40 day celebration

In early September, Vic, a spunky legal advocate that works with Meg and Whitney at the SAFV shelter (Sitkan's Against Family Violence), invited us to the 40 day celebration for her brother-in-law, Andy Hope, a very special and important member of the Native community here in Sitka. His funeral was celebrated soon after his death, but the 40 day celebration is a Tlingit tradition, a time for family and friends to gather 40 days later, eat lots of wonderful food, and take time sharing stories celebrating his life.

The celebration was held in the Alaska Native Brotherhood (ANB) Hall, an organization started by Andy Hope's father, and started with everyone sitting at long tables waiting for the food. The Russian Orthodox church choir sang an opening, and a priest blessed our food. Now, we came hungry because Vic had said the food was going to be really good; the first course was a venison stew and fry bread, and silly me, I thought that was it, and was a little worried that I'd stay hungry. Those of you who know me well, (Mom, Dad) you know that this was a real concern for me. Ha! There was a full Thanksgiving style meal, this crazy Texas chili stuff that was delicious, cheesy halibut that was the tastiest thing I think I have every put in my mouth, three different delicious cakes... I can't remember all the rest but it was overwhelmingly delicious.

While we were eating, Vic's husband welcomed people up to speak about Andy's life, memories of him, and what was important to him. In Tlingit culture, balance is highly valued, and the social structure is balanced with two clans, raven and eagle. Vic explained to us that her husband was asking someone from the raven clan, then someone from eagle clan to speak, providing balance.

The talk that really struck me was given by a professor that had co-authored a book with Andy on Native Alaskan historical perspective of the battles between the Tlingits and the first Russian invaders. He spoke about how Andy's true passion was education, and what he fought for was "place-based education." Before he died, Andy had put in motion an initiative to provide a tribal college, where education rooted in learning about the place that you live. The place's people, history, and environment. I really resonated with that concept, as I feel like I am undergoing place-based education here in Sitka. There is so much to learn here, and I love it.

Stay tuned for more postings on Alaska Day, the commemoration of Alaska becoming a territory of the United States.

Tuesday night Potlucks

Every tuesday night a bunch of 20somethings convene at Tyler's house. Yes, this is the friend who deemed me executioner on our fishing trip. My first impression of his house was wow, this place is really nice, blue wallpaper, nice kitchen, then BAM, Bear in the face. You turn a corner and holy-cow, a bear is growling in your face. Check it out.

You fishin'?

A little Alaskan vignette:

Setting:
The day I wrote the crescent harbor poem, I was clambering on the rocks that form a barrier for the harbor. One side is harbor, the other side is the mouth of a stream with a salmon hatchery at the mouth of it. Late September is the time of year that 2 or 3 year old pink salmon come home to the stream of their birth place, spawn, and die, so this stream beside the harbor was entirely full of salmon struggling upstream.

Cast of characters:
Hundreds of salmon,
Eileen, journal and book in tow
a Local Boy, a 9 year old kid (barefoot and in sweats)
a Less Exuberant Buddy,
and a Third Boy in a bright orange rain slicker.

Eileen slowly picks her way across the harbor rocks. Local boy is scampering up and down the bank of the stream, bare foot, his sweat pants soaked. His friend, still wearing his shoes, is reluctantly lingering farther up the bank.

Local boy: "Hey, you goin' fishin'?"
Eileen is taken aback. He was talking to her, but how could she be fishing? She doesn't have a pole, or any fishing gear to speak of.
Eileen: "No, not today. You?"
Local boy: "Yeah! I'm going to get some!"

Mystified, Eileen continues picking her way along the rocks, on a mission for poetic solitude, not knowing what to think of this friendly little boy.

Time passes, then Eileen returns from a more lonely perch on the outer rocks, to satisfy her curiosity.

Less Exuberant Buddy: "Hey, I'm going home now."
Local Boy: "Just wait for me, okay? I'm going to get just one. Just one fish, okay?
Less Exuberant Buddy shrugs his shoulders in acquiescence. The Local Boy continues his running monologue about how he is going to get himself a fish. Eileen is fascinated as he grabs a scrap of net and flings it into the stream at the fish.
The Local Boy starts walking out on a cement waterfall thing, with a knotch for the fish to jump up. A light bulb appears over his head.
Local boy: Hey! Hey! If we put this net over this spot, we could get a fish! Hey come over here! look!
Less Exuberant Buddy joins the hunt, grabbing the other side of the scrap of net, about the size of an over-loved baby blanket. They hold it over the knotch and get a fish, as it jumps straight up into the net.

