Last week, I went on a village trip.  It was Tuesday morning and the sun was peaking in through the window in the clinic in Chefornak, Alaska.  Since we are past the vernal equinox, it the sun peaks its head over the horizon before 8:00am and stays up until around 10:00pm.  Daylight just makes you feel good.

Chefornak is 93 air miles from Bethel and 5 miles from the Bering Sea.  I was told that the village was moved at some point in the recent past because of flooding.  It’s a tiny village in the shape of a “U” plunked down in the middle of the open desolate tundra.  Most of the homes do not have running water so people collect rain water or ice to drink and haul their honey bucket to the lagoon.  The clinic has running water (but it’s not hot!!), but it’s not potable.  50 percent of the people living in the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta (not including Bethel) have running water in their homes.  This is the first time that half the population has had indoor plumbing.  I don’t think I need to remind people that it is 2018, we live in the United States, and half of the population of 30,000 people have to poo in a bucket.  It’s unconscionable.  

I went to Chefornak with a colleague who is new to the health aide training program.  We  evaluated two health aides, and enjoyed the village.  We went to a Yup’ik dance one night in the community hall.  They were practicing for a dance festival that is coming up in a neighboring village.  We walked in and felt quite out of place, but an elder waved at us and told us we could sit in an empty spot on the floor.  There were people of all ages dancing the traditional dance.  A boy was about 3 and trying to learn the motions.  An elder woman must have been 80 and she was dancing with the rest of the women.  The men chant and beat drums.  Some men dance with upper bodies only kneeling on the floor and the women dance stationary with beautiful dance fans made with grass and fur.  I don’t know what words are, but they are stories about life.  The motions look like they are hunting or gathering food.  

This is a video, not sure if it will play

The school was pretty new and absolutely beautiful.  I think it was about 20 feet up in the air.

It was actually a moving experience to watch the people of Chefornak dance.  They laughed and looked like they were celebrating.  We frequently hear about young people who end up in jail because of alcohol or substance abuse or who commit suicide, which is just sad and unfortunate.  Watching the multi-generations dancing together in a small, hot community center was just amazing.

Someone got a muskox . . .

Drying seal meat

Theresa, Sophie, Martha, Barb, me, Patrice, Natalie

This truck belongs to Theresa's dad.  He drove it all the way to Bethel on the tundra.

Who's not following the rules?

The Yup’ik language is slowly fading because people don’t speak it anymore.  The coastal villages of the YK Delta are more traditional and most people speak more Yup’ik than English, which is interesting to hear (Yup-lish, the combination of Yup’ik and English).  But I’ve been told that the language is dying.  I recently read a book that talked about how the Moravian missionaries did not allow the Native Alaskans to dance or speak their language.  The Jesuits, however, did allow the dancing and sometimes even learned the language.  It’s sad to think of strangers taking away someone’s culture.

I recently had to travel back to the Midwest to say good bye to my Gramma.  Violet Haight was 92 when she died and I think for all intents and purposes, she had a good life.  I believe she was ready to go and she was looking forward to being with my Grampa Lloyd and Uncle Jim.  Alex stayed in Bethel, so Brad and I made the trip alone.  Driving along I43 north of Milwaukee got me to thinking about home and family.  

Violet Dorthy Haight  1925-2018

Since moving to Bethel, we have tried to call this “home”.  We have moved here and we have become residents of the state of Alaska.  We have tried to become involved in the community.  But driving on familiar roads with the rolling hills and trees and the occasional glimpse of Lake Michigan made me wonder about home.  I miss the Midwest; my family is there, all my memories prior to May 31, 2016 are there, my son was born there.  But Alaska is where I live.  I look forward to the hour long flight from Anchorage and flying in over the dusty and dirty Eskimo village. 

Brad and I were “weathered out” of getting home for two days due to fog in Bethel.  Apparently thick fog with visibility of less than a quarter mile is not conducive to landing a plane.  We stayed in Anchorage and explored the city. We attempted to visit the musk ox farm in Palmer, but it’s closed for the winter.  That would have been a good thing to research before driving all the way there.  Anyway, we went to the museum and there was this great exhibit with art from around the state.  There was a huge painting of a bear’s face on the wall with the words “everything I love is here” written on it.  What I didn’t realize until my husband pointed it out was that we have a copy of that bear’s face hanging on our wall.  The quote resonated with me.  I guess home is where love is.

Being at a funeral also brings families together.  People come together to celebrate the life of the one who has died.  I was quite surprised at how many people came to my Gramma’s funeral—she was a special woman who laughed a lot and who was deeply rooted in her community. (I was also surprised that there were quite a few local people there considering the population is about 42.) She would have never left her home of Nadeau, MI.  That was where her family was from, that was where she grew up, and that is where she raised her kids.  It was her love. 

Alex and I recently did one of those mail in DNA analysis things.  He’s mostly English and Irish.  Never would have guessed that with the dark hair and eyes.  I, on the other hand, am mostly French and German (40%) followed by British and Irish.  I have great-grandparents that came to the United States from Italy and I am only 0.2% Italian. Now I firmly believe that my dad is really my father, (my grandmother was French Canadian so I know my mom is my mother), and I’m not sure what to think about my results.  I guess it means that even way back when, people were all muddled and does it really matter?

Mr. Brad is wrestling again.  This time it’s club wrestling and a little more laid back.  He will be going to Wasilla (no you CANNOT see Russia from there) in early May to wrestle at state.  It’s a big deal around here.  Kids wrestle in competitions year round.  I think there are so many things for kids to be involved in to keep them out of trouble.  Who has time to screw around when you’re in school all day and then have practice every night?  I was recently introduced to a You Tube video about a young man from Toksook Bay (https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=i+am+yup%27ik).  He wasn’t a wrestler, he was a basketball player.  I think playing ball is a bigger deal here than wrestling, but they’re both very important to kids a communities.  Kids play ball when it’s below zero outside.  Kids that barely come up to my knee are proficient ball handlers.  Basketball is part of the community and the whole village supports the team.

My wonderful husband dragged us camping Easter weekend.  It wasn’t too cold (maybe 20 degrees) so we packed up the snowmachines and drove about 20 miles out of Bethel to the Gweek River.  I hoped to see a moose or fox or something else alive besides the three of us, but all I saw was a bug.  We pitched the Arctic Oven and had a warm place to sleep.  It was warm as long as the stove was lit.  I got cold, which prompted a laugh from Alex.  I was in a sleeping bag rated to -20 and a down rated to about the same.  And Alex had brought an air mattress, so I wasn’t even sleeping on the ground.  I even had toe warmers in my socks.  I guess I should have done some jumping jacks at 3am to get the blood flowing.

The snow is almost gone and the river isn’t safe to drive on.  I never thought it was too safe this winter because it was so warm.  The annual Ice Classic tickets have been sold and the person to guess the correct date and time of the official river break up will get $12,500.  I’m hoping to win it.  I’ll invest is some warmer clothes.  Our yard is starting to show, but there is no grass.  We didn’t have time to seed it last fall, so soon it’ll be just mud slop.  Gross mud.  There is a guy who hydroseeds and there is the possibility of a nice green lawn, but we have to get him here at the right time.

Time seems to pass so quickly.  We are almost ready to celebrate our two year anniversary in Alaska.  I think life is pretty ordinary, but when I look out at the tundra stretching forever or visit a village where people have no flushing toilet, I know that I am in a different world.  And anyone is welcome to visit at any time.

Alex skiing on the tundra right before the ice fog rolled in.