When I told my family and friends that I had been offered a 12-week internship with the Kachemak Heritage Land Trust as a Communications and Development assistant, their reactions ranged from amusement to concern to disbelief. The two questions I was asked most frequently were: what will you be doing, and what made you want to go there? Before I settled into a new life in the Last Frontier, I struggled to answer either question. As the summer days passed, however, I realized the answers are deeply connected and reveal much about the space between my classroom learning and the real-world experiences where my education truly came to life.

At the end of my junior year of high school, my AP Language Arts teacher assigned a research paper on any topic of our choice. I chose a subject that had already become a concern for me as a budding environmental advocate: the Willow Project. I analyzed the cultural demand for shifting from natural resource extraction toward more sustainable practices. My research into Arctic oil drilling was extensive, covering the impacts on wildlife, local communities, and broader sustainability. That assignment introduced me to the concept of environmental racism and solidified my commitment to environmental policy. It was the spark that led me to NC State to study Natural Resources with a policy focus, ignited a restless devotion to environmental protection, and ultimately called me to the vast, untamed landscapes of Alaska for an undergraduate summer internship.

When my internship began, Carson, my supervisor, suggested that I participate in a two-week long Naturalist Training. She thought it would be useful for me to understand the natural history of the land I was working to conserve. Frankly, I didn’t expect much beyond a lecture and a pretty walk in the forest. I may have underestimated slightly how much I would gain from the experience. A community of highly-intelligent seasonal workers that deepened my sense of belonging. A heightened awareness of what lives outside, and how to manage my misguided fear of wild encounters. A list of plants I can safely eat and ones that will put me in the dirt. A naturalist eye for black-legged kittiwake nesting sites. New lessons to develop my understanding of what my work here does and the language to share it with a wide audience.

Following the Naturalist Training, I was offered another educational opportunity through KHLT to strengthen my knowledge of land trust operations. I attended a “Land 101” lecture to complement my lessons on the Kenai Peninsula’s natural history and the boreal forest ecosystem. The course, led by KHLT board director Sam Means, provided fundamental information about land acquisition and monitoring, and it delineated different methods of property management. Many of the properties the KHLT oversees are not owned by the organization; instead, they belong to landowners who have voluntarily handed over certain management rights, a practice known as an easement. Easements with identified conservation value that are legally and permanently protected are defined as conservation easements. In early June, I accompanied our stewardship manager on an annual monitoring visit to one of these conservation easement properties. We walked the property perimeter through dense alder forests and waist-high grasses. During this visit, I fully comprehended the value of my supplemental education as I identified common bog plants, animal tracks, and survey monuments. Most of my internship is spent in an office or representing KHLT at community events, so the opportunity to be present in the sensitive habitats I was advocating to preserve was meaningful and sharpened the direction of my outreach.

Sharing stories of ecological impact highlights the inherent value of the Kachemak Heritage Land Trust’s conservation efforts across the Kenai Peninsula. This narrative work connects directly to community engagement, which is my favorite aspect of this public-facing role. My primary responsibilities involved organizing the annual fundraiser gala and building partnerships with local businesses. Through these interactions, I communicated the vital importance of protecting land from development. By tabling at events from Soldotna to Seldovia, I helped spread awareness about our mission and encouraged community members to appreciate the natural world and the impact of their contributions.

I am still reflecting on what my choice to work here reveals about me. Early in my internship, a colleague joked, “There has to be something wrong with you if you choose to live here.” I am still trying to discover what that something is. Life in Homer is quiet, moving at a glacial pace compared to the restless city life I have always known. With the sun rising each morning and never fully setting, the days seem to stretch on indefinitely as I near the end of my time here. As I write this, I know that day is approaching, signaled by the first whispers of fireweed. When Alaska’s most famous wildflower blooms, it represents a beautiful, bittersweet farewell to the most enlightening and humanizing summer of my life.

I’m leaving Alaska with a much deeper appreciation for the stories the land tells and the responsibility of the role we’ve been cast to play in them. We aren’t just observers; we’re active participants, responsible for listening to these landscapes as much as we are for protecting them. As I head back to NC State, I’m carrying these lessons forward, ensuring that the advocacy I do in the future is as rooted in the living history of the land as it is in the science of conservation.