The Joy of K-12 Schools

There are challenges associated with meeting the educational needs of diverse students regardless of the setting. Having experience as a student, as well as a teacher, in both rural K-12 schools and larger metropolitan schools, I know there are pros and cons on either side of the equation.

But on days like these...



...I really enjoy being in a rural K-12 school. Kids of all ages participate right alongside each other. No one is too cool to have a good time (not even teachers).



As a part of our celebration of the Inupiat Value of Humor, our Inupiat teacher planned a few fun cultural games. The photos above and the video below highlight a traditional (and challenging) activity intended to strengthen ice walking skills.

Though this is an inland village and seal hunting is not common here, this is still a coastal culture and one never knows when such a skill might come in handy.

From what I hear, the cans we used on this day were much larger than the soup cans used by previous generations, but I guess you've got to start somewhere and these guys did pretty well!



We also played a game called Akuu, Akuu. This activity is sort of a combination of Red Rover and Simon Says with a little Inupiat flare thrown in. Instead of holding hands, teams take turns calling across to one another, asking for particular players to come over, performing or acting out a certain character.

For example, the student team called out, "Akuu, Akuu. Send Lindsay over like a walrus." Then sixth grade teacher, Lindsay, had to cross the gym to the student side, acting like a walrus.

Oh, yeah.

I forgot to explain that participants aren't allowed to smile or laugh as they cross the gym acting like who-knows-what and the opposing team does whatever they can to make them laugh--of course.

If successful, Lindsay wins the towel for her team (and she was). If she's not, like if she cracks up (which she didn't), then she remains with the opposing team.

Students are much stricter about the smile thing than the teachers are. Teachers seem to be conditioned to reward good effort and often bend the rules in favor of the other team.

Students have no such compulsion.

In a final push for victory over the teachers, the student team called out for Neal, our third grade teacher, to come over "doing The Worm." If you aren't familiar with this particular dance move (and I use that term loosely), here is a demonstration performed by one of my students.



And here is Neal, God bless him, who cannot do The Worm, but he does something that I think is much better. At least, it's a lot funnier. I don't know if this will be as hilarious when you don't know the people involved, but I've watched it over and over and it still cracks me up.

Community Quote

“It’s all ready to go except for the guts.”


Said by an elder at church as she offered me a goose.
(Gotta love small communities!)

Big Night

So what do you do on Halloween night when temperatures are hovering around zero and you live hundreds of miles off the road system?

You make your own fun. That's what you do!

Puuqtaluk is an annual Halloween event that involves costumed dancers and a full night of silliness and laughter. For a more detailed explanation, click here.

It's difficult to appreciate the craziness of Puuqtaluk unless you experience it for yourself. The costumes can be a bit...er...off-putting if viewed out of context.



If you're not a local, it's hard to imagine just what might be lurking behind the gruesome grins.



The whole idea is to remain anonymous.



See what I mean?

But Atqasuk residents know that it's all in fun. No one relishes frightening anyone. The costumes are meant to conceal and distract from the dancer's identity and sometimes they actually pull it off.

Take this guy, for instance.



You'd never know it by looking at him, but there is a stand-up comic buried beneath all that ugly. (A very creative dancer as well). This year he won first place in his age group and then went on to compete against all age groups, including adults, to win the grand prize!

Here he is after winning for the second time that night. Awesome!



So here's the drill...

#1...a space is cleared for dancing...dancers on one side and the audience on the other.



#2...loud music is played in two-three minute segments allowing participants to dance individually as well as alongside competitors.



#3...judges judge.



#4...spectators spectate.



#5...the winner reveals his/her identity and collects a prize.



#6...everyone repeatedly watches videos of students and friends dancing their crazy dances (or am I the only one that does that?).

A Surviving Story

I write this with trembling hands, unsure of where to begin or what to say. This is what I know.

Saturday morning our school secretary (also the mother of several of our students) packed up her sled and four-wheeler and left for a day of caribou hunting. Fall and spring are prime hunting seasons in this area and Wanda is a caribou hunter.

Wanda was taught to hunt by her father. She is an excellent shot and seldom comes home empty-handed. As a single mother, she has continued to hunt, fish, and gather subsistence foods, teaching her own children similar skills. This is what the Inupiat do. This is their way. Six days ago, Wanda began an ordinary journey that ended today with an extraordinary outcome.

