Stop and Smell the Lichen

Garden...step one...

2012-02-05T16:46:00.000-09:00

I hinted a bit in a earlier post about my journey into planting my own garden this year. A couple days ago I actually bought seeds. I literally worried over what to plant in my garden for a couple of long excruciating months. I dreamt about it. I drew layout after layout of what plants and what type of container would go where into my imaginary garden, and how I could rotate them year after year. I read everything I could get my hands on, from every topic you could think of; from soil conditions to homemade fertilizer to seed saving techniques, to preservation techniques, to studies done on what varieties to plant in the arctic. I guess I am a bit of control freak when I enter into any new area of experience. I go from teenage first-kiss-giddiness to an absolute certainty that I will totally and utterly fail at anything having to do with plants. I haven't been this excited about anything since I bought my first supplies for my perfume line.

I recommend that everyone go through this type of experience at least once a year!

So what did I choose to plant? I plan on growing oats in much of my available space. I jokingly tell family and friends that I want to eat after the great zombie invasion but really it's just for a couple basic reasons. One: I LOVE Oats. I love oatmeal, and oatmeal muffins, and oatmeal cookies. Oats are such a versatile and healthy yummy thing. I bought hulless oats in hopes that it will be easier to process them. Two: The grass from the oats will go to reducing the cost of the winter straw we buy for the dogs every year. Along with the grass we will collect wild in the fall time.

Of course potatoes are on my list. Alaskan potatoes. I have talked with people and read about using wild rhubarb type plants to feed the potatoes and that this really works well. It will work well for me also because I will already be collecting and processing sourdock for a food supplement. I also will try a squash that supposedly does well in central Alaska and stores well, another versatile crop. Peas are next on the list, though I have nightmares about the canned peas that were endlessly fed to me as a child I absolutely adore fresh peas. The rest of the plants I chose based on what they will be used for. Chives for cooking, lettuce for eating, calendula for it's healing properties, and stevia just to see if I could get it to grow and then use for sweet.

I don't have a huge amount of room in the back, and I will have to share that room with a drying rack and the various things my husband adores to stash, but it will work to get me started on getting familiar with how to use a space for gardening. My husband has agreed to build me above ground boxes in various sizes, being the saint he is he is willing to hand over a sizable amount of his wood stash for this project, and I plan to use modified buckets for the container friendly plants.

Today the sun officially crested the towering mountains and I opened the window curtains to let it in. The weather has stopped being ridiculous for the moment and today it was a 'balmy' 10 degrees. I spent most of it attacking the outside yard with a shovel. The husband got x-rays and though the collarbone is healing as planned he is still doomed to another month without using a snowmachine or lifting anything more than 5 pounds. So I do my best to clear the snow from stove exhaust and shovel out most of the snow in the dog pen so that they don't figure out that they could just jump out if they are inclined.

The world seems to want winter to end......

Stay warm and cozy everyone.

My husband found a few tufts of muskox hair caught in the willows. I finally found a use for it and made a embroidered mini-muskox.

Frozen days.....

2012-01-26T18:56:00.001-09:00

The weather has become ridiculous lately.

Of course I (for some strange reason) forget that I live in the arctic, and when the blizzards blow in and we get to -70 degrees at night with wind chill...I am surprised.

It is really hard to describe to people what that type of cold feels like. It's not only the feel of the cold on your being, but the emotions that it produces, the mentality of the it all. There is no being 'warm' in the winter. It's more just making sure you are not going to suffer permanent damage. You learn to breathe a certain way so that the cold does not make you gag and so you don't suffer from lung shock and end up coughing for half an hour. You turn your head at that perfect angle so that the wind doesn't steal your oxygen away. You blink rapidly and squint a bit to make sure the ice freezing on your eyelashes doesn't prevent you from seeing. You try and relax your muscles so that they don't waste calories shivering. But most of all you change your mental perception. It's hard to do when every cell in your body is in shock.

Like every winter the extreme cold created an earthquake of symptoms. Our tub drain quit working, and now we do a daily dance of hair dryers and boiling water to try and thaw it out. Frost crept up a corner in the pantry. We increased the calories the dogs were eating, and decided to let one of the stay in every night as she has a thinner undercoat. Trips outside we're shortened so had to be planned accordingly. I had to brush off two feet of snow that caked the satellite dish. I broke one of the dogs chain clips because I tapped it against the shovel to try and dislodge some ice inside the mechanism, and so now rope is being used. It is a bit like having an annoying relative stay at your home; you love them, you tolerate the stay, but you know it will only last for a little while.

Our only unfixed female dog gave birth to two tiny pups during the coldest part of this winter. We bred her with our husky and we knew that she was going to whelp, but her tummy was pretty small so we figured she had a few more weeks to go. I checked on her daily and one chilly afternoon I could not get her to come out of her house to change her bed straw. Tiny little mews were tucked against her tummy. So now she and her pups are in the house with us. Momma dog has a annoying habit of taking treats and leftovers and 'burying' them around the house wherever she can find a nook or cranny. Everyday I pay a gross version of an Easter egg hunt and look for her stashes. It works to beat cabin fever.

That and satellite tv.

I have kept myself busy with chores and with planning a vegetable garden this summer. I get excited just thinking about it, it's the same feeling that I got when I was elementary school and we sprouted beans in damp paper towels.

On another note, I am looking for other bloggers who would like to sample my natural products and write a review about them on their blog. I have done this a couple of times and it was always amazing! So if you know someone or you write a blog and would like to write a review let me know! You can email directly at: nunainua@hotmail.com. If you want to see the products visit my etsy store at: www.salmonberryorigins.etsy.comStay warm everyone!

A quick drawing I did of a arctic wolf. It's tiny. And fitting as winter is the season of the wolf. visit it at: CLICK HERE

yeck. hospitals.

2012-01-04T16:14:00.001-09:00

Fate has a sense of humor it seems.

My husband was planning a long winter camping/hunting trip into the arctic wilderness during my bi-annual shopping trip over the Christmas break. The night before the trip my husband and his traveling partner somehow started chatting about various collarbone fractures that friends and family had suffered over the years. Of course this meant that the next morning as he was finishing packing his sled, my husband slipped while carrying a 15 gallon jug of gas and slammed himself collarbone first into a grub box corner. He broke it into four pieces.

As it looked and felt like a major fracture at the time (though they couldn't tell for sure) the clinic here in Anaktuvuk Pass sent him to Fairbanks where I picked him up and we trotted over to the Native Hospital for a late night visit to determine what would happen next. We had been told that we were expected.

Anyone who is in the Alaska Native Health system knows that service is spotty and difficult. It can range from outright insulting and frustrating, to competent and amazing. It just depends on the waxing and waning of the moon. As someone who has spent their whole life in the system all I know is that it will ALWAYS be a task. And tedious. And will normally take a very, very, very long time. When I was teaching for the NSB I had the opportunity to enjoy my own health and dental insurance. It was like a fantasy science fiction world all clean and bright and shiny. I remember having that service as a wonderful and amazing dream. *sigh*

In reality we showed up at the Native Hospital at about 5pm and were greeted with a few grunts and puzzled looks. My husband sat in a chair grappling with the mind numbing pain that ensued from being jostled and bounced around in a tiny plane for an hour and half. I was informed that it was just a 'common collarbone fracture' (though this person did not even examine my husband) and that we should come back tomorrow morning for x-rays. I told them that he had only been given ibuprofen for the pain and that it was not helping, and if it was possible to get something a tiny bit stronger for the night that would be great. This person started sputtering about how my comment will 'red flag' us....etc etc. There was emphatic arm swinging and grandiose comments and other stuff I wasn't listening to. I sat there frowning, biting my tongue. They finally agreed to actually look at his shoulder, and once seeing it gave him something to help with the pain as it was a pretty impressive. The next morning we arrived early only to have to sit in the waiting area for six hours. In the end we were told that my husband would have to go to Anchorage for surgery.

I think in blogs people find it easy to use them as a pathway to complain about things, but this experience has left me dumbfounded. Mostly because once we arrived in Anchorage the experience was such the polar opposite. Again they knew we were arriving and we were helped and tended to during the whole experience. Our waits were an hour or less. The staff was professional and pleasant. The surgery went well and the surgeon and nurses were very kind and efficient. We stayed for a couple of days and then left, me clutching a thick pile of papers with various instructions on aftercare and my husband sporting a new metal collarbone with 8 screws.

I am adjusting to taking on most of the chores in the household and we are both recovering from that whirlwind travelling and exhaustion marathon. I'm currently fighting a sore throat and head cold, of which I will not discuss it for fear of it actually occurring. The hardest thing though is watching my husband figure out a way to survive 4 more weeks in a sling, as this is the season he usually does a lot of outdoor stuff like trapping and caribou hunting.

So I apologize for the future spotty blog posts this month! I hope this finds you and yours all warm and healthy and that you all had a amazing Christmas and New Years!

The 'A' in Q and A....

2011-12-13T13:59:00.000-09:00

From Novice Naturalist: Got any advice for staying focused while working at home?

A: First and foremost you have to find what works for you, and part of that is to put it into practice and see how you feel at the end of the day. Are you stressed? are you relaxed? Here is what works for me...

I am realistic. I am realistic about my time and my ability to use that time to do something with it. I have been working at home to supplement my income since I began college, so about 16 years. I did some work in high school but it wasn't significant enough to take up a good part of my time. At the end of the day I want to be able to sleep well and not feel burnt out. So to me this means that there are some projects that I will turn down, like long term (as in more than 6 months to several years) projects, or projects where I would not feel a connection to. This also means I turn down a lot of opportunities, like serving on boards or consulting jobs and such. I found through trial and error that even though the job might mean I would travel a piddly four times a year, it took it's toll out on my other projects in brain power and time away from the practice.

I'm realistic in how many hours I can work in one day, and in the whole week. I know that when my husband is around I get practically nothing done, we are best friends so we chat and catch up together and goof off. So that leaves me with the hours that he is at work , and a couple of hours in the evening after dinner and before our almost nightly movie or show. I like to have two 'levels' of work going on, so I can switch between the two to keep me interested. For instance...as soon I wake up I make coffee and check my emails and orders. I then fill out the orders. If there are no orders to fill then I move to the next 'level' of project, usually a illustration project. I space out the hours I do illustration because though it's important to get in the 'zone' staying there might burn you out. I make myself get up every hour to do some random housecleaning or to watch 15 minutes of a show on tv or to make a cup of juice or coffee. This way you can see your project with 'clean' eyes, and you can still get things around the house done.

I love post-its, and lists, mainly because I love to cross things out as DONE! This helps me sleep better at night and makes me see that I am getting something done, be it a personal project or a commission. Even making a checklist for the steps in a project is a good idea.

When I work I always have a 'set up ' ritual. This is a must if you work at home. This puts your mind into work mode so you are not thinking about anything else. For me the ritual is environmental. I have a certain playlist of music I play that is not loud enough to be annoying. It consists of music that enables my imagination, therefore it has no words, or no words in english so I'm not really paying attention to it. I always set up a cup of something to drink. I always dim the lights in the room if I am working on computer illustration, and if it's old school drawing then I arrange the lighting so that my drawing is the center of my lighting universe. If I'm beading I usually do it in front of the tv (which is weird I know but it works for me!) and my beading ritual is to arrange the beads I will use and the tools I will need in easy range. Basically you want to have a 'ritual' to mentally prepare you for work mode. Always do this before you work, and after a while it will become automatic.

When I was younger I paid attention to how I 'felt' about a project, how my own personal excitement about it affected how well it went and how well it turned out. A lot of people don't really respect their feelings about a project but when it comes to anything artistic, it will matter. As I got older I realized that it doesn't mean I should reject projects that are mundane, it just means that I have to work to identify a little more and find something interesting about it. For personal projects I keep a journal of my ideas, and i always choose one that excites me.

Hopes this helps!

Questions from Anonymous: I love your Lichen oil. It smells fantastic. Do you make it with essential oil from lichen?

Answer: No, in fact it has nothing really 'natural' about it, besides the skin loving base oil I dilute it with. When I began looking at making fragrance oils I had to decide wether or not to use synthetic skin safe scents (chemicals that are neutral that synthesize a specific smell) or essential oils and resins (oils that are distilled from actual plants.) I chose to use synthetic oils for a few reasons:

1. I was raised to see anything relating to plants as medicinal. That our interaction with them is medicinal in nature. A plant contains a massive amount of chemicals that react with human systems (not just the smell) , and this to me is very important and should never be ignored.

2. Because all plants are medicinal, some people will react badly to them. By using synthetics skin safe oils I reduce the amount of people that will react badly to them.

3. There are more synthetic smells than natural smells. Sounds weird but true. For instance I use a 'smoke' smell for my noon fire scent and a 'carnation' smell for my Wolf scent that are simply not found in nature. So this gives me more of an opportunity to get it just right! Lichen alone contains 11 scents to produce the one single smell that changes into several notes. Something almost impossible to do with just the one essential oil from lichen.

4. My scents are unique and specific to my experience, the smell of lichen is incredibly unique, sniffing a wolf pelt is incredibly unique, and I needed the complexity that synth oils would give me so that other people could experience these things consistently and not differ from batch to batch. Did you know that one of the notes in my Lichen scent is actually 'dirt'? I would not know how to even distill that scent! lol

Hope these answers helped! I am looking forward to future Q and A sessions!

The Q in Q and A?.....

2011-12-07T13:15:00.001-09:00

A blog to me is sometimes way too one sided. I am after all a very small percentage of this blog. The rest is made up of incredibly kind people that are willing to sometimes read my rambles. So I thought I would start doing a 'Q and A' thing. Post your Question as comments to this post and I will do my best to answer them in the next post! It can be about anything!

Fighting the Funk....

2011-12-04T19:24:00.001-09:00

Every winter I fall into a cold temperature Funk. Part of the reason is that the sun really doesn't come up, it just kind of lazily casts a hour or two of dim light, but the main reason is that I am complete wuss when it comes to cold and I refuse to come out till Spring. I am a wuss compared to most Inupiaq that is....i can't handle anything below -10 comfortably. So I sit in my toasty little house and scowl at my happy husband as he rejoices in the opportunity to trap and to drive his snow machine.

This winter I am making a real effort to 'fight the funk'. I have realized that as I get older it is harder to lose weight, to keep muscle and to exercise your brain. And my usual hibernation just adds pounds and laziness to the equation, which I then have to battle through when I emerge again in the spring. I refuse to give up my baking so I started to add some other things to my daily routine.

I bought a exercise video, complete with way-too-energetic people and plan to either use it or get out and walk around at least three times a week. Today was the first time I have tried the video and I have come to the conclusion of a few things. One: no matter how much you love someone, if they sit and stare at you while you are gyrating and swinging your arms with no dignity, you will get mad at them and get embarrassed and order them to leave. So next time I will make sure the husband is hunting or working. Two: you can actually generate enough heat to heat exercising indoors to keep the house toasty, so much so that you will have to open the windows, and Three: it does make you feel happier, and healthier.

Another thing I realized is I noticed I stopped taking pictures. And if anyone knows me they will always comment how I ALWAYS have a camera on me, and I will take any opportunity to take photos. But it sort of ends with winter arriving and the arrival of the 'funk.' So I forced myself to take a few pictures. I found out why I hate taking pictures in the winter...the cold and dark dark dark winter. I realized that I had not done long exposure photos since I was in college. And that I was actually pretty happy to play around in that area, a few minutes at a time, luckily today was actually warm, despite the heavy snow.

Our back yard, snow covered and soft.

playing with exposure taking photos of our christmas lights. I jiggled it a bit but it made it look like neon birds taking flight.

I got too cold when I was hanging these lights on our stairs so they ended up being kind of a jumbled mess of holiday happy.

Personal Choice?....

2011-11-28T15:04:00.001-09:00

Most of what I write in my blog stems from actual conversations with real live people. Mostly it's not even what we were discussing but maybe an echo of that discussion. Or a seed generated from that discussion. Or an observance. This post is about a single statement made by a friend, and like all good and worthy statements it prompted me to seriously think about it.

The statement was this: "It's your personal choice to live where you live." It was made in reference to another comment another friend said about how harsh it was to live here. They said this statement honestly thinking and understanding that everyone who lives in Alaska, who puts up with $10.00 prices on milk gallons, who hunts for food and deals with -90 degrees weather did it because that was the life they wanted and chose. Because why else would we live here?

And I absolutely love that type of statement because it offers a window into my own thoughts and thought process. At first my initial reaction was 'it's not a choice!!!!' ...and then immediately I thought 'crap I totally sounded like a blind cult member' ...and then a few seconds later...'why do I not see it as a choice?' And more importantly why does someone else think it is a choice?

Alaska is made up of basically three groups of people; those that are aborigines and have been here since the mastodon roamed, those that came to Alaska to make their fortune and were a little crazy and 'off' to do so, and those that are born of those two groups. But one thing you see with those that do stay and revel in the crazy called Alaska, is this almost fanatic denial of living here as a choice.

And in the end I think it all boils down to a question of Culture, though no one at first would first see it that way. After 10,000 plus years of the same people staying and thriving in the same place, as you can imagine the culture itself reinforces the concept of wether or not this option exists. Leading of life of following abundance, wether it be melting ice or migrating caribou, has created a ancient bond, a loyalty. To the land, the animals, the people. To specific invaluable knowledge. People who stuck together and who listened to this ancient knowledge ...lived. And this understanding became fundamental to our culture, and has seeped into the modern Alaskan culture.

American Culture is often described and understood as the culture of separateness. Of independence, of making it on your own. It is a cultural understanding, one that is reinforced and rewarded. Individuals are held up on pedestals, and paid the big bucks. And sometimes in this world we forget that other worlds exist. America is a young culture, but big and bright and shiny. And even I have a hard time realizing that there are different ways of thinking. That there is a culture that relies on anchors instead of sails to succeed. And that it has been succeeding for thousands of years.

But I have to ask myself how can this ancient culture is affecting us, can this cultural bond with land and animal and family be detrimental in anyway? has anyone thought to question and contemplate this? There are very good sides to our culture, like having no homeless, no starving in our small villages, but what can be the downsides? I think I see these tiny dark creatures hovering at the edge of my vision...and they have yet to reveal themselves.

Random info section:
For those who are waiting to purchase items from my stores for Christmas gifts, I will be taking a early vacation this year (sacrilegious for a seller I know!) So I will be traveling from about the 9th of December till I get back to celebrate Christmas with the family. Which leaves very little time for you to shop! I will be blogging about the experience though!

I am working on more videos....my amazing brother, who stole all the musical genes, is scoring the music! Hopefully I can do it justice! I'm trying to find a better way to post the videos here, as I am dissapointed with the quality.

I added a Christmas ornament for sale with two full sized scent memories in it, visit www.SalmonberryOrigins.etsy.com for more info!

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T11:59:00.001-09:00

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone out there! I have always celebrated this day, not as a Pilgrim type thing, but instead as a opportunity to show the world that I am grateful for what is Good in my life. May this post find you warm and fed! Thank you for your interest!

Nasugraq Rainey Hopson

Arctic Terrorists......

2011-11-12T12:58:00.001-09:00

There is a war within me. Amongst the other wars. It's a smaller war, to be fair. More like a squabble really. Like two ravens fighting over a tidbit mid winter. And after thinking about it all of these years I still cannot seem to really convince myself of either side. I think I keep hoping someone will come up with a happy medium, because my brain cells and heart just doesn't seem to know what to do with it.

It is something that every villager thinks of at some point in their life. I know I have been asked many times about my opinion on the subject and it just depends on what day it is, what my answer will be. It's a simple question: what do you think about tourists/visitors/'others' coming into the village?

As you know I have was very lucky to know several villages. I grew up in Point Hope, a small village on the coast with more than 90% of the population being Native. Tourism is actively fought off, visitors are kept to the minimum and are restricted to what is necessary, if we could have sat at the airport with spears we would have. A person I admire immensely once said, 'If we could just put a big bubble around our village!', and I wholeheartedly agreed with cheers and vigorous hand claps. Mostly I agree for a couple reasons. The biggest one is that 'outsiders' tend to bring bad things along with them (as a majority). These types of people are usually temporary bursts of Different. In a small village you usually adhere to a type of social code. A village knowledge base of who is who and what is what. If you think about it it makes sense, considering you will have to live with the exact same (very small amount) of people for probably the rest of your life. You learn what is serious and what is not, and more importantly you learn where to apologize or when to ignore. We also have this clash with teachers, and more often than not it ends with the teacher leaving in frustration or the teacher being asked to leave. Cultural differences often shape the social landscape. Construction workers also sometimes bring drugs to help with the tedious winters, and sometimes hook others onto it. People come in and start relationships willy nilly, or end up kissing a bored wife, or a million other tiny things that are not amazingly bad when viewed alone and without major context, or in a huge lower 48 city. But they leave major hard to ignore scars in a small social setting. In a world where temporary and disposable are the norm, ignorance can harm an old society, one as different as you can imagine.

I also am very lucky to live in Anaktuvuk Pass. Where tourism is tolerated. In the warm months 4-10 planes fly in with it's load of gawkers and hippies, some adventurers or head hunters. People that want to fill their lives with a tad bit of Different and Amazing. I live near the airport and in one freak of a day I counted about 30 planes, flying in and out. Because of how I make my money I depend on the seasonal income, I sell random art pieces and products at the amazing Museum at the top of the hill. The tour guides lead the group of tourists around the village, pointing out the various bits of history poking out of the tundra. As a resident I find them fantastically annoying. We have playfully nicknamed them 'terrorists.' My home is unfortunately on the tourist route, and as a consequence we get the full brunt of their visits. I don't really blame their curiosity though: my yard is a tidy mini-city, filled with excited burly arctic dogs, fantastic displays of my husbands prized antlers and sheep horns, and the various exotic tools and vehicles needed to live in a arctic world. I am, however, always amazed that they find it acceptable to enter our yard and examine our belongings and poke at our dogs. They laugh and take pictures of themselves with our belongings with their usually incredibly expensive cameras and camera phones. I use to sit at my window and scowl, but for some reason some of the less timid tourists found this as an invitation to approach me and try to get me to pose or to pepper me with questions or ask me to show them what it was 'really' like living here. Every one of them did not realize that they are a small annoying pebble in a seasonal avalanche, and some were even offended that I would refuse such as honor as they are. So now....without any shame....I duck and hide when I see them pass by.

