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Merriam Webster (10th Edition) defines a dream as “a strongly desired goal or purpose; something that fully satisfies a wish; ideal.” Most people dream of winning the lottery, finding their perfect mate or living a life of ease and joy. Few consider backbreaking labor, lack of amenities (such as plumbing and insulation) and no neighbors a dream.

Except Alaskans, of course.

The Alaskan dream is to find a spot in the wilderness, away from suburbia, and create your own niche. The dream involves hunting or growing your food, hauling your water and wood, and living off the land, free from the worries and stress of civilization.

For a time, Alaskans were able to get “free” land from the government. Of course, government being what it is, free meant no cash required — the onerous requirements of clearing and sowing land during the short Alaska summers tanked many homestead dreams. Under the Homestead Act of 1862, residents could file a claim on 160 acres of federal land and take title provided the land was “improved” within a certain amount of time. Before it ended in 1976 (an extension gave Alaskans an extra decade to take advantage of it), more than 1.6 million homesteads had been processed and 270 million-plus acres of land had been conveyed to private ownership. Many Alaskans started on homestead land throughout the state.

Clyde and Mary Lovel, like thousands of homesteaders before, saw Alaska as the land of opportunity, and the Homestead Act as the vehicle by which to make the journey. With four small children, they set out in a truck from Missouri to Anchorage, thus beginning their “Journey to a Dream,” as related in Mary’s book of the same title.

They hitched their trailer home to the truck, loaded with their possessions and enough food to get them to Anchorage and set off in May 1963. The 4,900-mile trip was fraught with flat tires, busted parts and a few scary careens down steep hills. The highways in the early ’60s were primitive by today’s standards, and cars were far less comfortable. After 28 days, Clyde, Mary and the kids arrived safely in Anchorage, ready to begin living their dream.

For the next 15 months, they lived in Anchorage, Clyde worked various jobs, the kids went to school and Mary got used to a whole new way of life. Even in Anchorage, Alaskans “foraged” for much of their food, hunting, fishing and canning for the winter. All the while, the Lovels searched for a parcel of land with their name on it.

Unfortunately, by 1963, most of the federal land around Anchorage had been claimed, leaving the Lovels no choice but to search further out. Finally, in Sherman, about 20 miles north of Talkeetna on an Alaska Railroad line next to the Susitna River, they found their 160 acres.

Except for the railroad, it was an empty place. The only people in close proximity moved soon after the Lovels found their acreage, and Clyde and Mary inherited their old home. A few families lived 5 miles north at Gold Creek, a few more 10 miles south at Curry. There was nothing for 150 miles east and west — no schools, no stores, no amenities whatsoever. Talkeetna was 32 miles away. Palmer, which had the only hospital, was 90 miles away. It was five hours by train to Anchorage.

Mary had to home-school the kids through the Correspondence Study Program out of Juneau. All materials — building lumber, food, equipment and other supplies — came by railroad and were carried to the property a third of a mile away. Mail went to Gold Creek unless marked “Urgent,” when it was dropped off the train near the house.

No plumbing meant water had to be hauled from the nearby creek; firewood had to be chopped and carried in. The house was nearly falling down from neglect and poor workmanship, with no door but an old Army blanket. The list of initial chores was long. Clyde had to stay in Anchorage during the week to work, so Mary and the kids — the oldest was about 9 years old — did most of it.

Mary recounts the story in vivid detail, giving a clear picture of what it took to live in Alaska in the early years of statehood. Days began early, the to-do list was neverending, and Alaska’s climate and landscape never made anything easy. She talks about trial-by-error learning, the difficulties of caring for four kids, schooling them and trying to survive while Clyde spent many years in Anchorage earning a living. The times were hard, but Mary always found something to be thankful for. Her tales of woe and difficulties are tempered by a sense of humor, and above all, a deep love of life — love for her husband and children, love of her family (who visited regularly), love of the land and life, and faith in God.

The Lovels moved to Sherman in September 1964, and as of 2006, were still there. Theirs is an Alaskan story — living in the wild, away from most people, civilization or community to catch you if you fall. They hunted and grew their own food while protecting the kids and dogs from bears and moose and trying to clear 10 acres in three years to satisfy the Homestead Act requirements (they eventually were only able to clear half the required land, so they got title to half the acreage). They went weeks without seeing anyone but their family and took sporadic train trips to Anchorage for shopping, medical or dental care, or ferrying visitors from the

Lower 48.

It’s a hard, exhausting life, one few people are able to live. You have to be strong — not just muscle-strong, but self-contained strong. You have to be clever and flexible. Most of all, you have to be stubborn — old-fashioned, mule-headed stubborn, because things always break down, blow up (in the Lovel’s case, the exploding object was a full, frozen outhouse) or fall apart. Kids have to be fed, entertained, schooled and watched over. Gardens have to be tilled, firewood cut and stacked, and homes kept repaired and sturdy.

Mary’s writing is simple, straightforward and easy to read. I wish she’d lighten up on the use of exclamation points, and sometimes her syntax is awkward. But she’s not writing this book as a do-it-yourself guide to homesteading; she’s telling the story of one family and the dream that brought them almost 5,000 miles from the life they knew to one of deep snow, dark winter days, back-breaking labor and end-of-the-day satisfaction so deep there’s no time for regrets.

It’s the story of the Lovel family, and it’s also the story of so many Alaskans both past and present. It’s the tale of our forefathers coming to an America untamed and uncivilized, wresting life and sustenance out of it, clearing the brush and hauling stumps from the earth. It’s Mary’s story, and it’s our story. And though it’s been told many times before, it’s still fresh, fascinating and worth reading.

Libbie Martin is a freelance writer who lives in Fairbanks. She can be reached at martinlibbie@yahoo.com or 347-2422.