10 Questions Readers Ask Ann Parker About Living in Alaska

Readers often ask what life was really like when we lived in the Alaskan bush. Over the years I’ve answered these questions hundreds of times at book clubs, events, and online. Here are the ten questions I’m asked most often — and the honest answers from our years living off-grid near the Yentna River.

1. Why did you decide to move to Alaska?

This is probably the question we’ve been asked more than any other, and when I began writing Follow Me to Alaska I knew I couldn’t avoid it. In fact, it was one of the hardest chapters in the book to write because the reasons were deeply personal.

After Shon’s 28-year career in law enforcement, we were barely hanging on by a thread. Our marriage was struggling, and we desperately needed a place to step away from everything and start over. Early in his career, Shon worked as a child abuse investigator while still in his twenties. He was suddenly exposed to things no one is ever prepared to see, and it took a heavy toll on him — and on us as a family. Later, he became a state trooper, hoping it might be easier, but instead he spent years working fatal accidents along the highways of West Texas. Law enforcement is hard work, and it is just as hard on the families who live it alongside them.

We didn’t move to Alaska because we were thrill seekers. We went because we needed healing. We needed quiet, time together, and distance from the constant stress we had lived under for years. In the remoteness of the Alaskan bush, we found space to rebuild our marriage, grow closer to God, and rediscover who we were as a couple — and along the way, we had the adventure of a lifetime.

2. Where in Alaska did you live, and how remote was it?

We lived about 70 miles northwest of Anchorage and roughly six miles southeast of the tiny village of Skwentna. Our home was a small cabin on Cub Lake, and there were no roads leading to it. The only ways in or out were by bush plane or, in winter, by snowmachine. People couldn’t simply drop by — and they didn’t. During all the years we lived there, only three visitors ever showed up unexpectedly: two arrived by snowmachine and one by airplane.

We did have one neighbor who lived across the lake in a dry cabin, and another family about three miles away, but distance in the Alaskan bush isn’t measured the same way it is in town. The land between cabins was thick with muskeg, water, and heavy underbrush. You couldn’t just walk to visit someone — it would have been dangerous and nearly impossible without a machine or aircraft.

To reach civilization, we either flew about 45 minutes to Wasilla or made a long winter trip by snowmachine. That trip was roughly 55 miles across rivers and trails to the Deshka Landing area near Willow. Those distances and the lack of roads made everyday errands into planned expeditions and gave us a level of isolation few people ever experience.

3. What was daily life like without modern conveniences?

Surprisingly, daily life without modern conveniences was wonderful. Many of the things we consider conveniences can actually become distractions, and living off-grid forced us to slow down in a way we never had before. We couldn’t just run to town if we forgot something, so we planned carefully. I kept detailed lists, and when we made a trip to town we stayed focused on getting only what we truly needed, because every item had to be hauled back to the cabin.

Our kitchen was simple. I technically had a microwave, but it was downstairs and could only be used when the generator was running, so most of the time I didn’t bother. Instead, I often cooked on our wood stove, placing a cast iron skillet right on top to make meals. Life moved at a slower pace, and that slower rhythm gave us time to notice things we had rushed past before.

I did have a washing machine but no dryer. One of my favorite memories is Shon and me hanging laundry together — in winter we strung lines near the wood stove so the clothes could dry inside, and in summer we hung them outside on the porch to dry in the breeze. Nothing was hurried. Without constant errands, screens, and noise, we had time to focus on what mattered: our marriage, our faith, simple work, and quiet afternoons. In many ways, losing modern conveniences helped us finally breathe again.

4. How did you get supplies without roads?

Getting supplies depended entirely on the season. In winter, our main transportation was a snowmachine. Shon pulled a freight sled behind it, and then a large black tub was attached behind the sled, so the whole thing looked like a little train traveling down the river and trails. We could haul an amazing amount that way. When we went to town, we usually stayed overnight because the trip was too long to make in one day, but we came back loaded down with groceries, tools, and anything else we could safely carry.

For larger or heavier loads, we hired a local hauler, Ken Lee, who specialized in bringing freight into remote cabins. Sometimes I placed huge orders from Costco, especially canned goods like vegetables and fruit. He would carefully package everything so the cans wouldn’t freeze and burst on the trip out. He also hauled items that would have been nearly impossible for us — fuel, building materials, and even sections of a new roof.

Some trips were nerve-wracking. Shon once hauled out a washing machine and another time a couch in temperatures near twenty below zero. We also brought in solar panels, a mower, and other major equipment, always hoping nothing would break on the rough winter trails. Every large project had to be planned months — sometimes years — in advance so materials could be ordered, transported, and installed during the correct season.

We occasionally flew to town as well, but the airplane could only carry small loads. On those quick trips I usually bought dairy products and fresh fruits and vegetables. Summer hauling was limited because of the plane’s weight capacity, and during freeze-up and break-up — when rivers were neither solid nor open — we couldn’t travel at all unless we hired a helicopter, which we did only once. For us, winter was the main supply season.

Nothing about getting supplies was easy. Every grocery run, repair, or building project required planning, patience, and a willingness to work with weather and timing. Living remotely meant learning that even simple things could become major undertakings.

5. Were you ever afraid living there?

Yes, I dealt with fear more than I expected. Shon rarely seemed afraid of anything, but I definitely was. After he survived a plane crash, flying — especially in winter — worried me much more than it had before. I knew how quickly things could go wrong in a remote place where help was far away.

Traveling the trails could be unnerving as well. One winter we heard that a pack of wolves had been seen along our route. We stopped the snowmachines to check our load, and I remember thinking how thankful I was that we hadn’t encountered them. At that exact moment Shon said he wished we would see them. What frightened me often excited him — we looked at the wilderness very differently.