For 7 years i lived n Barrow Alaska, the Top of the World, a short stay in arctic terms. It's population only about 50% Native, and the rest is a beautiful mix of people from much more tropical places and random misfits that found their way there. Tourism is a thriving industry there. It's a structured and well cultivated system that feeds it's supporters well. I made a tidy living there easily, not having to rely so much on internet sales or cold calls. It's a place where Celebrities and famous people stop by, a place where thousands of scientists pontificate, a place where old meets new and melds in a ying yang type situation. Amazing things happen there, but there is the darker side to the mix. A place where alcohol and modern drugs are easy to obtained and abused, a place where cultural clashes become violent, a place where hope is mixed with despair, a place where you can be a stranger and an unknown.

So I have experienced somewhat the various levels of West meeting North and I still can't see how it may be resolved. I would hope that the villages would take control of the tourist industry in their neighborhood, take the reigns so no one else can drive them. But the village leaders are hard pressed to have nothing to do with tourists be they benign or not. And so we are left with this weird dance of frustration and reliance, of feeling guilty of living in a world that will have outsiders coming in. Of hating the new stuff and loving the new stuff. Its a time of birthing pains with emotion and logic warring in our Inupiaq Psyche.

Next year I plan to nail a tin can next to our dog cage and paint it with a single phrase... "Tips are appreciated.'

Blog updates...

2011-11-07T13:54:00.000-09:00

Some of you might have noticed some changes in blog. The colors and whatnot changed because I hit a button on accident. No amount of frowning could make it change back. My birthday was on the 2nd and as usual I do a mini-age-panic and force myself to learn something new and different.

So I created a Twitter account. I will post little things at least once a day, probably more in the beginning since I'm trying to get used of the process and how it all works. Just another tiny window into my world. If you have a twitter account you can click on the little birdie on the top left of my blog page to follow me. It took way longer for me that I thought it would to figure out how to add that dang birdie! But age will do that to you. If you don't know what twitter is well....it's sort of way in which to sign up for random updates of 140 characters or less. It's perfect for the phone users or mobile users. I have a new ipod touch which will keep me connected and allow me to post random daily photos. I love how you can follow famous actors and well known people, and it's fun to be socially connected in a different way.

I also added 'response' buttons to the bottom of every one of my blog posts, so now you can do a quick click about how you felt about the post. Feedback is always appreciated!

We find ourselves, my hubby and I, spending more calorie-saving lounging inside, we love to watch television series and movies, of which we are running out of things to watch! Do you know of any tv series or movies on disc that would be worth watching? We love random things as long as they are good...everything from Battle Star Galactica, to documentaries, to 50's and 60's films, to Big Trouble in Little China. Though neither one of us are big fans of romance movies.

I hope everyone is surviving the Fall time (in our case it's early winter) well and I hope this post finds everyone warm and toasty!

I am my Percentage.....

2011-11-01T15:52:00.000-08:00

I was watching the movie 'Snow Walker' the other night (if you haven't seen it you should) and there is a scene where the main character asks the other main character (Inuit) what her name was, and she reaches into her parka and pulls out a medallion with her number on it. And I was thinking to myself how horrible that was, and how it echoed a very tiny bit like the Holocaust years. And then I realized that this type of stuff still goes on, right here in the U.S. in fact, and that it was amazing to me that something like this could seem so normal and so foreign to me at the same time.

As a Alaskan Native I have a number. A card really. From the BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs). It lists my name and my birthdate, my tribal name, the blood quantum percentage, and a number. I also have another card from my tribal Corporation. With my name and birthdate and blood quantum and number. When I actually look at these cards I am bothered by the numbers. Mostly I am bothered by the blood quantum number.

You see, most people don't realize that I am only half Inupiaq. The other half is a very exotic mix of African American and North Korean. But that's a very long story for another topic. But what bothers me is that they list my blood percentage in the first place. Why do they need the percentage? In this day and age it is a normal thing to be only part Native. When the diseases demolished our numbers we were at one point left with only 1,200 known Inupiaq, from an estimated 600,000 members. And there are suspicious reports in ship log books about carrying sick people and making them visit as many people in the villages as possible. But that is another long story. What it comes down to is that one day, the government came and chopped up Alaska into sections, and they deemed anyone in that section a certain type of Native. In our area it was Inupiaq, Athabascan, and Yupik. The registered everyone and gave them numbers and cards.

There was no actual way to tell if you are what you say you are. Back in the day my people were very war like. We had the largest territory pretty much in Alaska. It wasn't cause we were good at making treaties either. The extremely submissive wife-sharing Eskimo you see in a lot of old films was a thing made up in Hollywood. We warred. Thousand were killed in the struggle to keep hunting territory lines. Children and women were never killed, instead they were adopted into the tribe. Especially Children, as they are very much treasured and not many survived in this type of land. Adoption is a common practice still in my culture (though not as a result of war) , and once adopted you are seen as what you parents are, no matter where you came from. Family ties are paramount. So as you could imagine the 'type' of native we are is blurred. Even more so when you realize that we did not adhere to political lines, and that we share bloodlines with Russia and Canada. It is seen as the reason that there are different dialects of the same language, it just depends on who your neighbors were. Our people are incredibly nomadic. A real thing of beauty if you ask me. It was also not uncommon to adopt travelers into your family, people with no real blood ties. In our culture we have many types of relations. The strength of those ties do not rely on blood lines, and some of them even rely on spiritual ties. This of course could have blurred the lines even more, as some family ties are determined by just your given name.

To make it even more complicated there is now evidence that we traded with other Nations. Shells and trinkets from far away are found in the possessions of the ancient Inupiat, even boats and tools. Some as far away a the Polynesian islands. Evidence of different foreign technology is also found mingled in our history, like Chinese and Greenlandic. I could be a mix of Polynesian -Inupiaq-Mongolian-African American-Korean.

So we mixed and melded with people and other cultures...as is completely normal and expected. But one day the government came in and froze it. Mixing and mingling began to be closely tracked. It's even deemed punishable. In my tribe if you are less than 1/16th Inupiaq you do not qualify as Inupiaq. This number differs from tribe to tribe and is set by the Tribal government, some tribes are even more strict than ours. It does not matter who you were adopted by or how you were raised, or wether you speak the language or wether you know ancient hunting techniques, as the government has deemed this so. And I always wondered what exactly was the purpose of this blood quantum?

We as Native Americans get free health care and other important stuff because of the treaties. Our subsistence hunting rights are also determined by the government. You really should read that section at the BIA website, I must have snorted at least 10 times at the wording they chose. But it means that they needed some way to identify Natives from the general public. Our cards allow us some health care, and some assistance from the government. But all the government has to know is wether or not we are Native American, why do they include the percentage?

Some say it is a 'out' for the government on the treaties. A contingency plan or expiration date on their responsibilities. Because of you think about mathematically there will be a time when the Native population will not exist. There have been some tribes deemed 'extinct' by the government already, because they have too little members with enough blood quantum. It chills me to think that one day we will be deemed 'extinct' because we are mixing and mingling like is expected and normal. The blood quantum restrictions could not exist for anything else, could they? The government requires us to adhere to their own idea of what 'family' is, and this is such a culturally unique concept that it is amazing to me that it has never been challenged. It is again another way the United States tries to make everyone conform and sever ties with differences. The government closes their eyes to everything different, instead of celebrating it.

And this of course is nothing new. And no I am not a government hater type. It's just sometimes I get a little suspicious and I wonder if anything could be done about it?

An Arctic Halloween.....

2011-10-30T21:28:00.000-08:00

Just thought I would post some pictures. Our Halloween may look a bit different than most. It means snow and cold and barely lit days. Tomorrow night is when the kids will put costumes over their fluffy thick winter gear and go to a few houses to get goodies. I plan to bake some green spooky cookies to give out. Last year I gave out chocolate covered popcorn balls, but the store doesn't have the type of popcorn you can put in a popcorn maker and microwave popcorn doesn't taste as good.

My husband caught four caribou yesterday, incredible luck. He has been driving around in the wilderness on his time off for at least a week before he found the small herd. He drove back in the dark with no headlight on the snowmachine. His younger sister Kayla helped skin and quarter the caribou in the dark while it was snowing. They had to be at least skinned before they got too cold. I would have helped but I have been fighting a sinus infection (tis the season!) and so instead I cheered them on as best as I could...from the warmth of the house. Our meat will be stored outside in winter bins, protected from weasels, ravens, foxes and loose dogs. Most will go to elders and people who need it. We kept all of the hides and will dry them in the deep winter for new bedding for camping next year. Nothing goes to waste: the dogs were ecstatic because they knew they would get all of the parts that we would not be eating. These pics are a bit bloody, but I thought they were neat.

My husband used a sled to block most of the wind and used one of my studio lights to light up the area. Here is is showing his sister where to make the cuts. She hopes to be able to butcher a whole caribou by herself one day. Not an easy job for a petite girl weighing not more than 100 pounds wet!

Kayla working on meat.

A bit blurry but it is my favorite photo. My husband was wearing a head lamp, which he used to help him make the first cuts. His hands were very cold, but I think that Inupiaq people who spend a lot of time in the cold have an incredible high tolerance to it.

It was amazing to eat fresh caribou meat again, I roasted some with olive oil, onions, garlic and salt and pepper. Here is a pic of our 'dressing.' It is seal oil with black dried seal meat, I have added carrots and a plant called 'ipiq', or Bistort leaf. Very sweet, crispy and salty, perfect for meat and rice. Incredibly high in vitamins as nothing in that bowl was cooked.

Our post office at night.

Wooly Lousewort

2011-10-25T12:57:00.000-08:00

One of my projects this winter will be compiling and organizing information and photos for a 'Anaktuvuk guide to plants' thing I am putting together, which is going to take me years and years but you have to start some where right? I do it only for my own sanity! I thought it would be neat to post some info and a couple photos of various plants I am learning about. This is not going to be gospel people, I am not a scientist or expert on herbal anything and I m not diagnosing a darn thing. Insert your expected disclaimer here.

This post is about one of the weirdest looking plants that I have seen here. The Wooly Lousewort, aka: fernweed, bumblebee plant or Pedicularis Kanei or P. Lanata. It was literally the first plant I took pictures of when I moved here, as it looked very alien and intimidating. The new plants grow with a furry coat that protects them in the early spring from the cold unpredictable weather. And because of that they are one of the very first plants to start growing. Once the plant is secured and the sun comes out in the summer in force, the wooly plant starts to grow tiny colorful blooms (here they are a very bright pink). The whole plant can be used for various things. The root is a bit like a yellow carrot, and can be fermented with the bloom (like a sauerkraut) or boiled or just steamed. I do not pick this plant regularly but I did taste the root a couple of times, it has a pleasant but faint taste, much improved by actually washing the root in water. You can lick the nectar from the blooms or even use them for garnish for a salad. The whole top of the plant is a very strong sedative, though if you take too much you can end up lethargic and with temporarily paralyzed legs...scary but not permanent. I myself have not actually taken the plant as a tea, but I did dry some and stored it. An adult dose is about one teaspoon, a very small amount. I think I will actually wait till next year to try the tea as I have been reading about how the plant is actually parasitic and will take some of the chemical attributes on of the plant it attaches itself to. I plan to observe what plants they like to bond to, before I start experimenting. In the Fall after being pollinated the flowering parts withers a it then grows a very tall and odd stalk with the seeds. After drying in the fall the seeds are released.

The newly emerged wooly lousewort with it's fuzzy coat

A pretty pic showing the showy pink blooms

A pic showing the seed stalk empty of seeds

This is actually a non-usable type of lousewort. But it is very pretty! probably a red tipped lousewort.

doing?...

2011-10-15T19:27:00.000-08:00

Winter is officially ...officially...here, the snow is...almost...deep enough to drive snow machines on. I have switched to what I call 'Hibernation' mode, which means I pretty much stay inside and gain weight. For some reason cold weather inspires me to bake....and cook....and bake....and spend way too much creating edible edibles. So far I have made a batch of cake balls, pickled muktuk (whale), some berry and apple crisp type thing, some berry ice cream toppings, and I have started experimenting with a drink called 'butter beer' which is as fattening as it sounds and contains no beer. For some reason creating food is so very comforting to me in the winter time. This year I plan to do something to burn calories, my idea is to take one dog a day for a short walk and start training them for packing and pulling. I was going to take up skijoring but my knee doctor had a red faced fit when I told him and so those plans are out the door. I'm sure he will be fine with me just walking.

My husband is preparing for trapping season, and I nod my head and look interested when he sits at dinner and regales me with the details of his plans for the winter. To me it seems so very much complicated, and I could imagine that he feels the same way when I discuss my beading and art finishing techniques. But we love each other so we try to be involved and aware and provide support where we can. I am very proud of him and the knowledge he gathers, it is a very dangerous venture to take and one that requires a lot of preparation and forethought.

We went for a ride this last weekend, to sit atop a hill so we could watch down the valley for caribou. They have entered the mountains and are now spreading about in smaller groups to try and avoid starvation and being eaten by wolves through the winter. They use their tough-as-nails hooves to dig through the snow and graze on lichen, a plant that never dies in the winter time. The cold shocked my system, and I could almost physically feel the adjustments my body was taking to keep me warm. Mentally I also adjusted to what my idea of 'cold' was, as it will change dramatically over the winter My husband was lucky enough to find three caribou the day before our ride, we gave one and a half away, and finally have some for our freezer. Because of the shortage of caribou meat the one tiny local grocery store has been hard pressed to provide proteins....they ran out of hamburger meat, steaks, chicken breast, and pork chops and so for a long couple of weeks we grudgingly ate precooked oven chicken, microwavable foods, and spent way too much money on it. A weight on my soul was lifted with the caribou we got, and we finally could start eating much much more healthier meals.

I made a quick video of some images of my weekend....

I also have been experimenting with dyeing ptarmigan feathers using koolaid....

Clash of the titans....

2011-10-07T13:40:00.001-08:00

One of the first things my Father ever taught me was to see beyond words and platitudes. I think he meant it as a way to teach me to avoid the wrong type of boy in my teenage years but I guess I carried it on into my adulthood and tend to apply it to pretty much everyone..... I learned to judge people on what they do, and not what they say. Which is why you can imagine that I avoid politics.

One of the most persistent litanies I heard growing up as an Inupiaq in a small native village was "get an education, come home and use it here." My elders proclaimed that it was what I could do to help, that I would become valuable in their eyes. Everyone talked about the need for sustainability and home rule and reclaiming the reigns. Corporations created scholarships, fancy plaques were brandished and speeches were given about how it was the next step in our growth as a people and as human beings living in this day and age.

So I did. I left and got an education. Many people ask me why I did it. And I always answer them truthfully. Because my parents were SERIOUS when the said I am going to college. They put away a very large sum of money piled from PFD's and ASRC shareholder checks. My father sat and growled at me till my paperwork was done. Since I was young he had been grooming me for an education, slowly adding more and more responsibilities, getting a joint bank account, making me memorize my social security number, and many many other small things.... it was never what was aid to me...it was always what was done....

And I still apply that sentiment to what everyone was telling me as I grew up. And I find that we are at a turning point when it comes to educated villagers. A place of change and thought and changed thought. We are at the meeting of generations, which is normal and expected, yet no one really is looking closely.

I'm still sitting on a large school loan I had to take out to go to grad school. I was very very surprised to find out that my local village corporation does not provide scholarships for Graduate level school, only a small amount for undergrad. The only funding I found was from the Arctic Slope Regional Corporation of which I am a shareholder (and pretty much every Inupiat on the Slope is), and it was at the same amount given for undergrad school. I knew from experience that I did not qualify for any state of federal level grants as I was too 'rich' as a ASRC shareholder. The school I went to for my undergrad diploma had promised me a $1000 scholarship per semester for four years, but when they took a look at my FAFSA and found out I was a shareholder at ASRC they took the money back and sent me a letter that said that regrettably it had to be "reassigned." So I took out three credit cards and maxed them out and took out a $10,000 loan and burned all of that money in a years time. I ate mainly cup o noodles and lived on campus in a very small dorm room the color of chalk. I remember thinking back to those speeches that I heard growing up, and I wondered where all that support and encouragement went, and if it was only empty words.....

ASRC is the richest native company in the State of Alaska. It pulls millions ,billions?,of dollars a year from the oil being pumped out of Prudhoe bay. The board members get fat bonus checks every year, and subsidiary companies span across the lower 48. Yet despite all of their money they proclaim to be established for the good of the people, our people, to better our lives. What I think is glaringly opposite of their claims is that in 1995 when I went to college they gave me $3,500 a semester for school. I'm grateful for it don't get me wrong. But it is odd that despite the massive increases in college expenses over the years since then, they have not increased their scholarships a dime, and no one has protested this weird disconnect. If it wasn't for my parents forethought in saving a bunch of money I would never had been able to afford college. I was actually thinking of going back to college but realized that there is no way I could afford it. And I have no idea how kids afford it now. If Education was really a real priority, wouldn't the proof in action be that no native ASRC shareholder would ever have to worry about paying for an education?

But lets say by tooth and nail and struggles you do get an education and return to the village you grew up in. You are looking for a job. Here is where I think where there is a culture clash. Getting a degree or two or three and beyond is a 'western' thing, knowledge and respect is based on passing tests and taking classes and doing other things far away from your village. For thousands of years we as Native people have based respect on age and observed actions and use of knowledge. The leaders in the villages are often older than 40 years of age, and have gained knowledge through...well BUILDING the systems that exist today. A clash is born.

Now back to the 'actions' thing. I do not believe that any young punk should be able to just come back and take over no matter the degrees or education. But I think that if those who came before us really wanted educated youth, there should be an established system to incorporate newly educated Inupiat into the established system. I think a paid mentoring system would benefit everyone, at every level, in every corporation and local business. If what they are EXPECTING is highly educated people returning then there should be a smooth transition into positions that already exist. What we are seeing is a very tangible frustration of the people returning to the village to find that they cannot get a job, they are 'overqualified' or the position is filled already indefinitely, and so they leave to the cities to find work.

I don't really speak much about my experiences as a teacher, simply because they were a bit traumatic to say the least. But one aspect I thought was incredibly peculiar was the expectations on me as a Inupiat teacher from other Inupiat. They were vastly higher than what they expected from non-native teachers. At first I thought this was simply because I was new teacher, but befriending the other new teachers made me realize that I was being treated ...differently. I was continually reprimanded by my supervisors (non native) and by locals (native) for ACTING Native. For using Inupiat words in my classroom. For sitting next to and chatting with my cousins kids. For talking about Inupiat hunting and stories and.....well for just BEING Inupiat, which was always met with a sort of confused panic. I always felt that this world that exists on the Slope today is not actually built for Inupiat people to take it over. And it seems that in every institution there is this belief that by ignoring the cultural differences it will somehow make those differences disappear. The system as it exists is not built for us to run, it is instead modeled after a system found in a western world, which worked to save what we have and get our fingers deep into the fabric, but does not move us beyond hanging on by just our finger tips.

I also think there is a disconnect in communication of what jobs are available in the villages. Leadership positions are almost always filled by locals, yet the ranks and ranks of workers under them are almost always contracted out to non-natives in the cities. Positions like lawyers and accountants and teachers and managers and mechanics.....which to be fair are positions that places like Ilisagvik College are educating people to fill, but they are finding little to no support despite their efforts. No one thought to define what they meant by 'get an education' and so we are finding young people very confused....and educators scrambling....

I do believe in the strength of our people, and the amount of greatness achieved in such a short time is amazing. But one thing I want to see is when buildings are decorated with photos honoring our elders and those that are amazing that they include some young faces, to give hope and make a place for the young punks coming up behind us. And personally I know that I will work to take the brunt of anger and crazy and birthing pains that this time offers if it means that the youth in college right now will have less frustration to deal with when they return. And I hope that there will be places for them to return to.

Good bye Harley.....

2011-10-05T13:57:00.002-08:00

As some of you might remember this blog did have a resident cat....who I introduced you all to in my blog post entitled Harley..

She past away yesterday, surrounded by my husbands soft singing. She will be greatly missed, and I am trying to adjust to the absence in my heart. She had a great life that included traveling with me from California to various villages on the North Slope, long sun filled summers, and both of us falling in love with my husband. She made a few good friends and a lot of enemies as cats are wont to do. She was such a presence in our lives, and I will miss most the mornings I woke up to her purrs and gentle nudges. I find the hardest thing to do for some reason is to remove her from my intro on my blog page, so I thought I would at least make a post just for her, so she can live on indefinitely in the digital world called the internet.

Sometimes it's such a curse that our fuzzy friends never live forever, instead they make brief little paw prints on our hearts.

Labrador Tea.....

2011-09-29T14:51:00.001-08:00

One of my projects this winter will be compiling and organizing information and photos for a 'Anaktuvuk guide to plants' thing I am putting together, which is going to take me years and years but you have to start some where right? I do it only for my own sanity! I thought it would be neat to post some info and a couple photos of various plants I am learning about. This is not going to be gospel people, I am not a scientist or expert on herbal anything and I m not diagnosing a darn thing. Insert your expected disclaimer here.

This post is about Labrador tea, (in Inupiaq it is called tilaaqiaq) one of the most used herbs in the arctic. My 'arctic tea' journey started with this plant and it is one of my all time favorite plants. Inupiat have used it to treat everything from colds to to lethargy to wounds. It has a pleasant spicy taste and gives you a bit of a pick me up similar to a caffeine high. We use it almost everyday in the winter, to fight off colds and warm chilled toes and fingers. It can be picked all year long and I have heard and read of great debate on when the best times to pick it might be, from when it's brown to during flowering to after flowering. I do know that the flowers contain the highest concentration of ledol, the stimulating substance found in the plant, which is also poisonous in high doses. Ledol can cause horrible things to happen to you, but from what I can tell all of the information is gathered from cows overgrazing on huge patches of the stuff. So don't graze on it people! and don't boil in a covered pot for more than 10 minutes. Use only a pinch or two per cup, it blends well with modern teas. It's one of the hardest herbs to pick simply because you cannot just reach down and pull it out, as you tend to take the whole root system and the dirt it was attached to. I have started to carry a small pair of scissors with me just to clip the tips of Labrador tea plants. I gather it when they are not in bloom, as I like to let the plants have the opportunity to procreate. You can also dig through the snow and find the leaves for emergency rations. Be careful as the more poisonous plant called bog rosemary resembles this herb. Bog rosemary will not have the intense scent and the underside of the rosemary leaves are smooth and not fuzzy. I have noticed that the ptarmigan here will eat labrador tea and old berries while they wait for the willow to sprout their tasty buds. And this gives the ptarmigan a very yummy herby taste, much preferred over the overdose of willow taste they gain in the spring. It makes an amazing herbal satchet and will release it's scent for a long period of time. European people used Labrador tea to brew an herbal beer called Gruit. Northern lore says that it was an herb used to rid an area from ghosts, just twist a stalk of it in the room, and then remove it from the area. The same procedure was used it a house where a child was sick.

