Alaska Dispatches
# 3  —  13 August 2000

Picking Berries

	If I have been more tired than I was yesterday evening, I cannot remember the time. I was out picking salmonberries with Paul, Georgie and Abigail from about 1:30 in the afternoon until midnight. We were supposed to leave at 9:00, so I got up, had a big breakfast, got all my stuff together and waited, vacillating between thinking that we were about to go and that they had blown me off. The phone would ring eventually, and Georgie would tell Leisy “We’re going after lunch, so tell Michael to get ready ,” and the cycle would start again. It seems that as soon as you totally give up hope, you are off. And that’s when the Yup’ik folks get the impression that we Kassaqs are so slow to get underway. We need a few minutes to adjust the layers, make sure the right mittens are in the backpack and lace up the boots. When they decide to go, they’re off.
	It was a gorgeous day eventually, after a pretty crummy morning. We went upriver about halfway to the nearby village of Kwig, setting a couple of fishnets on a side bar along the way. We picked berries for a few hours. It is grueling work stomping around the tundra, bending over at the waist to grab handfuls of the small soft berries and dropping them into your bucket. The topper is that I can’t stand salmonberries, although I understand it is an acquired taste.
The tundra is stunning. It looks so uniform from a distance, but up close is infinitely varied and colorful. The ground squishes under your feet, a myriad of plant life abounds and field mice scurry underfoot. It was grand to be out on such new terrain in the crisp summer air.
At our first stop we each went our own way, and I sang Fountains of Wayne tunes to myself as I tried in vain to fill up my bucket. The ladies came back with their buckets overflowing, and then helped me try to get a respectable amount in my 5-gallon bucket. We then boated upriver and picked some more, until about 10:00 PM. It is hard to ascertain the time out here, since the sun sets well after midnight, and we live with an utter lack of schedule.
On our way back I shot at a bunch of, and actually hit a few, ducks. I even brought my first one home. We were also lucky with the fish, and found a handful of Ciscos and a large whitefish in our nets on our way back. After a while I drove the boat home, which was fun but exhausting, especially since by this time the temperature had dropped, and at full throttle there was a lot of cold blowing in my face.
I later learned that perhaps an ulterior motive to the trip was that Georgie wants me to be able to take her and Leisy out while her husband Paul is working. I hope that she realized, with my ineptitude, just how much Paul contributed to our outing, from steering us around the shallow spots, to trudging hip-deep in the river to collect the nets, to driving the whole way there and half the way back in the cold, to getting us off of the sandbar I steered us onto and countless other little tasks that I have no idea how to perform. It will be a while, if ever, before I am piloting a boat trip out to the tundra on my own.
This has been the most striking thing to me so far – just how much everyone knows about so many different things. Everyone is a boat driver, steam builder, snow machine mechanic, hunter, fisherman and all-around general fix-it. Survival skills are a way of life, and everyone has them. It is no wonder that school has had trouble taking hold. So far I can see no good reason why kids should attend school; it seems that it would take valuable time away from their instruction in the ways to survive.

Today is Sunday. Jules and I had a lot of time together while Leisy did a bunch of visiting, went to choir practice and to church. We walked to the airstrip twice, where he is bursting with happiness to see “that red Cessna (pronounced cess-a-na) plane.” On one of our trips we were fortunate to see Grant Air’s flight arrive and depart, and as if that weren’t enough, a charter Cessna took off as well.
Getting Jules to the next activity is becoming more and more of a challenge, and I have resorted to a series of bargains. If we head back, we can throw a rock in a really big puddle. Let’s go home so we can color. If you finish your soup, we can play with your train. He colored with magic markers for hours this afternoon, and threw a fit when I finally dragged him away to get outside. Of course, once outside, he is happy again, especially when he realizes that we are heading for the planes.
Jules continues to bust me wide open with his phrasing and explosive language development. As we are walking along the boardwalk, he provides a running color commentary on the world going by and his role in it. Today he repeated a few times: “Jules is walking real nice.” He was right. Two or three children who live next door usually accompany us. They are well-meaning, but sometimes a bit rough with Jules, and always incredibly dirty. One little girl has a constant stream of viscous, green snot and is really into being in Jules’ face. Jules tolerates them, with a running monologue of “What’s that Jackson doing?” (it’s the only name he’s learned so far), as well as instructions like “Jackson walk this way” (to face the same way as Jules).
I was so sore and tired today – a steam was exactly what I needed. I took one with an elder named Freddie, and it was hot. More hot than other steams I have been to, and Freddie and the others there were sure to let that be known, too. There is definitely a machismo angle to Yup’ik culture. Who steams the hottest, who drives their snow machine the fastest, who had the nearest-to-death experience. Tonight’s steam was so hot that I burned my tongue. I am certainly ready for sleep.

One week down, fifty-one to go. Actually, with all the time we are planning to be down states, it will more likely be something like 45 weeks that we are actually here in Piniq this year. May there be more days like yesterday; the time will fly by. I went out for silver salmon with Paul, John and one of Paul’s sons, Jay. It was a tremendous day – sun shining, probably 70 degrees – the perfect weather to be out on the sea, but I learned very much less than perfect for fishing. We were out for a few hours, and wound up with only one silver, which they let me take home. Leisy gutted and baked it while I took Jules to the airstrip. He now knows the way and walked all the way there and back. Some friends came over for dinner, and Jules was glad to have big kids around, but didn’t interact with them much.
Today it is wet and windy. We got a handful of boxes this morning, and I have been with Jules all day while Leisy has been working. I am excited, but at the same time a bit worried about the full time parenting thing. Leisy hasn’t even been working full time yet but already I feel tired and bored mentally. I’ll have to make sure to spend some hours focused on my own projects.
Yesterday I thought that I might be sad to be away from Piniq for 3 weeks so soon, especially since it will be right in the middle of Fall seal hunting season, but I imagine when the time comes I’ll be ready for a break. Coming back for all of October, November, December, January and February is going to be difficult. Much more challenging than moving here and getting everything set up during the warm, long summer days, knowing that we will be taking a break so soon. When we get back here we will be turning the corner to fall, with more darkness and cold and much more to come. On the other hand if the first week is an indication of our upcoming year, we’re in for some great times. So far every single day has been something new. While arduous, something new each day certainly makes for a great experience.

©2000, Michael Thornton Wyman