My family ties got a little broader and tighter this past week. I got a chance to meet my mother’s sister’s son’s grandchildren. Our family has relatives far-flung all over these United States. It was not a conscious decision for my mother’s family to disperse in all directions from the Aleutian Islands. It was, instead, due to a forced evacuation of all Native peoples from the islands during World War II. My mother’s older sister Myrtle ended up being sent to her military husband’s family in the deep south. After the war, they eventually ended up settling in Nevada and raising 3 children. The kids had several chances to visit as they were growing up and these visits stuck like glue in the mind of the oldest son. He made several trips as an adult, once with one of his children. Several other times with his wife. The time before this trip, to spread some of his mother’s ashes in the family plot, to be reunited with her mother, father, and brothers and sisters who had preceded her in passing.
On one of these trips, he was in Unalaska during the time that our Traditional Knowledge summer camp was taking place. From that experience sprang the seeds of an idea to have his grandchildren experience their roots and learn about their indigenous culture.
Dennis and his two granddaughters arrived the day before camp began on a day with the fog hanging halfway down the mountains and after having spent two hours in Cold Bay, Alaska waiting for fuel. They were unfortunate to land in Cold Bay after 2 Japanese military planes had emptied the fuel trucks of all fuel. Two of his children were to arrive three days later. His daughter, the mother of the girls, and his son, both of whom had never been here before. They had the true Aleutian experience of flying to the point of being directly overhead, and turning around to return to Anchorage because they couldn’t find the airport in the fog. Well….not a true Aleutian experience because they actually made it onto a flight the next day and landed.
Oh the girls had an experience like no other. The fish – baked, smoked, made into lox. The octopus. The fish pie. The sea lion. Learning to weave. Making masks. Learning some Unangam tunuu, the Aleut language. Songs and dance. And the son and daughter? Hiking some of the trails made by their ancestors some 8,000 years before. Climbing above the clouds and watching the landscape and village magically appear as the clouds dissolved.
But the real magic was in the sharing of family and history. Seeing the bonds forged between a great, great aunt and great, great nieces; between great aunts and great niece and great nephew; between cousins and second cousins, and beyond. The magic of feeling a kinship with virtual strangers. The real magic was in the wistful expressions on the day of departure. The strange pulling at the heart strings that the islands give to people who come here with their hearts wide open. Yes. And the promise of returning again someday.
Front Beach, Unalaska, Alaska.
In the throes of summer, where temps range from the low 40’s to the mid 60’s, time flies by. It is a perfect time when the seas are just right, the clouds are high and scattered, the sun is shining, and the fish are running. The grass is lush and green and wildflowers are full of bumblebees. A spellbinding moment in time when the “other half” is patient and peaceful. These are the times that I think of how my friend Tiny remarks on Unalaska’s spectacular beauty and how he believes that heaven is a local call. He is so absolutely correct.
This is what I am hoping for on Sunday morning. Clear blue skies with just enough of a breeze to give an airplane good lift so that our luggage will not be left behind due to weight and balance. I am taking off for about two weeks. Going to brave the frantic pace of the lower 48. Crowded airports, milling crowds….traffic. I also will get to see my sisters, so that, in itself, makes it all worthwhile. I’m packed. A novelty for me as I usually am packing the morning of my flight….that must be where my daughter learned the habit.
That is an airplane in the photo, by the way, on final approach. Not a bird. It is a Saab turbo prop with 30 seats. Typically it takes about 3 hours to Anchorage where we will switch to a jet. We can hope for a tailwind, in which case we may make it in 2 hours and 40 minutes or so. If it is a rocking and rolling takeoff, I’m at least hoping that I will be granted a tailwind aloft.
I’ll be checking out all your blogs while I am gone, but am only taking my Kindle Fire, so no posts for me. I guess you can say I will be on vacation.
Drenching rain, trying to come down as snow.
