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“To be awake is to be alive.”

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” Thoreau

Life after Bethel…. What to say, what to say… Having just returned from an amazing weekend with three other beautiful women in celebration of the youngster of the group’s 50^th, I am asking myself…how can this be??? How can it be that I have managed to travel over the landscape of the last three years from pre-Bethel through the 49^th State, over the tundra and out of Covid-19 Bethel to arrive unscathed back here in our own private Idaho…which unfortantantly also has Covid-19.

Taking a deep breath I find myself even more puzzled by how I have, in less than 30 years, okay, 37…traveled over five decades (don’t try to do the math), of what turns out to be my life so far and with very little detectable disruption of my natural ageless beauty, to arrive standing alongside these other stunningly amazing women, all in their 30s, each also having lived five decades…I know it’s a mind bender. Collectively we have skirted past a whole litany of things that could have and perhaps even should have went wrong, not to mention the great number of things that did go wrong! The universe however, against many odds, granted myself and my three 50 + friends the beautiful opportunity to spend a whole uninterrupted weekend together! We laughed, we ate, we hydrated, cried a little and laughed some more. As far as I know, there were no episodes of incontinence….

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Recovering from a badly needed and deeply therapeutic friend-cation, as I sat at my backyard picnic table on a Monday afternoon, the autumn sky amber as the sun started its descent towards the edge of the western horizon which lies just beyond the spent wheat fields, I realized what Thoreau had been going on about all those years ago in his epic book, On Walden’s Pond.

Here I am, surrounded by a landscape created by years of love and hard work that with the passage of time, has transformed into a place of magic and rejuvenation. This Idaho acre is the host to over 30 trees, a whole cacophony of birds, including a family of turkeys that intermittently roosts with their four babies in our hundred year old box elders, a honey bee hive, racoons, moose, owls, deer, (subtract two recently taken out by commuting cars), bats, snakes, (subtract the one which I accidently ran over with the mower) and the occasional skunk. Oh, and have I mentioned the ever growing population of mice? Okay, it’s not perfect.

My point is that this amazing backyard has, the last couple of decades, been waiting patiently for me to take notice. This crazy pace of life has had me, for years, running from one thing to the next, all causes worthy of my time and attention but at the cost of never being able to just be…in my own backyard…what a shame! All of this time I could have just stopped, looked and listened to realize that all of the poetry inspired by Thoreau, in turn that inspired me was right there just beyond my grass stained toes On Thompson’s Lawn! I realize no one will ever buy that book but I should still be writing it as if someone would, or at least living it with my eyes wide open.

Sitting with my partner Max, doing nothing else, just sitting, I felt the fullness of my contentment. In that moment I genuinely could not imagine a better life! Max, who previously held the less demanding roll of house cat, having been on temporary loan with our Portland kids, HaLee and Dave, the last three years had recently made his pilgrimage back to the gem state. Not knowing what our housing sitch was going to be when we left for Alaska, we felt Max would be better off with his sister…I mean… our daughter, while we figured out what it meant to live in Bethel.

Having recently wrapped up the “Living off the road system” chapters of our lives, it made sense that Max would meet us back where we had left off three years previously. While I wasn’t sure how Max would handle the move back to Idaho, especially since he had spent the last 36 months on retreat with HaLee, who is at least 128 times more affectionate than I have ever been, we were all mildly concerned but optimistic that he could re-adapt to living in the land of the potato. By all, I mean to say HaLee, Dave and I. Jeff and Max, it had been decided…by myself, would be updated on a need to know basis, which ended up to be around 24 hours prior to the cat transfer. We, as in me, thought we, as in I, would spare them both, Max and Jeff, the unnecessary worry and rumination about how Max moving home was going to impact my limited ability to share my frugally spent affections.

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HaLee, our daughter, would not be an easy act to follow in her over-the-top attentive caretaking ways. From the beginning she allowed Max to have complete access to all of the rooms of she and Dave’s house, setting him up with small cat furnishings, fountain watering dishes, high-end gluten-free cat food not to mention the daily kisses she gave him on the bald spots just above his cat brows. Despite the unconditional love and warm regard she expressed during his time there not to mention the obvious bond that she managed to forge with Max, in the end she was willing to part with him, which was frankly a shock to us all, by all I mean Jeff! But at the end of the day, or should I say the end of 1,095 days, she realized her other cat, Juniper, would continue to despise, resent and loath Max regardless of the passage of time. Max was and would continue to be June’s nemesis.

It was not surprising that Juniper and Max’s initial reaction to each other was one of suspicion and jealousy. HaLee and Dave both showed a great deal of patience while they worked to hang on to idealistic hope that the felines would soon become best of cat friends. That was never to be however.

Sometime after the first year I got a text from HaLee that simply read…”This is not sustainable”. After Jeff upped the cat stipend along with sending funds to help cover the vet bills, things smoothed out somewhat. On HaLee’s end this required buying another cat litter box, establishing separate cat territories and putting both cats on anti-anxiety medication. By the second year, while HaLee and Dave had finally adjusted to the intermittent cat fights that would ensue following the ever so brief periods of peaceful interaction, it was becoming apparent that the cats really were not adjusting. By the end of three years, Jeff could not write a big enough check that would justify the kids continued willingness to live on what had started to feel like a never ending episode of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.

It was apparent that June felt short changed by Max’s lovability. So as every good cat mother would do in a Sophie’s Choice situation, HaLee let the stronger more attractive cat go. Sorry June Bug, I would never say this to your tiny cat face but we all know orange tabbies takes the cake when it came to charm and lovability. So, HaLee let Maxwell go.

To this day she wrestles with her decision, not because Max hasn’t adjusted incredibly well to his Idaho home, in fact just the other day he admitted he has never been happier! But HaLee knows a truth she will never be able to unknow, she will never again be able to convince herself that cats are loyal…to anyone. The world has become a little sadder place for HaLee.

Max’s promotion as my interim significant other has sweetened the deal for him. As Jeff won’t make his full re-entry back to Idaho until the end of the year, Max is my primary creature companion. Since Jeff’s departure back to Alaska, Max and I have been having ongoing negotiations about what it means to cohabitate together. Still feeling a bit guilty for the 11-hour ride from Portland back to Idaho that Max had to endure under the influence of multiple layers of sedation recommended and prescribed by multiple medical authorities, including WebMD, (he just would not go down!), I felt he needed a little extra loving care those first few days back home. That lasted about…one night. Max, is a hybrid indoor/outdoor cat which means he has expectations that there be someone to let him outdoors and back indoors and out and in and out…ya…it wasn’t working.

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After having to put him in the hole a few nights, (not as bad as it sounds), we have finally found a rhythm that seems to be working around 86 % of the time. Full moons and other cats seem to throw him off. On an up note, he has ceased and desisted his obsessive need to contribute to the household by bringing dead, and sometimes not so dead, mice to the loft. Now he just slithers into the shadows, mouse in mouth and consumes his prey like one of those creepy creatures hiding under the Ghost of Christmas Past’s robe in the Christmas Carol,  leaving only one smallish kidney shaped remnant as evidence of his dark act…

HaLee tells me it’s the stomach he is turning his nose up to, explaining that the contents of the stomach, as opposed to the rest of the mouse…. are unsavory. In other words not nearly as savory as a skull encrusted cerebellum? How about our special, rib wrapped alveoli sacks?? Wait until you try our stuffed lower colon. Hmmmm…. Sorry Max, considering the stomach’s ingredient list is 98% grass, seeds and other vegetable matter with the remaining 2% consisting of stomach lining, I’ll take that stomach with a side of ranch any day, give me three! Nasty Max!

Being back in Idaho…I can’t help but to leap out of bed each and every morning with the words of John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High on my lips, my vocal cords belting out “Country Road, take me home”. The undeniable truth is I am a mountain girl.

I just returned from a weekend in Driggs Idaho, my mother and grandmothers’ homeland. I had the opportunity to spend my birthday with two of my very favorite people, participating in some of my favorite pastimes, eating, story telling and hiking around my beautiful Wyo-Idaho mountains. With every step up the incline as we inched our way up towards the top of Mary’s Nipple, I simultaneously and secretly prayed that my unconditioned body would not fail me, potentially requiring a helicopter rescue from local resident Harrison Ford. Little known fact, HF is known around these parts for rescuing boy scouts in distress with his all terrain helicopter which he keeps parked next to his 1992 Subaru. This along with his reputation for his unwavering love and devotion for Calista has him elevated to being a very well respected local celebrity.

I made it to the peak and all the way back down with just the aid of my own two legs, titillating conversation that kept my mind off my labored breathing and a few individually wrapped peppermint lifesavers that my O friend Janet shared with me. (She’s my Oprah, I’m her Gail). With each step I took that beautiful afternoon, my heart cracked open over and over again to the reality of what it meant to be home, what it meant to be loved, what it meant to be present with all of the things that really matter. I am blessed.

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How can I forget even for a millisecond how blessed I am regardless of whatever has transpired in the past or regardless of whatever might be fated to me tomorrow? I am blessed and have had 50+ 37 years of being a recipient of a life that can truly be defined as a dream, a privilege and a gift.

On Thompson’s Max’s Lawn, ….it’s not the Hamptons nor is it waterfront or Waldon’s Pond, but for a girl who grew up just wishing to find true love, babies and a place she could call her own, and maybe even an orange tabby named Max, it seems pretty much like heaven to me. ❤

May 25th, 2020

Independence Day 2020! Surviving the kind of severe and unrelenting winter that inspires set designs featured on Game of Thrones, specifically winter at The Wall, (poor John Snow), spring finally arrived! With the seasonal breakup of the Kuskokwim came nets brimming with smelt, our first taste of fiddle-heads, a fern that when picked in the spring resembles a Dr. Seuss take on asparagus, super yummy in a green eggs and ham kind of way, and a realization that this will be our last summer in Bethel. Saying this seems to suggest we have a game plan for what happens next….which we do not.

If I hadn’t mastered the art of holding all things loosely before Covid-19, I have certainty had a great deal of opportunity to practice these last few months. The value of planning no longer holds the same clout as it used to. In the past, pre-Covid times of yore, I happily subscribed to the illusion of control, shoring up my sense of security by engaging in mildly OCD activities such as creating daily detailed itineraries, whether setting up the extended summer trip abroad or lining out the week’s grocery shopping excursion.

More than ever I have had to accept that plans are what we make before life takes a hold of the sun warped steering wheel while simultaneously putting his garlic peeling cigar fingers around the tuning dial of the stereo deck. “What the hell Life! What happened to Enya and how did we end up at this creepy dank truck-stop cafe whose daily special appears to be one large dusty crock of pickled eggs slow cooking next to the warming bin of an impressively diverse selection of deep fried chicken entrails??? And another thing…what is up with the masks??”

I keep waking up to what feels like a Twilight Zone hangover. Despite ongoing attempts to adjust both the horizontal and the vertical, my mind keeps trying to process what my eyes and ears are picking up and it is still not making sense! The realization, making plans do not necessarily guarantee anything….at all… has us questioning previous assumptions that certain actions, such as moving out of state or leaving secure employment, should only be attempted if one has already planned out and subsequently checked certain boxes that denote proper planning. Examples might be as follows: Securing a new employer, check! Confirmation of comparable benefits and retirement packages, check! check! Confirming that there is at least one solid friend or family member that can provide temporary emergency housing if the first checked boxes fall through, CHECK!

Currently the only box my companion and I have checked is the box that confirms we are indeed checking out of Bethel before the rollover to 2021. All other boxes containing specific details about employment, future income, and health insurance are as open as a cloudless sky as we prepare to exit the 49th State, free falling back into the lower 48, carrying minimal luggage with weightless expectations of what our next life chapter will look like on the backside of 2020! We are leaning heavily on blind trust that wherever we land, we will eventually figure out what comes next…people do that, right????

