Now that we are officially off to a good start and half-way through the first term, I feel the time has come to introduce my co-workers. In no particular order, they are:
Katelynn- a 21 year old newbie, fresh out of undergrad from Montana teaching the 8 First graders. She is a very sweet girl but has never lived on her own and I fear that she is living on rice and frozen veggies because she has never been taught how to shop. For food, at least. Like me, she has no vehicle and is reliant upon the kindness of others to pick up her mail or provide a ride. Most of the time, though, the packages she picks up from the post office are clothes or make up. She has already decided she will not be coming back next year.
Donna-an older woman within 5 years of my age but new to teaching. This is her 3rd year in Togiak teaching Science to the Secondary grades (7-12). Prior to this she was a landscaper and already has plans to start a Native Plant garden in the school greenhouse, currently unused and teach the kids the joys of growing their own food. For a place with 18 hours of sunlight in the summer, there are shockingly few veggie gardens, perhaps because of the wild life. No one wants to grow lettuce for the moose. Donna has a huge heart but sometimes comes across as a Know It All Texan who assumes she knows more than anyone else. She sponsors the current 9th grade class and plans to take them to Hawaii when they graduate; good thing there are only twelve of them, and probably fewer when the time comes but she is already fundraising. Last year, she sold soda after school but that was shut down by the admin this year for obvious reasons. We're supposed to be teaching the kids good eating habits, not selling them sugar in a can. She is responsible for our weekly teacher viewing party of Fear the Walking Dead, and often organizes Teacher Movie Nights with movies she downloads via the school internet. Her not-so-secret crush is Thor.
Brian-a quiet guy, in his middle 30s who teaches Math to Secondary. He is originally from Wisconsin and now that he has been here over 4 years, has tenure. I don't know much about him because, as I said, he is a quiet guy. But we share responsibility to supervise Gym Nights on Friday so I am getting to know him a little bit. He doesn't take no crap from nobody but doesn't need to raise his voice to do it.
Tobe-a big, loud Texan in his mid-30s also, married to another Texan named Donna who also works as a paraprofessional at the school. I see Tobe regularly throughout the day and he has been a Godsend as I navigate the ins and outs of this new experience. He has only been here a year, running the Special Ed department but is already one of the leaders of the school. He would make a great administrator, hopefully sooner than later. Three of my students are with him as long as they are with me during the day so we talk all day long, and have established a good relationship of mutual respect and humor.
Patrick-another quiet guy in his late 20s who teaches 5th grade. We trade a few kids every day for reading and since my 6th graders have been moved back into Elementary, we meet weekly so I am getting to know him a little. Teaching is not his passion but he does the best he can, knowing that in a few years he will have enough saved to buy a house when he and his wife Julia move back to their home state of Montana.
Julia-married to Patrick, teaches a First/Second split class. Julia is a mover and shaker in the lower grades and she is the true teacher in the family. They just had a baby last year, a sweet girl named Ira. Whereas Patrick will move on to another job someday, Julia is a teacher for life. She takes on all the little jobs that help a school run smoothly with a cheery, if tired, smile.
Kevin-Secondary Social Studies, mid-20s, coaches the cross country team. Yes, we have a cross country team that travels by little tiny plane to other villages for meets. Often it's only one student who goes but we are doing well in the district so I guess that's something. Kevin is married to Shayla and they have been in Togiak for 2 years, I think.
Shayla-Secondary Language Arts, married to Kevin. Shayla is on every committee at the school, it seems. If it has an acronym, she is involved in it.
Nancy Bell-a quiet Texan (I'm surrounded by Texans) who lives above me in our apartment. She is a proud 64 year old who taught her before, took last year off, decided retirement was boring and came back to teach another year of 4th grade. She is an old school, no nonsense-style of teacher but her students and former students love her. She and I bonded over our lack of affinity for technology.
Susan-twenty year veteran of Togiak School. Susan is one of those teachers who comes across as quiet yet always manages to ask a million questions in every meeting, often needing clarification of something she already asked. She has taught a generation of Third graders and has a husband whom I haven't yet met. She is very sweet and wears her emotions on her sleeve, refers to her students as "kiddos" and surprised me by volunteering to help me supervise Gym Nights on Mondays. But only after being reassured that there would be a man in the building (the custodian) at all times.
Freida-former para in my class, now moved to Secondary for the increased hours. Freida is one of the few Yupik people that I have gotten to know, at least while she worked in my room. She was great at giving me non-verbal cues as to what was going on in the room, and can transmit more joy at a simple raising of the eyebrows than anyone I have ever met. And the Yupik are a very joyous people, who laugh easily and love word play. Yes, this is a stereotype and a generalization, but it has been my experience so I can't write it off as purely racism. Freida is great at helping me navigate my ignorance of all things Yupik, and I never feel foolish asking her questions about the culture.
Colynn-mid 20s, First grade teacher with a few years experience at another school. Colynn is one of the village success stories as a graduate of Togiak School who went Outside for college, became a teacher and came back to the district. She and I are going to set up a Reading Buddies exchange between our classes, and decided to work together on a Spot the Pop booth at the Halloween carnival next month. (Spot the Pop is super easy, kids pick a Tootsie pop off a peg board and if it has a spot on the stick, they win an additional prize!) Her father teaches Kindergarten, at least until we can hire someone else to take on the job.
Of course there are more but I don't feel I know them well enough to write about them. But it's early yet.
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Utilities
If you have ever been to my home, you know I like it cold. In Portland, I kept my apartment somewhere between chilly "put on a sweater" and "see your breathe" cold. The living room rarely had fewer than three snuggies, afghans or lap robes, some of which I used all at once, layer upon cozy layer. I don't know if it's because I grew up in a drafty 4 story house with oil heat and antiquated steam radiators or just the way I'm made. Heat has never been my favorite, and that's a good thing.
