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I used to look down on people who left Fairbanks during the winter. How weak, I thought, to leave this conditioning tank of a character-building climate for a little sunshine. Staying here through the darkest, coldest months of the year felt like a badge of honor, a testament to the stamina of the people who call Alaska home.

It didn’t even seem that hard. I must have stored some extra melatonin in my 20-something skin. Now I’m not so tough.

It started the year I got married. My husband and I went to Mexico for our honeymoon. In December. What a difference that extra dose of Vitamin D made. Was it possible winter didn’t seem as harsh? That spring came a little earlier that year?

Over the next few years, we made trips to the Southwest to see family and took my mom on a Caribbean Cruise. But we still hadn’t joined the folks who migrate annually, planning their next tropical trip as soon as they’ve returned from the one before like birds heading to their nesting grounds.

Then I was invited to spend a couple of weeks with my friend Peggy at her house in Kona, Hawaii. That’s on the Big Island, for those in the know. I would be going there to work on a project. Right. Working in Hawaii. That second part cancels out the first, ensuring you no sympathy from people who are too busy envying you to admire your work ethic.

It was just what I needed. Space to focus on my writing. A dose of steady 80 degree temperatures in the midst of a 2-week deep freeze back here in Fairbanks.

While I was there, I got a feel for the similarities between our two states. An openness in the people. A pride in their setting. A love and respect for the land. I began to see how a person might want to call both home.

I’m reading a book by one of the writers I interviewed on the trip, “Leaving Resurrection” by Eva Saulitis. She has a deep desire to see certain animals — whales and wolves especially — and goes to great lengths to seek them out. Standing for hours at a boat’s railing and scanning the ocean for a glimpse of dorsal fin. Hiking into Denali Park alone because “by myself, maybe I’ll have a better chance at seeing wolves.”

I understand this longing to connect with another being, to recognize and maybe even be recognized by a creature with the divine gift of being born, to admire from afar and treasure later the moment of interaction.

In her book Saulitis says, “When I see a wolf, I call it grace. When I don’t, I wonder what I did wrong.”

That seems extreme to me, until I switch out the animal with a person; every opportunity to connect means a potential friend. When that doesn’t happen, I wonder what I’ve done wrong.

Meeting her family opened both old and new connections for me. Her husband has land near the homestead where I spent my first Alaska winter. I remember watching his kids run along the bluff above Kachemak Bay, the low sun shining on their blonde hair.

And how it felt when I’d found this place called Alaska. Like I was home.

Later during my Hawaii respite, Peggy and her husband drove me around the island. We visited the active volcano Kilauea, being careful not to take any lava with us which might anger the Goddess Pele, who’s been known to sentence thieves to a string of bad luck for their audacity.

Driving up to the land where Eva and her husband are building a home, towards a bluff much like that one outside Homer, with horses in the pasture and a friendly dog in the driveway, I could see how it might be hard to choose between the two places.

But Eva talked about how much she missed Alaska. Even in a paradise like the one she got to live in when she was gone. I urged her to write about it, to look for the meaning behind the desire.

“Oh, people will just think I’m whining,” she said. “I can’t complain when I’m so lucky to be here.”

Somehow, I don’t think so. I think Alaskans will recognize themselves in her longing for a place that has become a part of who she is.

Even when we’re away, soaking up some well-deserved rays, we yearn to be back in Alaska. Being gone can be a gift because it helps us remember how much we treasure the homes we’ll return to.

Even when it’s only the end of January, and the long winter is still stretching out ahead of us, offering weeks of potential 40 below weather, the sun acting all proud now that it’s showing up for a few more hours a day. We know we’ll be that much more grateful when summer finally returns.

Because we’ve earned it.

Theresa Bakker lives with her family in downtown Fairbanks, where she finds plenty of things to write about. Contact her at theresabakker@yahoo.com.