Between now and then we begin the process of unraveling our lives from our Bethel residence, our Bethel community and that which we have called home for the past three years. We are making lists of what will be sold, given away or simply thrown out while taking with us only that which is essential. Let me clarify, that which is Julie essential, basically meaning the object in question has to meet the minimum requirement of eliciting a sense of nostalgia and well-being while not exceeding the ever shrinking size and weight limit requirements for our Alaskan carry on bags. I’ll also be taking what has become my essential wardrobe, which in totality might fill a petite sized children’s backpack, which would comfortably nest inside Jeff’s bigger backpack, ultimately keeping my hands unoccupied and available for reading old texts and perusing the Alaskan In-Flight Magazine

Julie’s top 10 garment guidelines/mandates

1.Soft.

2. Effectively camouflages food and drink spills.

3. Color and style compliments my updated ethereal fashion vibe.

4. Doesn’t wrinkle.

5. Easily layers into, out of, and in between, the -50 to 50+ temperature swings that occur here, compounded by global warming effects, which, despite the continually vanishing permafrost and glacial ice, is still, interestingly, a topic of debate…along with the corona virus conspiracy theories, faked lunar landings and whether or not we live on a flat planet.

6. Effortlessly transitions into work wear from sleepwear, causal wear, party wear, and pool party wear. The latter, not an example that plays out in my reality, came up for my dear friend when she realized her work day was going to inconveniently conflict with her neighbor’s pool party. Imagine the stress!!!

7. Movable…”Can I move through a full sun salutation without my derriere popping out to say hello to unfortunate bystanders?” This actually happened to me, and worse than my butt bumping up and out of my low riding American Eagle green jeans was that: (A) I was completely unaware of where my seat was in relation to my pants during my otherwise excellently executed transition from forward fold to downward dog, and… (B) My husband, who was video recording the class, also seemed completely unaware of my butt peaking out of my pants, given the video footage we ended up with. He managed to capture the whole “Bad Moon Rising” situation on digital tape!

Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt regarding how my bum “ended up” on tape, I worked to considered that perhaps when he suddenly realized it was my backside coming into focus and not the slightly dimpled basket ball that was idly resting in the corner next to my yoga mat, he was both temporarily enchanted and confused by what he was witnessing, subsequently losing track of the fact that he was video taping my ass-ets, which were emerging up and out of my pants during my fearless forward fold, while forgetting the fact that we were in the company of around 35 other people, 20 of them being under the age of 12. This my friends, is not a good example of him having my backside!

8. Age defying…begging the questions “At what age is it considered no longer appropriate to shop at American Eagle?”

9. On the edge of inappropriate while still being able to be totally pulled off…barely…with the right lighting …while squinting ever so slightly.

10. Soft! (Soft actually deserves three spaces but since doubling as sleepwear implies softness, it counts as three!)

As we are figuring out our timeline for transitioning back to America we are also helping our friends work through their stages of grief. Along with denial, anger and acceptance, bargaining takes on a whole different flavor when it comes to coping with the loss of friends and neighbors in Bethel. We have heard that the line between goodbye and good buy…as in…what do you have that I want and can get a good buy on…is very slight.

When hearing of our plans to leave the Delta I have appreciated the skill our friends have demonstrated at being able to show heartfelt and genuine sadness while simultaneously and gently shifting into negotiations towards the purchase of our boat, house and the surprisingly large number of house plants and canned goods we have managed to acquire in our short three years of being here. Keep in mind I hate house plants.

Goodbyes are difficult for me. I prefer slipping out under the cover of darkness leaving only a poorly written goodbye note on a way-too-small sticky note which lamely explains why I needed to leave at 3:22 am.

I hate goodbyes. I hate accepting awards. I hate giving salutatorian speeches. Oh wait, that was my sister Shelley. As it turns out, I also don’t necessarily like hellos, but I do love, love, love the juicy stuff that happens in the middle of hello and goodbye and I cherish the photos that show evidence of my otherwise healthy ability to attach to people, regardless of the obvious awkwardness that takes over whenever I am entering or leaving the room.

Before moving to Bethel, my close circle of girlfriends had an outdoor goodbye party for me. At one point I just started to cry when I couldn’t get my camera to work. The next moment I had my camera on a tripod, timer set, layers shed and some juicy friend photos were shot. These are not the kind of photos we will ever share on Facebook but they are the kind of photos that depict vulnerability, self acceptance and a celebration of the feminine in the context of beautiful friend love, spontaneous and messy.

They are the kind of photos that when our great grand daughters excavate our personal effects and stumble on the risque prints they will say, “Wow, who are these daring, bold and beautiful women that grandma used to hang out with!” The goodbyes were still hard, but I smile every time I look at those saucy sultry photos of me and my home girls.

I wish all of my photos could capture the authentic nature and beauty of all of the amazing people we have been blessed to meet since moving onto the tundra! The stories are endless and impossible to capture in a way that does justice to the individuals whom the stories belong to. What I have been able to share through writing this blog the last three years was made possible by this communities willingness to take Jeff and I in, to make space for us in their homes, their lives and their hearts.

Bethel, like many worthwhile journeys, was not easy at times. The homesickness I experienced is like nothing I have ever known as an adult. Knowing my grandma took her last breath without me being present to comfort her still brings me pain. Remembering the months following my daughter’s partner’s death, trying to console her over the phone, still the words escape me. Hearing of my sister’s horrible car accident and having to wait for confirmation that she was going to be OK, while I just sat on our accidental couch with my head in my hands, unbearable. All of this before Covid 19 was short of impossible to manage from such a distance.

I will leave it at saying that while our season on the Delta was a short run, being a part of the Bethel community has changed me. I am humbled at how little it really takes to be happy, content and fulfilled. I am inspired by the strength, resilience and beauty that rises up from what seems like the most impossible situations to survive. Below is a link that depicts such a story and exemplifies for me the potential of the human spirit when propelled by love. Nicholai changed me.

https://www.kyuk.org/post/may-13-2020-conversation-julie-thompson-and-nicholai-joekay-recover-alaska

The Delta is a good place with good people. The history of this place, still intimately alive and intertwined with the potential of those who carry the weight of the unresolved stories of their parents and grandparents, is a real time portrayal of healing and forgiveness. I have never known a community that is so capable of forgiveness.

Bethel is good and I am better for having touched down here, if even for just a brief time. To be allowed the opportunity to have inhabited this strange and serene landscape has ironically made me less of a stranger to myself. At the end of it all, perhaps if we can all learn to inhabit ourselves more lovingly, maybe…just maybe, we might be able to find a way to inhabit our whole lives, our communities and this world more lovingly. What a beautiful dream. Quyana ❤

April 2020

Today is Russian Orthodox Easter! I only know this because we have been dropping off Covid care packages to our friends with the disclaimer that it is a belated visit from the Easter Bunny who was delayed by the Shelter in Place mandates requiring extensive amounts of red tape to deem the Easter deliveries essential. Bethel, it turns out, recognizes all sorts of calendar events that either extend holidays already in place or simply adds random days in that bulk up the paid time off banks. Slavic for instance extends Christmas into and beyond the first week of January. I recently got an extra Monday holiday for Seward’s Day! I love paid holidays!!! Although at this point in time, how we experience time is a very strange point.

Weekends blur into week days, blur into holidays, and with the quickly expanding daylight hours, days are starting to bump up against each other in a way that disorients my sense of where I am time-wise at any given moment. My Sunday night melancholy has almost completely resolved as I am no longer required to be in the office any earlier than our first scheduled Zoom meeting! That first week of working from home I continued to strive to come off as the professional I had always fallen short of being. I showered, put on a clean top and made an effort to look like it was just another day at the office. But I soon caught on that my coworkers were opting out of the Zoom video function and just showing up as a voice of their former self which was visually depicted by their name spelled out in a flat latex white nondescript font lethargically resting on a black background. It took a couple of weeks before I caught on and realized that they were all probably still in BED! No more early showers for me!

I have to admit the first week of adapting to working from home felt a bit stressful. But once the technology was set up and I figured out a space I could redefine as my meditation/yoga/work from home office, all that I previously experienced as a confusing and uncomfortable transition effortlessly slipped away, allowing me to gracefully glide into what feels like a much more reasonable life/work balance. I most recently have been asking myself, how has it been that spending 40 hours a week in a biggish box I call “my office” ever felt OK? How has it been acceptable that spending more time at work than any other domain of my life is considered a show of being a good citizen? And then, only if I do it until I’m 65? Wait a minute!!! How is it I have never questioned this? Honestly, I am not sure that I am ever going to be able to completely submit myself to that life again. I have some shit to figure out! (Note to self, make sure new boss is not currently a subscriber to my blog.)

I have also been pondering many other deep questions. For instance, why is it that all of my Pandora stations eventually end up sounding alike? How does Enya end up on my ACDC station???

Most of all I have been feeling saturated with deep, abiding feelings of appreciation. This pandemic has created a great deal of chaos, angst, uncertainty and incredible suffering for many. How is it that we, at least at this point, have been relatively unscathed? Not untouched, but overall more positively impacted than harmed. I could follow with a list of the difficult, but whatever I identified would disintegrate in the company of people who have had significant losses.

For me, as this strange dark and foreboding world event has played out, it has been nothing short of remarkably awe inspiring witnessing how our common humanity and our capacity for love and compassion is much more powerful than any enemy force that is brought forth from conditions of fear. For instance, my husband and I were mid-vacation when things really started to shake out. Coming home was strange. We went from being treated like valued customers to being perceived as persons of interest suspect of harboring enemy hosts. I get it, people are scared. I have felt the same desire to protect me and mine at all costs, even if I appear rude. We accepted it, working to not take any of it personally. And then, in the midst of this fear riddled scene, my hub and I were coming through security in Portland when we over heard a TSA agent speaking kindly to the twenty-something slightly disheveled looking man in front of us, “It will be OK” she said. “You are going to find someone else and she is going to be so much better for you.” He responded with sad eyes and a soft smile before bumping his heavy pack up on his shoulder and shuffling forward. As we stepped up to the before mentioned security agent, she explained that the sad eyed fellow had flown to Portland just to hear his girlfriend declare that she was no longer interested in him. Security agent went on to say, “He just needed some encouragement.” It was the sweetest moment I have ever witnessed in the security line at the airport since 911!

From abandoned beaches to abandoned airports, we began our transition back to the new normal. Once we successfully achieved our return to Bethel, which started to feel like a long shot by the time we hit Portland, we were in quarantine for two weeks. Within days, our friends started to stop by with all sorts of loving “Welcome home, it sucks your in quarantine”, offerings. Garret and Janessa brought by some homemade pizza. They slipped onto our mud porch and waved at us lovingly through the barrier of our windowed front door as we stared out at them with our saucer plate eyes and hollowed out cheeks. Best pizza ever! Not just saying that…I wasn’t even able to contain myself long enough to take a photo before we had pretty much devoured it. We saved the garlic oil saturated cardboard for our breakfast the next day. So yummy! The next week they brought us Janessa’s famous Le Lache cake. “Stop you guys! ” we mouthed through our closed glass-paned kitchen door while our saucer eyes said, “Don’t go, we’ll eat you up! We love you so!”

Our neighbor girls, Mazzy and Toni brought over an Easter package filled with home made bread, chocolate eggs, and candy. The week before they gave us a dozen of their fresh chicken eggs. Those two girls have been a delight to watch over the last three years. If they are not tooling around frozen Thompson Lake, pulling each other on their tiny sled with their tiny snow machine, they are continually introducing us to a whole assortment of farm animal babies which have been hatched from their various farm creatures over the years, including lambs, piglets, chicks, pups, and most recently goats. The goat mama had twin babies a couple of weeks ago. I saw the girls from my deck playing with their new baby goats?… goatlets? Each girl had a goatlet in their arms dressed in toddler outfits. Pumpkin wore blue dungarees and a matching print top. The girl goatlet, whose name I couldn’t quite make out from across the barnyard to our deck, was dressed in a pink summer top with little pink pantaloons.

Knowing the reality of farm life and having witnessed the natural progression of our neighbors relationships with their animals, best described as from pet to pantry freezer, I couldn’t help but wonder what tasty dish the goats were destined to become. I didn’t let that dampen the sweetness of the moment, a skill I have been working on since arriving here. Honestly, they have been the best neighbors ever and we are always happy to accept gift packages of meat resisting the urge to ever clarify the origin of the home packaged sausage, burger or roasts as we discreetly scan the property to account for the animals still standing.

