In light of recent Anchorage Centennial observances and the burial of a time capsule in the city's cemetery (scheduled for opening in 100 years), I wondered how people from different ages would cope with the particular challenges of life in times not their own. A time machine would be required to prove out my theory, but I believe that people from our past, say 100 years ago, would have an easier time living in today's world than we would in theirs.
Alaskans who currently live in Alaska's wilds, completely off the grid, might disagree with this premise. But I think it holds true for those of us who are accustomed to modern living.
I base my opinion on stories relayed by my late parents, who were both born about 100 years ago. They took care of horses instead of automobiles; chopped wood for heat instead turning a dial on the wall; carried water from a nearby sources (stream or lake) instead of turning the kitchen faucet; farmed for a significant proportion of their food instead of plucking it off supermarket shelves; and relied on home remedies because the doctor was too far away.
Granted, people who lived in cities 100 years ago had an easier time of it, with electricity, telephones, running water, sewer systems and the latest remarkable invention, the automobile. According to one historian, in 1915, even Seward had amenities comparable to those found in Seattle.
Yet I think that if taken back in time, most of us would not be happy. We'd immediately perceive a stark absence of communication. We'd feel cut off from the rest of the world. (And I must admit, that situation wouldn't be all that bad).
But if somehow a time machine could bring our ancestors forward to our time, I believe that it wouldn't be long before they would adjust to the 21st century's frenzied pace: cars speeding along highways at 70 miles per hour; noisy craft called jets roaring across the skies from coast to coast in hours; computers that provide instantaneous answers to just about any question; Facebook pages that tell one instantly how Uncle Joe is doing instead of waiting for his annual visit; hand-held devices that put one in contact with anyone in the world and do just about everything except control the weather; and of course, the task of memorizing scores of passwords.
The first thing visitors from the past would observe is that there are a lot more of us, and perhaps they'd notice that a lot of us are not very slender. At first they might feel crowded and a bit claustrophobic. But that is quite a bit easier, I think, than belonging to a family in the early 1900s that lived on a remote farm -- a family who rarely received visitors and waited weeks for a letter to be delivered. I mention a "remote farm" because that's exactly how my mom and many others she knew grew up. She remembers how her dad and mom saved diligently to buy a fascinating new invention: a radio.
Even in my lifetime, I've witnessed significant lifestyle changes, and I'm not complaining one bit. I like my 2,000-square-foot house compared to my family's 700-square-foot dwelling in Seward back in the 1940s. A drive today through Seward, Palmer and Anchorage's Nunaka Valley quickly reveals the small, modest houses of yesteryear.
As a child in the 1940s and 1950s, I don't recall people taking vacations. A few people owned boats and airplanes in Seward and Anchorage. But most of the big adult toys were just arriving on the market. My dad owned one of the first primitive snowmachines, made by Polaris. Other toys like three and four wheelers, amphibious ARGO all-terrain vehicles, jet skis, kayaks and fat-tire bikes were non-existent.
We had two grocery stores in Seward, and I bet Anchorage's were not much different. When barges didn't arrive at Seward, which up until the mid-1950s was the state's only port for freight, store shelves in both communities were sparse. With home-delivery orders, my mom simply requested "bread" because there were generally only one or two brands, rather than the 75 varieties available today.
Today we have 'programs' and non-profit organizations for just about every social problem in existence. Back then there were very few such programs. Families and friends looked out for one another in time of need. Without the safety nets prevalent today, many people suffered.
I'm sure that our visitors from a century ago would be transfixed by television, just like we are. If they had to, they'd probably work three jobs just to have a big screen, high-definition TV. They would be surprised by their rapid weight gain, however. But then, lounging around watching TV and not performing backbreaking work -- as they were accustomed to in their time -- might have a tendency to do that.
If our own era's time capsule is opened in August 2115, people might think that with Alaska's declining oil production and huge state budget deficit, we really endured tough times. Reflecting on my parents' lives and those of their parents, I think we have it pretty darn good.
A lot of us like going into the wilds and pretending like we're "roughing it." But we aren't kidding anyone. We enjoy coming back to hot showers, soft couches and big screen TVs.
For those would-be time travelers from the early 1900s, "roughing it" was a way of life. Yet at the time they probably didn't think of it that way.
Frank E. Baker is a freelance writer who lives in Eagle River.
The views expressed here are the writer's own and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary(at)alaskadispatch.com.