The sponge

The white protusion you see emanating from bottom center is my leg. Amidst the dark abyss attached to my leg, is a large boot that contains my large foot. I will have you know that Petruuvak is (among others) one of the names that I have been given, which translates from Yup'ik to English as large toe or large foot. For those of you who have never met me, I am nearly 6'4",wear a size 13 shoe, and have been known by such euphemisms as "Big Man" and "Big Cat". To many I am a large man, but to the Yup'ik people I am a seemingly incomprehensible wonder. Rumor has it that discussions are currently taking place within the tribal council to have me deemed one of the wonders of Chefornak. An honor, I would graciously accept.

And that rant affords me the opportunity to further illustrate the sponge-like properties of the tundra by demonstrating the disappearing effects the tundra can have on such large objects as my foot. However, this effect should not induce a state of worry. If you're smart and stick to the high ground you'll never sink more than 8-10inches (depending on how soft the earth has become due to rainfall). However, if you find that you can not resist the temptation brought upon by the brilliance of the neon green plants that inhabit the low-ground, you are advised to carry a pole with you no shorter than 20ft, so that you may right yourself in the event that you go under. You see, some of the vegetation here grows on top of ponds and streams and creates an illusion of stable ground, while concealing the horrible, sinking truth that it is anything but. As I have seen first hand the aforementioned bodies of water and the cloak of vegetation they adorn, I can assure you of thier existence. However, I have yet to encounter a 20ft pole and believe that the Yup'ik people have again tested the extent to which I buy in to their cultural manipulations. Experiences such as these have led me to the conclusion that one must always doubt first and ask questions later, a truth one easily loses in the presence of undue trust.

Berries 101

The pinkish, seemingly pentagonal protrusion you see before you is indeed the infamous salmon berry. Its name is derived from the commonality of appearance it shares with that of a salmon egg coupled with its berry-like goodness.

The salmon berry is just one of the berries that one might discover on a walk, in any direction, out on the tundra. Berries can be found for miles around, are usually collected by the gallons, and stored for use in the winter when food becomes increasingly scarce. Berries are a key component to Agutak or Eskimo ice cream, which is comprised of some combination of berries and vegetable shortening. Though I recommend the experience, I do not believe the flavor is palatable enough to inspire Agutak-men anywhere other than the YK Delta.

Having only seen raspberries and starwberries grow and mature in bushes and vines, I was surprised to find that berries in the tundra seem to stand apart from one another as opposed to growing in bunches. This fact makes it simple to understand the tedium that is experienced when it comes time to harvest.

I had spent nearly an hour or so collecting berries and placing them in to a 1 gallon bucket, which I had borrowed from a fellow teacher. At the hour's end I found that my bucket was nearly empty. The energy required to continually bend down and pick up each individual berry demanded that I eat nearly all of the fruits of my labor. Needless to say, I am not anywhere near the top of the recruitment list.

The Posse

If and when you decide to come to Chefornak, I assure you a posse will be awaiting your arrival. In fact, I am certain they already know that you are entertaining the thought as they have undoubtedly tracked your thoughts via their internal radar system. As soon as you step off the plane, they'll be there. When you wake up in the morning, go to the store, to the post office or out to visit a friend in the village, they'll be there, waiting.

And once you've been detected, any child within a 100ft radius is instantly uprooted from his/her location and subsequently drawn to you in such a fashion that one can only conclude that these children are 25% Yup'ik Eskimo and 75% magnet.

Have you ever been experienced? Well, I have.

Inside this little shack I received one of my very first cultural experiences. As there is no running water in the village, other means have been contrived to deal with the issue of cleanliness. The solution to the problem is known as a "steam", which is similar to a sauna, but in much tighter quarters. It was here, inside a 9 cubic foot space where I found myself naked with 5 Eskimo men and another white man or gussick as we are known by the Yup'ik people.

There's no reason to be shy, as they assure you, without prompt "that we don't look at it like that". I nodded in agreement, but as I slid past a few of the Eskimo men to a more desirable location in the back of the steam, I couldn't help but wonder what was meant by that last statement.

Though I wanted to ponder that last thought some more, I found it difficult to focus on anything but the fact that I was being cooked. When I first arrived in the steam, it felt like an oven, dry and hot. A fire had been blazing for an indeterminate amount of time prior to my arrival and had managed to heat the lava coals placed above it as well as the room to well above 150 degrees. Though it was hot, I felt confident that I could last at this temperature and avoid the embarrassment of being "run out" (which tests one's manhood by the amount of time he remains in the steam). As I began to sweat profusely, Robert (the proprietor) announced that we were ready to begin. As Robert poured water upon the lava rocks, steam instantly rose to the ceiling, made its way toward the back of the steam room, then down the back wall (where I was kneeling) on to my back, the back of my arms and in to my lungs. The oven analogy had been immediately replaced with the image of being inside a boiling pot of water. As more cups of water were added, the temperature rose causing everyone to position their faces as close to the plywood floor as possible in an attempt to suck in the relatively cool air that had been pushed down to the floor. At this point my fellow caucasian bowed out and the Eskimo men started to taunt me, which is an indication that they too have just about had enough. I became determined to outlast at least one Eskimo and hopefully gain their respect. However, as the final cup of water was poured, I felt a burning sensation on the back of my arms of the like I had never before experienced. My only thought here was not if, but how many layers of skin had just been burned through. Instinctually, I moved to wipe the steam off of my body, but when I did this my head rose a few inches above "the safe zone" and I took in a breathe of scalding hot water. The temperature had reached 225 degrees and the humidity, though untested, hovered around 100%. I lunged for the door, pushed it open, and crawled to the open doorway of the steam, where I felt the cool air work its charm as I sat exposed to anyone who dared to pass by.

Though it may seem that sweating and nearly suffocating to death in a tiny room heated up to 225 degrees with a bunch of men doesn't seem like the ideal way to cleanse oneself, I assure you I have never felt as clean as I had after the steam.

What happened?

For some time now I had neglected displaying the image of my luxurious abode. I repeatedly debated in my mind whether or not I would be perceived as an arrogant prick, intent on inspiring envy. However, I have come to terms with my reality and thought it best to expose the truth despite the jealousy it may inevitably arouse.

I don't know where it was that I heard that a college education was the ticket to a good job and possibly a step up the social ladder. I suppose for the most part that this may be true as I know many who have done quite well for themselves and within a relatively short time from graduation. However, as I sit here in my living room (the table and chairs to the left of the bed) I can't help but wonder how I managed to rupture the rung of the ladder I had once stood upon, which caused me to slide down a step or two to my present quasi-homeless station in life.