While I am the first to complain about technology taking over the world, even as I type this sentence out, I realize how hypocritical that is. I have currently shifted my opinion on this front and feel greatly appreciative of our ability to have so many other ways of connecting. I also appreciate the image enhancement feature on Zoom that has me looking younger than I ever have!!!! My fourth grade snaggle toothed school photo has nothing on my 50-ish Zoom face in real time! Although it has been unsettling to have my Zoom image as a part of my receiving audience. I’m starting to feel annoyed how the Zoom version of  me just won’t shut up! Every time she catches my eye her mouth is going. I am going to pull her aside at the end of one of our meetings and slip her a referral for some additional resources. Bless her heart.

Our friend Diane brought over a book which she had dropped off to several of my fellow yoga guide friends. Lucky for her, nobody locks their car in Bethel. She gloved up, stopped, dropped and rolled the book from her car into our car without any threat of exposure. Finding packages in my car is almost as fun as under the tree! This created the opportunity for a Zoom book club. Most of us had never done a book club and I think we were a bit nervous for our first meeting, like those first group friend dates where everyone is a little awkward and trying too hard. Social distancing and re-engaging in a two dimensional space totally throws off interpersonal timing. All it takes is one time sharing something really funny only to get an absence of any response because you forgot to un-mute your friends for your cool friend vibe to be totally shaken to the core. Heaven forbid you look up and see yourself staring back with a big hunk of spinach in your front teeth. This while you are trying to work out how that would be possible since you haven’t had spinach since you ate that salad for lunch the previous day.

We have also had loving support extended to us from America, aka, the lower 48. Whether it is a tangible show of love showing up as a sweet card from my home girl Janet or a funny meme from one of our kids, we feel loved. It seems like Maslow’s Hierarchy may have under-represented the importance for human connection. I heard someone say the other day that if they ended up surviving some horrible event that left them as the last person on earth, they would be unable to survive the loss of human connection. We need that sense of connection to feel safe. It nourishes and protects us not only from the scary world around us but the potential to create very scary narratives within us. We need each other ❤ What a beautiful thing to be reminded of in the midst of all of this. May I remember that I am needed. May I remember that I need you. May I remember that to need is a beautiful part of being a human being and that we all need each other.  Just for this moment, may I remember..I am connected..I am loved……we are love ❤

I dedicate this post to my beautiful loving friend Susan in Wyoming who has beat this horrible virus. She is one of the truest examples of love as anyone I know. Our world needs more of that!  ❤ ❤ ❤

February 2, 2020

We celebrated the first full moon of 2020 with friends who share our unchecked enthusiasm for merry making. One beautiful thing about the moon, she has all sorts of ritualistic ties to celebration and reflection. Thanks to PETA’s decades of advocacy efforts, these celebrations seldom require actual living sacrifices. Having become the woman who catches and carries flies out to be released into the wild rather than killing them, having later to lie in bed while wondering if the fly’s family got notification, for me, this has been a great development. I am subsequently much more on board with hosting pagan-esque’ type parties.

Lunar events happen multiple times throughout the year allowing opportunity to release, reset and refocus our efforts towards more intentional ways of living. This new year event justified cooking up a batch of my mom’s legendary green chili. Anyone who has had my mom’s chili knows this is no ordinary chili. It is a salacious mixture that satisfies all sorts of carnal needs and appetites. Instead of beef, the recipe starts with mounds of cubed pork roast, chops and sausage sauteed to perfection. Enter onion, garlic and green peppers.  Wanting just subtle undertones of beans, a scant few are thrown in to justify calling it chili. The final dish is all pulled together with an aromatic mix of seasonings, diced veggies, diced green chilies of course and a refined, aged to perfection, tomato vegetable broth, (aka V8). A skosh of cheap red wine stirred in at the end never hurts to finish.

Mom would cook green chili around the holidays, usually for Christmas Eve. My husband was so inspired by mom’s chili that he eventually poached the recipe and made it his own. While he would never admit to my mom or any of my mom’s loyal followers, (her children), he has boldly claimed to me on more than one occasion that he believes his chili is an improved version of my mom’s. Since my mom has passed on to a more evolved state of being, I have little faith that she will return for the purpose of defending her title, but as her daughter, all I got to say is “Hmmmmm,  I don’t think so husband.” However, since I do enjoy his son-in-law version of mom’s green chili, I generally let him rooster on about it while I am silently rolling my invisible eyes, a skill that I have beautifully perfected in our 30 years of mostly blissful relationshipping.

Green Chili bubbling away on kitchen cauldron,  yummy!!! Lunar Jack-o-lantern makes for a nice live-ish sacrifice.

01-10-2020, a truly auspicious date by anyone’s standards,  set the perfect stage for the arrival of the Wolf Moon. January’s full moon is named for a time of year when wolves are likely howling more than they are hunting. Like many creatures this time of year, these wild dogs are struggling to fill their canine bellies. Quite the opposite is true for me, in fact my belly begins to get quite full midwinter. This is the season that I start feeling concerned about the upcoming transition from winter ware (primarily yoga pants) to summer shorts and swimsuits (yoga pants that double as swim bottoms??? hmmm). I always keep several back up yoga skirts just in case my  spring wardrobe ends up spontaneously shrinking down a size likely due to some climate warming phenomenon.

By February,  I too have a primal urge that rises up in me, not so different than my sister wolves. I can easily imagine myself stepping out and breaking into a most mournful and sad howl, especially after schlepping through 12 weeks of darkness and subzero temperatures “Howwwwwwill I make it through the next four months of of ice, snow and cold???”  “Howwwwill I ever fit back into my cute summer jeans without inserting a pregnancy panel where the front zipper currently resides. “Howwwwillll!!!” Oh the winters they are long.

Thank goodness for our Bethel friends who are always willing to rally for a full moon, crescent moon, new moon, whatever phase of moon we might call on to celebrate having  woken one more time for a chance sighting of the beautiful ever-changing moon. Amazingly, with enough notice, and often without any notice, these hearty and mirth filled friends are generally available! Availability turns out to be a challenge here.  There are a huge number of potentially time consuming pastimes that constantly seem to be going on in Bethel, whether it be politically motivated, intended to simply support a worthy cause or purely recreational. Jump Rope Class, for instance, is offered twice a week. The Adult Coloring Book Group (unsure if Adult is in reference to the content being colored or the life stage of the members) is held weekly at the library. These are just two great examples of the abundance of leisure activities offered.

Our friend, fish biologist, and well respected photographer, Dave Cannon, has been intimately involved in the K300 for many years. Here are a couple of his images. Pete Kaiser in the lead coming into Aniak. Dogs pulling a 4 wheeler training for the race.

The K300, a huge event reliant on hundreds of volunteered hours, is a great example of how collaborative this community is. The K300 is a serious warm up race for the Iditarod and is a huge source of pride for Bethelites. Last year, Pete Kaiser became the first Yupi’k and Bethel born participant to place first in the Iditarod. He is a celebrity in the truest sense around here. While I have never managed to get an autograph, Jeff and I had the pleasure of having Pete and his dog team almost literally run us down one morning when we were out for a jog. Dogs and musher came busting out of some high tundra brush and right across our running path. It was such a flash occurrence that by the time I collected myself to take a photo he was hardly more than a spot on the tundra. I couldn’t help yelling after him, “We’re OK Pete! No harm no foul!” Pretty sure I saw him give us a nod;). Here is a great video link to this year’s race.

https://www.kyuk.org/post/video-pete-kaiser-wins-2020-k300

K300 2020

There are all sorts of big deal events out here, which is fortunate for us! These social happenings and our ongoing desire for human connection end up being just enough of a draw that we manage to keep clawing our way out of our warm and slightly moist beds (condensation in these cold temperatures can be a problem), and over the thresholds of our front doors into the -20 temperatures (-50 with windchill). This is despite the fact that by this time of year we are dangerously depleted of vitamin D, while simultaneously experiencing plummeting levels of serotonin. You know it’s been a cold spell when you’re looking at the temp gauge in your un-warmed up car and it’s showing  -13 degrees and your thinking, “It sure doesn’t feel that warm!”

Rick Hanson, a neuro-psychologist has coined a saying “What fires together wires together.” I recently realized that what fires when I step outside into -20 degrees is my knee jerk response to say F____! My use of profanity is never intentional, well almost never… alright already, my use of the F word is almost never intentional, but it has quite quickly, with absolutely no effort on my part, become a part of my morning routine. Wake up, drag myself to the shower, make it to the couch where my hubby and I drink our first cup of coffee in silence, (we call it our coffee meditation), make final adjustments to hair and face, then coat on, step through the door… F___! Every morning for the last four weeks! Mark my word, I am going to be that person whose last living word spoken will end up being F____! Unless of course I die nicely tucked away in my warm moist bed. That would be the best!

The lack of natural light and the limited recreational opportunities (that don’t require dressing for the kind of temps you would experience on the surface of Mars) had me feeling a bit rummy and restless. After forcing myself to go out for a run, secondary  to the aforementioned fullness I had been noticing around my waistline, and after doing some yoga, packaging left over meat from a massive ham we cooked yesterday, making a huge batch of ham and bean soup, calling my sister, calling my other sister, eating a chocolate chip cookie, (OK it might have been three),  I unexpectedly found myself caught up watching what felt like a Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom moment happening outside of the living room window.

A life and death struggle was playing out between a piece of ham fat (obviously already expired) which I had previously sat out for the neighborhood scavengers and a Raven who was trying to quite awkwardly intercept the gift-o-fat. Having seen many examples of the  Raven’s ability to use incredible precision when it came to landing on and picking up a whole range of tasty and not so tasty tidbits, I was befuddled to see how this reportedly intelligent and agile bird was failing in his efforts to land the pork.

Since I had pretty much exhausted my list of activities for the day and it was still not even 11:00 a.m., I settled in for the next 45 minutes…(OK it might have been 2 hours), to watch this real life cat and already dead mouse game play out. Unsure whether it was an individual Raven or several different birds that kept coming back, this struggle went on all afternoon. It was fascinating.

I began to appreciate Jane Goodall’s connection with the gorillas with some obvious differences. I am not a skilled world renowned researcher. I am not willing to put my life on the line to better understand….anything. Ravens are a far cry from gorillas. And not least of all, neither the Raven nor I have ever been put on the protected species list. However, while there was no eminent danger to either of us, my conspicuous presence on the warm side of the window may have felt threatening and this may have been the element that was throwing off the Raven in his attempt to snag the pork fat.

I was surprised at some level that the bird even detected me, as I tried to be quite still behind the perch of my living room couch which over the last couple of months had been serving as a kind of camouflage blind for the wildlife inside the house….Jeff. Occasionally bored I make up games to amuse and entertain…mostly myself. Wanting to stay out of reach of Jeff’s detection for the purpose of messing with him, the couch had become a great place to lie low.  With my recent efforts to embrace my graying hair (which accentuates the blue-gray tones of my almost transparent winter complexion) Jeff can completely lose sight of me if I lie still on the gray couch.

We call this game Ghost, inspired by a really bad movie we recently watched called by the same name. It has us creeping around and hiding from each other in hopes of being able to burst out unexpectedly as we shout “Boo!” We consider it a form of aerobic exercise as when the desired effect is achieved we definitely experience an increase in our heart rates, even if briefly. It is so fun to jump out from the gray shadows of the cushions to see him temporarily unravel. Not so much fun when he returns the favor.

That said, I could better appreciate how Jane had become a master of inhabiting the gorillas’ terrain, as a very respectful visitor with her ability to stay muted in the background of the gorillas’ story. Her willingness to be interested without having to be seen is what allowed her to gain so much wisdom and insight into what it meant to be a gorilla living in harmony with the flora and fauna of the jungle. I believe I am learning to have a greater appreciation for what it means to live as a visitor on somebody else’s turf.

Many visitors of the Delta have come and gone. Some have stayed, finding beautiful ways to contribute to this land and the community. Others have left and taken with them things that were not theirs to take, and some continue to take. The Delta, still rich in many of the vast natural resources that supported the original inhabitants here, has been the focus of decades of conflict regarding wildlife management, the primary example being the salmon.