But part of the reason I became acclimated to a cold environment is fiscal. For too many years, I had to make a lot of tough choices about which bills to pay and which to let lie for another month. Keeping a cold house, especially during the weeks my daughter lived with her father, diverted monies necessary to keep up the charade of living a normal middle class lifestyle while trying to get by on poverty level income.
Now I find myself in the odd position of making a living wage, yet also living in teacher housing where the utilities are included. I can wash my clothes whenever I want in water as hot as I want, rather than waiting for enough quarters to accumulate. In the time I lived in my apartment, the cost of doing a full load increased nearly twofold. Here it costs me detergent.
When it started to get brisk outside, I held out as long as I could, feeling it was wrong somehow to turn on the heat while the calendar was still on September. But when it's mid-40s during the day and cold enough to freeze the parking lot puddles by morning, it's time to try out the baseboard heat in a building constructed in this century. Realizing that I wasn't going to get a huge bill in the mail next month prompted me to set the heater to a comfortable 60. How lovely to live in a place where all the rooms are warm enough for comfort, yet cool enough to sleep. I still keep a snuggie on the couch, and am never far away from a hoodie.
In fact, I am thinking of taking a class next month in Dillingham at the Bristol Bay campus of the University of Alaska Fairbanks on making a traditional Yupik garment called a quaspuk. Yupiaq have been wearing this for generations but the general idea is of a hoodie, though some are long enough to be worn as a dress, and the pocket is often quite huge and not kangaroo at all. The cost of the class is reimbursed by the district as it is seen as investing in my cultural understanding, the room and board is covered by the University who use rural travel educations funds, and I can use a school substitute day since, again, the class covers my professional development. And come home to a toasty warm house without fear of declaring bankruptcy.
But part of the reason I became acclimated to a cold environment is fiscal. For too many years, I had to make a lot of tough choices about which bills to pay and which to let lie for another month. Keeping a cold house, especially during the weeks my daughter lived with her father, diverted monies necessary to keep up the charade of living a normal middle class lifestyle while trying to get by on poverty level income.
Now I find myself in the odd position of making a living wage, yet also living in teacher housing where the utilities are included. I can wash my clothes whenever I want in water as hot as I want, rather than waiting for enough quarters to accumulate. In the time I lived in my apartment, the cost of doing a full load increased nearly twofold. Here it costs me detergent.
When it started to get brisk outside, I held out as long as I could, feeling it was wrong somehow to turn on the heat while the calendar was still on September. But when it's mid-40s during the day and cold enough to freeze the parking lot puddles by morning, it's time to try out the baseboard heat in a building constructed in this century. Realizing that I wasn't going to get a huge bill in the mail next month prompted me to set the heater to a comfortable 60. How lovely to live in a place where all the rooms are warm enough for comfort, yet cool enough to sleep. I still keep a snuggie on the couch, and am never far away from a hoodie.
In fact, I am thinking of taking a class next month in Dillingham at the Bristol Bay campus of the University of Alaska Fairbanks on making a traditional Yupik garment called a quaspuk. Yupiaq have been wearing this for generations but the general idea is of a hoodie, though some are long enough to be worn as a dress, and the pocket is often quite huge and not kangaroo at all. The cost of the class is reimbursed by the district as it is seen as investing in my cultural understanding, the room and board is covered by the University who use rural travel educations funds, and I can use a school substitute day since, again, the class covers my professional development. And come home to a toasty warm house without fear of declaring bankruptcy.
Sunday, September 13, 2015
The fishing trip
In my life, when the principal comes to the classroom, it means something bad has happened. A student has had a family emergency, is in serious trouble with the police or I am about to get laid off-again.
So it was with no small amount of trepidation that I went to the hallway outside my door when beckoned by Sam, my principal. "Do you have boots?" he asked. Because Sam wears a cochlear implant and is hearing disabled sometimes it is hard to understand him so he is really good about gesturing to be understood. He pointed to his feet.
I told him yes, I had boots wondering why in the world he was interrupting my classtime on a Friday to ask me this. Sam is not the kind of efficient, businesslike principal I have worked for in Portland; he is much more laid back, always has a smile even when discussing something serious (like the boiler room break in) and rumor says he has his eye on retiring as soon as the new Assistant Principal has a few years under his belt, so he can spend all his time fishing.
"Would you like to go upriver to fish after school today?"
Oh boy, you bet! In my time in Togiak, I have been five places: school, home, teacher housing up the hill for Walking Dead night, the post office and one of the two grocery stores. For the rest of the day, I was as anxious as the kids to get out of school.
But once home, to change into my crappy pants that I don't care if they get dirty or stained, long johns since it was already blowing outside though sunny, and my awesome, actually water-proof twelve dollar boots from Sears, I started to get more than anxious. All my life I have suffered from panic attacks. I just didn't recognize that's what they were. Countless times I have bailed out, usually at the last minute, due to paralyzing fear. Fear of what I cannot say, only that there are times when I just can't. Can't leave the house. Can't imagine doing the thing that sounded fun when I agreed to it. Can't go to work because, ironically, I am afraid of losing my job. A million kinds of can't.
But two years ago, my very wise wonderful oncologist put me on medication to help me cope with the unrelenting hot flashes that come after one has a life-saving hysterectomy. The side effect was that I was pulled out of years of chronic depression. I was actually...happy? Woah.
Being happy for the first time in years, made me more aware of when I wasn't happy. I didn't care if the happiness was drug induced; I could cope better with my life. So I decided to take the next step and talked to my regular doctor about getting medication for social anxiety disorder. When I told him how many times in an average week I panicked, he seemed stunned and said, "Well that's no way to live" and put me on a co-med with the anti-depressant.
