The last time I went to Alaska

I was turning 16 in a month.
My church group arranged to help with maintenance of a church camp in Juneau.
The trip was remarkable for several reasons, most notably it was my first plane ride.
I remember flying into Juneau and getting into a bus to head about 20 miles outside of town.
In just a few minutes we were in what seemed to be wilderness.
The camp was a series of wooden buildings.
Each building had several doors. I don’t mean on each side of the building but several doors on every side. In some cases, the doors were adjacent to each other on the same wall. All opened to the outside.
The camp was partially built by an old-timer with a stump for one arm.
Seems he was caught in a fire one time. To get out, he had to smash his arm through the window. The injuries cost him the arm. He vowed no one would ever have to lose an arm trying to get out of a building he built.
We spent several days painting the buildings. I remember Debbie Fisher and Connie Heiser thinking it would be fun to paint their faces. Such is the thinking of a 16 year-old-girl who has never seen creosote.
I also remember a day when everyone seemed so excited to get outside for the flag salute. It was early and I was tired but everyone else seemed to be in such a jovial mood.
When I looked up at the top of the flagpole, there was a pair of my underpants frozen stiff from a night in the freezer.