Whether the focus is on fish or gorillas, the world is undergoing an unsettling transformation. Sustainability isn’t as simple as just ceasing to consume, it’s about understanding the balance between harvesting enough without completely depleting that which we are provided. It is not so different from developing a capacity for deep love. There is no experience more joyful than the awareness of your own heart filled up by the presence of love. Love without the full ability to appreciate that which we love, lacks a certain depth and perhaps even an ability to sustain and deepen that love. Loss is the great equalizer, at least for human beings. Loss is the thing that cracks our hearts open. The crack is what lets the light in. The light amplifies an awareness of the truest value of what it is that we have been blessed with. Our love for this place we call Earth has become imbalanced by many influences. Ironically for many of us, the influence of affluence has numbed our ability to appreciate what we have been privileged with and so masterfully learned to take for granted.

In the book, Braiding Sweet Grass, the author, Robin Wall Kimmer, a member of the Potawatomi Nation, talks about the importance of reciprocity and how the loss of indigenous wisdom has compromised our way of relating to and caring for our habitat.   She posed the question to her students, “Do you love the Earth?” Without hesitation, the students enthusiastically responded, “Yes!”. She followed by asking, “Does the Earth love you?”.  Silence. These budding academics, despite their love of the environment, had never really considered the Earth as a living body with consciousness and the ability to reciprocate love.

The Raven, and all of the folk lore that surrounds this dark and foreboding creature, is a symbol of wisdom and is a central character to stories that highlight the consequences that occur when reciprocity is not honored. Ravens are the only bird on the Delta that are not hunted, nor are their eggs gathered. Some traditional Alaskan stories identify the Raven as the creator of life. One story feels especially relevant in today’s world.

In summary, Raven, after giving man life and all that might sustain humans in their existence on earth, recognizes over time the greed and destruction that man increasingly imposes on Mother Earth. It is because of this that Raven decides to take the Sun, keeping the life giving orb in a skin bag and leaving the Earth and all of Earth’s inhabitants in darkness. With time, Raven is eventually convinced by man’s humble appeals to do better. Raven starts allowing the Sun brief appearances which eventually translates into the change of seasons. Winter always returns however so that we can be reminded once again of our vulnerabilities and our reliance on the understanding that all things great and small are interconnected,  from the Honey Bee to the massive solar body we call our Sun.

As I watched the Raven struggle to overcome whatever it was that was coming between him and his next meal, I noticed my own tendency to superimpose my human experience onto what that struggle was like for the Raven. I felt a bit like Thoreau might have felt during his time at Walden’s Pond. After having observed a bit of a dust up between two ants outside of his cabin, Henry wrote;

“I felt for the rest of that day as if I had had my feelings excited and harrowed by witnessing the struggle, the ferocity and carnage, of a human battle before my door.”

 

I watched the Ravens return again and again, taking turns as they changed their vantage point, coming in from the left, dropping down from the roof on the right, suspended momentarily above the scrap, trying to secure that small frozen tidbit of meat. I couldn’t help but think about my own human battles, considering those things that keep me coming back, that I reach and grasp for, that I occasionally find worth fighting for, (that list has gotten shorter, quality vs quantity).

I also wondered what made this feat for the meat so hard for the Raven. Was it simply an instinctual hesitation that came up because of the change of location?  I usually just throw food remnants further out on our Bethel un-lawn. Instead I had put it on a flat bench near the living room window so I might have the pleasure of seeing who ended up with it. Were the Ravens scared, unsure, frustrated, discouraged?  Whatever it was that obstructed their access, whether it was a real or some imagined obstacle, it did not keep the Raven from continuing to fly up to the mark, hovering for just a moment above the target before, once again,  aborting the effort.

I never did see who eventually took the meat, but it was gone the next morning, taken under cover of darkness. It made me happy knowing that some creature had a fuller belly whether it was Raven or Wolf. While my ego had me wanting to believe that somehow these wild creatures benefit from my small offerings, more than anything, I know the small offering is a gesture of appreciation I give as a visitor who has been allowed to spend time in this Wild Place. It may also serve as a consolation or an acknowledgement of how I too have taken things for granted, this Earth, Mother Nature and many of the daily miracles I have at times become blind to because of my own affluence.

I have had the luxury to have spent my life in places of abundance, with plenty to eat and warm spaces to sleep. Being safe and sound has at times dulled my senses to the point that when jarred back by moments of pain, completely cracked open by heart break, I am suddenly reminded that none of this is mine. That all we have of this life is a gift. This includes pain. The value of such pain is waking up to remembering all that is still ours just for getting up out of our warm beds every morning, even after surviving great loss.

Having weeks of -20 is now something I can actually appreciate as a reminder to open my eyes right now, knowing that eventually the days will warm up. Having survived another hard winter will allow me to appreciate the sweetness of the change of season that much more. Just imagining spring allows me to appreciate the most subtle changes that help me begin to lean into better and easier moments to come.  The days are already visibly longer as the Sun is able to hang above the horizon an additional five  minutes each day.  Today, after six weeks of subzero temps it has warmed up to a toasty 22 degrees above 0 and it is snowing! Finally warm enough to snow and the snow flakes floating down…..exquisite!

Van Wyck Brooks in his book, The Flowering of New England, made reference to Thoreau’s love of nature and awe of the simple, regardless of the difficulty that came with each season.  “All praise to winter, then, was Henry’s feeling. Let others have their sultry luxuries. How full of creative genius was the air in which these snow-crystals were generated. He could hardly have marveled more if real stars had fallen and lodged on his coat. What a world to live in, where myriads of these little discs, so beautiful to the most prying eye, were whirled down on every traveler’s coat, on the restless squirrel’s fur and on the far-stretching fields and forests, the wooded dells and mountain-tops,–these glorious spangles, the sweepings of heaven’s floor.”

Warm enough for a ski! Beautiful<3

January 3, 2020

Beautiful Wyoming Sunset

Home for the holidays. This reference can either flood the heart with tender warm emotions that, like a very warm and nappy blanky, expands in and around those which we hold close, our friends, family, and cats, all who manage to keep the home fires burning on the off chance that we just might return.

Max working hard to manage the surge of love and gratitude brought on by my return. 

The shadier version of family holiday vacations are humorously depicted in popular holiday cinema playing out in movies like the Family Stone, The Nightmare before Christmas or The Shining. The reality of going home can conjure up dicier, icier and heavier reverberations of anticipation, prefacing the holiday gathering. This comfortably coupled with the jagged flashbacks of holidays past, ends up being a formula which likely contributes to the high rise in alcohol sales during the yule tide season and the subsequent high birth rates nine months later.

I am one of the fortunate ones. Not to say that my experience of the holidays has always met my Hallmark version of what I fantasize about. Growing up with dueling alcoholic parents had it’s disadvantages. Truth be told the Christmas eve of 1970 was rough, more reminiscent of Pearl Harbor, minus the tropical paradise and Naval fleet. Even then, we five kids hunkered down, weathered the festive parental storm and jumped up bright and early that next morning, enthusiastically making our way through the carnage. We were pleased as holiday punch to find the Christmas tree still standing with presents intact under the heavily ornamented boughs. Santa, once again having prevailed, belief in the power of the season was fully restored!

I love the weeks between Halloween and New Year’s day. The holiday season affords me the opportunity to practice benevolence while figuring out how to cultivate peace on earth despite the ever mounting challenges that can shake our faith in such concepts as peace and goodwill.

Practicing goodwill with friends… something about karaoke and Bob Marley’s I Shot the Sheriff that brings a room of complete strangers together like nothing else. My friend Shelley and I owned that club! With the exception of Santa, obviously, I have no idea who those other people are…

From the time I was an innocent Wyoming sapling, I was drawn to all things magical. I remember one particularly blustery autumn day standing out on the gravel road that ran in front of our house, my long straggly and urchin-like hair whipping around wildly. Having just seen the Wonderful World of Disney’s Mary Poppins, I thought, if she, why not me? Eyes closed, taking a deep breath, I started to ever so intently focus my effort into growing the wind. With each inhalation I imagined channeling amplifiers that would, if I could just hold my focus,  launch me into the big unknown.

San’s the advantage of an umbrella, my effort to fly that day obviously wasn’t achieved. If it had been, I’m not sure I would have been pleased with the outcome, but to this day I have a clear recollection of standing as tall as I could manage for a 36 incher, shoulders back, fists, eyes and butt cheeks clenched, distinctly noticing the velocity of the wind picking up around me as my focus to rise solidified.  While it wasn’t enough to lift me (I was kinda chunky back then, and again…No Umbrella! What was I thinking?) I believe the wind heard my invitation and did her best to oblige.

On a similar note, I also once telepathically willed a small but devilish looking earwig, who naturally went by the name Beetlejuice, to clamp onto a piece of my hair which I seductively dangled in front of him. It was fun…for about a second……..at which point, realizing the danger I had put myself in, I was required to use much more forceful tactics to dismount him from my hair-shaft. Earwigs, even the friendly ones, are obvious messengers of Satan!

                            Beetlejuice                                           Beetlejuice

I am still inclined towards believing in magic and while I have long ago dismissed magic as something that comes in a gift wrapped package, a party or the right festive cocktail,  I have become better able to recognize and appreciate the fragmented moments of magic that, if I am paying attention, are often found bubbling up, in, around and under the holiday dust that eventually settles once the Christmas chaos starts to recede.

My daughter rallying with her boys to break down the Christmas Tree…post-Christmas euphoria???  Nothing more magical than being book-ended by kids and grand-kids…feeling so loved<3

I think magical moments may often be missed… for true magic does not follow a script nor is she hostage to anyone’s holiday or vacation agendas. In fact, magic resists the invitation to participate in our best laid plans to create magical moments. Our efforts at micro-managing in pursuit of the perfect magical outcome can actually become the kryptonite of life magic. Real magic most often exists in the wilds of our ordinary lives, in between the celebrations, the christening of a new adventure or the big finishes. Despite how hard we work at setting the perfect table, preparing the most savory food and sporting the most flattering party-ware, we are often left feeling underwhelmed, overlooked, disappointed and possibly worst of all, bored!

Happy for the excuse to go “home” and share some community eggnog while copping some hugs and holiday kisses from those I call my own, I was a little surprised how coming back to Bethel after the holidays actually felt like, possibly for the first time …coming home!  A beautiful byproduct of being in Bethel has been learning to be content in the middle, relaxing into the in-between place that we have counted on to magically connect us to whatever lies beyond, over the rainbow and onto our future pot of gold.

We are not naturally inclined to happily inhabiting the middle ground of our experiences, our relationships, or our lives. Transition is valued for the bridge it provides from here to there but ironically much is lost when we cross over without intentionally pausing, eyes open, senses on full beam and entirely awake so that we might more intimately appreciate the in-between. It seems that between the forces of fear that propel us forward and the draw of anticipation that lure us onto the ground of the promise land we often find ourselves wanting to rush over and get through the less sexy “Now” moments.

It has occurred to me, that perhaps the sweet spot of magic may actually be found on the bridge in that small space that exists between the inhale and the exhale. What if these middle moments end up being the dimes that, at the end of it all, add up to being the big payout?

Nostalgia with a side of sisters…please ❤

After nostalgically spending the last three weeks back in the land from which I originated, the place which I have deeply missed the last two and a half years and which holds the complex mold from which I broke loose, I found myself back in Bethel, sitting on my accidental very firm Bethel couch, looking out of my crooked Bethel living room window onto the expansive frozen tundra and the rather large pond we have dubbed Thompson Lake. The light was just starting to show herself, changing everything she touched.

With both hands I held my cup, with every finger tip, and several toes, I felt the warmth of my coffee, breathing in while I brought the cup to my mouth. I smelled and tasted my coffee while watching the Ravens spontaneously, with the slightest air of, “Check this out thin-skinned white woman”, soaring past my view with absolutely nothing else happening. Except something profound was happening. The sun was rising. Slowly. At a pace that only those who live in the farthest northern latitudes can experience or understand. At twenty below,  which by the way, doesn’t even ruffle the Ravens, it is nothing short of miraculous to be able to  witness life thriving just beyond my cozy Bethel bungalow, completely comfortable despite being at the mercy of the stark, inhospitable, and severe elements. Magical.