To me this herbs is the herald of the growing season, as the metallic snow smell is replaced by it's heady scent. It is the temptress of bees and softens every tundra corner with its velvet like covering.

Winter

2011-09-25T16:51:00.003-08:00

Winter....oh you vain woman you!

She is staring at me from a distance. The mountains have changed their parkas to what looks like a powdered sugar coating. The air is sharp and metallic. The fish have moved on. The dogs are almost visibly producing a thick undercoat. Any exposed water gets a thin coat of ice over night. And we have begun our winter preparations.

This will be a hard winter for us. The caribou did not migrate South anywhere near here, so meat is going to be an issue, and we are disappointed that we will have to buy almost half our meat this winter in plastic pre frozen blocks of ground beef and chicken breasts. Luckily my husband did get a little bit of sheep meat and a cousin got a moose, so we will at least have some non-fat laden-high in hormones - and whatever chemicals they vaccinated cows and chickens with - meat. The fish also were not cooperating with us this year and since I had surgery I could not go ice fishing in the early spring. Our freezers are the emptiest they have ever been and it feels like we are ...Inupiaq lean.....not really poor....but close. We have traded berries for seal oil and meat, and a few huge chunks of whale meat, which will pad our larders well.

Luckily my brother has moved to the nearest city and will be shipping us veggies and fruits and whatnot through the winter, which will at least provide a variety of goodies.

But I am finding more time indoors, to do things that were abandoned in the late winter. I can blog again, bead again, write again, philosophize again, and work on skins as I repair our cold weather gear. But first we work to prepare for winter. Today we will make sure there is nothing in the yard that is important and that will get buried in the snow, and we will also dig out the stuff for winter and trapping and order straw for the dogs, and a million other tiny thins that will need to be done before we succumb to Winter.

I also decided to experiment with the blog....and add some video.

They won't be much more than tiny (and probably way too artistic) peeks into my random life but it looks like it will be fun!

Lingonberry Mustard. More info CLICK HERE

Differences......

2011-09-21T15:32:00.001-08:00

There is a little known and very little discussed phenomenon that occurs on the North Slope. And I'm sure that it occurs in every other native territory in Alaska, wether it be Athabascan or Yupik or Tsimshian. Some people just label it as politics, owning it up to 'normal' infighting. Outsiders see it and are confused and become wary. Children absorb the conflict like the sponges they are and reflect it back onto their world. Parents unwittingly reinforce it, and village political figures fight for hours nit-picking over it's bones like angry ravens. I've been in meetings where whole hours were spent elaborating on this bottomless pit...and I wonder why it has become so .....normal.....and why no one moves to eliminate this social roadblock....

I guess it started when the villages arose and the Inupiaq adapted once again to the changing times. They became Villagers and hung up their dusty nomadic gear to be able to offer more to their children and grandchildren. It took bravery and faith and ultimate understanding and sacrifice to grow roots and to change their way of life forever. With the raising of the modern Native Village they closed a chapter of life and opened up a new chapter.... entitled 'Square buildings and schools and the Post office.' These villages became a base to fight from and for, a platform to launch the Shield that would protect our way of life and lands.

But some where along the way the Inupiaq mind was twisted. A small but far reaching hand. Through the trials of history the native identity was questioned and condemned, numbers fell from disease and chemicals. The Inupiaq Mind struggled to stay afloat in the sea of the lost and forgotten. And a small spark of hope emerged, and the people began to find Pride and safety in themselves once again.

But somewhere along the way this Pride become not something to find comfort in, to hang onto to fill the emptiness in the soul, it grew edges and a killing point and became a weapon. A small weapon to hurt others and to feed with anger and ignorance.

I remember reading transcripts from long lost elders, even some that were my family, my ila, and the one aspect I remember reading a lot of was their travels. They would move from place to place, be adopted by a family, learn amazing and new things, build relationships and bonds, and travel again to other different Inupiaq lands. They never spoke of how one place was less than or more than another. Instead they spoke of what things were seen there, what things they did there, and about the uniqueness about that place. Though they talked about where they grew up and where their travels began, they saw themselves first and foremost as ....Inupiaq.

I haven't done as much traveling as my ancestors have, but I was lucky enough to have lived and explored three Inupiaq villages. And I can tell you how amazing each one is, how each one has expanded my Inupiaq World veiw, how each one has fed my Inupiaq soul, and how each one contained something impossibly amazing and unique. And I wish everyday that all Inupiat could see what each village could offer.

Some people look to my village jumping and learning as betrayal of each of those villages. But I always tell them 'I'm old school Inupiaq' and I smile and nod a bit. Because it seems that our amazing new generation has forgotten our nomadic roots. They have forgotten that the villages were loaned to us by the US government. They have forgotten the joy of exploration and learning new things from different people.

And it makes me incredibly sad to see how people fight about how no respect is shown to the differences of the villages. The tiny differences. They fight over them like that is all they are in this world. Differences. And they become blind to the thread of Sameness, even though it's stronger and older ,it's never as flashy and sexy as Differences. It's almost like they are only proud of how separate they are from everyone else, that the separateness is the only identity they have. And this is not a good place to live, a lonely and scary place to live.

When I was teaching both children and adults I saw this sharpened weapon being used to hurt each other. Children teased and bullied and threw rocks at kids who might have one parent from another village. They came up with horrible nicknames for each other, became angry at other villages for their differences. Some people would label it as 'kids being kids', but it was obvious that it was kids borrowing this weapon from their adults. Adults should never arm heir children with such weapons in my opinion.

My adult students, who would normally be from several villages, would speak of their home with faces twisted with defensive pride and in the same breath condemn other village for their differences. In most cases they were blinded to what each could offer and benefit. And so in the end they rejected learning, they rejected even the possibility of learning.

As my life has progressed my attitude and opinions have changed dramatically on this topic, and it has only recently came to a few questions.

What will we gain from worshipping our differences as a weapon? When did Pride include hate and anger and pain? Did we learn that, or did we create that? And why do we accept this behavior as normal?

I type this knowing that even now some people will only actually see some of my words, and not all of them, that they will only know how to wield the weapon and not to remember our incredible roots go father than the villages. Across continents even. Across imaginary made up borders.

The language.....

2011-09-16T15:02:00.004-08:00

Saving the language....

When I hear that term I always picture our language as a small frightened puppy floating on a piece of battered wood slowly drifting away on a vast ocean, and we only have one rope and are desperately trying to hook that board! Yes I know I have the greatest imagination ever, but besides that.....I always wonder why they refer to it as 'saving' the language. Maybe it refers to how digital our language has become, how it has found a home on huge hard drives, the modern version of a museum.

One of the problems I see is that everyone has vastly different views on exactly what they are saving. Some see it as a preservation of just the words themselves. Lists of letters and descriptions and definitions. They move to create a living dictionary out of us, praising recitation and memorization. Brown skin robots trained to make more of themselves.

Or maybe they are of the group that insists that it is spoken correctly and traditionally. They pound and glare our pronunciation into perfection (for that region and family), making us recite the sentence over and over and over until it loses actual meaning and just becomes a spot of shame on our shameful lives, because we will never live the life or understand fully our great grandfathers and mothers.

What boggles me is that no one has ever sat down to prioritize what was the most important aspect of our language. And yes there are aspects of language. Should we focus on saving words that will never be used again? Should we focus on teaching what I call 'classroom' language, full of memorizing and reciting? Should we focus on social language first? Should we try and erase or use Inupiat Slang? Or should we focus on language structure first? What path should we take?

Like the Old time Inupiat I am from three different villages here on the Slope. Like my great grandfather and my great grandmother I was lucky enough to be adopted into several villages, lucky enough to learn different Inupiat things from different types of Inupiat people.....in three different dialects. And what I found was that the absolute best teachers of the language were the very sneaky ones. And when I say the 'best' I mean it in that instead of teaching me a word or a phrase or the structure of that word and phrase, they instead completely and utterly change my world view of that particular action or object. They made it so that when I look at that object or when I think of that action....I only think of it in the Inupiaq language. And they usually did it without me even knowing about it. Without fanfare or preparation or buildup. Without stress or testing or frowning correction. It feels as if they were learning with me, experiencing the newness with me, laughing at the mistakes with me. When they don't know a word, they drag me along to find out what that word is. And not once do I feel like I was wrong or that I was learning.

I am very proud of myself for learning the little I am learning. When I use the word or phrase correct, the Speakers around me never stare or guffaw or pat me on the back loudly or pin a prize onto my chest. They instead listen to the sentence I was actually saying, and the fact that I said it or part of it in Inupiaq they accept as normal. And I feel like it's normal. A normal and permanent part of what makes me ....me.

But how do you bottle that and sell it?

In truth no matter what we do our language will 'survive'. It is forever digitally crystallized. Safe from ever being really and actually lost. But so is Latin.

One day I will dream in the Inupiaq language. I will write poetry with brilliant twists of phrase in Inupiaq. One day I will be teaching the little words I know to a child that is struggling with their own Identity, and I really hope I remember how painful it could be, and how amazing it is to become a Keeper-of-Small-and-Fantastic-Inupiaq-Things.

ASCF

2011-09-10T11:50:00.002-08:00

For those of you looking for a way to help out the community of the North Slope and it's wonderful residents:

ARCTIC SLOPE COMMUNITY FOUNDATION

They are fairly new but they are very much needed and appreciated. We hope to apply for equipment to take kids out with the elders like they did in the old days. And we are hoping for equipment to take kids fishing in the summer and spring camping with the elders.

There is so much hope placed at this place!

A Good person....

2011-09-06T12:30:00.002-08:00

What makes a 'Good' person 'Good'?

How can you tell they are good? What do they do to earn that title? How WELL do you have to know them?

This is something I have been thinking about a lot lately. It's a question that has been hovering over my head like a flaky butterfly hovers over a virgin flower.

Some things everyone can agree are characteristics of a good person. Some things are obvious symbols of bad people. Like physically hurting another person, abusive drug use, robbery.....basically anything that are standard human no-no's. But what characteristics are culturally defined? What actions conflict and are permanent residents of the gray area?

I remember a conversation with a friend that was having problems with a native worker. This man would, in what seemed a random pattern, leave his job for days and sometimes weeks at a time. It was frustrating for his supervisor as the job was a job that had an end and a beginning and a goal. And the delays were not really planned for. I ask what the worker was doing and was told it was 'hunting.' I have heard this comment time and time again, but what came next startled me. This person added another comment offhandedly ...'a Good person would work this job to put food on the table for their kids.' Of course I said...'They are putting food on the table for their kids.' We blinked at each other for a bit. And like any other awkward moment requires, we moved on to the next topic of conversation.

When I was a student teacher one of my instructors pulled me aside for another awkward conversation. Like any other college student I never really paid much attention to how I was dressed. Or wether my hair was perfectly coifed. I never wore makeup or made sure my socks matched. I showered everyday, brushed my teeth (the worst teacher is the one with bad breath), and combed my hair and pulled it back out of my face. All of my clothes were clean if a bit worn out, but I was living on a credit card/loan budget and never gave it much thought. Her face was flushed a delicate pink so I knew this conversation was uncomfortable for her. I schooled my face into a mask that said 'I promise I won't hurt you if you insult me, I am your friend.' She cleared her throat and in a very straight forward and friendly manner told me to buy more 'teacher oriented' clothing. She described it as clothing that would inspire 'trust.' And that would tell everyone that I am an authoritative figure. After the weird moment I decided to make a joke to defuse the tension and said something about not ever having to worry about clothing when I started teaching in the villages. I smiled a big smile and she stared at me with something akin to terror. She replied, 'when you are teaching in the village it will be even more important to dress well and to present yourself apart. How else will they know you are a teacher and someone they have to listen to?" I thought about the women in my life that were authoritative figures. The elder that taught us dancing and stories...She wore a worn out oil stained jacket with hair that looked like an electrified lint ball. One of my 'Aunts' that taught me how to cook any meal that was palatable, her hair was always neat but she wore t-shirts and jeans just like me. I answered her seriously in a tiny voice, 'Because everyone knows me.' We blinked at each other and at the vibrating gulf between our two cultures.

There are many many more anecdotes that illustrate the cultural differences between how one judges a good person, a trustworthy person, a dependable person, a responsible person. I think that the biggest difference, and this is just my opinion, is mainly in how we interact with each other in a society.

In the 'Lower 48' I was both appalled and amazed by how separate everyone was from each other. No need to be nice and decent, there is a good chance you won't see that person again for the rest of your life. Being patient with each other seemed to be a matter of choice. Power of the individual was worshipped, encouraged. Celebrity came with gobs of money. A successful person was judged on how much stuff and paper certificates was amassed. A Good Trustable person could be, in most cases, immediately identified by the clothes they wore, their hair and the shoes they wore. You could walk past a homeless elder on the street and sneer at her, even say mean words, and no one would judge you a bad person because in most cases they would never know. It is easy to do such things in a world filled with thousands...millions....of strangers.

In the village you know everyone, and everyone knows you. You know their secrets and their deeds of kindness. You know wether they are kind to the elder that needed help walking on slippery ice. You know every mean word that they ever said. You know the bad as well as the good. You always act as politely as you can, because you know you will have to deal with this person for the rest of your life, wether you like them or not. You know, after years of interaction and observing a persons actions wether they are good or not, wether you can trust them for certain things, wether or not this person speaks with authority and knowledge. We see each other as permanent beings in our life, and the job and the money and the physical objects as fleeting insubstantial things. A very different view. A different set of scales.

This difference causes much strife and heartache in our changing world. It makes the father hunting caribou in the fall doubt wether he is a good person, it makes the supervisor wonder why he is having trouble getting through to his worker, it makes the teacher wonder wether or not her authority lies only in the costume she wears, it created frustration in the simplest of jobs and friction in relationships. These are things never talked about because each side assumes that what they see as normal and acceptable symbols of the world...everyone knows about them......

So how do you judge a good person? How well do you need to actually know them? And how do you use the answers to those questions to benefit?

On The Ice....

2011-09-03T21:08:00.002-08:00

The first time I saw this film it left me with a very complex feeling. I was fascinated. I was excited. I felt a tad of trepidation. It left me a bit uncomfortable in that way that sriracha hot sauce will if you add too much. But it left me wanting to see more of it's kind. It also left me a bit sad because there is a huge risk that it will only a tiny spark in a mass of gray...without becoming a burning torch like it needs to be. And I think that is what makes or breaks a film. When I think back to it I don't necessarily remember details...but I remember the emotions it stirred in me. Beautiful emotions....

I really hope everyone gets to view this film! A wonderful span of time mastered by a Inupiaq Native filmmaker.

They are currently are looking for donations and/or pre-purchases.....

More info: ON THE ICE

Village internet.....and berries....

2011-08-19T20:16:00.003-08:00

Our internet was down for a long time. Which made me aware of much I rely on the 'Net'. Is there such thing as internet withdrawal? All I know is that I burned through five books in about a week and a half!

It's Fall here in the arctic mountains. A time when we frantically run around and try to take advantage of this short and important season. My muscles ache from hours and hours and days of berry picking and from cutting and gathering roots before Sister Winter takes them away. Its a time of hunting and gathering, and of the Night returning. My first experience of a full dark night left me fearing what could be hiding in it! The bears have gathered for their own harvest too, as someone mentioned that they saw 11 bears in a single valley. We find evidence of them everywhere, but have yet to have a confrontation. In a week we will be camping for 2 weeks straight, while we dry caribou meat on willow wood racks. Our dogs are restless...knowing that this is the season they do the most work.

Some pics!

An old Salmonberry (cloudberry) pic....my most favorite berry. It's also the most delicate and hard to pick. After about 5 hours of picking my back went numb! I do offer a small hot processed portion of salmonberry jam (and other awesome sweets) in my store: Salmonberry Origins
We often pick the tundra in groups, and here is a picture of a couple of kids that were with us, exploring and entertaining themselves. I appreciate the parents that require that their kids bring nothing electronic when they are 'out'....

We always watch for bears....cause if you think about it....we are gathering the same foods as they are.

Quick pics.....

2011-08-02T14:13:00.001-08:00

Wolves and Mothers

2011-07-13T14:00:00.003-08:00

As Inupiaq People, we have a special connection with wolves.

We see them as equals, a fellow predator that uses wits and wiles to to feed our respective families. We both wander the tundra searching for the life that the caribou bring. We both know what it is like to rely on another animal for sustenance.

We as Inupiaq also have a special bond with the wolf. The scent of wolf fur is one of the First memories. A memory that is closely tied with the smell of Mother. A scent closely tied with the scent of love and safety and warmth. When a Inupiaq is presented with a wolf pelt, more often than naught they will bring it to their nose and inhale the scent, or maybe they will ruffle the long furs to release it into the air. Generation after generation of Inupiaq Mothers have carried their infants on their backs, surrounded by the Wolf.

This post goes out to the Wolf, and to our Mothers. Forever entwined.

Knee update and pics!

2011-07-01T13:54:00.005-08:00

I feel as if my mind will never pace itself. I jump from idea to idea, adventure to adventure, and place to amazing place, reveling in the experience of that specific moment. And it seems as I get older I try to cram more and more into the time given to me. I wish younger people would take heed.

For those wondering, my knee surgery went very well. It was a quick day surgery type of thing, where they rolled me in one side and out the other, groggy and grumpy. My husband and brother were there, alternating between pampering me and giggling at my stupor as was needed. The pain was very minimal, of which I could not decide if it was because it wasn't that big of a surgery or if my tolerance for pain was increased due to old age and many previous bumps. The doc did inform me that I cannot take up running and that I have arthritis, and that I should keep tundra walking to a minimum. I scowled at him for a moment. I think I growled a bit too. In the end we agreed to both be cautious.

After a couple of weeks of very frustrating and mind numbing recovery I finally can safely go about exploring again. In celebration, nature has decided she missed Winter. It snowed heavy all day the day before yesterday and continues to pour down a very cold and wet rain today. Even so we still did a bit of fishing, glad that at least a few million of mosquitoes must have died in the flash freeze.

The theme of this post is: The doc told me I can't run so now I will take up soap making/candle making/ and possibly print a book of the local fauna as over compensation....

I will also be trying to do a weekly giveaway on my facebook page CLICK HERE so if you have facebook add my page and get a great opportunity to try some stuff out :)

Pictures!

One of my teas I now offer in my store...this one is a healing tisane made with caribou weed, labrador tea and other yummy healthy herbs. It gets its bright color from hibiscus flowers I added. click for more: Salmonberry Origins
A plant/flower I'm trying to identify.

The flowers bloom in waves here.

A weird combination of snow and vibrant springtime green.

Random rant-ish thing....on artist opportunities

2011-06-09T14:06:00.002-08:00

I get notes all of the time for really great opportunities to expand my business, or even just to expand my career as an artist.

Most of these I immediately dismiss.....With a grateful thank you that someone showed a stranger some random awesome careing....and people often wonder why.

When I decided to move back to the North Slope, I made myself a promise. I promised myself that I would do what I can to be happy. It sounds like a silly thing to do, since it first has to be defined per individual person. What makes me happy? I found out through trial and error and error and error that what truly made me happy was a very short list. Laughing with friends and family. Exploring and learning Arctic things. Learning compassion for myself and those around me. Of course these pursuits often left me broke, and in this world many people assume money is the root of much ease.

Don't get me wrong, I wish very hard for money sometimes, when bills pile up and stress becomes a visible roommate in our household. I'm not immune to it's demands or critiques. But sometimes I am lucky enough to be able to choose Happiness over money ...most of the time.

So this means I miss out on a lot of opportunities. After all you can't really get paid to hang out with friends and chat, or walk around the tundra collecting sweet roots and listening to elders chat. But there are some characteristics to these offered opportunities that really interest me and seem very obvious. Of course these are only items that apply to me...but I heard some others mention them often.

Most of the time its the timing. Such a simple and often overlooked insight. Spring and fall are very critical for us that live a heavy subsistence lifestyle. The animals are moving, sometimes out of reach till the next season, sometimes it's the only time to get certain healthy and good tasting individuals. Sometimes it's the only time certain plants are ripe for the picking. But oddly enough this is also the time that the bulk of awards have their deadlines, or that require that you travel for your presentations, or they require you to show up at workshops/teleconference calls/meetings. What is also kind of funny is that most of these awards and opportunities are often centered around those that have low income or that are targeting Alaskan Natives for the ones that need it the most, but it's also the same type of person that relies on the seasons to collect food for the coming year. You may think missing a season is okay for a one time thing....but what if you apply every year?

If I read anywhere where they require me to do anything in these critical times, I immediately write off that opportunity as a 'no go'....

As an artists another thing I find as a barrier is when you are required to submit photos of your work. This is a very common and understandable requirement, especially if you are applying for any type of art based award. But it can prove to be an automatic handicap for those that live in a village. When I lived in California I paid a professional photographer to take beautiful pictures of my work. In a large and very expensive studio. With a very expensive camera, and perfect lighting. He did it for a living. But here in the village all I have is a very tiny and cheap light box set up sitting on my window sill and a mid level 'amateur' camera. I get good pictures...sometimes. But they are never as beautiful as the studio photos. It's even more discouraging to my fellow village artists that have a basic point and shoot camera and little or no camera experience. Not to mention basic computer skills to even the contrast and crop the distracting bits. If any type of opportunity requires I send photos I automatically reduce my chances by half.....as I'm very aware of how unprofessional my photos can look, next to professional portfolios. One option is to send your work to a studio in the city, but no one will guarantee that it will survive the trip, and it will also take them off the market for weeks, sometimes months. And of course most of the time I cannot afford to have them take photos.....