She survived.

Late Saturday night, into the earliest morning hours of Sunday, one of Wanda's daughters realized that her mom should be home...and wasn't. Notifying our local search and rescue unit set an enormous effort in motion. And across the village telephone lines burned an incredible and frightening fact.

Wanda was missing.

I won't try to relay the distress that a thing like this produces. The search and rescue team, mostly unpaid volunteers, spent five nights and five days tirelessly scouring the tundra over-land while a chopper and rescue plane searched from above. A grid was mapped out, evidence was analyzed, prayers were prayed, and tears were shed.

Everyone knew all too well how the story could end. Five nights alone on the tundra, braving temperatures in the low twenties with 20-40 mile-per-hour winds seemed like too much to bear. But no one was willing to underestimate the power of a miracle or the strength of a determined Inupiat woman armed with survival skills and fueled by a will to live...for herself as well as for her children.

Yet, after so many days without a trace, brave faces were beginning to weaken. Eyes glazed over as fatigue and fear of the worst crowded in. Rumors proliferated causing spirits to soar then quickly crash against the harsh reality of truth. People of the North are not strangers to this. They have lived for centuries with the vicious bite of the elements at their heels. Death is a part of life, but not knowing is an added burden that no one can be prepared for.

Where is the line between delusion and hope? And who has the right to draw it?

Thankfully, Wanda's family and this community won't have to answer that question after all. This afternoon Wanda was found, not only alive, but in good shape. She was exhausted, sore, wind-burned, possibly a little dehydrated, but conscious and talking and walking on her own two feet.

Her survival skills had served her well and left her with a story to tell. This is what the Inupiat do. This is their way...but I'm not sure anyone expected such a powerful and beautiful end to this particular tale.

This is a surviving story. One that was lost has made her way home.

And for that...we are all incredibly grateful.

Goose Day

As many of you know, I've undertaken a journey of epic proportions this summer, at least in the sense of distance covered, and I'm looking forward to sharing some of those experiences here. But, a couple of weeks before I left the village, a brand new celebration was instituted in Atqasuk and I don't want to let that slip by unnoticed.

The Inupiat are traditionally a coastal people. Subsistence whaling has long been the basis for, Naluqatak, a time of feasting, dancing, and enjoying competitive games in the villages positioned along the edge of the Arctic Ocean. The inland villages of the North Slope (there are only two) concentrate on river fishing, caribou and bird hunting, as well as harvesting berries and other edible plants. Unfortunately, at least in Atqasuk, there has never been a celebration associated with these inland subsistence activities.

Until this year.

Atqasuk's first annual Goose Day was held on May 31, 2008. There was a goose calling contest, a goose plucking contest, and a community potluck. I think everyone agreed that the event was a great success and many are considering a celebration of caribou in the near future. In this tiny village where opportunities for fun or socializing are limited, that is an exciting proposition!

I would love to accurately identify these geese (maybe my birder friends can help?), but no one seemed to know their name in English. In Inupiaq they are called nigiliks. In English they are referred to as "regular" geese (as in, not snow geese and not Canadian geese...just regular geese). That is the actual response that I received when I inquired about a name.

The geese that were originally donated for the plucking contest were frozen and had to be replaced with thawed geese because plucking frozen geese will tear the skin. So there's a tip you might keep in mind if you are ever tempted to pluck a frozen goose.

The down can be collected and used to stuff pillows, a common practice in years past.

The woman plucking here was amazing. Not only did she work quickly, but she was somehow able to contain the feathers better than anyone else. She told me she'd teach me how to do it if I wanted to learn. And I do.

Mikigak (fermented whale meat) is a favorite treat among the Inupiat. Someone brought a bucket full to the potluck and it was accepted with a great deal of enthusiasm. I have to admit, with some embarrassment, that mikigak is the only traditional food that I've never tasted. The meat is cut up and left to ferment in its own blood for about two weeks. It smells like vinegar, though people tell me the flavor is sweet. In spite of the hardy endorsements, I have not been able to work up the nerve to put it in my mouth...mostly because I'm not sure that I'd be able to contain my response.

