Then I get up and do the whole thing all over again.

Or that’s what I always did, with some variation-until my great-great-aunt Gertrude died and changed my life.

She didn’t leave me a forgotten fortune or even a diamond necklace, though either would have been nice. No, what dear old Great-Great-Aunt Gertrude willed to me was a B &B in the wilds of Alaska-specifically, just outside the Katmai National Park and Preserve.

I, Rachel Wood, owner of an inn just outside a preserve-it boggled the mind, or at least my city-grown one.

Why had she owned such a thing in the middle of nowhere? Probably because she was mean as sin and liked being far from her entire family. But that’s another story entirely. In this story, here I am: a twenty-seven-year-old L.A. muralist with a B &B in Alaska. What’s a girl to do but go look?

Which means that this morning, instead of grabbing my paints, I packed a bag (okay, two bags), and I was now on a plane heading north.

And I mean waaay north. Nosebleed north.

With some trepidation, I faced my fear of heights and peeked out the plane window, then promptly got dizzy and clutched the armrests.

Wow, Alaska sure was big. And green.

And big.

As far as my eyes could focus lay jagged peaks, some still white-tipped, and it was August. August. It was almost beyond my Southern California imagination.

Lining those rugged mountains were ribbons and ribbons of trees. No buildings to paint murals on-not a single one. No coffeehouses in sight either.

Or movie theaters.

My stomach dropped some more, because in fact there were no signs of life at all-at least, not human life.

Gulp.

And more than just my stomach hurt now, because a world without concrete, without drive-throughs and drive-bys, seemed…alien. I knew this was a bit wussy of me, but fact was fact. If I ever had to go on the TV show Survivor, I wouldn’t make it past the first day. I need food on a regular basis. I need a bed every night.