Another thought I had is the application itself, Sometimes there are pages and pages of writing required. I must create beautiful prose to explain how awesome I am and how awesome my work is and how awesome I will be. In our culture one is raised form birth to never speak of such things, your actions speak louder than your words. It's immediately frowned upon if you do talk about how great you are and you would find yourself with very little friends if you did so. So when forced to go against cultural grain and write pages of the uncomfortable stuff....well it's ...uncomfortable. And this shows I think. It's much easier to do this in person...without an audience...perhaps with differently phrased types of questions. If I was required to tell someone in person about my work I think I would be much more comfortable. Another aspect concerning my fellow artists is the fact that only about 50% graduate with high school degrees, and so they have very limited writing skills, which can make it a daunting task indeed. My husband applied to a business seed money grant and had to take a course just to learn how to create a business plan. It took months of preparation. But what hope is there for others who did not that opportunity?

When I point these things out to people half the time I get replies like.. 'but if you really needed it'....or 'can't you try'....or 'this is how the world works and you must adapt'...type of thing. And I agrees sometimes. But for now my priorities are different. Maybe next year or next month or even tomorrow my mentality would change. Both me and my husband have applied to numerous awards and opportunities specifically targeting our types of businesses, and we have been rejected....why? I have no idea. Neither one of us has been told. Who exactly are they targeting? Must not be us..... And yes it makes me a bit bitter at times. For a minute or two. Why wouldn't it?

Add to that that in a way I kind of wish that the world would find itself adapting to our life and not the other way around. I kind of wish others saw it was as special and as different and wonderful as I do, and that it would be taken in serious consideration...not just in words....but in actual actions and changes in thought....

Pictures....

2011-06-06T14:32:00.003-08:00

Another brief picture update...

Some False heather blooming. For the past three months I have been reading every book I can get my hands on and talking to elders every chance I can get to learn as much as I can about the local fauna. When i close my eyes at night I literally think of plants, beautiful wonderful plants. I find myself with a very fast growing collection of photos, I want to try and capture them as they change and morph through the seasons. With spring here I feel like a bee ...floating from bloom to bloom ...

We went up north for a ride this last weekend. We roasted caribou on a small fire and dug up roots with an elder. We took my sister in laws tiny Chihuahua mix dog because he refused to be left behind. here he is, being dwarfed by the surrounding mountains. We nicknamed him our 'bear alarm' system. We did spot a very big bear off in the distance. He stared at us while we packed up our things....we think he was trying to figure out if we were a threat or not since we were sitting in a area were bears regularly dig up them same roots we were. They are a bit hungry and crazy this time of year, so we left before he got too brave.

We ran into a few of these giant holes along the way. It looked as if a lot of water had frozen in the permafrost layer, expanding through the layer of ground above it.....then with the arrival of the hot summer weather it melted....

To me they looked a bot like mother earth had gotten bad acne....

I'm not ready for Summer....

2011-05-31T21:56:00.004-08:00

I really am not ready for summer. It got to around 70-80 degrees this past weekend, a shock to my system! We spent four days camping near a still half frozen Anaktuvuk river, and watched as it visibly melted. At random moments you would hear the thunderous boom of heavy ice crashing into the fast moving waters of the river. It echoed oddly through the valley.

It got to hot for me. And the dogs who stood watch for bears. We all curled up in the shade of the tent and napped during the hottest parts of the afternoon. I found myself completely forgetting to take pictures during the whole trip, even though there was some neat things happening. We attempted to cross the river and ended up floating down the rabid river a bit, spinning in our argo with hundreds of pounds of camping gear. We hit a shallow bank down a bit and slowly crawled up to join the rest of the caravan, but I spent the rest of the afternoon making my husband promise we weren't going to floating anytime soon. Eventually we gave up and camped on high ground...away from the dense willows that hide the bears as they dig up and devour 'eskimo' potato roots...or as we call it....masu. Eventually we made our way to the same digging places, and dug some up for ourselves...armed with two alert dogs and a large pistol of course. And as these things usually go, nothing happened, except maybe the occasional screaming person running across the field to get away from the huge fuzzy ping pong ball sized bumble bees. There have been a noticeable amount of them this year, droves of them, like a wave of furry insect dominance. I always found it funny that we as a people in general are afraid of any type of large stinging insect. Even full grown nature hardened hunters will get squeamish around a good sized warble fly or wasp.

Our pile of masu we collected over the weekend. It tastes a bit like a sweet carrot. I like mine either soaked in seal oil with salt or boiled and lightly sprinkled with sugar.
This moose stalked us the whole weekend. It would sit and stare at use for ages. Quite creepy. It did charge our camp a couple of times. The first time we started the argo and revved the engine, which worked. The second time it tried coming into camp while we were sleeping. The dogs heard it and sounded alarm. Hearing the dogs it decided to leave. At some point we also saw a bear standing in the willows, staring at us. It stood about 7 feet at least. For some reason I was more afraid of the moose than the bear! We had no idea why it was so interested in us!
caribou antlers....
More caribou antlers....
A phot that I thought I put up but I guess I didn't.....we took the crop of the ptarmigans we ate and emptied most of the food inside, then inflated them and hung them up and let them dry. You hang these in the house for good luck.

Random thoughts, and more photos.

2011-05-25T13:19:00.007-08:00

Random thoughts:

I love how most Inupiat hunters never actually say they are 'hunting'. As if the word itself is rude and might imply that you are not practicing good humility. Instead they say they are 'going to go and look' or maybe just 'go for a ride'......

Every season has a 'scent' to it......Spring is metallic snow drifting beneath melting loam. It is cold water and verdant gray plants bursting with a scent that reminds me of puppy breath and kitten fur. It is dust on dust on dust, with interludes of thunderstorms. It is not really a scent of awakening as most poets spout...it's more like the scent of Remembering...

I'm playing with the idea of selling herbal teas. Believe it or not me and my husband love drinking teas. We mix local plants with herbs I order online, and we love it. I have come up with several recipes that are tried and true and will be sending it off to my 'testers' this week. I will add some for sale later on to my store and see how they do! I'm always looking for way to 'modernize' old knowledge and this seems like a viable adventure. A facebook friend sent me a package form Canada a while back, it was a set of Iniut teas made from wildcrafted herbs that they sell in grocery stores across Canada. Very inspirational! Their website: Northern Delights Tea

Photo update....

We do eat ptarmigan, and then I take the feathers and 'experiment' with them. This is a necklace I came up with. I did wear it around the house for an hour, worried that the feathers would tickle. They do not tickle. lol. more pics and info and other ptarmigan feather jewelry now up at: Salmonberry Dreams
On our drive last night we came across a ptarmigan sitting on the rocks. He posed for me. I now have about 200 photos of this one ptarmigan. lol. His chest has bright neon pink smears on them, telling us that he had been eating last years cranberries. We suspected he had a nest nearby as he didn't go very far.
Winter stripped plants are everywhere. it amazes me sometimes to see such delicate fragile things still intact after the snow melts.
Took photos of this plant to look it up in my wild plant books. Neat and fuzzy!
My husband did follow this small herd of caribou for a bit, but the opportunity to take one did not come about. This time of year they are migrating north, and will pretty much be gone from our neighborhood for the entire summer. So we are trying to fill our freezer (and help others to do the same) with enough to last till August.

Picture update!

2011-05-11T20:51:00.000-08:00

Spring is here....sort of.....and I have been spending much of my time camping and exploring and enjoying the wonders of a melting world. My yard is a archeologists wonder, as layer after layer of snow melts to reveal things we have lost or have simply forgotten.

As a consequence it means I have less time to write in my blog....but on a up side it means I will post more photos!

Me and my hubby enjoying coffee while camping. My brother is here visiting and so he got to take pictures! We had very cold weather all weekend......but still enjoyed the adventure!
Our next door neighbor.
Our antennae wire ......as art.....
A ptarmigan feather necklace......

2011-05-11T19:11:00.000-08:00

This should be called the season of the ground squirrels, as they have emerged to sun bathe and yell at us for trespassing. This one has a brilliant reddish stripe down his forehead.

Along with the squirrels are the ptarmigan, they have descended upon this area in the hundreds of thousands. I did take a picture of a huge flock, but it looked like nothing more than bumpy snow. This guy is running his fastest to get by me, on furry claw feet.
Some creeks never fully freeze over, such as this one. We stopped and checked for fish.
This time of year the weather is either blindingly bright or solemnly overcast. Your eyes get tired after a while from staring at endless whiteness.
Here you can see part of the village....and behind it you can see down 'Big Contact' valley. We were high up a opposite mountain enjoying the veiw and some roasted caribou ribs over a willow fire....as a bunch of kids flew down the side in bright plastic sleds and the more adventurous adults tried their hand at snowboarding

Escape....

2011-04-15T13:33:00.003-08:00

I finally could not take it any longer and decided to venture out.... I bound my knee in a brace, donned my light winter gear, and jumped on the back of my husbands snowmachine. We made a quick trip down south to his Aunts camp nestled in the tree line...it was a test of sorts, to see how well my knee could hold up to a long snowmachine ride. Normally I drive my own snowmachine so it took some getting used to. My knee held up perfectly fine and I enjoyed the trip Immensely! So much so that we are going camping there this weekend. I am careful not to actually walk on unstable ground...a small price to pay for such a luxurious trip!

So photos....

We spotted a few Dall sheep making their way up a cliff. They are very Ninja with their white fluffy coats.
A 'Camp Robber' bird that pilfered our bread crumbs from some ham sandwiches. I'm sure he has a real name but no one could remember what it was. At one point he landed on my head, making our 5 year old niece giggle and point.

The view from the camp

I did add a new product to my store Salmonberry Origins ....a incredible foot soak. Because of my knee injury it has changed my gait and the way I walk, which makes my feet incredibly sore. This stuff really works!

Nervous artist

2011-04-03T16:31:00.004-08:00

I am a nervous artist. Not nervous as in anxious and full of movement and fidgiting, but more like the nervousness that molds that dreaded wrinkle in between my eyes on my brow, or the nervousness that seeps into my smile when someone looks at my art, or more like the nervousness that makes food settle wrong in my stomach.

I am always nervous. And I wonder if other artists are as well. I never wonder if my art or writing is beautiful or pleasing or thought provoking, as I learned a while ago to enjoy the making of them and then set them free in the world on their to make it or not on their own. No I am nervous that when I do expose my work I will be judged solely on the basis of the material that I have used to create the piece. Wether it is a polar bear claw and whale baleen or maybe it's using an old oral story as a basis for a short story or a drawing.....I still brace myself for angry words that could come.

I think part of it is that there are no 'Save the Eskimo' foundations, no rich non-profits pleading for donations so that we could continue subsistence hunting, no celebrities on tv commercials speaking in calm voices and educating the world on how beautiful our skin parkas are. No shows focusing on a group of activists going to crazy extremes to protect our duck hunting rights. The modern world seems to advocate only human dominance and separation from nature, and seem to try to build a connection between intelligence and humanity with everything that is opposite of our lives on the North Slope. Even kids these days associate eating caribou, and whale and berries as 'poor' people food, when it's healthier and far better for you than store bought food. Because in the media gathering and handling your own food is not what rich and educated people do....

And with the arrival of the internet I find myself more and more nervous as my artwork is exposed to the millions and millions of opinions out there. The funny part is that I haven't gotten back very much negative feedback on my materials. Most don't believe that the polar bear claw is a polar bear claw, or that it's casted or faux. Most cannot believe that a culture such as mine still exists in the U.S. But I have found that I love telling people about my world, and it helps me find my own view and works to sharpen my opinions.

But I wonder what would it be like if I didn't have to constantly check up on CITES regulations or state laws of exporting my work (though I advocate the existence of these checks and balances it is often obvious to me that they were only created to punish people and not to actually regulate or educate). I wonder what it would be like to live without the nervousness. But when I think of those materials being gone from my life the nervousness is replaced with panic.

There was a show we watched a few episodes of that I enjoyed greatly, it is called 'The Wild Within' and plays on the Travel channel. It delighted me to see such a show, centered around hunting and gathering your own food. I think what I liked the most was when the host would take time to express how he felt about the food he gathered, in a frank and honest way. And it makes me so happy to see a show where people can see the emotions and thoughts that go along with the harvesting....most shows bypass that stuff and focus on the act itself, ignoring the human element and connection.

rambling over...now some pics....

This raven is part of a group...or 'Unkindness'...of ravens that stop by our house every single day to see if there are any meat scraps for them. They are smart buggers and sometimes if they haven't found anything to eat they will sit and pick on the dogs for fun. The smarter dogs ignore them. They make a certain distinct clicking noise when they see me or my hubby, and I think they have actually named us, which could be bad or good.
Here is the arctic rabbit that lives behind our house. He is very Ninja in his winter coat. It's surprising that he is around since we know for a fact that a weasel lives nearby....the weasels eat the rabbits ...but they first do a seductive wiggly dance to confuse them as they get closer and closer....

A set of Dall sheep horns my husband found on the side of a mountain. He said it looked like a pack of wolves had killed a sheep and left these great majestic horns behind. I love the texture....we playfully tapped the horns together and they made a surprisingly loud echoing crack that rang through our tiny house. I would love to hear it as they battle for their fair maidens in the mountains......

Eskimo?

2011-03-08T10:57:00.003-09:00

Once in a great while I will send an order from one of my stores over seas. Australia, Ireland,.....Florida.... and other far away places. I love living vicariously through my own tiny packages, as I imagine them being opened in air that is so very different than mine.

A woman in Germany wanted me to send a bunch of stuff to her so that she could sell it in her brick and mortar store, so I send about 10 pieces. She asked for a short bio paragraph. Without really thinking about it I began with...'I am an Inupiaq Eskimo......'

A few days later she emailed me back with notes about this and that. She also told me that her friend who was Canadian was very uneasy about using the 'Eskimo.' Said it wasn't very politically correct. I googled it later and it seems that in Canada it is considered a demeaning and very negative racist word.

I emailed her back that I did not mind one way or the other.....that I would leave it up to her.

But it did spark a conversation. A few thoughts on the matter. I get all excited about these things because it's something I haven't really thought about yet.

Is the term Eskimo racist? Politically incorrect? And why do I find it so easy to use? Why did I even use it in the first place?

I first started thinking about what other terms I could identify myself and my artwork by. The absolutely first title I call myself by is Tikigaqmiut. It identifies where I come from, and it is one of the first things you learn as a child. I'm from Tikigaq, in English: Point Hope. Of course because of the internet my clientele 90% are not even from Alaska, and only about 5% are from the North Slope and would even know what that title would mean. I tried that in the begining, and spent most of my day emailing potential clients explaining to them what it meant. I debated on what my purpose was in selling my artwork online. I settled on it only being half explaining, and half selling. Which meant I would have to find another title.

I also found the same type of problem using the next broadest title: Inupiat, The Real People. too few people actually knew what that was. We span the whole entire North Slope of Alaska and yet the world knows so very little about us, and there is very little information on the internet (yet it is growing). I think the main reason is that we aren't really known for anything spectacular. Not like the more popular Apache or Mohican or any other tribal names whispered in American History for hundreds of years. We are only part of Americas newest history, not even old enough to make it in the high school textbooks yet. Google us and you will find a very small amount of national news or in depth coverage....mostly having to do with oil from Prudhoe Bay.

So what's next? Most artists I know identify themselves as 'Alaskan Native.' But it's such a broad term that it is ridiculous. Alaska is the largest state in the US, and can span from one coast to the other. There are 24 different Alaskan Native tribes in Alaska. Each separate and different from each other. The difference in culture between a Tsimshian and an Inupiat is amazing, a huge gap just as big as the difference between a New Yorker and a Texan. I had a person innocently ask me if I carve tiny totem poles once, and it made me consider changing my description once again.

The next step would be to just call myself 'Inuit'....as it would fit most of the requirements. It's readily identifiable due to the Inuit art movement in Canada, it also describes my Northern arctic culture and my work and materials. But I ran into a few problems with that title also. The first problem that first arose is that everyone assumed I was working out of Canada, as some did not know that Inuits span the arctic. Some people asked me where my stone work was. Some people critiqued me on not using proper traceable records keeping and marking that is common in Canada. In the end I decided that too much information was just as bad. As most do not know the difference between us and our Eastern brothers. I even had people tell me that they would have bought my stuff if I was Canadian Inuit, because Canadian Inuit is collectable and hip. My stuff wasn't 'Inuit' enough.........talk about a downer......

So I moved on to other titles.

The world has treated each group of Inuit natives completely differently. The U.S., Russia, Canada, ect. Each has it's own history and flavor (most of it is very depressing.) Some of it is still depressing. But each area moves at it's own pace and arrives at different things in different ways. And I think it would be wrong to apply one thing, to all the Arctic.....The Arctic peoples, though different, all have one thing in common, we adapt to change and survive. We are flexible and strong as willow branches..... and we hang onto the spare arctic soil just as faithfully.

And so in the end I stick with Inupiaq Eskimo....one word needing a little googling to understand, paired with another word readily identifiable. It's either that or Inuit - American - Alaskan Native - Inupiat - Tikigaqmiut/Nunamiut.......

Storms....

2011-03-01T15:40:00.007-09:00

I have come to the conclusion that if winter had a persona...she would be a young, vain, beautiful and fitful woman. Full of temper tantrums.

We have been experiencing big and bad snow storms. Which play havoc with the internet and prevents any outdoor activities. So for a couple of weeks now we have focused on making sure the dogs are comfortable, making sure nothing important gets buried till spring and trying our hardest not to succumb to cabin fever. My tactic is to go broke by downloading absolutely horrible and embarrassing Fantasy novels.

Sometimes though...the sky clears for a moment and we get to stretch our legs and enjoy the reprieve.

I don't have a date yet set for my knee surgery, so at this point it's a waiting game. I'm have high hopes that I might be able to go out and camp and hunt by late spring or early summer....that is if I have surgery in time. Till then I will hobble about the world.... writing bad poetry about my woes and cursing the woman Winter in her bi-polar attitude.

Some pictures!

As an artist I experiment with materials and techniques alot. I decided one day to play with caribou fur and learn about tufting, which is a technique usually used by Northwest? Alaskan Natives with moose hair. I made an AbSOLUTE mess....but it was fun! It looked like a caribou exploded into tiny piles of fur in my living room. for more pics and info: www.salmonberrydreams.etsy.com

I also have made a 'for me' lip balm....made with Salmonberries......and have listed it up for sale at: www.salmonberryorigins.etsy.com
My dog Nuna peers around a corner, surprised, on a briefly sunny morning...as I have emerged from the house.
The view from my window on one of my flights to Fairbanks for knee appointments.
Sometimes there is no real difference from the sky and the snow covered mountains......but sometimes for a moment a difference appears and takes our breath away. I always find it so humbling to know that great beauty happens...wether we are there to see it or not.

Frosted Sunlight...

2011-02-07T14:57:00.005-09:00

Some photos.

I bought me a new lens, and have only just started becoming familiar with it's personality. I look a bit silly hobbling here and there ....but it's fun!

Before I messed my knee up we bought full sets of skiijoring equipment. It was going to be our winter project, and would keep the dogs in shape for our spring through fall camping. Our dog 'Bullet' has the right instincts for the job so Ben went and tried him out. He was fine with the harness. Stayed on track, Pulled smoothly for about 300 yards, but was not sure after that of what Ben wanted. A good start and it lets us know what we need to work on!

The frost is a living thing in the winter. Here it is covering a drying caribou skin in our backyard.

The sun has finally gotten high enough to peek over the nearest mountains...here it struggles to burn away a blanket of fog.

Couch surfing....

2011-02-01T13:27:00.003-09:00

It surprises me sometimes to realize that I am getting older.

That my mind and my body are different things.

I have been recovering from a re-injury of my knee. In college I had a ACL replacement, and apparently my knee decided it wanted attention again. So since New years I have been sitting on my couch, nursing a swollen knee, and traveling to Fairbanks for doctors appointments. The doc thinks I will have to have surgery again....

It has taken me a few weeks to go through the seven stages of acceptance of a major injury: denial, anger, annoyance, chocolate, depression, chocolate, and then realization that it will suck but it will pass. It always can be worse.

A few good things have come out of it though. I can't run away from my muse and apparently she has me in a headlock. Too many ideas can be as bad as no ideas though and so my laptop and sketchbook and ipad are littered with half thought through literal and digital notes to myself of ideas that will probably never be seen. I have read a few books since being couch bound, which has it's pros and it's cons.... I have caught myself staying up till the wee hours of the night with my nose glued to a virtual book and have suffered from the few hours of sleep I have gotten.

The bad part I guess is the mash of ideas and images and notes I have....that I have yet to arrange into anything coherent. The lack of completion gnaws at me. Eventually it becomes a sort of guilt, for doing everything only half way through....

So I thought that maybe for a few posts I can reveal my piles of notes in a random way....maybe it will strike some and maybe it won't. I do apologize to my high school speech and debate teacher Mr. Bartley, who has hammered into me the importance of organizing ones thoughts so they are coherent and rational..... I would also like to apologize to him because he has become THAT voice in my head.

This pile I call...'Being civilized'....

In a documentary I saw recently there was a section where an Inupiaq Elder sat talking to the camera guy, around him sat his family, he paused during his recounting of the history of the area and smiled as he tried to find the words that would describe the meeting of the western world and of his ancestors. After a few seconds of silence and contemplation....he replied... "I guess that's when we became 'civilized'"....and he smiled a tight little smile.

My husband traps in the winter. Many people believe trapping to be a cruel practice. But most people I think believe that because in their minds animals are very dumb. Very predictable. Very driven by things they cannot control. Like auto-minals, programmed by nature, unable to fight against our vast human intelligence. But I would argue that in order to trap an animal, you must love that animal. Love it Beyond. You must see their intelligence, intelligence granted by natural selection and thousands of years of survival. I see it in the way these animals become such a big part of my husbands world. I see it it the time and thought and respect and awe I see on his face. Last night he sat at the dinner table and told me about the wolverine. About how many babies the mother has, and how long they stay with their mother and what they meant and how it affects their borrowing practice. He told me about how they protect their food source. About how fierce of a creature they are, fighting grizzly bears and polar bears and fending of packs of wolves. He talked about the diamond pattern on their backs....and I wondered if any person who wore leather ever talked with such love about about where that leather came from...or even if anyone knew about what a cotton plants life consisted of....and even now I have the urge to google everything about cotton plants.....