Now let me be clear about this for those who have no reference. I do not panic lightly or get depressed because I am sad about external factors. My kid was great, I enjoyed my job and wished I could do it all the time, I loved my friends and family. But chemical brain stuff can easily take over and become the norm. When I found what the norm was supposed to feel like, I felt liberated like never before. Without the help from Big Pharma, I wouldn't be here. I would still be in Portland stuck in my apartment bemoaning the fact that I didn't have any money because I literally couldn't go to work because I was panicking or depressed.
So, when I felt the fear coming on, I did what now works. I talked myself into it. I reminded myself that this was the reason I was here; to experience new things, to have adventures, to not be afraid any more. And I took a backup med that I use to fly to keep me over the hump and able to go on the fishing trip when Cam the Counselor and Katelynn the First Grade Teacher came to pick me up. This was to be an all newbies trip, and we surmised that Sam probably paid for it out of school funds, calling it "orientation."
Another fear I have is boats, as I am a poor swimmer to begin with so it didn't help when we ran into Sam's wife Mary at the store, a very nice cheery White lady who warned us that Sam tended to drive like a New York cabbie in the boat. Awesome! Just what I needed to hear.
One of the best decisions I made before coming to Alaska was going to Andy 'N Bax surplus store for gear. This was my first chance to try out my balaklava to protect my face and keep my hair out of my way. I also put on contacts so I wouldn't have to worry about dropping my only pair of glasses overboard, and brought along my amber lensed goggles. I may have looked like a total dork but I was warm, dry and could see.
After boating across Togiak Bay, we followed the river for about ten minutes. We stopped and since I was in the front (the bow?) of the boat, I had the best view. It was so beautiful that no picture could do it justice. Short trees, tundra, mountains, gorgeous. I was told to drop the anchor but didn't realize that just throwing it over the side would result in a huge splash and probably chase all the fish away. We had seen silver salmon jumping all the way so we knew they were there but after only about five minutes, Sam insisted we pull anchor and he found us a better spot. We stayed there for a full ten minutes, then moved again. This time, it was only minutes before Katelynn had a fish on. Her father is a fishing guide in Montana so with the help of Sam's gig hook, the big fish was soon in the boat. Cam was next, but he only caught a flounder. When we asked Sam if you could eat flounder, he smiled and said "Sure. But no one does" so Cam threw it back. This act of mercy was rewarded by an almost immediate hook of a silver, which heck yeah we kept. In little more than twenty minutes, the two of them caught six fish! All beautiful silver salmon weighing at least ten pounds each. Finally, I decided to take a turn, though to be honest I was pretty happy just sitting in the boat with the sun on my face, watching the fish jump and get caught. But I wanted to at least try, so with many (many) lessons from everyone else (hold the line, flip the thingy down, draw back the rod, let it fly over my head remembering to let go of the line, flip the thingy up again, reel it in, repeat repeat repeat). I did this perhaps one thousand times before I felt something tugging on the line that was not the bottom of the river or a piece of seaweed getting gunked up on my hook. I had a fish on!
Holy cow! Katelynn screamed directions, Sam yelled to keep the tip up (tip of what? oh, the rod/reel/pole!), and Cam just yelled. Since all the previous fish were caught by people in their early twenties, I didn't quite realize how much force it takes to reel in a five hundred pound fish. I nearly let go of the rod but it wasn't until Katelynn offered to do it for me, that I really got serious about getting that fucker in the boat. I found that if I stabilized the rod against my tummy it was easier to reel. Once the fish was in, I kind of collapsed on the seat and while my right hand cramped up into a ball that I had to use my left hand to unwind it from itself, Sam bashed the fish and Katelynn removed the hook. I am very proud to say that it was the largest one caught that day, according to the others, not me.
Everyone else caught at least one more fish before we called it good. At that point, Cam, Katelynn and I were ready to go back home but Sam insisted we find a pretty spot on the beach to light a fire and cook the fish. He also said that if we saw some ducks close by, maybe he would shoot one and we could eat that too. That's when I noticed the huge gun on the floor of the boat back by Sam running the motor. When it's the principal running the trip, it's best to be polite and stay out longer than you wanted to, but even more so when the principal has a shotgun.
We went upriver some more for about thirty minutes that were colder as we went. But, again, it was so beautiful that I didn't have the heart to complain. It was so magnificent, again beyond words to describe. Suddenly, Cam shouted over the motor, "Is that a moose?" We all looked to the shoreline where there was a great big blob of something alive. I quickly got my phone from my pocket as Katelynn screamed "It's a bear!"
A big bear. As big as my Honda sedan sitting in the parking lot of my apartment in Portland. When the boat got nearer, it must have heard us shrieking like maniacs and started running along the beach, a huge salmon dangling out one side of its mouth. I got one pretty good picture but since I had my contacts in, I was taking pictures blind (my contacts don't correct bifocally). All the rest of the way to the beach, we talked about the bear, how the bear was at the place where the two of them had camped overnight over Labor Day, how big the bear was but still smaller than a grizzly.
Once ashore at a place called Three Rivers (guess what it looked like?), Sam set up his propane grill while we others tried to start a camp fire because with the sun going down, and the wind going up, it was getting seriously cold. Like, see your breath cold. But the wind made it impossible to start a fire so we snuggled into the sand or stood near the grill. The grill Sam kept calling Hawaii, a joke that made him giggle in the sweetest way ever. But cold or not, that fish was cleaned in a jiffy with an uluak that had belonged to Sam's mother and made by his father. Technically, uluaks are "women knives" but Sam handled it like a pro, gutting the fish in no time at all. We ate it seasoned with Johnny's Seasoning Salt, a familiar staple when I was growing up, atop Pilot Bread, a kind of big cracker that I have had before but the others had not. Katelynn really enjoyed it until she saw how many calories they are. But with the freshest fish ever, they are divine.
