear banjos, guitars and voices coming from the music tent, or the raucous roar of people whooping it up after hours by the bonfire.

This morning I awakened to the completely new sound of sheets of snow sliding down the sides of my weatherport. This morning in the lab I can hear by my window the patter of water dripping from the downspout as the day warms and the snow, perhaps, decides to pay us only a brief visit.