An older friend mentioned to me once about how her and her gang of happy brown faced children went and visited a small village somewhere far west and south of us. They were visiting another family. They had harvested a caribou and had prepared a large pot of caribou soup. The two families sat around the table, watching their children laugh and play. When the food was done a woman from the other family went to the freezer and pulled out boxes of pizza pockets and hot pockets and started heating them in the microwave. She turned to my friend and assured them that they had enough for her extra kids, which my friend then replied, "my children will want caribou soup!" The woman was visibly stunned and told her that no young person ate caribou no more, that it was only for the older group as the young people did not like it. The visiting children gathered around the caribou stew pot and dug in with hunger, completely ignoring the pizza pockets. She was surprised to see an elderly woman at the table crying......

I got into a debate once with a loved one (who lives in a native village) about the practice of subsistence hunting. He believed that in this modern day and age there was no need to hunt anymore. That we were now 'civilized' and can get passed all that. I was mostly fascinated by his use of 'civilized.' I argued that being civilized had to do more with how we treated each other has human beings, than to the distance we are putting ourselves from nature. He argued that separating ourselves from nature was a sign of higher civilization, of evidence of evolving. I still am trying my darnedest to understand where this idea came from.....

What's-her-name Palin .....she said on drilling in ANWR: If a caribou needs to be sacrificed for the sake of energy independence...I say 'Mr. Caribou , maybe you need to take one for the team.'

I always find it puzzling when people talk to me about saving the wolves of Alaska. For one thing their population is stable and even overcrowding in some areas which is causing problems for those unfortunate to live nearby. They tell me it's because they are 'beautiful' and relate to me how they feel when they see an animal as powerful as these wolves are. But when I think of wolves I think of them in a completely different way. When I saw a tall lanky black wolf off my front porch, eyeing my dog in heat, iI saw how unafraid he was. I felt his intelligence. When we were out in the wild on a cold winters night, our snowmachines cooling. And the sound of wolves howling surrounded us, and fear burst bright in my chest, I did not think they needed protecting. Even the best hunters fled when a pack decided to surround them. I guess in a way I see them as equals, as part of the cycle, as a fellow predator. And that in itself is pretty different. I guess I don't see myself as dominant of them..... and to me the problem is a human one......

Random thoughts.

But they will probably change tomorrow....and the next day......who knows....

Savoonga...

2010-12-30T16:11:00.004-09:00

This time of year we Alaskans are the most vulnerable. The cold has no mercy or thought, and any small thing that can go wrong can have long lasting effects. As some of you have heard the village of Savoonga lost power, long enough to do massive damage and to leave many families in need.

I received a note in Facebook with a call to help those in Savoonga and I just want to pass this along.

ERA aviation will ship any goods that you want to send for FREE, they can be found in pretty much any and all villages and in the cities. All you have to do it drop your gifts off, packaged securely, Labeled to the People of Savoonga, to the cargo department and let them know where it's going.

They are requesting mostly non-perishable food items. Some ideas are: boxed milk, canned milk, cereals, pilot bread crackers, canned pasta, canned meats, instant rice, cup o' noodles, instant oatmeal, granola bars, canned fruits, tea, coffee, sugar, koolaid juice mix, cookies...etc. Anything would help I am sure of it.

If you live in Anchorage you can contact Yaari Kingeekuk by emailing: Yaari30@yahoo.com who is making some arrangements.

update:

You can drop off stuff at the Alaska Native Heritage enter in Anchorage.

You can also send donations to

City of Savoonga

PO Box 40

Savoonga, Alaska, 99769

Flying out....

2010-12-29T14:02:00.003-09:00

I took some photos when I was flying out....it had been so long since I had actually seen the sun. I must have taken a hundred pictures. It felt like gold on my skin....all warm and pale...

The Guardians......

2010-12-21T14:29:00.001-09:00

This is the time of year when college students come home for the holidays. They board metal planes that take them back to the 'tiny' villages.

I can remember vividly what it was like. My brain would be in shock for a few days as I exchanged one world for another. I would be uncomfortable as I greeted people that felt a bit like strangers, almost as if we were separated by the books that I read for my courses. It was never a simple enjoyable homecoming to family and friends that you saw on the movies. It was always something I had to brace myself for, to push through the waves of different reactions that bloomed around me. You never knew how some people were going to react, what uncomfortable words would come out of their mouths.

The holidays always left me emotionally exhausted. I was greeted one moment with a hug and a handshake, words of awkward encouragement in the air, and the next with belittling words whispered just loud enough for me to hear as they passed by. Usually it was something about being 'better than' or 'stuck up', followed by giggles or grins. These words were spoken by adults and young people alike, though I suspect the younger ones were only mimicking the adults.

To me it was worth it, to find a few tiny gems of acceptance and love in the crowd of confusion, like pearls of Faith.

It always made me wonder where it all came from. What did they see in me that prompted such words and reactions. Some people would say it was jealousy, but jealousy is wanting what someone else has and I never sensed that they wanted my experience.

I think part of it is also that people do not talk of what their experiences are away from home. What they went through to get an education . What the cost was. It is assumed that if you are being successful in college than you are enjoying yourself, being bathed in city lights and dancing in paved streets. But of course none of that is true.

Everything worth it requires sacrifice.

My degree was paid for in tears. In long nights wishing I had less courage and determination. It was paid for in dreams of being just a tad less smart, and confusion about what my purpose would be. It was paid for in battle, between two worlds trying to fit like a puzzle made of ever changing clay. It was paid for by learning utter loneliness, or what felt like it compared to the strength and bonds I felt from my culture and people before I left.

In our new world we have need of Guardians. Guardians to fend off the worst of the storm that is the modern world, threatening to erode our Uniqueness and Difference. But these Guardians are few, and these Guardians bear a heavy weight and will earn many many scars.

In this Holiday season, I would hope if you know one, you will lessen their scars, lessen their wounds by not adding to them. By realizing that without them there would be nothing but uncertain blackness as a future. By understanding the Price.

And when, or if, they return to fight on the Home turf, that you are willing to greet them with Understanding and Acceptance. And let that be your sacrifice.

Checks.

2010-12-09T14:13:00.004-09:00

I am one of a very lucky few that are shareholders in a Alaska Native Company that does well. Twice a year we receive checks, usually a couple thousand in the spring, and about three times as much of that in mid December. We are currently approaching our winter checks.

There are some observations I have been confronting and examining. Some thoughts that drift and solidify and drift some more. It is hard for me to contemplate these questions simply because more often than not I am left with nothing but frustration or annoyance on my plate.

It's not that this free money is bad in any way, it's more like the observation that there is no responsibility whatsoever attached to it. And for some strange reason this irks me. Irks me to no end. Twice a year I receive a direct deposit into my account, and a tiny stub in the mail that I hand over to my tax preparer. That's it. There is no accompanying recommendations or programs I could invest my money in, no slips of paper to describe some well deserving non-profit that would benefit from a few bucks from me, no bank willing to give me a good deal on a savings account for my children (if I had any), not a peep or a squeak about the possibilities that this money could become. Nothing at all from the company that cuts me the check. It's as if they are done with me once they mail the check, and that is all that I am worth.

There are 10,000 of us that receive theses checks. 10,000 souls spread across the U.S., with half living out of state. We accept these checks as part of life, with no knowledge of why get them in the first place. With no thought on how fleeting this money could become. What if this money disappears (as it might since it's largely based on oil production on the Slope and as we all know it's a finite source) what will be left for us? Will we have learned money budgeting skills? will we have some of it stored away for a rainy day? What exactly is this money doing for us? What percentage of it actually goes to bettering our lives?

Personally my check goes to paying for 6 months worth of food and supplies for our pantry, I embark on a mad and crazy shopping spree for a few days that usually leaves me completely exhausted and insane. My husbands goes to our vehicle and gas bill which is forever present, as we cannot live without a vehicle to hunt or gather our main sources of food. A tiny amount goes to a savings account created for unexpected costs....

But we were not always this careful with our money, and it was only the responsibility of a shared life that made us rein in our spending sprees. As an artist I have long accepted the fact that my head is not for financial pleasures but I still wonder.....

I would be most willing to put some in a savings account if the Company arranged an easy and SAFE long term program that they set up.....but I fear they are only in it for the money. For the money they throw at me that feels like hush money on some days. They send a few pages to me me a few times a year filled with large numbers and professional pictures, printed on expensive and large paper, and they announce visits to the villages to answer questions, but I do not know (even with my degrees and half degrees) what this means and how it betters my life...

But what sane person would object to getting free money?

Another pic.....

2010-12-05T15:42:00.002-09:00

My window this afternoon. The handprint is all but covered by this dense growth of midnight crystals and air laden with dreams.

Stay warm everyone........

I forgot.....

2010-11-21T22:18:00.002-09:00

Somewhere along the way I forgot that I take pictures....

We had a week where it was one long blizzard. When it cleared here and there I would peek out the window to check on the dogs. My hand would melt the ice covered glass.

One afternoon I looked out and saw what appeared to be a figure of light...dancing in a nearby valley.

If we were only Japanese.....

2010-11-20T12:13:00.001-09:00

I imagine if I wanted to go to Japan, I could find courses on how to behave without insult. I could learn how to bow just so, and just so many times. I could learn about the local foods, and how to pronounce their names. I could learn some of the language so that I could communicate a tad. I could even research the history of the people, and find out why in the world they have such crazy game shows. I imagine if I wanted to, I could find a million plus websites dedicated to just this singular culture.

I know if searched I could find only a minuscule amount of informational websites on my own culture. And usually they repeat what each other has said, like a phalanx of cookie cutter descriptions. Most of what is known about our culture and world is found in dusty history text books, and most of those are old, from the time when my mother was a child and further back. Why has the media ended one generation back?

The reason I write this though is not to contemplate the lack of media, as most people who know me know that I do help in my small way those paladins that are fighting to include Inupiaq media in our schools and in our lives. The reason I bring this up is to discuss the effects of having no access to, what I would think to be, critical information.

One of my family members was accused of being racist by a non-native. And it involved a very long hap-hazard conversation about why we can subsistence hunt and why he as a non-native could not subsistence hunt. He assumed it was the choice of the Natives around him. That it was type of conspiracy of monumental proportions, that we all met late at night and determined that he was unworthy of our favor.

Of course being native, my family member did what was culturally ingrained in him, he backed away from the conversation. Not because he was a racist and the non-native was right, but because we are taught from a very young age that confrontation is unwise and heated words are avoided, which stems from the fact that we will all live in a tiny village with these same people for most of our lives. Of course the non-native took this as admission that we were all racist.

The funny part is that if this non-native man had done any research (and found out that if he wanted to he could get a permit and hunt on certain lands), or had known how we differ culturally, no bad feelings would have come about. I imagine if his employer would have sent him a three page packet on the particular oddities about this place, and maybe a guide on activities to be enjoyed.....There would be no uncomfortable silences.

I always believed strongly that there should be a cultural orientation program of some sort for those that choose to work on the North Slope of Alaska. That this should be at least available for those that had interest in it. I'm betting the turnover would be reduced, and overall happiness increased. It would also make work to create a sense of respect for our culture, that it's differences are something to be enjoyed, and not something to be ground out with some tough elbow grease and sandpaper.

I always find it interesting that with all the money being tossed around for saving our culture in databases, and Big Oil trying to lube our grip on our lands with cash that no one has yet contemplated creating a guide for those to be thrown into a rich and wonderful culture.

What would it take to write a few pages on each village, to create a list of activities and how to go about doing them? to have available a guide that bridges the two worlds? When I was in college I spent 7 months in California and 5 months in the village each year for seven years straight, and believe me when I tell you that to succeed in either culture the tiny things matter and bring comfort, so that you may in fact enjoy the experience.

But some of you are saying..."but this is America."...and that we are all the same?

When I went to my best friends wedding in Louisiana, we had many conversations about what cultural differences I would encounter. Why? Well so I would not feel the fool of course! I was introduced to Southern sayings, and Cajun food etiquette (the things you did to a mud bug), that I would almost always be addressed as 'Miss Rainey', and told what to expect when they talked about a 'fish camp'. It is also some sort of competition on how hospitable you can be to your guests, and even though I thought they did way too much for little ol' me, I kept my mouth shut and just enjoyed it. I loved every single moment of that trip but I think if I went in cold, it would have been a much less enjoyable experience.

America is not ONE culture, it's a mash of hundreds of cultures. Yes we all can buy rice at the store, but I can imagine that some cultures don't eat it or they use it totally different than you would. Our places and people are more isolated than some, more rich than some, more engrained than some, which should be a good thing, an exciting thing.

Personally I think rice is pretty much the best thing for caribou soup......

The drunk.

2010-11-01T19:24:00.004-08:00

The man sits on splintery wood, painted long ago but now abused to the color of week old bruises. The steps behind him lead to nowhere and the staircase railing tower on each side of him, creating a sad throne of sorts. The smell of alcohol surrounds him, like a coiling dragon, purring sweet lies to his body and his soul. His once carefully groomed hair is in disarray, like the mind beneath it. For a second he glances up in response to the noise of a car passing by, his head lolls to the side and a single gleaming trail of drool wets his chin. For a moment you can see his eyes as they darted about in panic, normally brown and clear, they held focus on nothing as the whites of his eyes gleamed in the coming dark. Like an animal of sort, he was lost in the darkness of the unaware.

He felt as he should feel some inkling of shame, and yet he felt none.

A whisper of danger coming, was quickly snapped up by the dragons claws.

He let his gaze wonder in front of him, and fought down the bile that was the dragon's payment. In front of him stood an old woman, her hair neatly braided on each side of her weathered face, it gleamed silver in the waning light. Her clothes were made of caribou skin, and seemed odd to the man. Her voice was patient and warm, "Why does an Inupiaq man sit here when the geese are flying, and the caribou walk?"

The man gargles on the spittle in his mouth for a moment and then replies in a slurred and whining voice, "My life is too complicated old fool, I have too much to think about, too many problems." And with that he flung a hand in front of him and she disappeared like fog.

And in her place stood a child, boy or girl you could not tell. The child's hair was a black as a raven's wing, and small brown hands were shoved into dirty jeans. Its face was smooth and rounded, and wide brown eyes stared at the man. The child's voice was sweet like the singing of the snowbirds in the spring, "Why does an Inupiaq man sit here and not make a place for me to live, so that I can love what is around me? Who will teach me to care?"

The man grew angry and his voice growled into the night, "Go home fucken kid, I don't care and neither should you!" And again his hand clumsily waved the child away, and it disappeared like fog.

And in the child's place arose a beautiful woman. Her long black hair smelled of the tundra and snow, and her arms promised warmth from cold nights and harsh words. Her voice was soft and concerned, "Why does an Inupiaq man sit here and not create a place for us to be proud? What mark will we place in this world?" The man blinked and his hands flexed, "If you want to party you can stay," he laughed a little at this, "Don' expect me to keep any promises though." And he laughed a laugh filled with phlegm, and the woman turned her face from him and disappeared.

And in her place stood an old man, his face worn from sunlight and lined from laughter. His body was still well muscled and he carried himself with pride and knowledge. His voice held strength and courage, and challenged the man like a crouched wolf, "Why does an Inupiaq man sit here and shame our ancestors? Why does he become less than man and more like beast?"

The man's face became red with drunken fury and he lashed out with awkward blows and grunted his reply, "Get away! Don't care about me! Fucken don't even know what I go through!" But the old man had disappeared long ago into the fog.

No more visions appeared for a moment, and the drunk settled himself against one of the railings, sloppily wiping drool from his chin. He waited for friends that would not come, because they had already used him for what money he had. But he did not know this and so he waited. People walking the street avoided him and walked on the other side of the street, teenagers snickered behind hands and yet they feared they too would become him one day.

And yet the man waited.

When the street cleared a young man appeared in front of the drunk. His body was lean and filled with the confidence of youth. Laughter sparkled in his eyes and his voice held the excitement of the first hunt, "What's up man? Why does an Inupiaq man sit here drunk?" The man frowned at the youth, his muddled mind confused, was this one of his friends? The youth sat down next to the man, swift as a cat. Again the sparkling voice asked, "Why you get drunk man?"

The man snorted and giggled a little, "A man's gotta relax, get away from life you know. Fucken stress tomorrow though." And thinking this was funny he laughed again.

"Why you stressed?" The youth asked quietly.

"Why? Cause' I got no life, no job, no nothin'. Jus' bills and stress, fucken everybody looking down on me like I'm a loser. Gotta' relax and let it just go away you know?"

The young man stood up so fast the drunk couldn't focus his eyes on the lean figure. His back was taut with anger. His voice sparkled with regret this time and his next words were said slowly, as if he was speaking to an infant,"You ain't got nothing cause no one gives anything to a drunk, and you need others to be me. You drink cause you have nothing, and yet you get nothing if you drink. Sad, sad man will never be me." And before the drunk could reply the youth was gone.

Alone and sobering up the drunk paused and blinked. That Western dragon called to him in a slow welcoming voice. The dragon was quieting and this made him worried. In his head he heard the voices, felt their need in his bones, and yet he was afraid. The dragon got rid of fear.

Alone… he wanted.

an older piece I wrote. One I think about a lot. I always wonder what happened to him. Where he ended up. Just thought I would share. I apologize for the swear words but when I put 'clean' words in there it never seems right.

A quick ride down Big Contact.....

2010-10-04T11:48:00.003-08:00

Went for a short ride yesterday. This time of year the early mornings are shrouded in thick frosty fog that only clears up after the sun has been out long past noon. The dogs were especially exhuberant, as with the coming cold they had been spending more and more time inside their winter housing. I guess it's a type of dog 'cabin fever', which is identifiable mostly by the almost constant howling and fidgeting. We packed some hotdogs and snacks in a backpack and warmed up the snow machine and honda.

The fog had lifted and because of the heat of the sun it changed into a thin layer of victorian lace above our heads. The blues became intense and the snow sparkled and reflected every color like tiny glass mirrors. BIII took a quick picture of me while we waited on a hill for the dogs to catch their breath.
We entered a small valley called "Big contact", not expecting the show put on by nature. The mountain to our right glowed a unusual blue. An intense blue.
The mountain had gathered the fog amongst it's peak, and the blue sky above it was reflected in the bulk of moisture droplets.
Farther in the valley we were greeted by a beam of light cresting over the mountain. I commented to my husband that it wouldn't be weird if a mythical beast arose out of this beam of light. Maybe the Dall Sheep Umailik (chief), or the Old Eagle Mother....or maybe even a ice gilded dragon.
We stopped frequently to look far down the valley with binoculars. This let the pups rest and play, and gave us some time to make sure that a brown bear wasn't up ahead, and to make sure if there were caribou in our trail we wouldn't scare them.

When we reached the end of the valley we gathered some dried willow and made a fire, and roasted some hotdogs. We drank strong coffee and watched the dogs play tag in the dry and brown willow bushes. Mostly we just sat there and watched as the fog and mountains and sky dazzled us with a show of color and form and a game of peek-a-boo. It amazed me that if we had chosen to visit another valley this afternoon we would have never seen this amazing time and place. That the show would go unseen. That even now these displays of nature are existing, without being seen.

On the way back we were followed by a soot colored raven, he dove and clicked above us, his wings caught the air and hummed. I wondered if they were able to see beauty like we were, and if they were amazed by the valley like I was. They gathered in the village during the winter months, like a nomadic tribe, living off of the leftovers of man. Warming themselves on lamp posts and high powered light bulbs. They visited our house daily, looking for left over dog food or meat chunks. They would click at the dogs, attempting to calm them it seemed. Or they could be laughing.

The space between......

2010-09-29T08:53:00.003-08:00

Sometimes all it would take to stop a ton of heartache and trouble, is to make a tiny connection. A thin thread of strength between thought and action. Between word and meaning.

I sit here this morning contemplating these disconnections, the places where there is a gap, small gaps that feel like deep chasms. Gaps that create such pain that you would think someone would bridge it right away.

I have experienced this separation. It pried at my heart and marked it for life. I love teaching. The feeling you get when you did your job right and that wave of understanding makes it's way across a child's face is one of the most beautiful and humble thing I have ever seen. But the Price was too high for me to pay, as I was almost swallowed by this gap.

Our world is so young. So confused and malformed. On one side we have our Traditional life, and on the other we have the Other life. One is filled with the soft song of our Elders, the other the marching tune of Conformity. We hop back and forth. But no one has decided that they should be no space between the two.

Some people say that it's impossible. That these two worlds are so different that they cannot be combined. But I say they that some people need to stop limiting themselves, that believe it or not the world does include other cultures, cultures that are successful. I envy the Japanese because the people who do business with them bow and wear no shoes. I envy the the Spanish their Siesta time. I envy that Maori college in New Zealand for making all their non-native professors speak the native tongue fluently. I envy the Greeks for having free college. I envy other cultures for making Others adapt to the Original world. Because it gives this Original world credence and value and worth.

Without that bridge I see so much damage being done. Today I saw a comment online made about how the only reason that most young Native people have no jobs is because they are lazy drug addicts, that they lack in anything that would make them successful human beings. This comment was made by a young Native person. And I thought of all the people that I knew that had no jobs or that struggled with keeping a job and then I tried to figure out what would make this person say this comment. Where did this judgment come from? Who created the list that would make a person label others in this way? By what standard are they being judged?

I could be considered one of those judged un-successful. By western standards I'm pretty useless. I don't have a full time job. I am an artist that has never had any real important gallery showings. I've won no awards. I don't make a huge amount of money. I was rejected for every artist or business grant I ever applied for. I can't afford a shiny new car or a dishwasher. I spend way too much time doing "useless" things like camping and skin sewing and learning place names. Things that no one would pay me for, so they have no real value in the Western world.

Yet at the same time I am praised for some of the stuff I'm doing. Saving the Knowledge. Learning the Words. When I am and Elder, I will have some knowledge to pass on to those that ask. The interesting part is that when people ask me what I've been up to and I tell them what I am learning, they usually ask if I'm getting a "real" job soon. As if what I am doing is not worth much in this day and age. And I have to ask why it's not worth much. And what actions would be needed to make it worth something. How does one add something to this imaginary list?