Raven Chillin’ at -20! “Take it in honey, I’m as cool as it gets around here.”

In the next hour I was able to experience the quiet transition from complete darkness to light. I saw 49 different shades of gray. It turns out it actually requires quite a bit of light before your eye can start to appreciate color. In Bethel during the winter months, the season is rich with monochromatic landscapes. The artist Ansel Adams was a master of beautifully depicting breathtaking landscapes without the advantage of color. I find that when having to exist on what feels like a very bland diet of blues and grays, it becomes very easy to start marking time. Like holding my breath under the surface of the frozen Kuskoswim river, I start longing for spring breakup when I can finally breach the surface, the season of surrendering. But the winter wait is long and somehow the realization arises, I don’t have to hold my breath! I can relax into January, float through February and by March, like a freshly pulled Polaroid print, I will once again get to watch the tundra and life in general begin its technicolor transformation.

Who said Gray wasn’t sexy???? And Bell Bottoms!

Reclining back into my Bethel-burbs, it just so happened that I had nothing planned for the day, having come back earlier than expected.  Still under the influence of the rat-race lag that is a side effect of holidaying in the lower 48, instead of finding a way to be productive or to get a jump start on 2020, I just sat, watched and savored this in-between moment.  Having just come from a place that always holds so much purpose while  moving back towards a place that holds so much potential, (Bethel is the land of possibility like no other!) I paused, watched, and drank my coffee. It felt as easy as warm bath water washing over the foreground with Enya playing in the background.

I wonder if Bethel’s potential middle-ground status is what becomes the Venus fly trap effect that snares unsuspecting humans who touch down, imagining this unimaginable place as the bridge that will take them from a place they have likely long ago been ready to leave and connecting them to their ideal future…because who would ever choose to stay here? And that is the question. Turns out who chooses to stay ends up being a lot of very wise and talented individuals.

As alluring as it is to imagine that glitter-filled destiny where all our hard work and suffering pays off, there is something about learning to inhabit this middle ground that develops capacities within us that manifest real, tangible and deeply sexy aspects of our truest self. Somehow being able to just be wherever I am in this middle moment, with lower expectations and investment, I am finding a willingness to practice things like curiosity, acceptance and a level of humbleness that enables me to better appreciate how blessed and privileged I am now, regardless of whether I ever make it across this damn middle ground.

Standing on this Bethel bridge, knowing where I came from while learning to let go of any belief that I have a clue where I will end up post-Bethel, continues to be an ongoing leap of faith and subsequently, a growing experience of contentment.

This has been a hard year. I have lost family, friends, and time. I have let go of a job and personal expectations that love and best intentions are always enough, expectations that have kept me unnecessarily stuck. I have come to realize the limits of  my own self-imposed, unrealistic expectations that a mother’s super powers can conquer all, that true friendship is life long, and that mentors and teachers are unwavering in their ability to inspire compassion, equanimity and unconditional regard. This last year reminds me of how much work it is to be a human being and how susceptible hearts are to being broken.

In Bethel, I have found it a relief to become She Who Knows Nothing. I have found liberation in buying a house that I have never been invested in staying in. It makes living simply so much easier and housing friends and strangers effortless. I appreciate that I have become more willing to say yes to things, like beaver meat and spontaneous pot lucks. I am finding I am more able to say no to believing in the power of things outside of myself to connect me to happiness. I have become much more solidly able to stand on my own ability to practice equanimity which allows me to willingly embrace the light, the dark and all of the shades of gray that constitute the fullness of life.

At the end of the day, when the light is gone and we have to relinquish another grain of sand to the bottom of our hour glass, I still have so much that keeps me optimistic about what is right here, right now.  Arriving in 2020, I am enormously grateful for family that is still with me, friends that are still sharing the ride and the imperfect mentors who most importantly remind me how beautiful it is to be a perfectly flawed human being. And I am thankful for Bethel ❤

Home is where the heart is ❤

November 1st, 2019

November 1st! Still no snow despite occasional forecasting of winter. On another positive note, I am still employed and my pay checks continue to clear! The agency, which I love working for, is still in the throws of shaking off what feels like a never ending series of unfortunate events largely related to the Alaskan Airline Miles scandal that went down in 2018. The story involved my agency and the embezzlement of around a million Alaskan Air miles. That finding, which made it into several virtual publications predated my employment. However, very much like Chernobyl,  the fallout continues. Here is a link to the original story: https://www.ktuu.com/content/news/One-million-Alaska-Airline-miles-reported-stolen-from-Bethel-Family-Clinic-Inc-479031293.html

The challenge with Bethel, (as if there is only one) is that everything is about 10 times harder than it should be. I know you are, even as I type, rolling your eyes silently telling me to get over myself as this is basically  true of life in general… only 10 times if you’re lucky! But what I am saying is that everything in Bethel is at least 10 times harder than what is already at least 10 times harder than it should be!

Don’t try to do the math unless you are really good at story problems, which unfortunately for my grandson Ethan, I am not. When he tries to Marco Polo me videos of his story problem homework asking questions like “If you are driving a 1988 Chevy Sierra uphill on a 70 degree slope with a wind chill of minus 20 while hauling 40 loaves of Wonder bread, the enriched brand, how much gas will you burn?”  Who makes up these stories? These are stories that should only be told around Halloween campfires intended to scare unruly children into pre-Christmas season submission. Ethan is not unruly! Ok, he can be unruly, but only in the most adorable way.

Bethel is kinda like a never ending story problem. Yesterday I had to invite a client to sit down while I presented a classic Bethel story problem to him. Question 1: How much do you currently owe for your counseling services if the agency you have been going to for the past year has, at some point during your episode of care, stopped all required processing of the credentialing of professional staff (dat-be-me) resulting in a disruption of being able to process the charges that have been submitted weekly for the last 8 months, due to one or two fairly important balls being dropped (dat-not-be-me!)?The answer is: $0 since the agency has had to agreed to waive all theses previous charges.

Question 2: How much will you (the client) now be charged for future sessions since you still can’t use your insurance as it will take at least 30-90 days to process the credentialing of the provider (dat-be-me-again), necessitating the use of a sliding fee scale (which involves a much deeper and more convoluted level of math story problem-ing) since we cannot currently take your insurance, (which you continue to pay for) meaning none of your out-of-pocket costs for counseling will be able to go towards your deductible… (The problem continues)… since we (the agency) still cannot get into the credentialing system because our current administrators are new and have not been trained on the credentialing process that our agency is responsible for? Unfortunately, it may take many months to figure this problem out. My client’s answer?….Well, let’s just say my effort to support his attempt to establish a gratitude practice we called “Things about Bethel that make me grateful”, flew right out the arctic window.

On a more exciting note….Jeff and I ran into some Beaver and ended up with a full carcass in our freezer! It wasn’t quite as magical or effortless as it sounds. We just happened to be going for an evening stroll out on the tundra one beautiful autumn evening (autumn lasts about a week in Bethel) when we found ourselves passing what appeared to be a feedlot slaughterhouse for beavers.  Two young guys were feverishly skinning out about 13 beavers!

Now we are not necessarily connoisseurs of beaver meat, but we did get introduced to some crock-pot barbecued beaver when we lived in Aniak 15 years ago. I don’t remember liking it, but Jeff has went on about it for years, always giving it a five star review while trying to convince people that I did actually really like it until I found out what it was. So given his past beaver meat pontifications, when the beaver slayers offered us up some fresh beaver, I had to say “Why yes!”

Ironically, he seemed less than pleased having to carry the grocery bagged 30 pound river roast home, which actually ended up being about only five pounds of meat once he laboriously completed the gory and time-consuming task of gently extracting the sweet water creature’s innards. As much as I wanted to help (I really didn’t),  I had to walk away, literally fighting down my gag reflex and simultaneously trying not to pee my pants because I was laughing so hard. I was also feeling both repulsed and sad for the beaver and once again contemplated being a vegetarian. Strangely, Jeff was actually kinda grumpy to me that night. Relationships are so confusing.

By the way, November is considered the Beaver moon:

Thanks to me, in honor of the Beaver holiday season, we have two full beaver roasts, beaver drum sticks and riblets in our freezer and I continue to research recipes. My grandma Lula Jenkins used to have a cookbook that I ended up with which actually has a recipe for beaver tail soup (didn’t bring that part home), but I don’t know that I will ever be that hungry. I did find a recipe that looks pretty good. This guy passionately advocates for being a beaver meat eater stating that beaver meat is every bit as good as beef except when going up against prime rib….really?

http://coyoteassassin.blogspot.com/2012/03/so-you-want-to-eat-beaver.html

I also wanted to include these short videos which are absolutely worthwhile watching along with a link to our friend Anna Rose’s podcast, Dead Cars. Funny story, my beautiful friend Shelley C. from Idaho Falls actually told me about the Dead Car’s podcast before I even knew it was out! If Shelley loves it, you will too<3

Hope everyone is well, and please if you have any tips on beaver meat, send them my way!

Northern Lights in Bethel!

Hit this Link:     https://www.facebook.com/deltadiscovery/videos/2455378301404694/

https://99percentinvisible.org/episode/dead-cars/?fbclid=IwAR1ya3J3nvh4PpOpNEREDdPnFJF4zJGZNtkt_zDRQJHKJr_PGc6N6KmWYSo

Alaska Dreams                                                                                                                                  This is a documentary trailer on a teacher who inspires a group of students from Stony River Alaska, a village upriver from Bethel, to actualize their dreams.

September 15, 2019

Autumn on the Delta

I have been at my new job for five months. Almost half of a year! Time is crazy how it can drag and fly by all at the same time. I recently heard someone say “The days go slowly, the years quickly”. It is sooo true! There are moments that absolutely stand still for what feels like an eternity. I have already had several stand-still-moments in my new job. For instance, I recently got called “Out of order!” at one of the agency board meetings. I know! Impossible to imagine that I would get called out of order! It literally felt like time stopped as my attempt to contribute some very valuable info was immediately halted, quite awkwardly I must add. Not a sound followed…for what felt like a very uncomfortable amount of time. In the meantime, my lower intestine began to stir unpleasantly while a light mist of perspiration broke out over my mustache area.  Someone finally responded by saying, “I move we suspend the rules!” What? Rules can be suspended just like that? What crazy “board” game is this? One minute we are pretending to be civilized individuals where sharing is encouraged and a volley of ideas exchanged, when suddenly the board game master calls out “foul ball” on one of the innocent contributors, (me!) when seconds later, rules are suspended and the person just previously shamed is once again invited to share, open heartedly, with no concern that there will be any attempts for future shaming. Really?

Now I admit, I have been “called in” …to my boss’s office when he suggested I may be out of order when it came to my choice of work attire. This actually happened twice with two different employers. I also got “called at” my apartment when my employer told me I was being fired for insubordination. I honestly did not even know what insubordination meant at the time and had to look it up in the dictionary. But out of order???

Out of order???? I don’t think so……

I guess it was a Robert’s Rule thing which frankly, I’m sorry, is very over the top for most of the meetings I have been involved in, especially when you consider that most of the time the people in charge of the meeting can’t even balance their own check books. (Does that sound critical?). Ironically there seems to be a lot of these Robert Rules’ followers and it always amuses me that people take these made up rules so seriously! And by the way…who the heck is Robert? I have often thought we should have a companion set of guidelines that we called Roberta’s Rules and that as a convening group we would all get to weigh in on which version of the rules we would like to follow. I imagine Roberta’s rules to be more informal, compassionate and emotionally intelligent. These rules would have lots of opportunity for people to interject heart inspired words of wisdom while encouraging authentic emoting and on occasion, out of order behavior.