March, April, and May can be the most vexing months especially during the last few years when nothing that was before seems to be happening now. Last year we had our last snow on May 31st. Now as I glance over at the window, instead of just rain plastering the window, I see it has changed to lumpy rain. I guess you would call it sleet. The rain has been doing the job of melting mounds and mounds of snow, and opening up the wild landscaping to the previous fall’s compressed, tan detritus. It’s around 8:00 PM, so the temperature is most likely dropping. It is blowing about 35 from the ESE with gusts to right around 50 right now. There is very little visibility out in the bay or surrounding mountains. Can’t even see the mountains. Yesterday it was almost that “S” word that we don’t say out loud or in print, just in case we jinx the season. This morning everything was frozen. Now it is blowing like hell.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining. If there is one thing you can say about weather in the Aleutians it is that it is never boring. It keeps you on your toes. I should probably invest in a waterproof casing for my camera. As it is, I have to decide when is too wet and wild to take the camera out. How much time do I want to spend wiping it down when I come inside? When you grow up in a place known as the birthplace of the winds, you learn to judge how much the wind is blowing by observing the environment. The first thing you observe is that there is always wind. White caps generally start when it is blowing 25. You can see gusts coming by the way they darken the water….black water. We all look intently for black water at either end of the runway when we are making an approach to land. Black water at the end of the runway is very, very scary. You know that when the gusts are picking up water off the sea, it is blowing at least 50. When that happens we call them williwaws.
So while we wait to find what these next few months will bring us, I will just continue to be exhilarated by the weather. Ah, yes. I live in the birthplace of the winds; the islands of the smokey seas.
I have a really silly pet peeve. Silly because there is absolutely nothing I can do to remedy the situation. And silly because it makes no difference if the situation is remedied. I’ve noticed, that when watching cooking shows, I can hardly tolerate it when a bowl is scraped inadequately, leaving tons of batter behind. I’m sure they do this because of the angle of the shot so that the viewer can see inside the bowl, but it drives me bonkers.
The best $3.50 I ever spent. This dog-eared copy of one of my favorite books of all time, To Kill a Mockingbird, was published on July 11, 1960. It immediately hit the best seller lists. Nell Harper Lee won a Pulitzer Prize for the book in 1961, and in 1962, an Academy Award winning film was completed.
This very humble book still captures new audiences all over the world, giving voice to relevant questions about morals and ethics, providing vivid examples of personal courage, and highlighting the fact that humanity can, and should, live in us all. There are several books that I read over again. To Kill a Mockingbird is one of them. Harper Lee’s writing is so down to earth and simple. Perhaps the simplicity of her writing is what paints such vivid pictures for me. I am sure that you all have had the pleasure of reading the book, but, if by chance you have not, I highly recommend that you do so before you kick the bucket. You’ll never regret it.
She never wrote another book. High on her list of reasons why was that she didn’t like all the hoopla involved in the publication. Her other reason was that she said all she wanted to say, and she wasn’t going to say it again. Well….it was pretty all encompassing.
This is the corner. It is a shake my head corner. It is the throw the project into corner. Center stage, we have the science fair project about hydraulics. And off to the right we have a glimpse of the Dead Mau5 head project. We have a grandson’s tossed hoodie, a husbands books and paperwork laying on the top of the couch and the arm of the chair. We have unfolded afghans, tossed carelessly about. The Dead Mau5 project has claimed my living room waste basket. Everytime I go to toss something in it, I have to abort the action and go to the kitchen garbage container. We have a nerf gun and a cardboard tube, because you never know when you are going to need one. And we have to keep every pen and pencil that comes in the house because they certainly come in handy….especially when the ink has dried up. Someone has conveniently tied one of my curtain sheers in a knot; it obviously was in the way. Is it any wonder that I wasn’t aware that my Christmas cactus has bloomed for the second time this year? Shaking my head. What does your “corner” look like? Post me some pictures so I can feel good.