On gratitude, love, and a village

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful to be alone. And I don't mean it ironically, but most sincerely from the bottom of my heart. I am alone because I am fortunate. I am alone because I am loved enough for my family and friends to let me go off and reach my own stars. I am alone because I love my family and friends enough to be able to leave and come back, knowing I still have a home and a community.

I am thankful to be alone because it allows me to reflect on these things and realize that not only am I comfortable enough with myself to enjoy a Thanksgiving in solitude, but that I also have so much to be thankful for.

Yesterday was my long-anticipated trip to the native village of Shishmaref, located on a 3 sq. mi. island on the northern coast of the Seward Peninsula. It has a population of a little over 560 people, over 93% Alaska Native, and 52% youth. There is no running water except in the school and a couple public buildings; most water is derived from chunks of ice melting in big trash cans in peoples' homes and offices. I went to one of 2 little stores in the village, and found it stocked with a few nonperishables (including lots of sodas, processed foods, etc) and only a couple fresh produce items since food availability and shipments are inconsistent.

Upon arrival, we hurried around to various people and places trying to organize the day's scheduled meetings. Everyone was very friendly and welcoming. Eventually we ended up at the Shishmaref School and ran around between a high school classroom, the cafeteria where a Thanksgiving meal was being prepared for the village elders, and the principal's office to announce the meeting I was trying to organize with the youth. We let all the high school students know what I was doing and to meet me at 2pm in the Friendship Center in town to talk about their experiences at Serpentine Hot Springs. They seemed a little shy, but interested.

After all the kids and elders ate, we were given food from the school cafeteria -- a lunch tray of turkey, potatoes, bread, and peaches -- and then went to go set up for the meetings.

The Friendship Center

I was given use of the Friendship Center, a big building in slight disrepair being used mostly as storage and for meeting space. Two o'clock came and went, and I was still sitting in there alone. I wandered around, took pictures out the windows (didn't want to be too creepy) and doodled in my notebook. I decided by 3:30 I would start packing up.

View out the window

Shishmaref

More buildings

For some reason antlers were stacked on a lot of roofs

At about 3pm, I heard someone coming up the stairs outside. Glancing up, a pair of huge, almond-shaped eyes were staring at me through bottom corner of the window. I waved and the eyes creased into a smile, ducked out of view, and the door opened. A little girl about 6-years-old stood there. We exchanged greetings. 

"See my new snow pants??" She asked. They were neon pink. 

"I like those," I complimented enthusiastically.

"And my new boots? See? They have pockets." She showed me a little pocket on the outside of her snow boots. 

"What are you gonna keep in there?" I asked, to which she responded, "can we play games?"

"Um, how about we color?" I suggested, pushing crayons and a coloring page over to her. 

Over the course of the afternoon over nature coloring book pages, I learned her name was Angel, she was possibly in first grade (she wasn't sure), and she loved to spell everything. She asked lots of questions and we drew narwhals together (I convinced her they were underwater unicorns). 

Well, eventually my superintendent came in and we sent little Angel off, packed up, and went to go stay at a local's house until our plane arrived. There, we sat around at a kitchen table sipping coffee while our host baked pastries and everyone talked. I learned that a band of men had been sent out to go caribou hunting for the village Thanksgiving feast the next day, but none had returned yet. They talked about problems in the village, who was doing what, who was having babies, who was moving where. 

Eventually, the pilot called the house to ask us how much we each weighed, and said he'd be there by 6:30. Sure enough, he arrived at 6:28 in a big Beechcraft 1900, and we boarded with 2 other passengers bound for Nome. It was a cold flight (even bundled up in all my layers, hat, and gloves) and already pitch-black outside, but we made it back in record time. 

My own Thanksgiving feast

So today, it is with Shishmaref in mind, with family and friends, strangers and loved ones in my thoughts that I celebrate Thanksgiving, alone in body but not in spirit. I spent the day baking pumpkin bread, ham, mashed potatoes, and green beans, chatting with people through various forms of technology, watching the sun rise and set over a few short hours, and reflecting on life, love, and gratitude. 

If you're reading this, all I want to say is thank you, and I love you very, very much! Happy Thanksgiving!

Wintry Wanderings

I've actually managed to have an incredibly busy weekend, filled with lots of cooking, exploring, and fun with the few friends that are left in town. Today we headed out around 10:30 to drive and hike around the road that heads east out of town, and watched the sun rise over the almost-frozen Bering Sea.

Safety Sound bridge

It was ridiculously cold out, mainly because of the driving wind this far out from town. I'm going to wager to say the temperatures were definitely in the negatives, as my face and any exposed skin ached within minutes of being outside.

Sunrise

Last Train to Nowhere

You might remember my photos of the "Last Train to Nowhere" from over the summer. Well, a lot can change in 5 months! This abandoned railway is now frozen into the very ground that was so swampy and mosquito-y back in June.