By this time, we White people were chilled to the bone and not at all looking forward to the ride home. But Cam gently managed to get Sam to agree to leave and not stay out all night. The sun set as we rode home, making the water look to me, in my amber goggles, like pink sand. At one point, we slowed down, turned around and made for shore. Sam had spotted a fox on the shore but something made him decide to not shoot it that day. I don't know why, but I am kind of glad. Fish are one thing, mammals are harder for me to think about killing, even if it is for subsistence reasons.
Back in the bay, we were joined by a bunch of other boats slowly making their way to the shore. At first I thought it was some kind of maritime courtesy but actually Sam hung back to find out where the channel was that evening. One boat carrying Sam's cousin (very few of the people we saw were not Sam's cousins) got stuck on a sand bar, so we drifted closer and once we got stuck too, Sam jumped out to help the other boat get unstuck. Cam grumbled but jumped out too, while Katelynn and I discussed how glad we were for the cultural norm that forbade us, as women, from getting out to help too. Then everyone was unstuck and we made our way to the shore near Sam's boat rig, where I was greeted by one of my students, who is the sister of the people in the boat that got stuck and so, is also Sam's cousin.
Hauling over 100 pounds of salmon from the boat up the beach, made up of mostly pea gravel, was no fun, nor was the realization that now we had to gut and fillet the fish. Cam volunteered his kitchen for the job, and by working together we got it finished in little under an hour. My job was to carry the fish from the truck bed up the stairs to Cam's kitchen. While I was glad earlier for the balaklava and goggles, boy was I glad now for the leather work gloves I bought at the store on a whim right before we left! Sturdy and thick and warm, they helped me get a good grip on those slimy fish, and I was thankful that my first few days in training I learned the proper way to hold a salmon. Stick the index finger in the gill, and hunt around until you can hook it by the lower jaw bone. That way, the fish is less likely to bite you back, it holds together nicely and using this technique I could carry two at a time up the stairs. Until the last load when I only had one, of course this was the trip where my knee went out just enough, not to hurt, but to make me drop the fish right onto the carpet at the top of the stairs. So while Katelynn and Cam washed the fish blood off the sink, floor and counter tops, I scrubbed it off the carpet. I thought how strange it would sound to someone who didn't know what we were doing to overhear our conversation. We looked like extras from Dexter when we were all finished but we also came away with lots of fish to share. We all split the haul equally even though I only caught one, and decided that now we are fishing buddies for life.
Even if I never go again, I can say with pride, "Oh yeah, I caught a salmon in Alaska once."
So it was with no small amount of trepidation that I went to the hallway outside my door when beckoned by Sam, my principal. "Do you have boots?" he asked. Because Sam wears a cochlear implant and is hearing disabled sometimes it is hard to understand him so he is really good about gesturing to be understood. He pointed to his feet.
I told him yes, I had boots wondering why in the world he was interrupting my classtime on a Friday to ask me this. Sam is not the kind of efficient, businesslike principal I have worked for in Portland; he is much more laid back, always has a smile even when discussing something serious (like the boiler room break in) and rumor says he has his eye on retiring as soon as the new Assistant Principal has a few years under his belt, so he can spend all his time fishing.
"Would you like to go upriver to fish after school today?"
Oh boy, you bet! In my time in Togiak, I have been five places: school, home, teacher housing up the hill for Walking Dead night, the post office and one of the two grocery stores. For the rest of the day, I was as anxious as the kids to get out of school.
But once home, to change into my crappy pants that I don't care if they get dirty or stained, long johns since it was already blowing outside though sunny, and my awesome, actually water-proof twelve dollar boots from Sears, I started to get more than anxious. All my life I have suffered from panic attacks. I just didn't recognize that's what they were. Countless times I have bailed out, usually at the last minute, due to paralyzing fear. Fear of what I cannot say, only that there are times when I just can't. Can't leave the house. Can't imagine doing the thing that sounded fun when I agreed to it. Can't go to work because, ironically, I am afraid of losing my job. A million kinds of can't.
But two years ago, my very wise wonderful oncologist put me on medication to help me cope with the unrelenting hot flashes that come after one has a life-saving hysterectomy. The side effect was that I was pulled out of years of chronic depression. I was actually...happy? Woah.
Being happy for the first time in years, made me more aware of when I wasn't happy. I didn't care if the happiness was drug induced; I could cope better with my life. So I decided to take the next step and talked to my regular doctor about getting medication for social anxiety disorder. When I told him how many times in an average week I panicked, he seemed stunned and said, "Well that's no way to live" and put me on a co-med with the anti-depressant.
Now let me be clear about this for those who have no reference. I do not panic lightly or get depressed because I am sad about external factors. My kid was great, I enjoyed my job and wished I could do it all the time, I loved my friends and family. But chemical brain stuff can easily take over and become the norm. When I found what the norm was supposed to feel like, I felt liberated like never before. Without the help from Big Pharma, I wouldn't be here. I would still be in Portland stuck in my apartment bemoaning the fact that I didn't have any money because I literally couldn't go to work because I was panicking or depressed.
So, when I felt the fear coming on, I did what now works. I talked myself into it. I reminded myself that this was the reason I was here; to experience new things, to have adventures, to not be afraid any more. And I took a backup med that I use to fly to keep me over the hump and able to go on the fishing trip when Cam the Counselor and Katelynn the First Grade Teacher came to pick me up. This was to be an all newbies trip, and we surmised that Sam probably paid for it out of school funds, calling it "orientation."
Another fear I have is boats, as I am a poor swimmer to begin with so it didn't help when we ran into Sam's wife Mary at the store, a very nice cheery White lady who warned us that Sam tended to drive like a New York cabbie in the boat. Awesome! Just what I needed to hear.