Here's a single serving with a chunk of uunaalik (boiled whale blubber) in the center of the bowl.

Not to end on a sour note...
These were two of the strongest competitors in the goose-calling contest! Although I'm only including two student participants, there were adults who joined in as well. This was a really fun contest. Next year I might compete. I have been practicing the sound of nigiliks for a while now and, if nothing else, it would give everyone else a good laugh.

An elder in my church asked if I'd like to have a goose for cooking. She said, "It's all ready to go. All you have to do is take the guts out." I smiled and thanked her and felt extremely honored to be the recipient of such an offering.

I guess after the plucking lessons, I'll be signing up for Gutting 101.

That should be interesting.

Contrast

It's goose hunting time in Atqasuk. For the last couple of weeks, snow machines have been buzzing past my house, rifles secured to the front or strapped onto the drivers' backs. This is a much anticipated time of year. After a long winter of confined inactivity, spring subsistence hunting is an opportunity to get out and reconnect with culture and kin. Children in Atqasuk look forward to goose hunting with their parents the way that those in the Lower 48 might anticipate going to a fair or on vacation with their family.

A few days ago, one of my summer school students excitedly related the experience of hunting with his dad. His newly tanned face was absolutely brimming with pride. After trading information and plenty of opinions with classmates about the best rifle and amunition for hunting geese, the ten-year-old went on to describe an accident that they'd had on the snow machine. He had been riding on the back of the snow machine while his father drove. At some point, they hit a drift at the wrong angle and the machine flipped over sideways.

I instinctively began scanning the boy for cuts or bruises. He had only one cut where his rifle had hit his head in the fall. Nothing serious. I asked him why he thought they had turned over. He considered the question, shrugged his shoulders and said, "Snow blind, I guess." I knew what he meant. We'd just received a fresh covering of snow a day or two earlier. All traces of exposed earth were hidden again. But, more importantly, the cloud cover this time of year often diffuses sunlight in such a way that the sky seems to meld with the ground. There are no shadows, no edges. All of the contours that define the terrain have been softened by snow or blurred by uniformly distributed light, making depth perception a real challenge.

When I took this photo of my little neighbor (above), I was having a hard time seeing the snow pile behind my house with that backdrop of gray-white sky. At first, I thought the mountain of snow had actually been removed (they do that this time of year). But, as I walked closer, my eyes adjusted and I was able to make out the faint ridge line along the top of the pile. I've noticed, on days like these, that I walk more slowly, head down, trying to bring the ground directly ahead of me into focus before I step.

It seems a bit ironic that, after months of darkness, an increase in sunlight would actually make it more difficult to see. Webster's defines snow blindness as..."inflammation and photophobia caused by exposure of the eyes to ultraviolet rays reflected from snow or ice." So I'm not sure that snow blindness is exactly what is being experienced in this case, but regardless of the label (or lack of one) this phenomenon definitely presents a challenge for those who attempt to travel across the tundra, even at moderate speeds.

The next two photos further illustrate the effect I've described. My neighbor is sitting on the snow pile with the sky and the tundra in the background. It's very difficult to see the horizon or judge distances.



When I zoom out a little, the science station (about a quarter of a mile away) provides a point of reference making the ground much easier to discern. But it's still tricky.



When the sun does break through, that's when real snow blindness may come into play. This photo has lots of shadow, so it doesn't fully depict the overwhelming brightness of sunlight splashing off snow...



...but this little guy knows what it feels like and he goes out prepared.



Of course, if he stays out too long, he'll soon be sporting a sunglasses tan like most of the goose hunters around the village.



It doesn't take many walks on days like these to understand the significance of contrast. An environment that is pristine and blemish-free may be pleasant, even beautiful. But the reality is that, without some exposed earth or looming obstacle on the horizon, the perfect sameness can be rather blinding. It is amazingly easy to lose perspective, lose balance, even lose the way. Bare spots and shadows are like markers that inform our journey. They help us focus in the right direction, make adjustments, make our way home.

Puuqtaluk Past

Would you dance alone in front of an audience...all eyes on you?

1 (8%)...No way! They don't make a good enough costume for that!
9 (75%)...Maybe, if I could wear a disguise.
2 (16%)...No problem! Who needs a costume?