And then I think about my husband. He works so hard to make the little amount of money we need. He gets up early. Takes his breaks and lunch. Comes home and sheds the Western world from his skin. I wish these companies would encourage his Inupiaq self. I wish so much for the man I love. For the people I love. I wish that he could be praised for his hunting skills like he is paid for his carpentry skills. That he could receive certificates for what he knows about wolves and wolverine and caribou, like the certificates he got for what he learned for Plumbing and Electrical 1. I wish someone could bridge that gap I see in him, that I see in all of us.

Yet even though our corporations and our world has Native leaders at the helm, it seems as if they believe the only way to be successful as a people is to Conform. And that to me is a dangerous place to live, hovering over this gap instead of bridging it.

I hope one day to be in a place where "work" wear is snow shirts and atigluuraqs, where the visiting lower 48 people come to us wearing our traditional clothing. I hope to be in a place where we pay hunters to take care of our Inupiaq bellies and keep the less fortunate full. I hope to be in a place where the work day is based on paying people for the job and not the hours, like in the Inupiaq world. I hope to one day be proud of a place that pays employees more if they speak Inupiaq fluently, and even pay in house tutors so that our businesses are steeped in lore. I hope to love a place that recognizes that the Inupiaq world is different, and to celebrate that difference instead of trying to hide it. I hope to be proud of a place where a young Inupiaq person will not call another young Inupiaq person less.....because of some other worlds list.

I wish....wish... that this gap would disappear.

Harley...

2010-09-23T08:26:00.004-08:00

Every blog Must have a cat.

And this one does. An arctic kitty. And her post has been long over due, for she is an especially unique cat.

She is the first thing I see and hear in the morning. Besides my husband of course. As soon as she hears me move in bed she jumps up on the covers and bumps my hand or head in that way that only cats can do without looking stupid. She demands our ritual morning showing of affection, and rewards me with a loud content purr and heavy lidded eyes. It is the ONLY time she shows affection, as for the rest of the day she acts as if we are only roommates. As many visitors know she is a very grumpy old lady.

The way she found me is an interesting story. I was attending college in Northern California, and as a normal college student I was often short on cash. A friends mom asked if I wanted to help with something called the Redwood Run, I volunteered for the two days it would be nearby. The first night I directed traffic; cars to the left parking space, bikes to the right. I wore a massive amount of reflective tape and orange and found out that despite what I saw on tv (and in that link) most of the bikers were very nice people and polite. Late that night we made our way to our tent outside the area of party crazy and got a few hours of sleep. Early the next morning we began the clean up process. It's amazing what people leave in their wake, heaps of trash and discarded possessions....including a tiny neglected black kitten. She was in a bush, meowing her little heart out, covered in ticks and filled with worms. She was so tiny she fit in the palm of my hand. I stuck her shivering little body in my sweater pocket, where she immediately quieted. I took her to my car (a HUGE old 1977 Dodge Aspen aka "The Boat") and set her on the seat. At the time I only had some cheese flavored popcorn as a snack. When I placed the bag in front of her she literally dived inside and ate as much as her little body could handle. I set her up with some water and closed the door and cracked the windows and went back to work.

That evening I went back to the car and found the door wide open, with no kitten in sight. My friends mom had thought the kitten needed more air and had opened the door. I searched and searched the car and didn't find her. Thinking that she had wondered off I reluctantly packed my gear and drove home. Quite a few hours after I got home, I was still thinking about her. She was so tiny. So I went back to The Boat and did a more thorough search. I found her curled up underneath the seat. Just a absolutely ink black spot that was easy enough to miss. She was sleeping the whole time.

And thus began our relationship. I had a puppy at the time. A snow white dog that I had named Winter (because she was such a mean....lady...when I first got her) They were both cast offs of society. Both neglected. And both ended up at my home. They bonded immediately. And this is how the dog became more like a cat, and the cat became more like a dog. The cat begs for food, loves dog food and dog cookies, knows how to "sit" on command, and comes quickly when she is called. She also has very ODD tastes in food. Harley the cat and Winter the dog would often team up to steal food. If anything was left on the kitchen counter the cat would push it off the edge, and jump down to enjoy the meal with the dog. She is completely unafraid of dogs and can hold her own with all of the various puppies that we have gotten over the years. She also loves sheep meat. Her nickname is "Puppy." She adores butter and seal oil and has a pure white toe on her back left foot.

She is also a very grumpy cat and doesn't get along with ANYONE. Well almost anyone. She loved my husband from the first time they met. The odd part of that relationship is that she will never ever get grumpy with him. He can literally rub her the wrong way and she will purr and flop over on her side. She also gets along with my brother Sunny, who is a bit allergic to cats. Which I seriously think cats can sense. He will approach her and slip off a shoe, and tap her with his socked toe, which is when she flops on her side so she can get a good socked belly rub. She also adores Bill Hess, a photographer and another lover of arctic cats, which I'm sure she can also sense.

She is also very much an indoor cat. On nice summer days she will venture out a few feet on our porch to watch the world go by, her sooty nose sniffing the air. But other than that rare adventure she stays inside. Which is how I like it, as we spread bird seed around the house so we can enjoy the birds. As an indoor cat she has to get quite creative to keep her mind stimulated. I provide random toys and bits of cat nip off and on and play with her as much as possible, but for most of the day she is left to her own devices. So one of the things she loves to do is to sleep in odd places. We have found her in drawers, in cupboards, on cardboard pieces on the floor, in the middle of the kitchen, on rifle cases, on wolf skins, on the heaters, and even in the dryer (which now makes me check TWICE every time I do a load).

And there I present Harley, the arctic cat, ruler of this household and stealer of sheep meat.

Green Machine.....

2010-09-21T11:48:00.006-08:00

Winter arrived. It dusted our world in sparkling diamonds of frost this morning, which made me feel sorry for the berries (as anyone who knows me, knows that I amaddicted to picking berries!). A couple days ago we saw flocks of hundreds of ptarmigan all wearing their white coats, little harbingers of the coming cold. I could not help being angry at them. Traitor birds.

Me and my husband began the winter vehicle planning. Or should I say he talked in length and I nodded and listened and asked a question here and there. It's a weird thing that is almost unique to our lifestyle. We discuss wether or not we will purchase a new snowmachine, or a used snowmachine, or just buy parts for the ones we have. We discuss the winter gas bill, decided how much to spend on new clothing, what items were worn through or had too many holes to repair. We talked about the emergency winter kits, what needed to be replaced in them and what new items were on the market that we should try. But mostly we talk about our snowmachines, as it is the biggest winter cost.

To supplement our winter income my husband traps all winter long. He travels a minimum of 12 hours a day to tend to his trap line, at least once a week, most times twice a week, all by snowmachine. 90% of the time he is alone. He would not do it if hedid not enjoy it, not the taking of life, but rather the challenge of pitting brain against brain. Most people assume that animals are robotic beings only existing in a weird loop of instinct and survival. But if you have interacted with them you realize that they are incredible thinking beings, tricky and learning beings. Add to the mix that they have hundreds of thousands of miles to roam.....

But I digress from my original thought. Vehicles. When I lived in California I recycled. I had a bike that I used. I carpooled. I bought organic and local produce and products, if I could make the product myself I did. I grew my own herbs. It felt as if I was doing something to take care of nature, which I loved so much. It also allowed me a tiny way to rebel against the concrete and metal that I deemed confining to my Inupiaq soul. But here in the village, what options do I have? Are there "green" snowmachines and 4x4 vehicles? (as a side note a few minutes ago I asked my husband if he knew of a "green" snowmachine. He replied "the arctic cat makes em....like a bright neon green." ....I rest my case.)

I know that at several points in time "outside" people have tried recycling. But what they found that it was VERY expensive to ship out the materials to a place to recycle it. Instead of gaining money they were paying money, which leaves little incentive. I think also that as villagers we do "re-use" everything, as we never know when we will need it, to the point where we are bordering on being diagnosed as hoarders. But I wonder what other ways we can reduce our ick on this world. Living in the boonies means we are often restricted by what product we can use, as it often comes down to whatever the ONE store decides to stock, if anything at all.

Should we even be trying to find ways to do the three "R"'s? Has anyone done a study to see what a subsistence native "carbon footprint" is?

I do find some comfort in the fact that we eat mainly "organic" foods, ultra organic. Is there a word for more than organic?

Shameless self plugging follows.....

I do randomly design shirts... here is one of the latest designs. I saw "Eskimo" spelled like this on a very old book in the Tuzzy library in Barrow (if you ever get the c

hance to visit please do!), I WANTED that on a shirt! you will find this and others in my "Nuna Inua" T-shirts link on the right side of this blog.

I also have decided to sell some of my jams and jellies and preserves, just a taste! View this and other neat things at my new store www.SalmonberryOrigins.etsy.com

Crowberry jelly aka Blackberry Jelly

observations....

2010-09-17T16:58:00.002-08:00

Interesting things I experienced this last week:

While walking in Barrow I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. There was a tiny pond surrounded by buildings, old vehicles, and small anemic patches of grass. Various bits of trash floated at it's surface. The acrid roar and smokey smell of cars surrounded the tiny pond, making it seem so out of place and indeed it seemed embarrassed to be there. What had caught my eye was the movement of several canadian geese floating in that tiny pond. One of them stood stock still, a shiny dark eye observing me. The others stirred the tiny piece of water, bringing bits and flecks of edibles to the surface. Their beaks worked and clacked as they ate. I think I got about 5 feet from them and not one of them looked up to wonder if I was predator, except for sentry. I walked by, thinking that this tiny scene must mean something deep and ponderous. But I couldn't come up with what it might be.....

I have decided that the best sushi I have ever ate is in Barrow Alaska. It practically melts in your mouth in a carnival of flavor and texture.

I haven't met one person in my life that absolutely loves sitting in the middle seat on airplanes.

We are all tourists of this universe. Annoying ones.

Things I learned.....

2010-09-13T13:22:00.005-08:00

Some nights in the village. Some nights we make sure the doors are closed and locked tight. We take the keys from our vehicles in our front yard. Things that take a minute or two. Nothing drastic.

But some nights are different than others. Some nights while chatting with family we hear about how someone has brought burning coals to the village, to set fires of destruction. So we lock our doors to make sure the fire does not spread, so that it does not burn what we love.

Such small things that we do. Small things are all that you can do sometimes.

We must become willing learners and willing teachers.

My parents taught me a few things, these things I hold close to my forever life. They loved me so much that they taught me to be sad. Sounds weird, and obvious, I know. My parents taught me to mourn. They taught me how to cry. They taught me that it is a special thing that I can do, one that is almost uniquely human, a gift from every God and Deity. When the first dog I ever loved died when I was very young, my father shed heavy tears, and held me close. He showed me it was okay to express sadness, he showed me how to make it paint my world. He showed me it was okay for these painful things to exist. And when my mother died, she showed me that I could survive even the most painful things. The things I thought no one should survive. She taught me that pain can be used to fuel brighter things, better things, and that death can leave behind seeds of hope and wonder. That we are but what is left behind in the hearts and actions of those that loved us.

How can some people burn these gifts from their parents in a haze of numbness and alcohol?

My friends taught me a few things, these things I hold close to my forever laugh. They loved me so much that they taught me how to have fun. Sounds plain and silly, I know. My friends taught me how to enjoy this world. They taught me what it was like to laugh so hard I cried. They taught me that it was a special thing, a gift from every God and Deity. Something unique and wonderful and ME. When the summer days were long they came and showed me that fun was exploring old buildings, trapping ground squirrels, and laughing at the silliest of words and gestures. They showed me it was okay to find fun in things that some people thought were boring or empty. And when I left and they moved they also taught me that I could make new friends, and find new things that were fun, if only I was brave enough and unafraid. They taught me that fun and excitement could exist without hurting others or myself, and that it could last forever, like those long summer days.

How can some people burn these gifts from their friends, in the acid lake of unhappiness?

My Love taught me a few things, these things I hold close to my forever Happy. He loved me so much that he taught me how to be Happy. Sounds small and weak, I know. My Love taught me how to be at peace with my life. He taught me how to find actions that added a drop of Happiness to my soul, so that these drops could become a lake. He taught me that it was a special thing, this ability and opportunity to be Happy, a gift to myself, from myself. Something that had no keys, no locks, no codes. When I wrapped all the bad things in my life around me like a sodden blanket, he showed me that I was the one holding that blanket, with clawed fingers. And that it didn’t make me a bad person to let it fall to the ground. He showed me that my happiness was hard work, and needed to be tended to like a fragile plant, and that if I fed it anger and hate and confusion, it would shrivel and blacken. He showed me that happiness was real, and not some fairy tale.

How can some people burn these gifts from the people that love them, in the coals of bootleggers and pimps of self destruction?

We must become willing learners and willing teachers.

We must teach each other how to mourn, how to have fun, how to be happy, without drugs. Without booze. We must teach each other that we can have these things, without running the risk of causing pain on each other.

Our Inupiat ancestors knew these ways, knew them and rejoiced in their ability to experience them. We need to stop trying to be something other than Inupiaq, something other than brown skinned, arctic legends ...in self made prisons.

The darkness....

2010-09-02T10:50:00.004-08:00

The darkness has come back to our village.......

And no it's not metaphorical darkness, it's actually darkness. The long endless sunlit days are gone, and night time has reclaimed her willow spiked crown.

It's a shock to the psyche, more so than the change from dark to light in the spring. In many many ways this is my favorite time of the year though. The caribou are fat and proud, the berries have grown plump and sweet, the mountains exchange green clothing for red and yellow, and the stories...the stories also ripen and sweeten and become beautiful things to share.

The darkness brings with it many things, one of them being tarnished fears. Old fears brought back out to be polished and handled. The bears become fat and brave, and their eyes glow blue in the night as they stalk your camp. But we fend them off with the howl of dogs and the crack of rifles. Other things also roam in the darkness, beings of wood and flesh and spirit. And we fend these off by telling their stories.

My favorites are the stories of the Imanauraq, or the Inuk as they call them here. Small people that live in caves or underground and set deadfall traps. They see the rebirth of the night as we see the coming of the sun, a chance to roam and go unseen and walk among us. The stories range in the hundreds if not thousands, and are as recent as last year. They run after your sled in silence, nothing but a bulky darkness, trip you in bushes with quick fingers, or even set small cooking fires high up in places no human can reach or would go.

Other creatures include tall pale willowy beings filled with curiosity, lost spirits, bouncing lights that lead you into danger, river beings, "bigfoot", and a handful of others that appear after the night has returned. The stories are like tiny gems, passed around a fire to be shared and admired.

Yes this is my favorite season of the year!

My hard life....

2010-08-26T11:19:00.001-08:00

My life is hard.....

Or at least that is what some people think of it. I get comments a lot about how tough I am, how the life lead must be harder than the one they live. How they admire me for my persistence and dedication and strength for being able to handle the heavy burden of living a subsistence lifestyle....

Mostly I just blink at these comments. Maybe an eyebrow lift or two. Almost always I do not respond.

Mostly because I think it odd that people think this life is hard. Comparatively. I wonder what they mean by "harder". Physically? Mentally? Financially? Socially?

It's a tad bit physically harder. I read once that just being out in the country here and doing what we do, you will burn more than 4500 calories a day. So we eat a lot more than most people, usually high calorie foods snacks. Visitors that we take out are always amazed at how hungry they seem all the time. I think that this would be a benefit though. Muscles get worked and are toned while we hike and ride and hunt. Calories are burned and endorphins are released as we fish and gather herbs and pick berries. My body feels ...useful. Part of this world. Though sometimes the next day my muscles rebel and laugh as I grimace with each move.

Our lives revolve around a non-timetable. A general gesture and nod to a calendar. Though we know when things will be ready for harvesting as the year progresses, we also cannot tell exactly when things will happen. Just this last week we were dismayed to find that the plump little salmonberries had turned pale and white, like ghosts of their former bright orange selves. Which means they are beyond ripeness and have started their death knell. It's sometimes frustrating and sometimes wonderful, but most of the time it is an odd exercise of what becomes a monster ability for patience and acceptance. An acceptance of the fact that we cannot control some things, an acceptance of a greater dance of which we are only an audience. We never work for time, only for food or clothing or tool.

The time thing bothers me the most when moving from world to world. The western world is obsessed with clocks and calendars. You are even judged a better and more superior being the more you adhere to this measure of time. It's a sign of honesty and general intelligence. But in the other world it is definitely not an asset, and in fact can be a persons downfall. I can imagine that in more ancient times if you restricted your harvesting to a few hours a day and during only a few days a week, you would find yourself a victim of natural selection. In this world you are judged on wether or not the task is finished and finished with honor and attention to detail, no matter the time taken.

I also think that some people have a certain type of misconception of living a subsistence lifestyle, that for some reason we do it exactly like they did it two thousand years ago. The Inupiaq Eskimo of the arctic have thrived here simply because of our amazing talent to adapt and accept. We are magicians of tool and invention, of theory and imagination. We can take a hunk of moss and use it for a thousand things, a length of wood, a million things. So in this day and age we definitely take advantage of the tools the modern world has provided us. Some people are surprised to find that we use range finders, and high powered scopes, and vhf radio's ,and satellite phones and gps devices, and high tech clothing and footwear. We use every tool we can, because in the end it is not how we did it that matters, but only that we did it and that makes it fit this world. One example of this is when the Alaska Fish and Game had to stop posting updated locations of collared caribou because everyone would get online and use the coordinates to hunt caribou. It makes me chuckle that they did not even once imagined that it would be used for something other than ooh-ing and ahh-ing at in the lower 48.

Another comment I get a lot is about the knowledge that is needed to live a subsistence life style. That maybe it is somehow more greater and more vast than anything really imaginable. But in the end it's not much different than other knowledge. That once learned and embedded into instinct it becomes automatic. It's like asking if an accountant has to relearn how to add and subtract and count every time they balance books. Some things become part of your base knowledge. The only difference is that our books and universities are actual people, Elders with as many stories as wrinkles.

I could write forever on this topic. But I'll end it with what I usually comment: that our life is not more difficult. It is just Different. And Different is not harder or easier nor better or worse.

A day of fishing....

2010-08-25T11:54:00.002-08:00

Yesterday we went fishing. Our mission was to get enough fish for the winter, and some extra to give away. This was our second trip to the same spot this fall.

We had planned the day before to go fishing if everything was "good". Good weather, good vehicle, good wind, good amount of gas, good food we could bring. We decided to take the dogs with us, hoping to burn off some of the major energy they build up over a few days. It was a good distance away, over some foothills, through the Anaktuvuk river, and over some more foothills. But it's worth it, as the fish are plentiful and if the wind is there there will be no bugs.

The drive out was uneventful. We stopped frequently to look around for animals. Moose, bear, caribou, wolf, even the cream colored sheep high in the mountain crags. The dogs hunted for ground squirrels, but they were so noisy that they were heard a mile away. I picked blackberries along the way, and tested to see if the cranberries were ripe yet. They held a hint of sweetness, not quite ripe enough for picking.

When we arrived at our destination we were greeted by sun dappled mountains, and a brisk wind tormenting the bugs. Perfect.

We stopped and immediately pulled our fishing rods out. After 15 minutes of fishing we caught 10 grayling. We picked the two biggest ones and cleaned them, stuffed them with onion and spices, and then wrapped them in a thick layer of tinfoil. Along the way we collected dried willow wood, which we then used to create a small fire. We threw the fish onto the fire along with a few small pieces of caribou we had brought along. We unpacked the food and settled in. Listening to the crackle of the fire, poured a cup of coffee from the thermos, and waited for the feast.

Me drinking coffee. I was shocked to see how absent I was from our photo albums. So I promised myself I would hand the camera over to B3 once in a while. I exist after all!

Two of the dogs decided that swimming was on the fun menu and so had to be tied up to the argo so that we could fish. Here you can see Bullet the husky mix, watching the fire and it's cooking morsels to the left off camera. He was not too angry as he took the opportunity to take a long nap in the sunlight. In the background is B3, watching a couple of sheep across the valley in the mountains with his spotting scope. He is today stalking those same sheep I'm sure.

We caught 30 large fat grayling.

We started back just in time, with just enough light to make it back without using our headlights. The mountains darkened to the color of fresh bruises, behemoths of weight and age. The moon made an entrance, like a jealous cousin, flashy and unnecessary on such a pastel night.

We also caught some of a jet flying overhead, like a comet burning. I always wonder if the people look down and wonder if there are people on the ground, looking up at them, wondering if they know they exist. Or if they are only paying attention to their watches, tiny task masters with clicking voices.

Barking dogs.

2010-08-16T14:23:00.005-08:00

My dogs bark alot.

I have four of them so it's a pretty intense experience. They become blurs of red and gray and brown and black fur....

They bark at people walking by, at vehicles, at other dogs barking in the distance, sometimes I'm not too sure what they are barking at. And it's not a sweet southern hound bay, but instead a harsh quick mouth and teeth showing bark. One filled with something primal dating back to when man first tamed wolf.

We trained our dogs to bark. To alert us to any movement or intrusion. To be brave and examine disturbances. It's the only way I sleep at night when I'm camping in the arctic wilderness. Because unlike most Lower 48 campers we hunt while camping, and we leave piles of meat near us, be it caribou or sheep or fish. All yummy, yummy things to wolves and bears. And the dogs are trained to be extra alert when meat is present.

Of course there is no "off" button unfortunately. So they bark a lot at home, outside in front of our house. Sometimes they bark at robins, and the other small songbirds h

oping to find a tidbit or two in our yard. They are very vocal beings, as sometimes they break into song and howl with throats raised to the sky. Cementing their bond with each other, or maybe just wishing there was something else to bark at.

It's a very odd opportunity to examine cultural differences. Between us and the western world.

I used to work at a veterinarian hospital in California where they also boarded dogs for long periods of time. My job was to feed and walk and medicate the animals, to observe and report on behavior. So I got to observe hundreds of dogs. Most were pure bred , with proud chests and hip problems. Most were house pets and companion animals, and trained not to bark at people, or at anything really. I found it interesting that when they barked they would look at me with guilty eyes, as if they just committed a social faux pas. Did you know that there is a breed of dog that cannot bark at all?

So when "Lower 48ers" pass by our home (and there are at least three plane loads a day of tourists in the warm months) and the dogs bark and bounce and cause general exuberant havoc I observe the people from our living room window. Most scoot across to the other side of the road, their steps slow, their eyes never stray from the mass of loud fur. Their nostrils flare and hands reach to cover mouths. The brave and/or young ones nervously smile and stop to take pictures of my barking dogs, maybe even cell phone videos, like our animals were some captured wild beasts, incredibly in the midst of humans.