One of the best decisions I made before coming to Alaska was going to Andy 'N Bax surplus store for gear. This was my first chance to try out my balaklava to protect my face and keep my hair out of my way. I also put on contacts so I wouldn't have to worry about dropping my only pair of glasses overboard, and brought along my amber lensed goggles. I may have looked like a total dork but I was warm, dry and could see.
After boating across Togiak Bay, we followed the river for about ten minutes. We stopped and since I was in the front (the bow?) of the boat, I had the best view. It was so beautiful that no picture could do it justice. Short trees, tundra, mountains, gorgeous. I was told to drop the anchor but didn't realize that just throwing it over the side would result in a huge splash and probably chase all the fish away. We had seen silver salmon jumping all the way so we knew they were there but after only about five minutes, Sam insisted we pull anchor and he found us a better spot. We stayed there for a full ten minutes, then moved again. This time, it was only minutes before Katelynn had a fish on. Her father is a fishing guide in Montana so with the help of Sam's gig hook, the big fish was soon in the boat. Cam was next, but he only caught a flounder. When we asked Sam if you could eat flounder, he smiled and said "Sure. But no one does" so Cam threw it back. This act of mercy was rewarded by an almost immediate hook of a silver, which heck yeah we kept. In little more than twenty minutes, the two of them caught six fish! All beautiful silver salmon weighing at least ten pounds each. Finally, I decided to take a turn, though to be honest I was pretty happy just sitting in the boat with the sun on my face, watching the fish jump and get caught. But I wanted to at least try, so with many (many) lessons from everyone else (hold the line, flip the thingy down, draw back the rod, let it fly over my head remembering to let go of the line, flip the thingy up again, reel it in, repeat repeat repeat). I did this perhaps one thousand times before I felt something tugging on the line that was not the bottom of the river or a piece of seaweed getting gunked up on my hook. I had a fish on!
Holy cow! Katelynn screamed directions, Sam yelled to keep the tip up (tip of what? oh, the rod/reel/pole!), and Cam just yelled. Since all the previous fish were caught by people in their early twenties, I didn't quite realize how much force it takes to reel in a five hundred pound fish. I nearly let go of the rod but it wasn't until Katelynn offered to do it for me, that I really got serious about getting that fucker in the boat. I found that if I stabilized the rod against my tummy it was easier to reel. Once the fish was in, I kind of collapsed on the seat and while my right hand cramped up into a ball that I had to use my left hand to unwind it from itself, Sam bashed the fish and Katelynn removed the hook. I am very proud to say that it was the largest one caught that day, according to the others, not me.Everyone else caught at least one more fish before we called it good. At that point, Cam, Katelynn and I were ready to go back home but Sam insisted we find a pretty spot on the beach to light a fire and cook the fish. He also said that if we saw some ducks close by, maybe he would shoot one and we could eat that too. That's when I noticed the huge gun on the floor of the boat back by Sam running the motor. When it's the principal running the trip, it's best to be polite and stay out longer than you wanted to, but even more so when the principal has a shotgun.We went upriver some more for about thirty minutes that were colder as we went. But, again, it was so beautiful that I didn't have the heart to complain. It was so magnificent, again beyond words to describe. Suddenly, Cam shouted over the motor, "Is that a moose?" We all looked to the shoreline where there was a great big blob of something alive. I quickly got my phone from my pocket as Katelynn screamed "It's a bear!"
Once ashore at a place called Three Rivers (guess what it looked like?), Sam set up his propane grill while we others tried to start a camp fire because with the sun going down, and the wind going up, it was getting seriously cold. Like, see your breath cold. But the wind made it impossible to start a fire so we snuggled into the sand or stood near the grill. The grill Sam kept calling Hawaii, a joke that made him giggle in the sweetest way ever. But cold or not, that fish was cleaned in a jiffy with an uluak that had belonged to Sam's mother and made by his father. Technically, uluaks are "women knives" but Sam handled it like a pro, gutting the fish in no time at all. We ate it seasoned with Johnny's Seasoning Salt, a familiar staple when I was growing up, atop Pilot Bread, a kind of big cracker that I have had before but the others had not. Katelynn really enjoyed it until she saw how many calories they are. But with the freshest fish ever, they are divine.
By this time, we White people were chilled to the bone and not at all looking forward to the ride home. But Cam gently managed to get Sam to agree to leave and not stay out all night. The sun set as we rode home, making the water look to me, in my amber goggles, like pink sand. At one point, we slowed down, turned around and made for shore. Sam had spotted a fox on the shore but something made him decide to not shoot it that day. I don't know why, but I am kind of glad. Fish are one thing, mammals are harder for me to think about killing, even if it is for subsistence reasons.
Back in the bay, we were joined by a bunch of other boats slowly making their way to the shore. At first I thought it was some kind of maritime courtesy but actually Sam hung back to find out where the channel was that evening. One boat carrying Sam's cousin (very few of the people we saw were not Sam's cousins) got stuck on a sand bar, so we drifted closer and once we got stuck too, Sam jumped out to help the other boat get unstuck. Cam grumbled but jumped out too, while Katelynn and I discussed how glad we were for the cultural norm that forbade us, as women, from getting out to help too. Then everyone was unstuck and we made our way to the shore near Sam's boat rig, where I was greeted by one of my students, who is the sister of the people in the boat that got stuck and so, is also Sam's cousin.