Moose were actually one of the biggest dangers. They can be unpredictable and aggressive, and we learned quickly to give them plenty of space. During the summer I was also cautious about bears, and we did have encounters that kept me alert.

Some of my deepest fears were practical ones. When Shon worked on projects like replacing the cabin roof, I worried he might be injured and I would be alone with no immediate way to get help. Living remotely meant we had to rely heavily on each other, and that responsibility could feel heavy at times.

Even so, the fear never outweighed the good. Over time I learned to live with it, respect the wilderness, and trust God more than my own sense of control.

6. What wildlife encounters did you experience?

One of my favorite parts of living at the cabin was the wildlife. I especially loved the trumpeter swans that visited our lake. I did my best to get close to them in my kayak and secretly hoped they might accept me, but they always made it very clear I was not welcome. As soon as I got near, they would lift their heads, honk loudly, and glide away. I never stopped trying, though — they were such large and beautiful birds that I couldn’t help but admire them.

We also had encounters that were a little more exciting. Bears occasionally came near the cabin, and thankfully our loyal dog, Kuma, was always watching. One time a bear ran very close to me and Kuma immediately chased after it, driving it away. On another day I was about to step outside without even looking around when Kuma suddenly ran ahead and began barking. A mama moose and her calf were nearby — one of the most dangerous situations you can encounter — and he pushed them away from the yard before I walked into real trouble. More than once that dog protected me.

From the air we often spotted animals along rivers and lakes. On one flight Shon saw a moose actually chasing a grizzly bear. He said that meant there must have been a calf nearby, because normally the bear would have been the one doing the chasing. We regularly saw moose, bears, foxes, wolves, snowshoe hares, and many kinds of birds. Once a goshawk even struck the side of our cabin, a moment I later wrote about in Following Alaska’s Call.

I truly miss seeing wildlife so regularly. Living there taught me that we were visitors in their world, and every sighting felt like a gift.

7. How cold did it really get?

The coldest temperature we ever experienced was about forty below zero. It wasn’t quite that cold right at our cabin one day, but our friend Tom, who lived across the river, invited us over to meet his granddaughter. We bundled up, climbed onto our snowmachines, and headed down the trail. By the time we reached the river, I was already feeling the cold seep through every layer.

When we arrived at Tom’s lodge, Bentalit, we immediately realized just how cold it actually was. As soon as we walked inside, Tom received a phone call from neighbors asking if we were the ones they had just seen traveling by snowmachine. They were worried about us and wanted to be sure we had made it safely because the temperature had dropped to forty below.

We stayed for several hours, visiting and sharing a meal while we warmed up before making the trip home. A few days later a friend told Shon he suspected we had been out riding in extreme cold. When Shon asked how he knew, he laughed and said Shon had “lost a little of his Texas drawl.” Apparently even a Texan can start to sound like an Alaskan after a ride at forty below.

Cold like that changes how you think about everyday life. Simple trips require preparation and caution, and you learn very quickly to respect the weather.

8. Why did you write Follow Me to Alaska?

I had thought for a long time about writing our story because people were always curious about what life was really like in the Alaskan bush. But I knew for certain I needed to write it after Shon survived his plane crash. That experience changed us more than anything we had gone through before. It drew us closer together and forced us to see how fragile life can be.

I realized then that our story was about more than Alaska. I wanted to encourage people who might feel stuck, discouraged, or worn down by life. Law enforcement had taken a toll on our marriage, and moving to Alaska became a place of healing for us. Through what we lived, I wanted readers to see the importance of loving your spouse, fighting for your marriage, and not giving up on the people you care about when life becomes difficult.

I also wanted to show that God can heal what feels broken and work through circumstances we don’t always understand. Alaska was the setting, but the real story was about faith, perseverance, and second chances.

And of course, I wanted to share Alaska itself. It is a breathtaking, wild place that many people will never experience firsthand. I felt blessed to live there, and writing Follow Me to Alaska was my way of bringing readers along with us into a world most people only imagine.

9. What do people misunderstand about living in Alaska?

People have a lot of funny misconceptions about Alaska. When we were preparing to leave El Paso, one of our neighbors seriously asked if we would have to give up our U.S. citizenship. We had a good laugh over that. Alaska is, of course, very much part of the United States.

Many people imagine Alaskans living in igloos or staying inside all winter because it’s too cold to function. In reality, people simply adapt. I was amazed after we moved onto the road system to see residents out walking their dogs in zero-degree weather. They bundled up and went about their normal lives. The cold doesn’t stop daily living — people just prepare for it.

I also learned that our lifestyle wasn’t typical even for Alaska. Before moving, I assumed many people lived remotely and traveled by snowmachine. Instead, most Alaskans live in towns, drive cars, go to work, and live much like anywhere else, just with colder winters and more dramatic scenery.

Alaska is different, but not in the ways most people imagine. It isn’t a place frozen in time — it’s a real, modern place where people simply learn to live with nature rather than fight it.

10. Do you still go back to Alaska now?

Yes, we return to Alaska as often as we can. We built deep friendships there that remain an important part of our lives, and the place itself still feels like home to my heart. I’m actually planning another trip now.

There is something about the mountains, the water, and the quiet that continues to call me back. Alaska shaped our lives in ways that never really left us, and every visit feels like reconnecting with a piece of our story. Even though we no longer live there full time, it will always be part of who we are.

If you enjoyed these stories, you can read more about our life in Alaska in my memoir Follow Me to Alaska and its sequel Following Alaska’s Call.