So ya, there was that. Then there was the day we had four subpoenas air dropped on the behavioral health department via electronic mail. Aren’t subpoenas supposed to be hand delivered? Amazingly, or at least it appeared at the time, I was the only one that was not invited to court. I admit, there was a flash of “Why wasn’t I invited?” which was quickly washed away by “Why wasn’t I invited?” with a completely different intonation. But I was soon to realize my invite was simply delayed…until the next morning. I couldn’t help but notice a slight expression of “Hell ya!” on my co-workers’ faces when they realized I had not been left out of the group e-vite.

Mind you this all happened between Tue and Wed of the same week and they (the subpoena-ers) were expecting us in the courtroom that following Monday with bells on our toes. If we choose not to attend, we could expect to exchange festive toe bells for less festive handcuffs per the subpoena threatening arrest for contempt of court. Not a document that really inspires a collaborative spirit.  Mind you, one of my coworkers, having been in practice for over 20 years, has only had to respond to a subpoena three times in her professional life. I have never been called into court in over 13 years. Between the four of us and a collective 50 + years of practice, we had a total of five previous subpoenas between us. In contrast and in a matter of 1.5 days, we received five separate subpoenas involving five cases, involving four providers and the courts requesting protected information on over 20 individuals. Something was stinky in the Delta.

At the time it was pouring down subpoenas in Bethel, our “interim” executive director was on vacation in Hawaii and most of our board members were out of town “catching” moose. Long story short, we did finally get a hold of one of our board members, the one who had actually just previously called me out of order, (we have since made up) and he suggested we contact our agency lawyers who in turn had a brief standoff with the subpoena-ers and to date, we have not ended up in court. Sheesh!

Despite all of this drama, I am still deeply thrilled to be at my new post. The gift of my previous employer is and will always be that it has provided me a new perspective on just how low things can go when it comes to crappy work circumstances, which in turn makes every other job I will ever have, knock on wood, better! How could it ever be worse??? Which it may seem I am testing the universe with this question but seriously it shall never be worse because I will never allow myself to stay in the kind of job that requires that much suffering! Reminder to self: If I find myself having to practice the “This too shall pass” mantra for more than 45 days in a row, something needs to change.

So while there are many things that can happen in my day to day life that are completely outside of my control, like being called out of order in front of my brand new work peers, (the board member was obviously the one who was out of order, which he later kinda admitted to, not so much in words but rather with his sheepish expression..) or getting a subpoena air dropped on me, I can integrate the wisdom of past experiences to choose more wisely regarding what I am willing to subject myself to, whether that means to remind myself to not take the less important stuff too seriously, (Subpoena, Latina!) (there are very few words the rhyme with subpoena) and for the harder moments, to trust I have what it takes to manage the rapids of the hard stuff that really does matter, my breath connecting to my grandmother’s wisdom… “This too shall pass; this too shall pass.” 

Since having been on this journey towards living more mindfully and open heartedly, I have warmed up to my willingness to feel discomfort, intentionally inviting moments of awkwardness, inadequacy and vulnerability as I “choose” to engage my life in a more loving and open-hearted way. The down side, vulnerability is never easy and as loosely as I try to hold those whom I love,(speaking of the stuff that really matters),  there is still a part of me that wishes I could shrink all of my loved ones down into pocket sized Polly’s and keep them in a tiny fashionable satchel which I could wear around my neck next to my heart. My loved ones will either feel deeply touched or completely creeped out by the Pocket Polly fantasy. On a related note, I do expect all of my children to wear a fashionable ash satchel around their necks for at least a year post my humus, after which time they will have full access to any “potential” inheritance that “may” or ““may not”” be coming their way. I already can imagine the tiny tears welling up in their eyes as my executor shares the terms of my last wishes. I’ve always been very thoughtful that way.

The problem is that we have children, not to keep in a neck satchel, but so that one day we can release them into the world to live their own lives. Such a beautiful sentiment…until they start making their own decisions. HaLee, our youngest, definitely has what one might call wanderlust. If she is not taking a solo trip to Thailand to discover her own version of Eat, Pray, Love, she is driving cross country by herself to go see her grandma Lola in her own personal interpretation of Winona Ryder’s How to Make an American Quilt. I love that she is so adventurous, and, at the same time, I wish she would cut this shit out. Not really, and at the same time, sort of.  But like my grandma used to say, “We wouldn’t have it any other way”, or would we grandma?

The precarious reality of parenting, Jace patiently awaits his helicopter pick up while his sisters and our Dave braves the treacherous waters of the annual family vacation.

However hard it is for me to trust what is actually happening in the moment which is usually quite manageable if not even full on pleasant, as opposed to chasing the “what might happen, God forbid” down the well-traveled rabbit hole of my mind, my husband has it harder. HaLee was sharing with me today how when she was giving her dad the updated travel plan for her cross-country road trip, she found his reluctance to sign on to the plan quite funny. Despite having shown us her ability to live independently for the last decade, including being able to pay for her own phone plan and car insurance, her pop still seems to believe he maintains boycotting rights when it comes to her recreational plans. When he realized he could not dissuade her to abandon her plan to make the drive to grandma Lola’s by herself, God forbid, he asked her to at least stay in touch on an hourly basis and to make sure to send him daily photos of herself holding the most current newspaper with the date showing as proof that she had not been abducted. Parenthood is hard.

HaLee dog (a pet name) (literally) on her recent road trip meeting up with virtual strangers to shoot arrows at the rising full moon which happened to fall on a Friday the 13th. Which part of this is not concerning????

This last week my friend Jenny invited me to go with her to Esther Green’s house for lunch. Esther is the wise and beautiful Yup’ik Elder I have referred to in several other posts. What my friend did not tell me until she picked me up is that Esther had just lost her daughter a couple of days before. She did not know the circumstances of her daughter’s passing. People here are much more sensitive and not as inclined to ask questions. She had been invited to come visit Esther for lunch and when she asked Esther if she could bring me, Esther said, “Open mind, open heart” “There is room for everyone”

When we got there, we walked into her home and found Esther surrounded by several of her family members. She stood up and opened her arms to me. I reciprocated, hugging her while acutely aware of both the tininess of her physical frame and at the same time, the immensity of her spirit.  Esther gently whispered something to me, something I can’t even recall clearly and I wonder if she actually said anything at all but whatever I thought I heard in the moment seemed intended to comfort me. She then directed Jenny and I into her kitchen to serve ourselves some fish soup and bread. We joined several people at the table including two of Esther’s other daughters and a son. As Jenny and I ate, one of her daughters shared about the importance of living in the moment saying, “Someone asked me the other day how I was.” She went on to say, “I told them the short answer.” “In this moment I am good.” She laughed saying “I could tell them all of the things that weren’t good, I could talk about the past and share my worries of the future, but that would take too long. It is better to just live in the moment, because this moment right now always holds things you can find that are good.”

Esther is a woman whose story could create incredible discomfort if one was to take an honest pause as if to say, “There by the grace of God go I.” Underneath our best efforts to appreciate all that is good, we can’t help but keep in mind that with love comes loss, pain and suffering. And yet Esther, despite having lost 3 of her 7 children and 3 of her grandchildren, is a beautiful example of buoyancy and resilience. As I sat in her kitchen, I could hear Esther laughing and calling out to different family members. The house was filled with love and it felt that this moment was less about devastation and loss but, more about appreciation of what still is. For me it was an opportunity to remember the importance of keeping our own doors open as we ride the waves of experience. Keeping room for everyone, for everything, allowing experience to flow in and through our hearts always remembering that by keeping ourselves open, the difficult moments will pass. It is only when we start shutting doors or putting up walls around our heart that we become stuck in the deepest form of suffering which is created when we start believing the lies that our fearful self will tell us. These mis-truths will have us believe we are alone, that we are unworthy and that things will never change. That is the deepest darkest rabbit hole we can end up in. This is the moment we can wake up and recognize the real truth that lies in our heart, where our deepest wisdom resides. If we listen to the gentle whispering, you will recognize your own hearts ability to comfort you with the truest truth, “My dear, bless your heart, you are not alone, you are worthy, and…this too shall pass.”

Esther Green and our friend Diane Mceachern’s radio show about Living Well. Ikayutet:  https://www.kyuk.org/programs/ikayutet

 

 

 

 

August 10, 2019

It is hard to believe we are butting up against our two-year anniversary! I have said to many people that coming to Bethel has sort of felt like a service mission minus the cases of ramen noodles and a copy of “the” Good Book. Being mission worthy, based on my brief 25 years of active Mormon girl experience, give or take a day, requires meeting certain moral behaviors and maintaining certain chaste good boy and girl standards that Jeff and I may have been challenged to achieve at any point in our lives. LDS missions require some intense commitment to clean living. I started drinking coffee at 26 and I have never looked back.

Lucky for us this hasn’t been “that” kind of mission, but rather,  just a sort of made-up fantasy mission that allows me to sleep better at night. I pretend, as faux-missionaries, that we actually have some Divine backup and a companion manual, (which we still haven’t been able to get our hands on),  that has well thought out protocols and procedures for guiding us when having to manage the very difficult real life stuff that the mere Bethel tourists would never be expected to deal with.

Take for example, the relentless Amazonian monsoon rains that are continually washing away any semblance of a proper road. So compromised are the roads here during the rainy season taxi drivers are required to install army standard roll bars in their cabs and airbags in the economy rickshaws. With the rains come the mammoth sized mosquitoes casting shadows the size of my friend Janet’s corgi, Chaco (Should have gotten those malaria vaccinations!!). Then, ironically, there is the ongoing underlying stress of knowing that at any given moment we may run out of household or drinking water, despite the fact that we live in a marsh with thousands of tiny lakes, ponds, sloughs and a massive river continually taunting us with their wet and watery melodies as if to whisper into our dehydrated ear canals, “So much water-  yet you’re dying of thirst”, aka non-potable water. That is, “water that has not been examined, properly treated, and not approved by appropriate authorities as being safe for bodily consumption”. And yet with all of the challenges we have endured sans Divine backup, and having yet to find even the simplest publication on How to Thrive (or at least Stay Alive) on your Mission…in Bethel, we are still here!

Berry Picking…makes us very thirsty:).

On that topic, there is a book that although not necessarily helpful in a manual-ly kind of way, has been an incredibly captivating and validating read of accounts over the years from individuals who had also come to find themselves in this wet and wild wonderland, zip: 99559.  The book is called Bethel, The First 100 Years. It is fascinating. For example, one individual who served as a State Trooper tells how in a span of 3 months, the summer of 1967, there were 40 attempted suicides, 42 drownings, and 11 homicides! Now it may not be quite that harsh today, but out here where frost never sleeps, it takes incredible effort to maintain civilization, no less to encourage progress, while at the same time trying to find a way to return this community back to a pre- missionary state, at least from a cultural stand point.

The people who have spent 20+ years out here working to improve the quality of life for those who live here are true missionaries and the work they have done and continue to do on behalf of the Yupik community is precious and second only to the courageous self-healing and reconstruction the Yupik people have been able to achieve for themselves! People stay in Bethel, despite a huge list of reasons to abandon ship. They somehow find a way, with the guidance of the original residents, to make a positive contribution. They recognize that the people that this land really belongs to are genuinely good and worthy of something better than what they have been left with. Mother Theresa would have totally dug hanging out in Bethel, ……at least for a week.

After having almost hit the two-year mark here, I can totally understand how returning missionaries seem fixated on the topic of how quickly their time went, even under the worst circumstances. And if leaving the comforts of home weren’t hard enough, the brand of missionaries I grew up with had to abstain from sex, coffee and rock and roll for (TWO WHOLE YEARS!!!)  Thanks to Starbucks and Amazon, Jeff and I have not had to give up anything…we have actually picked up a few more vices since touching down in 2017!

The missionaries I observed growing up would, upon returning to their motherland, quite quickly shift their focus from “catching” Mormon recruits to catching up on whatever television series they swore off for two years prior, while at the same time hotly pursuing and catching their eternal mate. (Interesting side note, catching in Alaska means hunting and terminating.) However, that time in the field is never forgotten and regardless of the difficulties endured, and perhaps because of those difficulties, most missionaries leave their assigned areas having developed a genuine love and appreciation for the communities they serviced.