Hauling over 100 pounds of salmon from the boat up the beach, made up of mostly pea gravel, was no fun, nor was the realization that now we had to gut and fillet the fish. Cam volunteered his kitchen for the job, and by working together we got it finished in little under an hour. My job was to carry the fish from the truck bed up the stairs to Cam's kitchen. While I was glad earlier for the balaklava and goggles, boy was I glad now for the leather work gloves I bought at the store on a whim right before we left! Sturdy and thick and warm, they helped me get a good grip on those slimy fish, and I was thankful that my first few days in training I learned the proper way to hold a salmon. Stick the index finger in the gill, and hunt around until you can hook it by the lower jaw bone. That way, the fish is less likely to bite you back, it holds together nicely and using this technique I could carry two at a time up the stairs. Until the last load when I only had one, of course this was the trip where my knee went out just enough, not to hurt, but to make me drop the fish right onto the carpet at the top of the stairs. So while Katelynn and Cam washed the fish blood off the sink, floor and counter tops, I scrubbed it off the carpet. I thought how strange it would sound to someone who didn't know what we were doing to overhear our conversation. We looked like extras from Dexter when we were all finished but we also came away with lots of fish to share. We all split the haul equally even though I only caught one, and decided that now we are fishing buddies for life.Even if I never go again, I can say with pride, "Oh yeah, I caught a salmon in Alaska once."
The first month
As of today, September 13 2015, I have been in Alaska for a full month. In that time I have learned that I have a lot to learn. But I have managed to pick up a few things:
If someone asks if you have boots, that means they want to take you fishing.
Water resistant clothes are rags, and Columbia sportswear is better known as kindling for their wonderful fire starting ability.
There is not enough beach grass in the world to start a fire when the wind comes whipping up the Togiak river.
Raised eyebrows means you did something funny. Or yes. Sometimes both.
Scowly faces means the kid didn't do the assignment and has no intention of doing so.
A shrug can mean "no", "I don't know", "I don't want to know" or "I'm tired of talking to you."
"Up the hill" means you live outside of the downtown area.
Yupik names carry great significance and are based on keeping the name of a respected person alive.
Birds are wonderful parts of God's creation but even more wonderful when eaten.
All birds taste like chicken, except ptarmigan which tastes like meat.
Fish nose is the best part. Except for the hump of a male humpy.
Ball means basketball.
Sunglasses are dumb but goggles are essential.
There is such a thing as a dress hoodie.
And finally, sunlight has nothing to do with time.
If someone asks if you have boots, that means they want to take you fishing.
Water resistant clothes are rags, and Columbia sportswear is better known as kindling for their wonderful fire starting ability.
There is not enough beach grass in the world to start a fire when the wind comes whipping up the Togiak river.
Raised eyebrows means you did something funny. Or yes. Sometimes both.
Scowly faces means the kid didn't do the assignment and has no intention of doing so.
A shrug can mean "no", "I don't know", "I don't want to know" or "I'm tired of talking to you."
"Up the hill" means you live outside of the downtown area.
Yupik names carry great significance and are based on keeping the name of a respected person alive.
Birds are wonderful parts of God's creation but even more wonderful when eaten.
All birds taste like chicken, except ptarmigan which tastes like meat.
Fish nose is the best part. Except for the hump of a male humpy.
Ball means basketball.
Sunglasses are dumb but goggles are essential.
There is such a thing as a dress hoodie.
And finally, sunlight has nothing to do with time.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
The funeral
In a village of 800 people, one death ripples more than elsewhere. Last week, an Elder passed away from cancer. She was older, beloved and related, it seemed to me, to nearly everyone. At our staff meeting last week, Margi the secretary announced the details of the funeral weren't set but that there would most certainly be a potluck after the service and everyone was invited to bring a dish. She emphasized that everyone was invited, even those who had never met Flora.
This set me a quandary. I feel that funerals are a private type of situation and I could never quite understand why anyone would want to go to one if they didn't have some type of connection to the deceased. A few years ago, I did a one-day turnaround trip from Portland to Seattle to attend the funeral of the mother of a girl I went to grade and high school with but hadn't seen in years. To this day, I am not sure if Anne Marie knew I was there but I felt better for having gone.
I asked around my fellow White teachers and only one planned to attend the funeral but she was a relative. Finally I asked the Yupik teacher who works across the hall from me, and whose son is in my class, "Is it more offensive for me to attend a funeral for this Elder I never met or to not show up?" Her eyebrows went up, a sign around here that someone is amused by my ignorance of local customs. She told me that no one would think less of me for not going, especially since I am in the category of Newest Teacher. But then she muddied the water by adding that I was welcome to attend if I wanted.
Part of me really wanted to go, for the pure motive of curiosity to see what a traditional Yupik funeral was like. I do not know if Flora attended one of the four churches in town or if there would be a religious component to the service. I thought about my food in the pantry and what I could cobble together for a "hot dish" to offer. I thought about what to wear in this land of jeans and hoodies.
In the end, the decision was fairly easy. I simply didn't feel comfortable going. But when a few of us were retuning from town for mail and groceries, we found ourselves accidentally in the funeral procession. How did we know? Not motorcycle cops escorting a hearse but the sight of the casket in the back of a pickup truck, held in place with what appeared to be bungie cords and five guys hanging onto it. Up the hill we went, eventually splitting off to the school road while the rest went to the cemetery, located next to the dump. Alaskan practicality at its best or unfortunate coincidence? Yet another question I am embarrassed to ask.
This set me a quandary. I feel that funerals are a private type of situation and I could never quite understand why anyone would want to go to one if they didn't have some type of connection to the deceased. A few years ago, I did a one-day turnaround trip from Portland to Seattle to attend the funeral of the mother of a girl I went to grade and high school with but hadn't seen in years. To this day, I am not sure if Anne Marie knew I was there but I felt better for having gone.
I asked around my fellow White teachers and only one planned to attend the funeral but she was a relative. Finally I asked the Yupik teacher who works across the hall from me, and whose son is in my class, "Is it more offensive for me to attend a funeral for this Elder I never met or to not show up?" Her eyebrows went up, a sign around here that someone is amused by my ignorance of local customs. She told me that no one would think less of me for not going, especially since I am in the category of Newest Teacher. But then she muddied the water by adding that I was welcome to attend if I wanted.
