Chewy, the hills where the big blueberries grow.

July 12th,

We are starting to adjust to our surroundings although having people in the office by 7:30 in the morning ready to work does not really gel with the overall slow movements of Amy and I. Thank God that she gets up before me and makes coffee or I'd be incapable of speech. Which come to think of it, isn't necessarily a bad thing for the people surrounding me.

The cabin where we stay is clean and nice although the view from the front encompasses tanker containers which seem to be left all over Alaska. The view is quite lovely from the other side of the cabin. There are two windows which lookout on the hillside where there are skinny pine trees and tall grasses and mountains in the distance. The town is a collection of cabins - some well maintained and many not, sprinkled on a hillside above the Kuskokwim River. We are about 90 miles upriver from Bethel now and the terrain is is a transition zone between artic tundra and boreal forests. It feels very far away.  

Sometimes around midnight I look out the window and watch as the setting sun goes behind the mountains. It is at that time when the land seems to glow and be at its finest. Pink and orange light glints through the branches. Between the many conifers there is still tundra, that spongy earth filled with small berry bushes, moss and lichens and tall grasses.  I stare out the plexiglass wishing I could hear the night noises. No one seems to have screens here. I think to myself: this is the right time to see the bear or a wolf that might be wandering past in this silent, glorious world of pine trees, rivers and midnight sunsets.

I look out and think about going outside but fear and the pull of my sleeping bag keeps me inside. I snuggle back down and listen to Amy's breathing and fall asleep. 

The next morning we are awakened to a frenzy of activity. The head of the council is here. She is not native but married to a native man, lives without electricity and not anything like the 'silent people' I have been meeting. She seems very east coast - very verbal and well somewhat bossy. I am wondering how she ended up here. The Yupik people on the other hand are very non-verbal. They don't speak much and answer questions either with eyebrows raised for yes or a pout for no. They don't come across as very warm but I am realzing that the culture is so different and I must be overwhelming them with my chattering and endless questions. There is so much I want to know.

 Most people barely respond to us when we ask them a question. When they do their response is silencet or I don't know or you should call ____ (fill in name here). 

Oy, needless to say we're not exactly feeling the love. 

I am on the phone with our boss from Anchorage who when this woman, let's call her Joanne, come sits down at the table and starts talking very loudly.  My boss doesn't understand why we are not feeling happy and tells us of another group who did not have tells us another group didn't have any running water and had to haul their own for several days. Joanne, who seems much more like a fellow New Yorker then an Alaskan is talking loudly to Amy about the fact that we have found another place to hold program. This, we think, is a good idea as it gets us out of their office but she seems to disagree. I see Amy's face and know this is not good. My boss is listening.

With the comparison of Joannes aggressive and loud approach to the native women in the office I am forced into self awareness, not for the first time, how I might be coming across. (Amy is always saying to me, "Stop yelling at me.") As charming as I think I can be I realize that my loud, nasally voice is perhaps just a bit off putting to the culture here. That matched with my inability to communicate and get answers reminds me with dismay as to what a poor anthropologist I really am. Arrgh again!

The issue is ultimately resolved by basic amguity as to whether it is okay for us to use the space. We take that as a yes.  Amy and I are relieved but still struggling with the lack of privacy and hot water. There is no kitchen for cooking and no refigerator. This means we make two servings of our shelf stable dinners each night and no more. Our meals involve rice, canned string beans and corn, as well as nuts and beef jerky. We have dried fruit and cereal for breakfast. We have to heat up water in a kettle to wash our dishes with.  We are being 'flexible' which is part of the pep talk that we received when we were in training.

We have found another space to work with the kids - above the city offices and that is a nice carpeted space which the kids love. There does seem to be some politcial issues between the tribe and the city  government but we are not involved and everyone is being helpful, well sort of. Now when I say the city I mean the mayor who is a white, grizzly looking guy in his fifties, an eskimo named Jerry who is in charge of their building and two or three of the women here. There are several older women who have been helpful to us but there does seem to be the question of who is actually our contact and that is sometimes seemingly in dispute. 

We've begun to see peoples smoking salmon for the winter. Almost everyone has a smokehouse in their backyard and once the fish is caught people hang them up to dry. We are hoping to get out to a fish camp to see it as now the salmon are running and fishing is busy. Many kids are away now so we only have about ten but that is great after Bethel.

The town has the following:

-two small stores, one which doesn't seem to ever be open;

-a tiny dock;

-city building;

-tribal council;

-middle school,

-a Russian orthodox church & graveyard:

 -clinic,

-post office

and about 20 houses.

We have met the children who prefer to play zombie tag and red rover. They are well behaved and wonderful. Friendly, dirty dogs follow us everywhere. They seem to enjoy the love we give them.