For Spenser Nelson, Alaska wasn’t an abstract dream—it was already part of his family story.
With a grandfather who was a bush pilot in Nome, his dad in Ketchikan, and his brother stationed at Fairbanks, Alaska had always been on his horizon. But it was after teaching in North Carolina, first in a small charter school and then in a larger, more impersonal one during the pandemic, that he decided he needed a change. He wanted something more than a job—he wanted a place where teaching meant belonging. He found it in Nightmute.
Spenser arrived in Alaska only 30 days after his first interview, but the village quickly became home. As a 7–12 ELA and history teacher, his work reaches far beyond lesson plans. Education in rural Alaska is only part of the job, you’re also a mentor, a community member, someone who helps students through hard times. That means sitting with families in grief, celebrating at baptisms, joining in Easter feasts, and earning the trust of people who have seen too many teachers leave after a year or two.
By his second year, Spenser had crossed that invisible threshold—no longer just “the new teacher,” but a true part of the community.
His teaching reflects that connection. In addition to English and history, he’s led classes in journalism, photography, and survival skills—assignments rooted in the life of the village. One journalism project had students investigate local challenges around seal hunting and school schedules; a photography class sent them along the boardwalk, capturing beauty and contrast in everyday details. For Spenser, these classes aren’t side projects; they’re how students learn to see their own lives as meaningful and worth writing about.
And then there are the moments that remind him he’s exactly where he belongs. Like standing under the aurora on the tundra, watching an arctic fox pad closer. Or seeing a quiet eighth-grader grow from clipped answers into full, thoughtful sentences over the course of a year. Or joining a convoy of four-wheelers to a volleyball tournament in the freezing dark, part of a line of headlights stretching across the tundra.
Spenser admits Alaska isn’t easy, but if you can succeed here, you can succeed anywhere. It’s also never boring—every day a challenge, every season a chance to grow. He’s exactly where he wants to be: in Nightmute, teaching, mentoring, and living as part of a family that welcomed him in.