Local Boy: Yeeeeaahh!!!
After a triumphant, wiggly hoist up into the air, the Local Boy lets the fish go.
Local Boy: Okay, just one more? I think we can get one with a big rock!
He flings the net aside, and goes on a hunt for a big rock. Third Boy clomps up the bank, in his orange rain slicker and navy blue boots.
Local Boy: "Hey! Wanna go fishing? We caught one with a net, now we're getting them with rocks!"
Whoosh, PLUNK, splash splash as the salmon swim furiously away.
Whoosh PLUNK, splash splash splash splash.
Local Boy wades in, grasps a semi-stunned wriggling salmon and hoists it up high, exuberant until he notices that it lacks the hump male pink salmon wear on their back.
Local Boy: "EEEEEEWWW! Its a GIRL. Look.
Less Exuberant Boy and Third Boy: "Eeeeeeew! Gross."

***********************
I guess boys will be boys?
Silly me, thinking a pole and a hook were necessary components for fishing. :)

First Sitkan Poem.

Last week I stepped out of Medicaid documentation
medication legislation at Centennial Hall, Sitka proper
blinking drizzle from my eyes and defeat
from my heart.
Locating all interior comfort in the continental US,
I set out further to the edge.

Perhaps the rocks
creating crescent harbor
would protect me, or ground me, or grind me
to a pulp.
Perhaps
the lapping waves of Sitka Sound would sound
peace, rocking my pieces into place.

The rocks spoke.
In slippery quick words,
told me I was wearing the wrong shoes:
"Eileen, Mary Janes are the wrong attitude.
Here on the rock edge you need
your fisherman boots, neoprene protection
and soles that grab and do not let go."
I teetered, I tottered until

I sat down and cried. I cried into
the phone, into
the continental US, into
my comfort.
Crying, I watered the spruce,
glistening the rocks,
dampening the moss,
contributing my tears
to the condensation cycle until

my tears rose,
resurrected in the clouds
the mist that soften the mountain tops
the goose down of the gods of Mount Verstovia.
And today,

today I awoke
to sunstreams breaking through my curtains,
beckoning me out.

I slid my light-
weight rainjacket off the hanger and slid
my fisherman boots on both feet,
right then left, return to the harbor,
clambering the rocks like a triumphant
mountain goat.

Fruit picker who arrived here/ After the harvest

Hello friends and family,

I haven't written much about my job working with youth involved with the law due to alcohol and substance abuse at Sitka Counseling and Prevention Services, and I think I'm going to keep it that way, for boundaries sake. I do want to share this song by Jon Foreman that resonated with me as I was reading through police reports and drafting affidavits to send to the court. Working with criminal justice, I've found myself feeling "like a fruit-picker who arrived after the harvest" to use Jon Foreman's words. Fortunately, God is the ultimate keeper of the harvest, year after year, and stays through all seasons....


How miserable I am

I feel like a fruit-picker who arrived here

After the harvest

There's nothing here at all

Nothing at all here that could placate my hunger

The godly people are all gone

There's not one honest soul left alive

Here on the planet

We're all murderers and thieves

Setting traps here for even our brothers

And both of our hands are equally skilled

At doing evil, equally skilled

At bribing the judges, equally skilled

At perverting justice

Both of our hands

Both of our hands

....(more of the same)

(key change)

No, don't gloat over me

Though I fall, though I fall

I will rise again

Though I sit here in darkness

The Lord, the Lord alone

He will be my light

I will be patient as the Lord

Punishes me for the wrongs I've done

Against Him

After that, He'll take my case

Bringing me to light and the justice

For all I have suffered

And both of His hands

Are equally skilled

At ruining evil, equally skilled

At judging the judges, equally skilled

Administering justice

Both of His hands

Both of His hands

Are equally skilled

At showing me mercy, equally skilled

At loving the loveless, equally skilled

Administering justice

Both of His hands

Both of His hands

Totem Park

Sitka National Historic Park, better known as Totem Park, is a favorite spot for me in sitka. Here, the totems rest amongst with dignity , nestled among trees along wide running paths, and alongside the sea.
Notice the guy looking surprised peeking out of the blow whole of the whale? My theory is that he's blown away by his view (see photo above). hehe. One of my coworkers offered to walk with us through the park and tell us some of the totem pole stories and I really hope we take him up on it.

Crescent Harbor residents

Thought you all might enjoy these shots of Crescent Harbor and it's residents.