A few friends and relatives have asked about the year that I participated in Puuqtaluk. I have to admit that I could never have done it without the disguise. I envy those two brave individuals who indicated in the poll that they wouldn't even need a costume to dance in front of a crowd. All I can say to that is...yikes! My enthusiasm for personal humiliation falls squarely with the majority...maybe even toward the lower end of the scale.

For me, doing Puuqtaluk was a stretch. But, I have to admit, the whole experience was a total blast. From finding over-sized men's clothes at a thrift store in Anchorage...to applying brown eye shadow over my entire face to hide my ethnicity...it was all one big hilarious challenge. I stuffed three (or was it four?) pillows in the shirt and pants. And I wore three shirts (one a turtle neck) and muscle-man padding that I'd found with the discounted Halloween costumes. That added several inches to my arms, chest, and stomach (muscular inches...don't you think?) and helped to round out the overall physique. I had to stuff about forty plastic grocery bags into the size 11 men's work boots, in both the feet and the legs, just to keep them on. Men's gloves and a 52 inch belt finished off the ensemble. It was important to find the largest belt possible because I had noticed at previous Puuqtaluk competitions that contestants often stuffed their clothes with pillows, but used a small belt which made their identity easier to guess. So, I was sneaky. I kept stuffing and stuffing until I felt like Old West Santa...much harder to identify.

It took a while, but I finally found the photos. Some of you have already seen these. As I warned back then...I'll warn again...brace yourself! Puuqtaluk costumes, in general, are not for the faint of heart and mine was no exception. I think the thing that made my disguise rather unsettling was that it was somewhat realistic. People did a lot of double-takes as they looked my way. Children stared from a distance, unsure if I was Puuqtaluk-ing or actually a strange man lurking in the corner. Even adults steered clear as they walked past me, avoiding eye contact. At the end, when I pulled off the mask, there was a loud, "Aathaaa!" which, loosely translated, is Eskimo for, "Holy cow!" My students were amazed and exceedingly proud that their teacher had danced in public, fooled everyone, and even won second place. They were also more than a little interested in my prize money!

*********************
I took these photos at my principal's house on the way to the community center that night. My principal was sitting on the couch and kept stealing glances at me and then looking away. He said, "I know it's you because I recognize your voice, but that get-up is just creeping me out!"



Go ahead, admit it. You know you're jealous of my natural beauty!



His daughter was a little braver...too funny!

Puuqtaluk Arrives!

Puuqtaluk is a night of silliness and laughter. Sometimes it's the costume that is humorously absurd. Sometimes it's the dancing. Sometimes the contestants actually interact with the audience (or one another) in some ridiculous way. But, no matter the age or dancing ability of the participant, the objective is always to make people laugh.

However, there is another objective to the competition that is almost as important as the humor. The identities of the participants are always kept secret. Part of the fun, for the audience, is trying to guess who is dancing in spite of the disguise that is worn. Contestants often wear several layers of clothing stuffed with pillows in addition to a mask. They may wear mismatched gloves, over-sized shoes, or even walk in an unusual way all in an effort to prevent anyone from guessing who they are. The ultimate accomplishment for a Puuqtaluk participant is to have tricked the audience, to have remained anonymous to the end. How exhilarating it must be to receive cheers of astonishment from the crowd as the mask is lifted revealing the dancer's true identity!

And, of course, receiving a hefty prize check isn't too bad either.

*****************
Okay, I forgot to mention that the baby division doesn't really follow the same rules. They pretty much just toddle around and look cute. This little sweetheart won first prize in that age group. She even beat out her older brother who became shy at the sight of the audience.



I'm not sure what baby-boy-left is trying to do to baby-boy-right, but it sure looks like he's determined to do it, whatever it is. These two have more in common than being adorable in their costumes. They were born on the same day...in the same hospital!



This is one of my students. He's pretty excited to have won first prize and is standing at the table waiting for his check. I took this photo right after he revealed his identity. You'll notice he's still sweaty from doing all that dancing dressed up in a heavy disguise.



These three were contestants in the 14-17 year old division.



Here the participants from that same division (14-17 yrs.) are dancing as a group.
Each is also required to dance alone. That's the part where the mask is really handy! How frightening!



These nasty looking characters were contestants in the adult division. The one in the middle actually won first place.