I would imagine that they would think the dogs behavior uncouth and disruptive.

But when other Inupiat Eskimo walk by our home and they are greeted by our pack of noise they usually smile at the dogs, no hint of surprise mirrored on their faces. They usually find them amusing. Some even mention to me how good our dogs are, how perfect for picking berries or fishing or hunting and camping they would be. They are in a different way praised for their loudness. Some of the Inupiat stop and chat, not finding it odd that they have to yell above the barking. None of the Inupiat try to approach our dogs, because they know they are working.

They are very good dogs.

2010-08-12T22:45:00.003-08:00

Despite what some people are thinking, I have not been silenced by marriage.

In fact I have been held hostage, by berries, and fish and long cool days filled with the smell of crushed labrador tea. I have been told that this type of kidnapping is normal at this time of year, and can sometimes last till the first few snow falls.

Despite this I have been writing. Short bursts, rough drafts. I haven't published any of these of course, and the longer I stare at them the more idiotic they seem. I think my muse is quite angry at me, as she has been peppering me with ideas for weeks, and I brush them off my shoulders and pile them neatly next to the photos that never make it either.

The nights are growing longer and the mosquitoes have finally gave up on their desperate sanguinarian mission and we find ourselves exploring nooks and crannies of the tundra that Nature herself has forgotten....and other deep and profound areas of other deep and profound entities thoughts.

Today I marveled at the way the tundra has sprouted mushrooms almost overnight because of all the wet weather, they look like pale flesh colored zits on the richer hues of the coming fall. Some were the size of dinner plates, though most were the size of grapefruits. And I realized that many village children would not even know how big a grapefruit was, but most if not all would know how big a caribou heart was, or how big a sailor boy cracker was, which are pretty much all the same size. And it made me smile. And I was told the other day that the older people would call mushrooms "they will take your hand off" in Inupiaq, and I thought that there must have been an awesome story behind that name.......

I thought I would let you all know that I still plan to keep this blog alive....if albeit a little random!

Quick Wedding Post....

2010-06-03T13:52:00.002-08:00

Just a quick peek into our wedding.....it will be a while yet till things calm down and we return from our honeymoon on the coast till I can get around to doing a better post.

This is a photo taken by an amazing man by the name of Bill Hess. He attended and photographed our wedding. He also has a blog (if you click on his name under the blogs I follow it will bring you there) and will provide you with an amazing perspective on our wedding I'm sure!

All in all it was wonderful, filled with laughing and hugging and good food.

Boots....part two....

2010-05-18T21:42:00.002-08:00

Finished my boots for the wedding!

White wolf leg skins, moose hide, leather, and BEADS.

They sparkle just enough when I walk.

Boots....

2010-04-27T23:02:00.004-08:00

Just finished the boots that my husband to be will be wearing at the wedding.

Not bad for my first pair! Thought I would share the finished product.

They are made from caribou leg skins, black and white calf skin, red deer leather, and native tanned moose hide.

Non-existance.....

2010-04-15T22:16:00.003-08:00

I do not exist.

Well kind of.

To be exact, my "job" does not exist in my culture. What is my job? Why I am an artist of course. I take the "leftovers" of the animals we harvest and eat and make them into pretty things. I draw and paint and create. Things. Things to hang on your wall, things to wear on your wrist, things to give to other people so that they can appreciate handmade beauty. What I make are considered to be luxury items. Items not needed for survival (I can however debate that point). They simply exist to create feeling and mental reactions.

And in my culture we have no artists. In fact there is no Inupiaq word to even describe someone like me. The closest word that exist translates as "someone who makes things."

I'm not saying we don't exist now and that handmade beauty never existed in my culture, but I am saying that the "position" of artist has never existed till now. And of course this creates some problems for me and others like me.

For one thing all of the decoration that existed in my culture existed for a reason. The intricate graphic trim on clothing told of where someone was from and how many people they supported. The labrets on a man's chin explained his social standing. The markings carved into arrows were owners markings. There are very few examples of purely decorative beauty in my culture. In fact the only real expression of an artistic soul was closely tied to the old religion, with shaman's masks and body adornments. With carvings of animals born to lure or control our food source. So when the missionaries came they tied all of these things to the old religion. And of course this meant that they were forbidden. They even banned dancing as they did not understand why it made us happy. There was a great and dark hollow in our timeline where we were nervous about displaying our Inupiaq roots in artistic expression, afraid that it would be tied to something dark and feared.

Even still I am nervous. I have many images that could be tied to shamanism in my gallery. And I have suffered many words of abuse because of them. I have felt the warmth on my face when an elder shames me for even thinking of these things. I even had someone ask me if all elders hate me because of my work. It's a weird world in which I have to explain what "art" is, that it is not worship of any deity, of any religion, or any anti-religion. I explain in quiet words that I just think it is beautiful, and that these things bring me pride in my culture and my heritage. Not all elders are unsure of me though. Some find some pride in my work, or they work to understand the meaning behind them. But still. But still sometimes I hesitate to put an image to paper.

Another thing I see happening is the tendency to label artists. We are a money wanting gang to be sure, I make a living making art but it takes a massive amount of work on my part. We are often labeled as "braggers" or "pushy." Promoting your wares is not a natural Inupiaq ability or characteristic. It does not come natural or feel natural. We are raised to be quiet and humble, so the act of openly promoting our work and openly "pimping" ourselves is sometimes not seen as a friendly act. For as many times I have been told that I am talented and that my artwork is loved, I am also put down for my actions or inactions to include others in my promotions.

Artwork to me is the expression of my soul. And I happen to have a soul that needs a lot of expressing. It took me years to be comfortable with showing people my drawings. Years to not flinch when someone called me an artist, because in my mind it was a foreign word, a foreign position that did not belong in my culture. Years to be okay with writing my thoughts and letting someone else read them. Years.

My one and only wish - and I type this in all seriousness - is that I will bring pride to our artwork and artists. That if a Inupiaq child wishes to become an artist they will be able to do so, and to make a living doing it. I have been working with other artists to create a non-profit organization that will bring a name to our "job". But it will take many years. Many more years.

Wedding....

2010-04-14T14:52:00.003-08:00

I don't know if I mentioned this....but I am getting married on June 1st.

This marriage thing is all new to us. Which I imagine is normal for at least most engaged couples. I found that not only is it new to us, but it also presents some odd dilemmas. Or choices. Or some other word that combines Odd/dilemma/choice.

The first issue was where. Where are we getting married? I am from Point Hope, a small coastal village and Ben is from here, Anaktuvuk Pass, the smaller village in the mountains. I remember hearing from elders that coastal and mountain people should never marry, as it creates too many problems. But I reassured them that no inter-clan wars would arise, that we had planes and the internet to keep our ties strong. We decided to have the wedding in Anaktuvuk Pass. Mainly because I love it here so much, the people and beauty of the place are both very large gifts to this world. What I found was that when I told this to my family they heard "I love it here so much, and it's better than home." Which of course began a very uncomfortable conversation about how it's not better than where I am from, but instead ...well... just different. I usually start the conversation by reminding them that Inupiat are nomadic. That somehow and somewhere along the way we forgot about that tiny tidbit of genetic coding. And we also forgot that we are all Inupiaq, regardless of what village we are from. It seems that some western territorial mindset has taken root in our hearts, and bad feelings and competition was born between the different villages.

We choose to just ignore this odd facet of modern Inupiat life when planning our wedding. It's all good when you are proud of your heritage, but I think it's bad if you take that pride and use it to feel above or be better than others; Pride is not a weapon or whip. Humility is one of our cultures most debatable, and worthwhile, characteristics as it has changed and morphed, and in most cases is hard to find evidence of. But we try.

So once that was settled we then decided to have the wedding outside of the church. Or as I put it, "In God's bigger church." We always imagined our wedding being outside in the tundra. Just two Native people being bound in the place that we love and enjoy the most. Our life revolves around the tundra and it's inhabitants, so we felt that this made sense. Of course this brought about even more uncomfortable questions about why we were being "anti-Christian." Some people just laughed out right in our faces, finding it ridiculous that a good native person would be married outside of a church. I assured them that we would have our hand picked and loved Presbyterian priest there to ensure that we were right in God's eyes. (but I did not mention of course that I was raised Episcopalian as this would no doubt cause more arguments and mini-inner-wars.) I also found it interesting that when non-native people announced that their wedding was to be out of doors people oooed and ahhed and used words like "quaint" and "intimate", but when these same people hear that our wedding was outside they laughed or thought we were joking. It's an odd standard, and worth more than a paragraph in my blog I'm sure.

Once all of those little fires were extinguished, we started in on the little details. We decided to wear semi-traditional Inupiaq formal wear. Aka fancy atigi's (hooded tunics with decoration at cuffs, hem, and sleeve), caribou and wolf skin boots, and very little jewelry. I could not imagine myself wearing a bead and lace encrusted white gown. They never really seemed that beautiful to me, with their bulk and impossibly white facade. They seem so foreign and out of place when native women wear them. Also as a young girl when I thought of my wedding I never thought of the dress I was wearing, instead I used my imagination to dream up a man; he was always smiling and happy and tall. I guess this was mostly the way I was brought up, despite my father insisting I was going to be a nun. Our rings are hand crafted titanium bands. Cheap and durable. Which also brought about interesting comments from non-native friends. They found it odd that we did not hold a huge emotional attachment to our rings, we planned on cheap easily replaceable rings just in case we lost a few and had to buy some more. I always thought wedding bands weren't for the people married, but were instead for everyone else. A signal saying "taken, don't hit on me." And with the type of life we live we would be idiots to but expensive rings with diamonds and insurance plans. More than likely at least one set will be lost to the tundra.

At this moment I am working hard at trying to get our wedding attire sewn and finished, but I am also stressing on the gifts we will be getting for guests , special guests and Elders. Another odd thing about Inupiaq society is that when there is a special occasion the people celebrating it give gifts away. The gifts are meant for trade, if you receive it you must give something in return. In our case it would be that we ask for the Elders and guests to bless our marriage. To give us good juju. To say a prayer. To have hope for our future.

I'm also trying to mix Inupiaq lore with modern occasion. I found online a company that create tiny bird seed cakes in the shape of hearts. It is generally believed that songbirds bring with them good luck, and I hope to entice them to our wedding by giving away bird food to all of the guests. I'm also making packages of special gifts for Elders, which will be given out during the wedding which will include gifts that are very carefully picked out.

All in all there is not too much stress involved in the wedding, despite the decisions to be made. (of course I say this now, 50 days away from the wedding) I will make salmonberry cake, caribou soup, and sheep soup for the reception. Ben and his cousins will roast caribou ribs and fish over willow fires, and I have made sure guests will bring other food to share. It will be a time to visit and laugh and eat good food. I half jokingly refer to our wedding as "5 minute ceremony with 4 hours of eating afterwards." Very Inupiaq.

So if I dissapear for more than what seems normal I apologize! I am most likely swearing at needles and piles of fur, and wondering how I will house all of the guests!

Happy spring to you all.

More Jobs.

2010-04-04T14:43:00.002-08:00

More Jobs in the villages.

I begin this conversation hoping to stay a bit away from the political arenas....

I hear this a lot. Especially with Obama's decision concerning the Northern Seas. People want more jobs and they see the oil industry as a way to gain more job opportunities. They are willing to do anything for a job. A good paying stable job. Willing to risk natural resources, willing to risk the health of our greatest and healthiest food source. Some people are very verbal about how important these jobs are. Words filled with emotion spill from their mouths, in a weird mix of anger and helplessness. I can understand how hard it is to watch a loved one suffer because they have no job, watch their self esteem wither and then watch as job holding members of the family struggle to help them as much as possible. I know how many times a week someone calls to borrow money or gas or help. Jobs are important to this modern Inupiaq society, this is something that is accepted. But what does that mean?

I have a few thoughts though on this dilemma. And I have a feeling people are not seeing the issue at it's roots, and instead are concentrating on the very bright and fluffy plant above ground. Since it is very bright and fluffy.

First I wonder how many jobs did the oil industry already create on the North Slope? How many of our villagers benefit from their business? How many people young strong people hold permanent healthy happy jobs to support their families? Are these jobs in the villages? I do know a few people. Granted my sampling of the population is probably not the best sample, they are all around my age, with families. But I do know from talking with them that they are not happy. They leave the village and work for a few weeks, then come back to the village for a few weeks. They travel alot. They know everything about phone plans. They miss their youngest child's first steps. They look tired and haggard, and many find too much solace in drinking in the cities. It's not a life built for Inupiaq people, with Inupiaq souls. I know surprisingly few of these Inu-work-nomads. Less than I would think I would know if there were hundreds employed on the Oil Rez. And I am talking about the permanent jobs, with benefits and solid pay. The ones that last for infinite years and not short 2 month -2 years surveys or environmental studies. How many jobs at the Prudhoe Bay are held by North Slope residents permanently? How many of these jobs, if any, are actually in the villages themselves?

Second I wonder how many jobs in the villages are there? I always find it interesting that when people talk about needing jobs in the villages they seem to focus only on certain types of jobs. Such as physical labor intensive or temporary jobs. Why is it that as a people we automatically reduce our worth in the job market? Who decided to place a limit on what we are capable of? Why is it that we are blind to the jobs like teaching and management? Why can't we be the lawyer that comes to the village once a month and gets $24,000 for three days of paperwork? Or the vet tech? or the Computer guy? I always found it an odd and debilitating characteristic that Inupiaqs do not imagine themselves as being confident and capable and educated. I could imagine that if each village had two lawyers they would both be employed for the rest of their lives, and not only that but be a great asset to the community. And if you are in the field of accounting beware, you will be wooed and plied with massive amounts of money, especially if you live in a village.

Third I wonder what might be the real issue that is keeping villagers from getting jobs. I have a sneaking suspicion it has to do with education. With training. With qualifications. With thick white paper with golden seals stamped on them. And has nothing to do with the availability of the jobs.

I know you guys have heard me talk about education before, about how it's like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. But let's say that there are people in the villages that honestly want a job, and are willing to do pretty much anything to obtain it. Are willing to possibly risk their heritage for it. What is stopping them from picking a job in the village, that is not held by a villager already, and sacrificing two years time to gain that job?

I have a degree in Studio Art, a half degree in Marine Biology, and a half Masters in Education. I was not a perfect student. I found early on that my education would be based on enjoyability and availability, which oddly enough included a massive amount of courses in tai chi and philosophy, and I got kicked out of college after my first year for bad attendance and thus failing grades. My record is peppered with F's and D's. In the Lower 48 I'm not very valuable as a future employee. I could probably get my old job at a vet hospital cleaning out dog poo if I really needed it. But here in rural Alaska on the North Slope I am GOLD.

Why? Because .....eventually....I did finish college and got a degree. I got my act together and got my GPA up. I worked my butt off and found ways to be good at stuff. College is very good for a few things: it teaches you about self motivation and commitment to a task for a set period of time, It fills your head with basic knowledge and skills like computer skills/english/math/ and making strangers understand your ideas just by you talking, it teaches you how to be self reliant if need be with research skills and confidence. I can't remember half ...or even a quarter...of what I learned in college, but I do contain pathways and basics. And this is what people see and hear when I tell them I have a degree. I have been offered as many jobs in as many villages as you can imagine, everything from political seats to secretaries, to managers, to grant organizers. Many of those jobs I do not have ANY experience in, but they know that because I hold a degree I would at least know where to start, that the process of education has wrought in me the western abilities needed to deal with the western tasks.

Add to this issue the heartbreaking numbers of village kids graduating from high school on the North Slope, something like 50% a year, and the numbers of people capable of qualifying for jobs is cut even further. Pushing them further and further away from future employment. How many jobs do you know do not require a high school degree at the very least?

So if people are willing to risk so much for jobs, why aren't they willing to take a few years to get a degree and secure a good stable job? What is really going on? And what has been sacrificed in this dilemma, and what WILL be sacrificed in the future?

I do commend the efforts of a few organizations and individuals that are valiantly trying to battle this dark and mostly invisible beast. But they do so with very little financial support and they also fight daily for every single step they take in the right direction. And most times they do not have the support of the People. But in their eyes I see hope. Hope fueled by a pride in their heritage and belief in the abilities of our People. Which I think in the end, is what is missing in the development plans of the 23 oil companies sitting on the North Slope. They do not see an Inupiaq child and plan on how they will keep him employed and happy and healthy for 50 years.

Lessons....Part 2

2010-03-23T11:52:00.002-08:00

We had a day of lessons.

It started with me finally sitting down to work on the caribou leg skins for Ben's wedding boots. His beautiful mother passed away years ago, and one of the things that was put in storage was a pile of her carefully dried caribou leg skins. I thought it would be fitting to have something of her at our wedding, so I will be attempting to make a set of fancy calf length caribou skin boots. But first they have to be scraped and softened to a cloth-like consistency.

Another beautiful person came over and helped me work on them. She brought her mothers set so that we could see the pattern and compare the pieces that were used. The best skins are gathered in the fall harvest, because the skin is thick and less likely to tear. The front legs are cut on the front and split to the hoof, the back legs are split on the back. Four legs are needed for each boot. I will be adding a band of dark wolverine to the top of the boot, then another band of complicated dark and light pieces of calf skin sewn together to make a pattern (that you can see on the right bottom of the photo) which gives a hint to whose family he comes from and the region he comes from. The bottom in this case will be made in the Nunamiut way, using thick winter caribou skin.

But first the hard work of preparing the skins. We scrape them using a semi-sharp blade with a wooden handle. It has to be done carefully so that the skin does not tear, and care is taken to moisten and stretch the skins to make them wider.

Rarely did we chat about what were doing. Instead we passed the finished boot between us, taking care to examine shape, hair direction and flexibility. Inupiaqs like to know what the goal is. We did talk about the caribou a bit, told stories about other caribou skin clothing and stories about caribou habits and tools and places with caribou. I learned a lot in the Inupiaq way, by watching and making mistakes.

Some things I learned:

1. Oddly enough your non-dominant hand goes sore and weak first.

2. You can always patch up the rips later, there is never any permanent mistakes.

3. You can make dried skin stretch in any direction with enough patience and the right amount of moisture.

4. My dog will eat the scrapings of caribou skin.

5. Scraping skin must have been a daily routine back in the day.

6. Funny stories make good trade for info and also make the time go faster.

7. A pair of boots can take years to make, from the harvesting of the animal to the finished product, but the boots can last for generations and teach generations for decades after that....as long as you replace the bottoms once in a while.

8. There are always going to be new stitches you can learn.

Ben caught another wolf earlier that day. A big black male trotting close to town. We had seen this male before. He was the one that sat across the road and stared at my female dog while she was in heat. He was also the one spotted running around the outskirts of the village. He was left alone for the most part as most will not kill a wolf till their hide is usable.

Ben left on a ride to test a part on his snow machine, and just like any Inupiaq he strapped his rifle across his chest...."just in case." He carried the carcass home across his lap as he did not think he would need a sled for a test drive. I heard the snow machine pull up to our house, and then when he didn't come in I went outside to see five or size people admiring his catch.

It is a very wonderful gift from the universe, to be given an opportunity to bring home something useful and valued and loved. To have your bullet strike true. To have been there at the right time, in the right place. To have the right tool with you. To have thought to drive up on a rise to check the surrounding landscape for animals. To have it be the right time of year when the fur is thick and strong. To know the behavior of the animal enough to know what direction it would go and what it was doing. To have your snow machine be in good shape to catch up with the animal in the distance, and to have enough money to afford the gas. To be healthy enough to handle the ride and then healthy enough to run the last of the distance. To be trained enough to be able to hold still enough to shoot while your heart is beating out of your chest and your breathing is labored. Sometimes people do not understand why we shout in joy when we are blessed with a gift of a life taken cleanly. How much work and money and training and knowledge and luck goes into it. It is the ultimate sign of respect to the animal to acknowledge how much work went into capturing it, that it was not easy. And our type of luck includes knowing that the animals can deny us of their favor at any moment, and that ultimately they are in control of their gifts. And that also the universe can deny us of one tiny favor/piece so that we are denied a good outcome.

So many lessons to be learned.....

Two young boys stopped by to admire the catch, and to drop off a gift to the woman helping me. The stared with wide eyes at the wolf, as they had never seen one up close before. They asked if they could help Ben. He smiled and passed out the rubber gloves, and then more lessons came. The boys pulled and stretched the wolf and watched as Ben made the cuts, oohing and ahhing the whole time. Once in a while one would yell an observation! so excited that they saw something or learned something new. Ben rarely said much, instead he showed them what he knew, with gestures and demonstrations. I sat and scraped skins and giggled at the comments the boys were making, because they were amazed at everything. Ben would make comment about the wolf, his habits, why he was built the way he was built, and what was the same and different about us and the wolf.

Learning can happen in an instant....and yes you can actually enjoy it and the process....

Shame is a learned attribute....

2010-03-18T13:20:00.001-08:00

When I moved to Northern California for college I brought no mementoes of my culture. No pictures, no handmade clothing, I took care to avoid mentioning where I was from. When people assumed I was Asian I was happy to let them think it, because Asians were smart and clean. My dorm room was bare of my cultural past, the village was scrubbed from my skin. For months I got away with it.

Eventually I did have a lichen flavored epiphany, and through a different kind of birth I emerged to love 90% of my being. There were a lot of tears and a lot of pain and for a while I was ashamed not of my heritage but of my denial of my heritage. I will live the rest of my life in finding the fragile forgiveness of my ancestors.

But after a while I began examining where this burning self hate came from. I looked into my past and the influences that made me who I was. I looked at each and every thought and prayer and hope I held next to my heart. The examination took years.

Be careful of the ears that hear your judgements. Be careful that your words or actions do not plant poison in younger minds.

I grew up hearing from people that I spent the most time with everyday tell me that my beloved home and my brown skin were less. That the things I could not change about myself were things to be ashamed of. I don't think they did it on purpose. I instead think they thought thy were imparting us with great guidance and wisdom, hoping that these revelations would dispel laziness and uncaring. A twisted motivator.

I write this not to be vindictive, but I do write to make someone, at least one person I hope, aware. I am angry about my experiences, but that anger is surrounded by tears and pain. I still work to untangle the tangled unmapped threads.