That said, it seems that regardless of the fondness and connection that comes with having been deeply immersed in a community, by the time the missionaries’ two year marker has been met, they all seem quite happy to return home, seldom deciding to stay in the area they had been residing, regardless of their proclaimed love for these places. As it turns out, there is no place like home.

I too long to return home, having had incredible bouts of home sickness the last 6 months. This past winter brought me to my knees, UGH! It was so hard being so far away from my home, my family, my friends. When shit goes down with people you love, all you wish is that you can be closer than a phone call. When shit goes down and you live in Bethel Alaska, it feels like living on the moon. In fact, being in Bethel is in many ways very lunar-esque,  for instance when driving our Bethel lunar rover across the huge crater-like pot holes on our way to and from work, we are often catapulted up into what temporarily feels like a state of anti-gravitational suspension…also walking (actually bouncing) on the tundra feels a little like I imagine walking on the surface of the moon might feel, and have I mentioned the baby-powder-like alluvial dust? It too is very moon- like and ultimately may be the straw that permanently tips Jeff and I into the mud for our final big sleep given his predisposition to respiratory issues and my many years of breathing in my parents second hand smoke…Thanks mom and dad!

We have a friend, Ray D,  who actually has expressed his fear of dying in Bethel and has begged us to make sure, God forbid his worst fear manifests, that his body is transported back down to the lower 48 so that he is not semi-permanently sandwiched between the receding semi-permafrost and the eroding top soil, only to awkwardly reappear down the road, or down the river as it may well end up.

Hands down, this has been one of the hardest years of my life in a long while. With my 98-year-old grandma’s passing, my little sister’s horrible accident, a good friend’s horrible accident and the death of my daughter’s partner, simply said: it was a fucking hard year. (Sorry about the occasional language, another small example of why I was never cut out to be real missionary material, not so unlike my father).

Here we are, back in Bethel, and getting ready to reset for year 3. Resetting my expectations, my idea of what is good and what is bad, what is reasonable and what is out of reach. We have made many friends here. The Delta is resource rich, and not only is there an abundance of fish, berries, cultural tradition and a wealth of access to the old ways, there is also a surprising display of diversity within the community representing, literally people from, not only all walks of life, but from all over the world! Most enticing and likely the primary reason people end up staying 17+ years beyond their intended 2-3 year contract is simply the people! (I know!!! If I said it once, I’ve said it 28 times!!!) It just keeps coming back to that!

A large part of this is the lens through which Bethelites see the world. For instance, we have a very good friend Dave whom we have known since 2001. We met him soon after our initial move to Aniak. He’s a fish biologist and a passionate lover of all creatures, having a real soft spot for the scaled and gilled.

It was the Salmon that seduced Dave into coming to Bethel in the first place, where he lived for several years before moving to Aniak. Dave will tell you …that is… if you can, just for one moment, get him to stop talking about saving the f-ing fish, (working on my language!) “While there are many things about Bethel that are hard, frustrating and a pain in the butt, when things are good in Bethel…it just doesn’t get any better than that!”.  Dave also claims that Wrangler brand hot dogs have been the conduit for many a magical moment that usually involved double rainbows, mating eagles, campfire and of course….Dave.

We have another friend Diane who has her own amazing stories which include having spent time serving in the Peace Corp and having completed a 1000-mile solo bike ride! Diane has other stories which I would need written permission to include as they dabble in espionage, scandal and some dicey fashion choices she was making at the time (in her defense, it was the 80s). At some point Diane decided to come to Bethel to work with indigenous people and again, without planning to, ended up being here over 20 years! When we talk about whether something is worthwhile or not…food, movie, attending any Bethel event, Diane makes the comment, “Everything is better in Bethel.” It’s true! When you can’t count on anything being reasonably priced, decent quality, or even available, you quickly let go of your expectations, which makes everything better!

For instance, just because you had really good service at the new restaurant Zen, which last week was called WA!, and just 3 months before was Wasabi …, and just because the Pho was amazing last week, doesn’t guarantee……anything today! Diane and I went out last night on a friend date. We arrived 30 minutes early to the first night showing of Toy Story 4. We had decided to leave uber early since the current road construction paired with the torrential rains and horizontal mud slides is requiring us to take a flag-woman- directed-detour through the AC grocery store parking lot, which even on a Wednesday afternoon without construction is usually a cluster.  The AC parking lot is a dark and powerful vortex of mixed energies. Many last breaths have been taken in the AC parking lot, and a few first breaths. Babies come quick on the Delta.

Surprisingly I was able to navigate the parking lot with much more skill than I even knew I was capable of, allowing us to arrive at the theater way too early, only to find that there was a line coming out of the theater’s entrance door! (In my two years here, there has never been a line). By the time we got to the ticket counter, the tickets had sold out! While Diane was trying to process what was happening, as this has never happened in her 20 years here, I was just happy that I was still able to purchase my vat of popcorn for $25 dollars…OK it was just a small vat and it was only $5 but I swear when Jeff and I have gone to the movie here at the Suurvik Theater, the cost of two tickets and a large popcorn have been close to $65! and that’s a matinee!!!  $5 for a Cracker Jack’s box sized popcorn with “butter” is an absolute steal!!

Once Diane got her money refunded for the movie ticket she had just purchased moments prior (the ticket which turned out to not actually come with a movie seat) plan B was quickly established and we drove over to Zen’s (previously Wa!, previously Wasabi’s) to eat sushi.

Two minutes later, we pulled into Zen’s parking lot, and despite the sign saying “Open” and the door being open, and despite it being a Saturday night, as soon as we popped out of the car we were intercepted by the sweet restaurant worker who poked her head out to tell us, “Sorry, no open ☹”.

Everything is a meditation…everything a practice…breathe in… the acute feeling of disappointment, frustration, confusion…while observing your thoughts: Doesn’t “Open” mean “Open???” Breathe out…replacing your assumption with another thought…“Open” does not always mean “Open.” “Open” sometimes means “No Open☹”.

WA! the Pho??? (You may notice that someone has already truncated the ! on Wa to .)

Diane then suggested Connie’s (previously Connie’s). I have to admit I had come to consider Connie’s as sub-par to Zen’s (previously WA!, previously Wasabi’s). But it was either this or the other place (which will remain unnamed).  I am pretty sure the (other place) had caused Jeff and I some intestinal discomfort, aka, food poisoning. So, with mounting abandon, Diane and I both buckled back into my Bethel Lunar Rover and catapulted through the AC parking lot and back onto Chief Eddy Hoffman Highway where we u-turned into Connie’s, and with nothing to lose we bounced out of my car and into Connie’s. We claimed our table, ordered soup and two non-potable waters while holding it all very loosely. Diane got her soup about 45 minutes before I got mine, not an uncommon practice here, which was OK as it gave us time to settle in and catch up, no hurry, no worry. We both just savored her soup while we waited for my soup and laughed about what a perfectly beautiful example of what it meant to “Be” in Bethel…and how having to surrender to all of the natural forces and laws of nature that are still the higher order in a place like Bethel makes us all less upset about those many moments where things just refuse to go as planned.

I do believe, in many ways, things are Better in Bethel, but it probably won’t ever be enough to keep me from coming back to my Kansas<3.

June 13, 2019

We got a boat! This is big news!! Buying a boat when you live on the tundra is like buying access out! Bethel is amazing in many ways, but summer in Bethel without a boat is like being under house arrest…in an Amazon jungle with a lot-o-mosquitos!  As ready as we are to finally see the release of the cold north wind’s icy grip, the cold and ice that accompanies winter brings the firming up of all of the squishy moist landscape that encapsulates us, allowing all sorts of leisure recreating in the form of hiking, cross country skiing, snow shoeing and road trips on the occasionally dicey ice highway. In the summer, without the boat, we are left within the confines of Eddy Hoffman Highway, the BIA road, Ptarmigan/Tundra Ridge and everything in between, which ain’t a lot!

I could write you numb just rambling on about our recent adventures in the boat, but I’ll keep it short,…as short as possible given it’s me and …well, if you’re reading this chances are you’ve read previous Julie posts and,… you get it. I have to however, share the details of one of our recent adventures as it is truly foundational to everything we have experienced out here and to the work we both have been doing.

Coming upon Nunapitsinghak, the name given to this historical dwelling meaning Great Little Land, we found ourselves pulling up to the side of the cut bank arriving there by way of the Kwethluk river about 45 minutes upriver from Bethel.  This site is what used to be the regional children’s home which first opened in the mid 1920’s to house Yup’ik children who had been placed with the Moravian missionaries for various reasons including the recommendation of government authorities for reasons which are now considered very misguided “good” intentions.

Coming up the river, after boating through miles of wild untamed tundra, Nunapitsinghak literally just rises up from the horizon before you in the middle of nowhere. It’s a very surreal experience, like happening upon a movie set meant as the back-drop for a very sad and tragic story line.

Boy’s Dorm- left/Caretaker’s home-right

I had heard about the home when we first arrived in Bethel and had been intrigued with how people described it as something that appeared to be frozen in time. It was originally opened in 1926 to house orphaned children whose families were ravaged by TB. Unfortunately, other negative impacts would create an ongoing stream of displaced children that continued to move into and through the home and it would stay in operation until 1973.

There is conflicting information regarding why the home closed, however the 5 structures that included the girls dorm, boys dorm, the church, care giver’s home and wood shop remained relatively untouched for 20 years after the last inhabitants left. People have said that it was as if there was a sense of it being a natural sanctuary that held and honored decades of history depicting the children who had once lived there. It eventually would fall into the hands of younger generations who perhaps lost connection with what used to be deemed sacred and saw it as a place to reclaim, defame, and to spend some of their currency of anger and mischief as they tore books from the shelves and graffiti-ed the walls that otherwise still look amazingly intact, but the story these walls tell is changing.

After Jeff and I spent several hours moving through the property which is no longer pristine or well kept, I felt a sort of eerie sadness. I have spent the last couple of years on the other end of the stories of these children, and these children’s children, and grandchildren. I know at a very visceral level the often tragic and traumatic outcomes of many of these displaced children. It felt a bit like visiting an old prison camp.

When I got home, I immediately started to research the history of the home. I happened upon this beautiful website that was created as a way to capture and hold several of the elder’s stories who had once lived there as children. While it is not surprising that as the elders recounted some of their memories of their time at the home, they recalled things that were difficult, feeling the grief for families they had lost and cultural identities that were all but destroyed. However, to my surprise, what seemed even more apparent and agreed upon by these beautiful survivors is that they felt love and appreciation for the people who cared for them and for this place that had become their home.

I am sharing our friend Esther Green’s interview since we have a personal relationship with her and she is a beautiful example of what can be born out of incredibly difficult circumstances. She defines resilience, buoyancy and wisdom.

Esther on tundra; taken by our friend Diane Mceachern pictured on right.

Also, this website created by staff from KuC is so beautifully done, I’m hesitant to write anything at all, as I can’t begin to capture the experience of this place as gracefully and poignantly as it has been expressed by the authors and creators of this site. Under the menu there is a section that shows photos of the elders and their interviews about their experiences there. There is also a whole section with photos taken from the 1950’s through the early 70’s.

The reference to Gabriel Fox is strongly representative of the still thriving Yup’ik spirituality and beliefs that to western culture are seen as superstitious or magical. He was the one boy that got away and he was never found. Sightings of Gabriel Fox are still reported and I imagine his name will live on as the boy who couldn’t be tamed.

Esther Green’s reflections on living in the children’s home as taken from the Nunapitsinghak website located at the end of this blog:

They were strict. Strict Very Strict and nobody gets into trouble as long as we follow the rules. There’s really good um, It’s a place of learning. That place.

They taught us a lot of things, how to survive when we go on our own. They taught a lot of things that we should not waste. Any useful thing we’ve got to turn into something and use it. If we have no tissue we could turn the old clothing into little squares and we could use those for tissue, in outhouses. And we could use these just because one button is off does not mean we have to throw it off. But I missed my Mother because I had never been away from her.