Playing with sunlight

Another place we stopped was Skookum Pass, one of the highest points on the road at around 1200 feet. From here, you can see to the Bering Sea and just miles upon miles of rolling tundra.

View of the Sea

"Chopping" it down with a pocket knife

We went as far as we could out on the road until it got too snowy and treacherous to proceed. We got far enough to the point where there are actually small conifers growing here and there, so we took a quick pit stop to harvest a tiny little one as a Christmas tree that we'll decorate later this week.

Tiny tree-chopping action

It was a long day, with the amount of time it took to drive out and back, but good to get out after being confined to town for so long and a nice release from some of the recent stress at work. Hopefully this week will be just as good, taking it one day at a time, and trying to look forward to my first solo Thanksgiving (can't wait to Facetime in with the fam!).

Long overdue update

Yikes, I just took a look at the blog and realized it's been almost 2 weeks since my last post! Unfortunately that's mainly due to the fact that I haven't done anything that I think would be of interest to you, but I figure I owe whoever reads this an update anyhow.

It hasn't snowed at all since the first couple snow storms back in, say, October? But the temperature continues to plunge, freezing the old snow piles into rock hard banks along the roadsides and slick ice covers the streets causing people and cars to slide around at every intersection (it can be quite entertaining). Last night I experienced my first negative temperatures at -2 degrees F. It wasn't too bad, but then again, I wasn't outside for that long.

Work has had its ups and downs. Most days it's rather mundane, routine, and slow; other days, there are  simply not enough hours to get everything done, but so it goes. The trip plan for Shishmaref continues to change on a near daily basis -- as of right now, it's been moved ahead one day and I won't be staying overnight (since the next day is Thanksgiving). This actually took a surprising amount of pressure off me, but speaking with my contact in the village yesterday brought some of that pressure back because it sounded like there really wasn't a solid plan or understanding of what I'm doing over there, despite that I've been told otherwise. We'll see. At any rate, I have to admit I'm glad I'll hopefully be back here for Thanksgiving.

With regard to my "month of solitude" out here, it hasn't been too bad either. The first week was a little rough, just because work was slow, the internet was down half the time, and I hadn't really found a good state of mind to be in. Once I sort of came to terms with it though, I did my best to stay busy and distracted. I watched movies, wrote letters, did some artwork, read a lot, worked out, went to swing dance lessons, took walks on the beach, and searched for future jobs.

And so continues my life out here. I have more to post about, but somehow I keep lacking the motivation or words to actually get it up here so that'll just have to wait. For now, enjoy some Alaska-inspired artwork (some of these are from a few months ago):

Bears with weird-looking northern lights

Prehistoric woolly mammoth

Prehistoric American lion

Whimsical muskox

Caribou

Alapaa! (It's cold!)

The colder it gets, the more Alaskan I'm beginning to feel. That's not to say I'm "becoming" Alaskan, but this place is definitely beginning to fill more of the stereotypes than it even did in the summer. As winter moves in, most of the summer seasonal visitors have moved out and Nome seems to be taking on a more rural, bush town-like vibe. Most of the people I see now are the year-round Nomeites and villagers, all wearing their beautiful fur parkas and colorful kuspuks, though some of the kids are still running around in shorts.

As I mentioned in my last post, this weekend I had the opportunity to go to a Pamyua concert. It was great fun, with an odd mix of traditional Inupiaq and Yupik song combined with modern jazz, reggae, and world music. As a fun bonus, I also happened to win a copy of their newest album as a door prize! Here are a few clips I recorded on my iPod during the concert:



Starting this week, I will be the only seasonal staff left here for the rest of the month, so for the most part I'll be living and working relatively alone. I suppose I'm feeling a little apprehensive about this, but it shouldn't be too bad.

In a couple weeks, they want to send me to the village of Shishmaref to interview the students about Serpentine. It should be a great experience, but again, a little apprehensive about doing it alone, and feeling a little unsure about my exact assignment and their expectations of what exactly I am to do there. I'm supposed to stay overnight by myself, and it was mentioned that I should bring my own food because they'll only have "Eskimo food." Sounds great to me! I'll be prepared, but I'm totally going to try the local cuisine if I have the opportunity! The plan is so up in the air though, it's a little nerve-wracking and possible that I won't even get to go. So I'm a little torn -- my inner-anthropologist is chomping at the bit to become more acquainted with the local culture, yet the introverted part of me is quietly freaking out about the vagueness of this ordeal.

In the meantime, I'm trying to just take one day at a time. Today, that involved going down to the beach to watch the sunrise at 10am. Coldest temperatures I've experienced yet, at 2 degrees F. It wasn't bad at all, wearing Smartwool socks, thermal base layers, jeans, rain pants, and my down jacket, but after about 45 minutes my toes and nose completely numb. Also my hair froze, since I had just taken a shower.

Nonetheless, totally worth it for some great sunrise shots over the forming sea ice.