Believe it or not, this ominous figure is actually a rather slender and attractive mother of SIX! All of her children, ages 2 to 8, were in the audience watching mommy dance.

Just Beneath the Surface

When I ventured down to the river a couple of weeks ago, I wasn't completely convinced that the ice was safe to tread upon. But I’d heard that there was lots of fishing going on and I was curious. So when my new friend, Ami, suggested checking it out, I grabbed my camera and my jacket without hesitation. Within minutes, I found myself navigating a precarious path across the crusted river, sugary snow making every step a vertical challenge!

Along the frozen beach, I noticed quite a few chunks (like the one in the photo), pitch black and brittle, obviously different from the surrounding rocks. For me, those ebony pieces are faint reminders that there is more to this tundra village than meets the eye. Back in the 1940’s and on into the 50’s, Atqasuk was the site of a thriving coal mine. Oddly enough, tiny Atqasuk was the supplier for larger villages such as Barrow. Today, other than a few dilapidated structures, there is no outward indication that the mine existed. Only crumbs of coal that make their way down to the river hint at what actually lies below.

Although the coal mine did populate the area for a while, Atqasuk is actually a permanent community for another reason…subsistence. The land was claimed in the 1970’s because it was a valued hunting and fishing camp. The Inupiat, a coastal people, traditionally spent most of their time on the Arctic Ocean hunting whales, seals, and walrus. However, they made seasonal trips inland for trapping, hunting caribou, and freshwater fishing. When the Federal Government pressured the Inupiat to choose the land that they would claim, this area was a cultural treasure they couldn't afford to lose.

It seems like an odd history for such a remote location and I thought about that as I made my way to the various groups huddled around small holes. Ice is an amazing thing. Only a week or so earlier there had been boats on the water. It's doubtful that the fishing nets even had time to dry before they froze. As I watched fish being pulled out, one after another, I marveled at the abundance of the river. Like the coal, it was another reminder not to be fooled by the appearance of things…to look closer and dig deeper and find the treasure that so often lies just beneath the surface.

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Click on any photo for a larger image or to see more...

James is taking a break from fishing to warm up his hands and his stomach with some piping hot noodles. His wife, Johanna hand-carried the bowl of noodles all the way from their house! What devotion!



While James finished off his lunch, Johanna kept the fish coming in. By the time I took these photos they had already caught about thirty using fish tails and maktak (whale blubber) for bait.



Some of these are white fish. Some are grayling. The white fish and grayling are both scaled fish. I think the white fish have a different shape to their heads, but thrown into a bag like this, I can't really tell them apart.



Once it's frozen, the river makes a great highway. And, I might add, it gets a lot of use. You can probably see that by the tire tracks in the snow.

What's In A Name?

One only has to view the birth announcements in the Arctic Sounder (see related links) to discover that naming a child is taken pretty seriously around here. On the North Slope, children are often endowed with multiple names, as many as four or five. It is common practice to name a new baby after a dear or departed relative (or three). In that way, the memory of the loved one is honored throughout the lifetime of the namesake. Children will, without provocation, enthusiastically recite the long list of relatives for whom they were named which, I must admit, can be a fairly impressive feat.

Not long after I moved to Atqasuk, people began to ask me what my Eskimo name would be. My Eskimo name? The question caught me slightly by surprise. I hadn't considered the possibility of choosing a Native name, but after thinking about it, I kind of liked the idea. From that point on, I began paying closer attention to the proper names and common words that were spoken each day within my hearing. I'd repeat one every now and then, trying it on for size. Like shoes, an ill-fitting word can be a little painful to break in.

Inupiaq is an interesting language, but there's nothing easy about it. There are only three vowels (a, u, and i). That seems simple enough. Unfortunately, there are several unusual consonants whose pronunciations wreak havoc with my awkward, mostly English-speaking tongue. They bounce around in my mouth like a size 7 foot in a size 13 shoe! There are four variations of the letter "l" as well as two types of "g" (remember, the one with the dot?). There are three types of "n" and one of those, get this, has a tail! On top of all that, each of the vowels can be doubled (as in, uunaalik) making for some unexpected syllables, to say the least. After a good bit of trying on, my interest in finding a name that I could actually pronounce began to wane.