But along the way we never go hungry. Um we ate fish, fish, fish, fish. Everyday. Fish, beans and in the morning we have cereal like cream of wheat and on Sunday mornings we have oatmeal with raisins. And we never eat no crackers. We make bread every other day in a great big pan. There would be two or three of us kneading the dough around and around and around. Sometimes running, running, running. The pans so big. And we make so much bread and then on Sundays we have wheat bread.

And then in certain days, certain day of the week we have mending day. Which means loads and loads of tubs filled with socks. We mend them. And then on certain day we have button day. We look at all the clothes if there’s missing button we put button. We call it a button day.

We worked together, We worked together, we worked together. Nobody is left out. Everybody worked equally. There was no such thing as slave. There was no such thing as favoritism when I was there.

Were you glad to live there? Yes I am glad, and now I know how it is to be displaced. I think a lot about the foster kids. How they feel. Do they feel like me when I was put up there? Where my mom often wondered, after I got home. I wonder how your brother is doing. We never hear, we never get no letters. We never hear from nobody. Not by letters nothing. They just take him and owned him. And they could do whatever they want to do with him. He graduated, we didn’t know. And one time I asked somebody, whatever happened to my brother, I never hear him or nobody tells me anything. He’s in Mount Edgecumbe. Oh! Instead of sending him he went out to Mount Edgecumbe for high school. If you interview him you’ll hear his story.

What was hard? Sometimes kids get to visit their parents. That’s good. Whereas in that kind of situation, no visiting. One time my mom visited, me, my mom they put us in a separate, away from anybody. Isolated us. That was the only one time I remember. The only one time I remember is that. I don’t know what the details were talked about. I wanted to go home so bad. I had a lump all over me. When they left I wanted to go with them. Maybe because I felt that way so bad I don’t remember. I probably blocked because I was hurting in some way. You know. Being away from my mom whom I was always with. When I was growing up we did things together. When I got separated from my mom it was tough. But I had to live according to however they want me to live. Never talk about my feelings.

I don’t really know. I don’t really know but then my mom had no control over what the government was doing so she just let them take over. No matter how much she wants my brother to be there. What will those people do? Because way, way back they had a threat from government, if your kids don’t go to school you are going to jail. Maybe with that in mind she just left them alone. I’m just saying maybe.

We only have to speak English. It was hard because I was always thinking Yup’ik, Yup’ik, Yup’ik. And then all the sudden I had to change my way of thinking to the Western side. You know, it is tough, but like I said, I had to, I had to. Because they were controlling me. Controlling me. What language I should speak, what foods I should eat, how long I should stay. You know. All that.

Like I said we have to live there way. Forget about our way. But then I can’t say that’s bad. Once you have it up here already you won’t lose it. Once you grow up with it, its up here. You won’t lose it. For me right now when I think about it I’m glad I experienced this way of living when I know mine already. When I got out of there I used mine.

What I like about this part, I pick it up and I use it. What I don’t like, I leave it alone. That’s how I live my life. But I’m grateful for me having lived there, experiencing it. What it’s like to be displaced.

So I cannot say their way is bad, no. It’s just another way of life. I can’t say my way is the best. It’s just a way of life. That’s how they grow and bloom. Both sides. No good or bad.

Have you been back? Oh some years ago after it closed down I went. I cried and cried and cried. Here’s the home that we used to keep spick and span. Not a dust, floors shining and walls shining everything clean, clean. Here it is all wrecked up, everything broken. That broke my heart. I was sobbing away the whole time there. I was so broken hearted, and mad too at the same time. How could this happen? Where are the keepers? Who is watching the place? Why is it this way? And I went to cottage where Mr. and Mrs. Trodahl used to live. I went in there. It was bare and messy. Used to be clean. No furniture. I went into the kitchen area, it does not look like a kitchen. No furniture, nothing, no oven, nothing, no pots and pans, no cupboards. Everything trashed. That place is trashed. Shame on the missionaries who put it up in the first place and let it go like this.

Can you describe your time in one word or phrase? It’s uh, it’s a one of a kind home. It’s a one of a kind home where I learned so much. Despite of negative things. I don’t want to stay on that. Negative things won’t help me. I have to be positive all the time and think of all the staff people that I’ve grown to love.

Quote by Thoreau on a tattered pamphlet found among the remnants<3

Nunapitsinghak Website

http://www.nunapitsinghak.com/

 

 

 

May 18, 2019

We just got through Break-up season! Break-up is synonymous with Spring on the Delta. The first time Jeff and I experienced Break-up was while living in Aniak. It was intense! Residents of various outlying villages actually have a lottery in different regions of Alaska that pays out several thousand dollars to the person whose guess comes closest to the actual minute the ice marker gets tipped.

The anticipation is palpable as a hard break up can actually result in serious flooding, which happened during our first Break-up 2002. The pieces of river ice can be so large that that they get snagged, piling up on each other, damming the flow of the river. The water quickly backs up into riverside villages submerging everything below hip level. In Aniak, this included the low-lying cemetery. At least on one occasion the flood waters were so disruptive they caused a re-emergence of several caskets which found their way out of the ground and back into view where they macabrely bobbed until the somewhat disturbed viewing public could re-appropriate them back into ground.

It was after that year that the Aniak residents decided to build a very large and sturdy dike wall. That didn’t completely stop the flooding however. The first spring in Aniak Break-up had us all busting out our boats so that we could tool around the village as most of the roads were several feet under.  Going to work in the boat was a nice change of pace!  It felt a bit like Venice sans the sexy Italian boatmen and luckily absent of the floating caskets that had previously busted out of the ground.

When Break-up starts, the word gets out quickly in the village. We were in Aniak from 2001-2005 when there were virtually no cell phones and I bet within 30 minutes of the ice starting to move the whole community was standing on the dike eagerly welcoming this momentous change of the season, eyes cast upstream while ears peaked listening to the snapping, grinding and pulverization of anything that got in the ice’s way. The sound is like nothing we had ever experienced. Here is a video shot in Aniak about 5 years ago that gives some sense of what it is like, but it really doesn’t do the real-life experience justice. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B1Js7Ooyg-M

Our Break-up initiation in Aniak did not disappoint. Jeff was standing on the edge of a section of bank. Just as someone said to him, “You may not want to be standing there.”,  a massive piece of ice literally sheared several feet of dirt along with a 20+ foot tree off the side of the bank. Wowser! We also saw a moose that had gotten stranded on a big flat of ice, aimlessly flowing along just out of reach of the bank. The moose seemed utterly unalarmed at the time as if he had intentionally caught the ice escalator to head on down to Kalskag to meet up with his down river homies, although we later heard it didn’t turn out well for him. Poor Moose.

This year in Bethel, if there was a Break-Up, it seems that it came and went like a thief in the night. With the strange and erratic fluctuations of temperatures, the melt was very gradual and instead of the magnificent exit of the long ribbon of ice that serves as an Alaskan highway during the winter months, it all just unceremoniously  disappeared. I wonder if this might be a metaphoric foreshadowing of things to come? Here today, and very quietly…gone tomorrow,  as opposed to the End of Days stories I was so enthusiastically told by my Sunday school teacher as a young child.

Speaking of Break-ups, I just broke up with my previous employer after 1 year, 8 months and 2 weeks. Despite this being the shortest tenure of any job I have ever had, not counting pre-degree days, I have never felt as tapped out, burned out, seared, grilled, charred or soul sucked as I did the final months of that job. Oh how I could rant…for pages and pages…(4 pages to be exact) which I did in a letter that I “quietly” shared with the administration via interoffice email. To my surprise, the Vice of the corporation actually got back to me, even apologizing for “most” of what I wrote!  While the apologies from the higher court seemed authentic and heartfelt, it was the middle administration, who had become the real source of my “dissatisfaction” aka, the bane of my Bethel existence in their inexhaustible efforts to reduce me to a very small angry shell of the compassionate woman I had previously been.

After I gave notice, those whom were charged with recruiting, managing and retaining providers such as myself, were nowhere to be seen. Despite having just lost 4 of the last 5 recently recruited clinicians, (by recently I mean in the last 3-4 months), I halfway expected that they would reach out and at least feign interest in salvaging me from the slash pile of spent counselors, but not a peep. They simply dissolved into the workscape background like this year’s Kuskokwim ice. Although my exit was anticlimactic and my letter likely not worth the energy and virtual paper it was typed on, I was still able to appreciate the deep gratitude I felt for everything outside the four walls of that establishment when I finally walked away knowing I had indeed said my piece! Can I hear you say “AMEN!” sisters and brothers!

Side-lying on Bessie’s desk just prior to my loyal work mates carrying me out of the building for the last time. They also occasionally brought me coffee:). Bessie, Olga, Jenny, Arlene and Laranell.

On gratitude, Jeff and I spent a long restorative weekend in Anchorage after my work Break-up. Going to town means getting to re-immerse our somewhat deprived (not depraved) senses in a broad and colorful palette of sensory delights not to mention being able to drive a car 60-70 miles an hour across beautiful pothole-free asphalt while getting to all of these very cool, delectable and delightful establishments. We have a couple of different favorite places lists going.

First is the Tried and True list, those places that were there when we left 15 years ago and like loyal friends, were waiting for us when we returned. In fact, when we flew out two years ago to re-interview with YK, while laying over in Anchorage we were so excited to find that the Moose’s Tooth was still tossing dough. We paid almost $40 for the cab fare just so we could sink our teeth into their Wild Mushroom Pizza Pie. It ended up being around a $90-dollar pizza date! If you ever decide to venture North to Anchorage, here is a list of Jeff and Julie recommended places to visit.

Tried and True:

Moose’s Tooth: Considered the most profitable privately-owned pizza establishment in the whole US of A

http://moosestooth.net/

Snow City Cafe: Almost impossible to find a better breakfast! Highly recommend the Crab Benedict!

https://www.snowcitycafe.com/

Humpy’s: We have never met an oyster here that we didn’t really really like!

https://www.humpysalaska.com/

The 49^th State Brewery: Used to be the Grey Goose, much cooler now with roof top tables and a view of the harbor. Crab and melted cheese sandwich!!! I Know!!!

https://www.49statebrewing.com

Glacier Brew House: Amazing food, ambiance and coincidentally…not unlike many of our other recommendations, serves great beer!

https://www.glacierbrewhouse.com/

Add on an amazing scenic drive to Seward which is a very worthwhile experience in and of itself and you will find Rays!

https://www.rayswaterfrontak.com/

Not as Tried but Truly Yummy   (Most of these places fly under the radar, too cool to have websites)

Bubbling Mermaid: Tiny hideaway with a nautical motif pairing hot & cold oysters & other seafood bites with champagne. If this isn’t enough, in the rear of the bar you can pass through a veiled doorway into a long dark hallway leading to a speakeasy bar which you literally have to feel your way through to the other side where you’ll find a very dark packed pub and all you can eat $3 tacos! Strange, a little creepy, but worth trying…at least once!

The Black Cup: Not only do they serve great coffee that is almost good enough to drink…black, they serve a delicious reindeer breakfast burrito.

https://blackcupak.com/

F Street Station: Great pub with a very interesting history. You’ll know your in the right place if you find the big block of cheese being enjoyed by the patrons despite the sign hanging over it that reads… “For Demonstration Only”

Bear’s Tooth Theater: Get your movie, food and brew fix all from the same seat😊.

http://beartooththeatre.net/how-it-works-beartooth/

Side Street Espresso: Found this place accidentally but loved it. Imagine Cheers as a coffee shop.

On our drive to Seward this year we quite accidentally came upon a running pod of Beluga Whales which happened to be chasing after a swarm of hooligans, small smelt like fish that people show up in droves to dip net. (Don’t waste your time checking my reference to a “swarm” of hooligans as I totally just now made that up.) As far as made up animal group classifications go,  I think you probably have to admit it sounds pretty legitimate, that is,  if you’re not a fish biologist, which we happen to have several fish biologists friends that that would likely not take my made up reclassification efforts lying down, …so…just saying.)

A recent visit to our old stomping grounds in Aniak. Our friend Dave Banano shared the photo to the left of potlucks past which of course we had to attempt to recreate while chilling with fellow Aniakians,  photo upper and lower right. Dave B, Dave C, Leslie & Jim B, and Sue & Randy H!

With Spring comes new things<3