One thing that seems to come with age is keener appreciation of a sense of community. As a relatively recent transplant from the East Coast to Alaska, what I keep stumbling upon is the wonderful conundrum of how community in Alaska is the twin of remoteness and distance. To me, it's kind of a splendid contradiction. Most Alaskans take the sense of "one big village" for granted. Not me.

A great woman passed on Nov. 4 in Fairbanks, Lucy Ann Carlo. One of eight children of Poldine and Bill Carlo, Ann was a powerhouse, a tireless advocate for Alaska Native people, generous to all, someone who loved her life at work in Fairbanks and at fish camp on the Yukon. Just ask anyone who knew her. Ask her siblings. The size of the loss felt by her family and friends -- community -- is outsized, like she was. Ann's mother, Poldine, inhabits that same place in the minds of her community -- a giant of a small human being -- wise and righteous, outspoken and charming, still dancing the two-step at the Fiddlers' Festival at age 88, a force to be reckoned with, always. A gem.

I am lucky enough to have fallen into the embrace of this family in my Alaska life, so I wanted to be in the web of mourners, to be another nugget of support. With a bonfire roaring in the snow-covered backyard for two days and nights, Ann, in a plain coffin, was ensconced in this cocoon of community. A steady stream of family -- a huge, extended family and countless friends from all over the Interior gathered to say goodbye. Mass was in the garage, an ever-bulging crowd filling the space with love and comfort we could touch and feel.

Then Ann "spoke" to us. A strong, male voice read her last instructions on how her memorial should unfold: Who would bring which food, how to minimize the workload, nothing but consideration for everyone and all the when/where/what's and how's she could have foreseen.

Her absolutely clear, unequivocal voice told us that she was still driving, conducting and infusing one last burst of energy into this community. She was still leading. Somehow she had managed to make the community feel like it had cracked but then knitted itself back together around her spirit. I can't quite understand what makes this possible. Maybe there is an intangible fiber that runs through all the generations, in the lands of their ancestors, with the threads of continuous culture still unbroken -- even across the vast distances that separate one village from another. All I know is that it is strong enough to sustain the human spirit. If only we could all do the same.

Thank you for the lesson, Carlo family.