Aki squints into the low angle sunlight and muscles ahead in spite of the wind gusts that sweep over the frozen sand of the Sheep Creek delta. I lean into both wind and light until stopped by a forty-knot blast. When the sun reached the ice field peaks, it drove this cold air down the Sheep Creek valley to hammer us. When the gust ends, the little dog runs full speed into an Aki-sized forest of dead beach grass stalks.

Other dogs and their walkers pass us on their way down beach. They smile, and stroll, not feeling the bite of the wind because it is at their backs. When a father with two toddlers walks past, I am tempted to warn him about the cold his kids will face when they turn into the wind. But dad wears well-used winter gear and the kids are encased in down snowsuits. This is Alaska, between tourist seasons. Most know that it is best to begin each journey by facing into the wind.

Aki stares at me as we share this North Douglas Island beach. She wants someone to throw her orange Frisbee but it is not here. There are lots of flat rocks that one her humans is very adept at skimming over the water. We have perfect conditions for it—flat calm water pushed high onto the beach by a solstice high tide. When the rock skimmer was a toddler, Ester, a Tlingit elder told me that children should not skim rocks because the ocean, like all things deserve the respect due to those with souls. But I couldn’t resist the chance to teach my child how to hold a flat rock and fling it across the sea. I never wanted to prevent her from enjoying the simple game.

After my daughter runs out of good skimmers, a young seal lifts its head so that only its eyes are above the water. It’s close in, closer to the beach than I have ever seen a seal. It rises up a bit higher when we wish it a merry Christmas and then disappears beneath the waters of an ocean wave free to the horizon. Ester, was that you?