Then something unexpected happened. The elders of the village have a standing invitation to eat lunch with the students in our school. One day, an elder that I knew fairly well mentioned to me that my name, Kimberlee, reminded him of the Inupiaq word, kimaliuraq. He explained that a kimaliuraq was a little knife, an ulu, smaller than regular ulus. It was designed to fit a woman's hand more comfortably and to be more precise, an important trait for working with skins. From that day on, without hesitation, that was the name he called me...Kimaliuraq.

I don't think the elder had considered the implications of the name he'd given me. I'm sure the sound of my English name simply connected with his native tongue, creating a natural association. But, regardless of how it came about, I have grown to appreciate that association. To be connected with a tool that is sharp and strong, useful and versatile, fitting just right in the palm of a skillful hand. There's just something inspiring about that. I think it's a name that I'd like to live up to. After all my shopping and trying on, my Eskimo name just sort of landed in my lap. Thankfully, though, I couldn't have asked for a more excellent fit.



The small ulu at the top is the kimaliuraq (about 2 1/2 x 4 inches). The one on the bottom is the average size for an ulu (about 5 x 7 inches). These ulus were all made by Natives of the North Slope. The Ulu Factory in Anchorage commercially manufactures a wide variety of ulus that can be ordered/shipped (see related links).


The handle of this kimaliuraq is made of caribou antler.


Meet Mr. Nayukok, another elder in the village. He made the kimaliuraq as well as the larger ulu in these photos. Here you see him holding a decorative ulu (not for use) crafted from whale baleen. The handle is walrus ivory. Notice his mukluks (boots). They are hand-made predominantly of seal skin. They are really very impressive in person.


Another one of Mr. Nayukok's ulus. This one has a walrus ivory handle as well.



This ulu was made by my friend Gail's brother, Leonard Felder, who lives in Barrow. I like the way he mounts the handles on a post. This handle is made from whale bone. He puts a thick layer of sealant on the bone which is good because whale bone smells a lot like cod liver oil...very fishy.

And the Winner Is...

Only a few brave souls dared to cast their vote in the traditional Eskimo foods poll. Well...seven, to be exact. Now the poll is closed. The opportunity has passed. No more clicks will be accepted. I can almost hear an audible sigh of disappointment out there in cyberspace. Okay, I'm kidding about the audible sigh thing.

I must admit, though, in all seriousness, I was somewhat surprised by the outcome of the poll. I truly expected that frozen maktak would be the hands-down favorite. And I was really surprised that anyone ventured a vote for mikigaq. Come on, fermented whale meat? I didn't think that would even receive a nod. Apparently, there is a small, underground faction out there in support of fermentation. Hmm.

It's obvious that I am rather out-of-touch with public sentiment regarding culinary preferences because the overwhelming winner turned out to be...uunaalik! Boiled whale blubber beat out the frozen variety and even eked past the fermented meat/blubber combination. I guess that shouldn't be so surprising. Clearly, the fact that uunaalik is actually cooked appealed to more voters. In fact, students polled in my classroom designated uunaalik as their unanimous favorite as well. And they've actually eaten it!

When I asked one vocal student why she liked uunaalik the best, she replied rather matter-of-factly, "Because. It's the bomb."

Huh.

Uunaalik is the bomb.

I really don't think I knew that.



Unfortunately, I don't have photos of uunaalik. So, I'll share some photos of maktak...the frozen stuff that nobody voted for. These were taken during a community feast a few years ago.



Some of you may already be familiar with the knife that is being used to cut the maktak. In Inupiat culture it is called an ulu. I'll probably share a little more about ulus in a later post. I have a special connection with this little utensil that I'd like to explain.



In my mind, this event qualifies as an arctic anomaly. It's a maktak-eating contest! Every year, in the spring, our school hosts an Inupiat celebration. This contest is one of the most popular events of the day. These are parents competing for the honor of being the supreme maktak eater. As you can see, there weren't enough ulus to go around.



These contestants are high school students. Yes, they cut the maktak for themselves. Although all Inupiat children are accustomed to using ulus on a daily basis, the younger students compete by eating pre-cut slices. It's safer and it ensures that the contest can be completed within the confines of a regular school day (the little ones are slow at cutting).