Part of me really wanted to go, for the pure motive of curiosity to see what a traditional Yupik funeral was like. I do not know if Flora attended one of the four churches in town or if there would be a religious component to the service. I thought about my food in the pantry and what I could cobble together for a "hot dish" to offer. I thought about what to wear in this land of jeans and hoodies.
In the end, the decision was fairly easy. I simply didn't feel comfortable going. But when a few of us were retuning from town for mail and groceries, we found ourselves accidentally in the funeral procession. How did we know? Not motorcycle cops escorting a hearse but the sight of the casket in the back of a pickup truck, held in place with what appeared to be bungie cords and five guys hanging onto it. Up the hill we went, eventually splitting off to the school road while the rest went to the cemetery, located next to the dump. Alaskan practicality at its best or unfortunate coincidence? Yet another question I am embarrassed to ask.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Gym Night, singluar
They come in pairs. Sometimes trios but mostly pairs, due to the confines of 4 wheelers. The carry their gym shoes in plastic grocery bags, like precious gems. They rarely speak but greet me with lovely grins and upnods, a single dollar bill offered as they enter.
It is Gym Night. The time when anyone from the village can come to play in the school gym. It is broken into age brackets of youngers (age 6 yrs-5th grade), secondary (6-12th grades) and adults. It is the adults who bring their special shoes that clearly have never been out of doors, are especially reserved for these nights when they gather to play.
Teachers monitor Gym Night and all the funds raised go to that evening's chaperone's class. Most classroom teachers have a class that they sponsor and for whom they fundraise. One ambitious teacher wants to take the current 9th grade to Hawaii when they graduate. A huge project made easier by the fact that there are only 8 of them at present. I sponsor my class, the only one not claimed at the start of the year, and I am glad. I already feel a special affinity for them and I like the idea of raising money to do fun things later in the year, though what that will look like I have no idea.
I took Monday nights because I know myself well enough to know that if I took a later day in the week, I would be too tempted to beg off and that is not allowed. In the dark months to come, Gym Night is THE entertainment in the village and I have been told to expect upwards of 100 people per session.
This night, however, I had a total of ten kids, partially because the middle and high school were banned from Gym Night when a can of snuff was found in the high school boy's bathroom. Tobacco use, snuff specifically, is a huge problem so the consequences are dire for everyone when it is discovered.
There were also ten adults who came. For ten minutes they warmed up, shot randomly, ran around even more randomly but then at some signal unknown to me, all but two lined up. The two captains made short work of choosing teams between the men, all between "just out of high school" and "still old enough to run, mostly."
And then they played. The game was nearly silent, broken only by the squeal of shoes on varnished wood, and occasional "hooooooo-oooooooooowooot!" when an individual felt they had done something extraordinary. Other than the volume level, the game played out the same as any I have seen on any court anywhere. I am not a fan of basketball but watching these guys play, who have obviously played together for decades was really great.
When it was time to go, they all quickly helped me return equipment to the ball room and just as quickly changed back into their regular shoes, mostly athletic shoes but these ones were covered in the dust and gravel that is everywhere outdoors here. They all left within three minutes of getting the whistle from me.
So I was shocked to be called into the principal's office the next day. He asked if I knew anything about someone staying after Gym Night was over. I told Sam that the custodian was there, but as far as I knew everyone else had left. I gave him the names of the few men who introduced themselves to me, and asked what was up. Apparently, someone either stayed behind or left a rock in one of the back doors to sneak in later. The vandal went to the school's boiler room and removed vital parts! We are now down to one boiler, which is not that big of a deal right now but will be soon enough when the cold weather hits in a place where it takes months for parts to come in. There wasn't any indication of why the boiler was targeted or any evidence that the rest of the school was vandalized but the damage to the community has been done. No more Gym Nights for the foreseeable future. Teachers will have to double up to supervise, a thought I am not fond of. Not that I don't want to spend time with my co-workers, I just don't want to have to do Gym Night more than once a week. Maybe I'll do Friday nights; at least then I get to sleep in the next morning.
What a good lesson in consequences for the kids. What a shame it had to happen at all.
It is Gym Night. The time when anyone from the village can come to play in the school gym. It is broken into age brackets of youngers (age 6 yrs-5th grade), secondary (6-12th grades) and adults. It is the adults who bring their special shoes that clearly have never been out of doors, are especially reserved for these nights when they gather to play.
Teachers monitor Gym Night and all the funds raised go to that evening's chaperone's class. Most classroom teachers have a class that they sponsor and for whom they fundraise. One ambitious teacher wants to take the current 9th grade to Hawaii when they graduate. A huge project made easier by the fact that there are only 8 of them at present. I sponsor my class, the only one not claimed at the start of the year, and I am glad. I already feel a special affinity for them and I like the idea of raising money to do fun things later in the year, though what that will look like I have no idea.
I took Monday nights because I know myself well enough to know that if I took a later day in the week, I would be too tempted to beg off and that is not allowed. In the dark months to come, Gym Night is THE entertainment in the village and I have been told to expect upwards of 100 people per session.
This night, however, I had a total of ten kids, partially because the middle and high school were banned from Gym Night when a can of snuff was found in the high school boy's bathroom. Tobacco use, snuff specifically, is a huge problem so the consequences are dire for everyone when it is discovered.
There were also ten adults who came. For ten minutes they warmed up, shot randomly, ran around even more randomly but then at some signal unknown to me, all but two lined up. The two captains made short work of choosing teams between the men, all between "just out of high school" and "still old enough to run, mostly."
And then they played. The game was nearly silent, broken only by the squeal of shoes on varnished wood, and occasional "hooooooo-oooooooooowooot!" when an individual felt they had done something extraordinary. Other than the volume level, the game played out the same as any I have seen on any court anywhere. I am not a fan of basketball but watching these guys play, who have obviously played together for decades was really great.