And yes I am talking about teachers. The teachers that work in the villages. I do want to point out that not all teachers are bad or are doing badly. But there were a few in my life that did damage to me and others. They wove cruel words into our daily diet. With statements like "if you do well in this class you can get a good grade, go to college and get out of this place." Or comments about animal smells, dirty environments, or how they REALLY can't wait to leave this dreadful/lonely/isolated/cold/desolate place and go to a REAL place with theaters and bowling alleys and things to do. I grew up hearing these offhand comments. I grew up watching teachers snort at and judge kids that had bad attendance, even though everyone else knew it was because the kid was hunting/camping/fishing/being Inupiaq. They deemed them "behind" and "slow", and so we learned early that being Inupiaq meant that the smartest people in the world thought you were dumb, and they would separate you from the rest of the kids and spend more time with you and speak slowly like you lost some brain cells. Of course we all thought these teachers all knew. And we learned that Most teaches did not enjoy your home. That they thought it was dirty or boring and they all left when they could, running from the village like it was on fire.

It was like someone walked into your house, a house your family has owned for generations, with a degree in Awesome Homes Authority and a clipboard full of official papers. And then they proceeded to write everything they thought was wrong with your house. Not just the broken things or the missing things but the fact they hated your choice in furniture and the curtains were not the right color, and there were not enough rooms or things that they deemed necessary for you to be happy. They wrote it all down, and even thought you did not see the list....you could still hear them and see them.....

I think the easiest way to ear the respect of a village as an out of town teacher is to stay a little bit for the summer, or the winter Christmas celebrations, voluntarily. Though we can't always hope that everyone will absolutely adore our culture and villages, we can at least hope that they don't openly hate them. I still think that they need to offer a "inupiaq Manners" course for new teachers, as with any cultural interactions there are differences in mannerisms and nuances that cause many a issue.

The tragic part is that people think that all of these issues only existed in the past, that no teachers are guilty of any of these things anymore. But it would surprise most to find that it still exists rampantly. There are organizations and people working hard to incorporate and raise Inupiaq knowledge and attributes to the same heights as Western knowledge but it will be a long term battle. As a teacher I was once asked by another teacher how I " can pretend to be so Inupiaq with my education and fit in with them after work."

.....and how many of your children remark that they find the village boring and Native and lame and that they can't wait till they get out of there?.....

Facebook fan page

2010-03-07T20:09:00.002-09:00

I now have a fan page where I will keeping updated with all my 2d and 3d artwork.

Just search for Alaskan Native Artist - Nasuġraq Rainey Higbee

Preserves....

2010-03-06T12:02:00.002-09:00

My culture is not a fruit. You cannot preserve it.

Preservation is a word to use when you want to separate something from human contamination. Because you touch, it will die or deteriorate. Culture is only alive when it is rolling in human contamination. In fact you can say that Culture is the beauty and art of human contamination.

My Culture is not a national forrest. You cannot separate it from us and hope it stays alive.

I don't want my culture to be a hallway of objects and handwritten notes encased in glass and monitored temperature and humidity. I don't want my culture to be drawers of unknown and badly documented tapes and videos. I don't want my culture to be faded pictures hastily scanned and stored in huge museum databases. That stuff is for cultures and people have that died a long time ago, all that is left of them is myths and stories and campfire tears.

We have to move away from using words and ideas like "preserving" a culture. Because it implies that it is already dead and gone. That it is no longer viable or useful or needed. That all that is left is the trash and forgotten pieces. By using those type of words we are taking a scalpel and slowly identifying and removing those vitals organs that make a culture survive and live.

By using those words and taking those actions we are denying our culture to those who have inherited it. We are denying them the praise and recognition for their hard work in actually living the culture. Breathing the culture. Rejoicing in it's beauty. We tell them that they could never be a real Inupiaq. A real and breathing Inupiaq. Because the real Inupiaqs are dying off and must be preserved. And once they are gone our culture will not exist. At least that is what we tell our hardworking young people.

Millions of dollars have been spent on "preserving" my culture. On recordings, on photos, on videos people have been scrambling to capture as much as possible. But they spend very little money on actually keeping the culture alive. They spend hours talking with and recording elders, instead of helping young people connect with these same elders and ask questions of these same elders.

In a way we have created the generation gap. The miscommunication. The mistrust. The hesitation. We placed an elder in one room and a young person in another and made it only possible to interact through technology. Through dvd's. Through cd's. We have denied children the experience of learning from the elders as human beings instead of demi-gods. Of learning what respect means. Of learning the why of the knowledge, instead of just the how.

We have forgotten how to teach our young ones how to learn and love and have self esteem. We forgot to teach them that they are important too. That they are the only ones that can breathe Life into the old dusty museum pieces.....

The Odd dream.....

2010-02-27T14:42:00.004-09:00

Last night you appeared again in my dreams

Your hands are wrinkled with time and blood

Your eyes black depths of forever, dusted with pain

You smell of old skins and black seal oil dust

How can I smell in dreams?

You hold a stained wooden bowl in your hands

the rim is chipped with use and endless travel

The seal oil lamp made it's surface dance and writhe

The taste of molten copper colors my vision

How can I remember every detail?

Again you speak liquid words

Again I do not understand the confusion

Again I watch your dry cracked lips move in silent vows

Again you dip your fingers in the bowl

How can all this happen again and again?

Your fingers come up covered in blood

Not human blood, not animal blood

It clings to your parched skin in an odd way

You reach across the bowl and brush your fingers across my lips

How come I always feel so sad after this dream?

I am always afraid to lick my lips

Not because of what it might actually be

But for the unknowns it places on my soul

but I always end up swallowing the sickly sweet and violent liquid

How come I can always remember what it tastes like?

You smile you smile you smile you smile

And then you are just an old woman again

An old woman I do not know

An old woman with with an old bowl in an old sod house

Why do I always wake up crying?

"Brown Bear Sleeps" New drawing. Prints and Original up for sale in my 2d store.

Lessons....

2010-02-22T12:50:00.000-09:00

I haven't done much since my last post. I thought alot. I wrote some notes down. Maybe later today I will share them with you all. I find that this blog is a mixture of things. Of my thoughts. Of my thought process. And of my life.

Today I will give you a snapshot of one of my days.

My other half works all week. Then he takes most of the weekend to check traps or to hunt. Sometimes he takes the hours after work also to check traps and to hunt. So I rarely get to spend time with him during the winter. I am a bit of a wuss you see. I refuse to go out with him into the wilderness when it's so cold that you can spit and it will freeze before it hits the ground. So during the deep winter, I rarely see him besides the normal meals and working on skins or repairing gear. This weekend he gave me a day. Sunday. I told him since it was warm enough that we should go for a ride. Go down south to see the trees, make some tea. In no time flat we were ready to go, and we were lucky to have people come with us! Three awesome women. One of which was the elder that showed me how to cut and sew isigviks (ruffs). We left while it was warm and overcast. The mountains pulled the fog around them like a warm blanket. Sounds were muffled. Ptarmigan would surprise us once in a while, exploding from bushes, and because of the weather they would "suddenly" appear and dive across our vision like white feathered missiles. I wore my heavy gear. And I had to be careful not to sweat because it was quite warm.

Here am I in my gear. They insisted I take pictures of myself. I was embarrassed to see how GIGANTIC my ruff was. It was a gift from my Fiance. A luxurious Russian raccoon pelt. I briefly thought about taking it off and thinning it, but it IS extremely warm and efficient at keeping the cold at bay. As you can see, my parka is not a very feminine one. In fact it looks exactly like my other half's parka. No trim, no pretty, except for the occasional blood or oil stain that won't come off. This parka is also used as the "extra" parka, so when Ben takes younger guys out hunting they borrow it. I do not think they would appreciate it if I added some pretty to it.

Here is the elder that has taught me so much. I want to be like her when I grow up.

A couple of hours ride later we made it to the trees, built a fire and made tea. We shared a meal of raw frozen caribou, muktuk (whale skin and blubber), crackers, and silly stories of younger days. I learned about this area, about whose cabins were there, what they use the area for, and names of places. While we chatted a huge hawk of some sort flitted from tree to tree. Looking for rabbit or ptarmigan I'm sure. The fog turned to a light snow. I noticed our food bag filling with powdered snow. The elder of course had pulled out a plastic cover and placed it over her bag. Now I know to always carry plastic. And then we went looking for Inupiaq cough drops.....

I followed them up a steep and heavily snow covered hill. Our steps were slow. She pointed at a certain bush. Showed me what to look for when I need a handle for a scraper. I learned what plants will dye a skin red.

When she found a good tree she took out her hatchet and chopped strips of the bark. Then she carefully picked the dark outer bark off. You chew the thin white layer underneath like gum, it helps with coughing. She chatted about other uses of the these particular trees sap. I tried my best to burn all that knowledge into my brain. Today I was a very, very lucky girl.

My mother died when I was young. I have vague memories of her showing me plants and their uses. Often I will remember what the plants looked like, but not their names. So this was an especially wonderful treat for me. The two women talked and pointed. Shared stories about how they would spend hours looking for sap and trees. It felt like a balm for a wound I did not know existed.....

Wolf umalik.....

2010-02-16T11:34:00.000-09:00

Too much has happened recently to write about all of it much. I'm sitting at home, sore from head to toe. I forget that I haven't driven a snowmachine for more than a few miles since last winter. So when Ben asked if I wanted to go with them on a caribou hunting trip, and the weather was perfect, I quickly volunteered....forgetting. It's amazing what a 8+ hour drive will do to a body.

We got 5 caribou. Which sounds like alot till you realize that we were hunting for 5 households. We kept some for ourselves, since we are down to about 1 pound of caribou meat. The lowest we have been in years. I take a camera with me wherever I go, but I don't always get an opportunity to take pictures. We rarely go on "pleasure" trips, so there is very few breaks, and sightseeing is reduced to quick snatches of awe when you can look away from the trail for a second and hope you don't embarrass yourself by crashing.

I did take a couple while waiting for the guys to finish getting into position to shoot the caribou. I myself don't shoot as I am "cock eyed", which means I am right hand dominant and left eye dominant, and I have never really learned to conquer open sight rifles. So I waited. And took pictures.

Later we made a fire and cooked fresh caribou ribs over it. The moon showed up like a slice of fire. Later the stars made an entrance. With our snowmachines turned off....it felt like we were covered by a dark bowl of sparkling diamonds.

Other big news. My other half caught a gigantic wolf. In the photo below you can get a sense of it's size. He is about 6 foot 2 inches with the boots on. We give away about 60% of our prized furs, our best furs , for a prayer, or a blessing, to people who need them the most. We keep only what we need ourselves. Apparently someone heard them. Not only did we get two wolves in one trap, but we were blessed with a soldier. The men say that every pack has at least 2 or 3 of these gigantic wolves in them. They are the old ones. The smart ones. The wolves that chase prey down first and slow them enough for the rest of the pack to catch up and latch on. But they are very elusive.

We will keep him for ourselves. And give him a place of honor in our home.

Thank you very much cammilroy and debmilroy! Your boxes made it to me. Your kindness and generosity will be blessed!

Sore fingers....Happy food.....

2010-02-06T21:00:00.000-09:00

Yesterday I made a Inupiaq feast.

Ben asked his brother and his family, and one of his sisters to come and eat at our home. He knows I love cooking. Cooking is another form Art in my opinion. The senses react to smell and taste just like the eyes react to color and form.

But this time I made an Inupiaq feast. Which is not really about cooking, but is all about timing. I did make a large pot of my famous caribou soup, rich with subtle flavors and old timey secrets. I also added larger chunks of meat to cook in the soup and absorb the flavors. Once the meat cooled it made for good dipping in seal oil.

An Inupiaq feast is more than food. It's a time to chat. To laugh. To catch up on things. To admire the food. Our food can take a very long time to get to the table. For example the "kiniqtaq", or dried seal meat soaked in seal oil, starts in the spring. The seals are hunted, giant bearded seals, sleek and quick amongst the floating seal ice. We would stay up for days sometimes, only returning home because we ran out of gas. They are alot of work. Their meat is cut then hung to dry and here care is taken to keep scavengers at bay, to keep it from getting wet when it rains, and to protect it from dust so that you don't get an unwelcome "crunch." When it's just dry enough it's soaked in the oil that is rendered from the fat of the seal in 5 gallon buckets or wooden barrels. And from there it's split into smaller buckets and gifted or traded. We are lucky enough to know a woman who mixes tundra greens with her kiniqtaq, which adds a sweetness and a freshness to the mix. It stays frozen for weeks, sometimes months....

Boiled caribou meat, frozen whale muktuk, and kiniqtaq

Whale muktuk (which is the skin and blubber of the bowhead whale) another time consuming and wonderful food. Practically the center of our culture.

Our nephew. Me and Ben got our weekly baby fix.

Today I worked on wolf skins. It has taken the last week and a half to tan three of the hides. Add another few days to scrape and work them into buttery soft and clean pelts. Today we went and visited an elder who taught us how to cut the skins into parka ruffs. I had seen it done before so I knew what to expect, but Ben was lost half way through and was muttering about "too many pieces" for a couple of hours afterwards.

I enjoyed visiting with her immensely. She giggled like a little girl as she gestured and measured and cut the skin. I was also tickled that even though she spoke half in Inupiaq and half in English I understood her perfectly. I think my ear is getting better at understanding the dialect here. She told us stories as she worked. Told us about places that she traveled, about how to make a fancy "sunshine" ruffs that made a woman look beautiful, and about what she thought of those whose ruffs were too wide.

I finished two ruffs today, and I hope to finish a couple more tomorrow. We will sell a few and gift the rest.

I should not have worn a black fleece vest. As it is now covered in wolf fluff.

The back of the ruff showing the many pieces that are involved.

The front.

The sun has become noticeable

2010-02-02T15:06:00.000-09:00

The sun is finally peeking over our great mountains here in Anaktuvuk Pass.

It's quite shy. It's not quite awake yet. It stretches it's arms once in a while, and touches our bare faces with cool fingers. And then it's gone again.

I have almost forgotten what it feels like to be in the sunlight. Aapa Winter has completely dominated the land in his gruff and tough love. I have gotten used to wearing down snowpants and my heavy hunting parka. I have gotten used of wearing layers and gloves and heavy face masks. I have gotten used to checking the dogs feet for cuts and broken nails. I have gotten used to seeing the mountains wearing white parkas dappled with tiny floral patterns in gray.

Winter has it's own beauty in the arctic. It's a painful beauty. A dangerous beauty. It makes you aware. It makes you remember. You remember what frost bite feels like. You remember how to look for tiny holes in your face mask. You remember to never sweat. You remember to change your sheets to flannel and take out your heavy blankets. You remember first and foremost that this winter world can easily take lives.

This time of year is dangerous for hunters. My other half leaves a few times a week to check trap lines, to search for caribou, and it also the time of year we women worry the most. I check his supplies often. Plan for the worst. PLB, first aid, canvas tent, duel fuel stove, extra clothes, flares, high calorie food to last for days, everything you would need if something went wrong. So far the search and rescue has left to find him once already. He was 5 hours overdue. Later we found it was because of a broken sled. But I don't sleep till he comes home and is warm and checked over for frost bite. In the old days the women would hang a pair of the mens boots from their strings, and if they kept moving then the men were still alive, and still trying to come home. I'm too afraid to hang his boots.

But the sun is coming back. And the knots in my shoulders are coming untied.

Yesterday I sat in the house, carefully scraping the membrane from a wolf skin. So far this winter we have been blessed with five wolves. With seven red foxes. With one wolverine. It's hard to explain the wealth this brings to mind and body and soul. Most people just see dead animals. We see wealth. We see parka ruffs. We see gifts to family. We see parka trim. We see materials to ward against the unimaginable cold. We see Natures way of providing us with the best to survive. We see protection. We see Inupiaq wealth, which is measured in usefulness and not green smelly money.

It's not as easy as it looks either. We spend at least a hundred fifty dollars a week to be able to even sustain this type of life. And most weeks we gain nothing. Most weeks there is no pay back. but I live with a very lucky man. A very good man. A man they say attracts the animals with his generosity. With his humility. With his willingness to give more than half of his catch to those who need it. With his kind heart and kind words. This is the old way. A way we try our hardest to uphold. It's both simple and complicated but extremely rewarding life.

The sun is coming back.

my studio where I work and type at people.

2010-01-31T14:17:00.001-09:00

The elephant in the room.

More like the polar bear in the tent. A pink polar bear. With satanic symbols burned into it's fur. This is how we view mental illness in our culture. No one will discuss the beast. No one wants to even discuss wether it exists or not. People rush to convince you that it does not exist, that the best way to make it go away is to ignore it, give it different names, pray.

In the mean time, it is eating our children. One by one.

Just thinking about this topic makes me uncomfortable. I guess that's why I am writing about it now. Because I am fascinated by the uncomfortable. I am fascinated by why something becomes uncomfortable, how it's born, how it's grown, how it's fostered and cared for. It doesn't just show up over night. Not this type of "uncomfortable."

I guess it's because I know quite a few people that suffer from mental illness. I know quite a few people that have killed themselves, or attempted to kill themselves. I know quite a few people that suffer in silence. I watched as their attempts at calling attention to their illness or depression is smothered and hidden and painted in shame. It's something I don't really know how to deal with in others, I don't possess the tools.

Where are these tools? And why are they gone?

As an old culture I know we had a way to deal with mental illness, every culture has a way to deal with them, just as every culture has a way to deal with illness. So what happened to ours? Why is there a big gap that keeps swallowing our people whole? I know when the missionaries came they came with several hats. Doctor, priest, teacher. I know they told us as we watched our loved ones die from disease that it was because of our lack of faith in God that helped the disaster happen. Maybe, just maybe, we inherited a misunderstanding. Maybe we inherited that shame in our souls. A shame that was planted by opportunity....

Before anyone gets started, no I am not anti-Christianity. Quite the opposite really. I am very religious. I never attend church because I feel we are always at church, worshipping God. It's a very odd way to worship, but it works in my mind. I also believe that religion is a double sided coin. It's beautiful and creates a beautiful relationship with our Creator, but since it is humans that worship it is also flawed with many human things......including human error, and human flaws, and we know that the original missionaries made many mistakes, wether they meant to or not.

Back to the topic.

Mental illness.

Why won't anyone talk about it? Why don't we have a system in place to deal with these normal human ups and downs? I know from experience that if an alcoholic wants to get help and enter a program of any type they have to first be convicted of a major crime. That it has to be court ordered. And the same goes for those that suffer from severe mental illness. Where are the preventive measures? Where are the alternative cultural paths?

We leave these people to deal with it on their own. We abandon them to fight a war with bare hands. It hurts just thinking about it. I have seen the faces of the survivors, the confusion, the guilt, the mental pain. And we give them no tools to deal with it. We provide no way to deal with survivors guilt. We provide no tools to cope.

If we did then I would not feel uncomfortable talking about it. No one would feel uncomfortable talking about it. There would already be a system in place to provide several paths of healing. And that damned polar bear in the tent would not exist, eating our children.

I think he is glaring at me.

Ptarmigan tales......

2010-01-23T22:16:00.000-09:00

Ptarmigan.

The village is surrounded by ptarmigan. They fascinate me.

We went on another short ride today into the mountains. The dogs bounded around us, tongues steaming in the air, legs pumping vigorously to keep up with us in the deep snow. Today it hit a very warm 0 degrees (warm in comparison to or normal temps here!). It was a perfect day for a ride.

Ptarmigan.

They are such odd creatures. They perch in the willow bushes, furry heavily clawed feet gripping the swaying branches. They carefully nip the remaining willows buds from the skeletal remains of the plant. Their presence declares this land to be a rich land, as they are only found where food is abundant. And where they are abundant so are the predators.

I grew up in a place with a smaller amount of ptarmigan. They are there but not as numerous as they are here. I remember hiking in the mountains here and finding piles of ptarmigan feathers here and there, their gleaming white feathers high contrast to the earthy rich sod. Finally I thought to ask my other half what it was all about. He turned to me and in his "teaching" voice he declared...."they explode." And then he walked away. I sat there and blinked a few times. The image of a ptarmigan exploding in a burst of feathers and furry feet.

Later I got mad at him. But they REALLY look like they exploded. I would repeat this sage knowledge to children and they would always roll their eyes at me, not as gullible as I was.

He decided to get me a ptarmigan tonight. I had told him I always wanted to try to eat one. They were a huge staple in ancient diets, and I had never had the honor of actually trying them. He had a .22 pistol with him. He turned the snow-machine towards the willows, staying a good distance away from them. Some ravens huddled on the tundra noticed us and took flight, and soon we had a fan club high above us. They loved following humans as it almost always meant an easy meal.

It didn't take long to spot them. We saw a few white bobbing bodies high up in the brush. He parked the snow-machine, and turned it off. I clicked at the dogs to keep them from noticing our prey. In two shots he got one from 25 yards away. The other ptarmigan fled like hovercrafts across the icy ground. Of course they only went a few feet, they are not very smart birds and they cannot fly very far, so they rely on blending in with the snow for defense. It works well as long as they don't move. It took us a few minutes to find our fallen bird as he was very well camouflaged. The pups tried to steal the bird, more to play with it rather than to eat it I think. When they are hyper EVERYTHING looks like a toy.

We made it home and I started to pluck the bird. I learned something about them. They did not have the "normal" plumage. Actually they did but it was just for looks. Under the normal feathers were these incredibly dense and fluffy feathers, which acted a lot like fur. In a few minutes I had the fuzz in my eyes, up my nose and my shirt looked like it had sprouted mold. He laughed at my complaints of course, but to make me feel better he told me stories of growing up eating ptarmigans. They would have to pluck 20 at a time sometimes. He reached over and quickly removed the tail feathers in one handful. You always take those off first, he says. Why? No one told him why, but it was an ancient sign of respect that he always did.

We removed the sack on the chest that held all of the willow buds. The room filled with the smell of plants. He showed me how to clean and inflate it and hang it to dry. His mother would do that for them when they were kids, they used it as a balloon or if you left some of the willow buds to dry inside you could use it as a rattle.

He smiled a lot.

ptarmigan are such odd wonderful creatures.

It tasted like willows. An odd mix of plant and meat. I decided I liked it.

Their odd furry clawed feet

Can you spot the ptarmigan in this photo?

Very happy dogs.

The sun is slowly returning.