The aurora happens when charged particles from the sun slam into Earth’s upper atmosphere along the magnetic field lines.
Up high above us – roughly 37 to 249 miles – those particles hit oxygen and nitrogen. When those gases calm back down, they release the extra energy as light. That’s the glow we see as curtains, arcs, and spirals across the sky.
Our first clear memory of the northern lights goes all the way back to Michigan in the early 90s – a green glow on a night wrapped around big news and small-town life.
Fast-forward a few decades. On our one-year anniversary in Fairbanks, under a sky sitting at -20°F, Alaska threw its own celebration: sheets of green, then bands of red, with purple ripping through the pillars. No ticket, no crowd – just us, the Bronco, and a sky that looked like it was breathing.
We moved to Fairbanks chasing a new chapter, not lights in the sky.
But up here, the sky has a way of answering back.
This page is the running log of those nights when the horizon catches fire and reminds you just how small – and alive – you really are.