When it was time to go, they all quickly helped me return equipment to the ball room and just as quickly changed back into their regular shoes, mostly athletic shoes but these ones were covered in the dust and gravel that is everywhere outdoors here. They all left within three minutes of getting the whistle from me.
So I was shocked to be called into the principal's office the next day. He asked if I knew anything about someone staying after Gym Night was over. I told Sam that the custodian was there, but as far as I knew everyone else had left. I gave him the names of the few men who introduced themselves to me, and asked what was up. Apparently, someone either stayed behind or left a rock in one of the back doors to sneak in later. The vandal went to the school's boiler room and removed vital parts! We are now down to one boiler, which is not that big of a deal right now but will be soon enough when the cold weather hits in a place where it takes months for parts to come in. There wasn't any indication of why the boiler was targeted or any evidence that the rest of the school was vandalized but the damage to the community has been done. No more Gym Nights for the foreseeable future. Teachers will have to double up to supervise, a thought I am not fond of. Not that I don't want to spend time with my co-workers, I just don't want to have to do Gym Night more than once a week. Maybe I'll do Friday nights; at least then I get to sleep in the next morning.
What a good lesson in consequences for the kids. What a shame it had to happen at all.
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Testing testing Alaska style
Ask anyone committed to education and they will bemoan the focus high stakes testing has on our profession. It was one of the questions I asked in my initial interview, knowing that Portland was implementing a test this year that predicted 60% failure rates. I was told that they did one in Alaska but it wasn't that much of a big deal.
Good thing. This week I was to administer the so-called MAP test to my 6th graders on four of five days in school, one subject area per day. I got ONE test completed. Not because my students are low academically (some are, some aren't) or don't know how to use computers but because my new district (that I love, don't get me wrong) gave me absolutely zero training in how to administer the test. I never got the proper pass words. The passwords I did get for students were both irrelevant (kids don't need them to log on) and wrong. I was never given even the slightest bit of guidance of how to do basic things like turn the test on, load it for my students, etc etc etc.
Finally, in desperation, I begged my colleagues for help. The secondary Science teacher gave me her passwords to use but we couldn't be logged in at the same time so that didn't work. All of the secondary classes (6th-12th) took the test at the same time, straining the limited bandwidth. The counselor, also new to the district, called the district office and managed to get a new password sent to me that actually worked, then took the time to walk me through setting up the test while my guys sat anxiously but patiently, for the most part, waiting for it to load. This was after three days of spending nearly an hour in the computer lab only to be told "Well, we can't do the test today either; let's go to the gym."
To their credit, my students were amazing. Every day we would march to the computer lab and try to get the test to load. Only once did they get in trouble, and that was while lining up to go to the gym where they started playing around a little too rough for my taste. "I can't get the test to load and we broke a computer" is not a conversation I want to have with my AP. An AP who, admittedly, is in his first year as an administrator and feeling the learning curve. But when I came to him for help, his only response was "Talk to Jasper." Jasper is the tech guy. Except that he doesn't appear to be able to do anything. He is the one who gave me new passwords for the kids, which you do not need to take the test. I am sure his intentions are good but it did not do anything for my frustration levels to be told, "Try loading it again."
Finally, on Friday with Cam the Counselor just as determined by that point to get this thing to work sitting by my side we were victorious. The General Science test loaded. The kids took it. All but one finished, though I suspect one kid just skimmed and answered with no real thought into his answers. Since we had about 45 minutes left in the day, I tried to load the Math test to at least get a start on it. No big surprise, it wouldn't load. I sent an email to the AP explaining that 6th grade needed to make up three tests next week but it is a week set aside to do district specific tests on the same subjects as the MAP test. I have had zero training on how to administer those tests as well.
Here we go again.
Good thing. This week I was to administer the so-called MAP test to my 6th graders on four of five days in school, one subject area per day. I got ONE test completed. Not because my students are low academically (some are, some aren't) or don't know how to use computers but because my new district (that I love, don't get me wrong) gave me absolutely zero training in how to administer the test. I never got the proper pass words. The passwords I did get for students were both irrelevant (kids don't need them to log on) and wrong. I was never given even the slightest bit of guidance of how to do basic things like turn the test on, load it for my students, etc etc etc.
Finally, in desperation, I begged my colleagues for help. The secondary Science teacher gave me her passwords to use but we couldn't be logged in at the same time so that didn't work. All of the secondary classes (6th-12th) took the test at the same time, straining the limited bandwidth. The counselor, also new to the district, called the district office and managed to get a new password sent to me that actually worked, then took the time to walk me through setting up the test while my guys sat anxiously but patiently, for the most part, waiting for it to load. This was after three days of spending nearly an hour in the computer lab only to be told "Well, we can't do the test today either; let's go to the gym."
To their credit, my students were amazing. Every day we would march to the computer lab and try to get the test to load. Only once did they get in trouble, and that was while lining up to go to the gym where they started playing around a little too rough for my taste. "I can't get the test to load and we broke a computer" is not a conversation I want to have with my AP. An AP who, admittedly, is in his first year as an administrator and feeling the learning curve. But when I came to him for help, his only response was "Talk to Jasper." Jasper is the tech guy. Except that he doesn't appear to be able to do anything. He is the one who gave me new passwords for the kids, which you do not need to take the test. I am sure his intentions are good but it did not do anything for my frustration levels to be told, "Try loading it again."
Finally, on Friday with Cam the Counselor just as determined by that point to get this thing to work sitting by my side we were victorious. The General Science test loaded. The kids took it. All but one finished, though I suspect one kid just skimmed and answered with no real thought into his answers. Since we had about 45 minutes left in the day, I tried to load the Math test to at least get a start on it. No big surprise, it wouldn't load. I sent an email to the AP explaining that 6th grade needed to make up three tests next week but it is a week set aside to do district specific tests on the same subjects as the MAP test. I have had zero training on how to administer those tests as well.
Here we go again.
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