Alaska’s song, flag soar above all others

When I was a sophomore at Palmer High School, a choir from Umpqua Community College went on tour to Alaska. They performed a series of songs about Alaska called “Seward’s Folly,” with original compositions like “Mosquito” and “Aurora Borealis.” But the performance I remember most vividly was their arrangement of “Alaska’s Flag.”

Why on earth, I wondered, would a choir from Oregon learn our state song? Why wouldn’t they learn and perform their own state song?

Since moving in 2009 I have lived in Utah, California, and now, Virginia, and I have come to realize that all state songs are not created equal. Alaska’s, in my opinion, is a cut above.

Of course you can’t talk about our song without starting with the flag. I think it should be universally agreed upon that if Alaska doesn’t have the BEST state flag in the nation, it is at least in the top five. Even people who know nothing about flag design can recognize we’ve got a good one. It follows all the standard flag rules: two colors, no words (sorry California), no seals (I’m thinking of you, Utah), and simple enough that anyone can draw it from memory. The fact that it was designed by a 13-year-old lends it even more sentimental value.

There are many things I like about my new state of residency. The history here is amazing, we’re a few hours away from many major cities, and it’s pretty, in a Southern way — but its flag is baffling. It breaks the rules by including a seal, but it’s the seal itself that really presents a problem. Do a Google image search and you’ll see a figure in a toga that covers half the chest, holding a spear, and standing with one foot on top of another toga-clad person, obviously dead. Below the pair are the words, “Sic semper tyrannis,” translated as: “Thus always to tyrants.”

My husband and I spent a great deal of time (and far too much emotion, I’m ashamed to admit) arguing over whether the murderer on the flag was a man or a woman, so I’ll spare you the worry: it is indeed a woman, and her fully exposed left breast is the only example of nudity on a state flag in the U.S. So you see, Virginia’s flag has it all — a seal, words, several colors, homicide and even nudity!

Since my oldest child will go to kindergarten in a few years, I have to wonder: do elementary schools teach about the flag here like they do in Alaska? How does that discussion go, exactly?

“Alright kids, here you see the flag of the great state of Virginia. It’s got a half-naked lady, and she killed this tyrant guy. We Virginians always kill tyrants. Any questions?”

Yikes. I think I’ll stick with the blue of the forget-me-not and the gold of the sourdough’s dreams, thank you very much.

My un-scientific Facebook research has shown that while my friends are familiar with their state flags, state songs are virtually unknown in my social circle. Other states, it seems, don’t have the same pride in their anthems as we do.

I know the state songs of all the places I’ve lived, but only because I looked them up to compare to the aforementioned best song ever. “I Love You, California” isn’t bad, if you like old-timey tunes. Utah’s “This is the Place,” however, is dreadful. It sounds like a desperate commercial to sell the desert to anyone who’ll buy it (and I say that as one who grew to sincerely love the state during the six years I lived there).

Virginia complicates things by having two state songs and a state song emeritus. “Carry Me Back to Old Virginny” was retired in 1997, and for good reason; the tune is pretty but the lyrics tell of a freed slave who wants to go back to the plantation and include the terms “old darkey” and “massa and missis.” The state finally replaced it in 2015 with a popular and a traditional song. I have to admit that “Our Great Virginia,” the state’s ‘traditional’ choice, is lovely, but it borrows the tune from “Shenandoah,” so, you know, that’s cheating.

I just have such a soft spot in my heart for “Alaska’s Flag.” Somehow the tune has the magical ability to take me back to a very cold day when I sang it, huddled under blankets with three of my best friends at the Iditarod re-start in 2008. The lyrics bring to mind so many examples of iconic Alaskan scenery, and I love the line “the simple flag of the last frontier,” because that is the part of the flag I love the most: its simplicity. It reminds me that Alaskans are simple — a trait I absolutely adore.

People in Alaska are simply trying to live, do their best, and be kind, in my experience. They’re so far removed from pomp and circumstance, putting on airs, and judgement, and it’s that kind of attitude and acceptance that really feels like home to me.

The same sky overhangs us all, so while I don’t see my dear Alaska flag very often or hear the state song, I can always look up to find the “great North Star with its steady light,” a “beacon bright” just for me, reminding me of home, the people there, and how I want to live.

Rachel Kenley Fry was born and raised in Palmer and graduated from Utah State University in 2012 with degrees in journalism and agricultural communication. Her previous work for the Frontiersman includes two years as a “Student Views” columnist and contributions for a “What to Eat” column while she was an intern with the Alaska Division of Agriculture. She currently lives in Virginia with her husband and two children.