food, friends and birthday fun

The last was an eventful week for our arctic family. We hosted our first big dinner party one night and had some fun on Eskimo radio for Layla’s birthday the next. We enjoyed Kivgiq, the tri-annual festival, or more recently, the whenever the mayor wants to throw a three day party festival, and most exciting for me, Luke learned to high five.

As full-time homemaker, I was determined that our first Barrow dinner party would be unlike our usual Juneau dinner events. Our guests would not have to wipe grease from their glasses and shout over the din of the hapless and loudly complaining exhaust fan. The fan, which, like a high school basketball coach spouting profanities at the ref or a college kid whose computer actually did erase his final project, was as loud and obnoxious as it was unsurprisingly ineffective. Despite its useless cacophony, I, like the coach and the undergrad, still felt compelled to use it well into the social part of the evening, but no more.

Still frantically cooking well after our guests arrive must be a holdover from my restaurant days where ingredients went from pan to plate to table in seconds, or you could hurl insults at the waiters like sticky spaghetti at the wall, but seeing how the neighbors store their family size frozen dinners (see photo at right), I now knew how to avoid it. Luckily, use of the endless Barrow community freezer is free and convenient for all residents, so Luke and I made two dozen enchiladas the day before and kept them just outside the back door of our house. On party day, we calmly pulled in the trays hours before the first guest even got off work. When the first of our friends arrived, I even had time to enjoy a glass of wine, and the party went on without a hitch.

After our dinner party success, Luke and I were confident we could do it again the next night. His naps keep his attention only a bit longer than the tags on his stuffed toys, so I opted for the high chair and Cheerio prison, er, game, to buy some time in the kitchen. The only catch is that I have to manually regulate his Cheerio intake to one or two at a time so his oft-practiced fun in stuffing doesn’t outpace his relatively new practice in chewing. Nonetheless, after a few hours of Cheerio prison and emptying, refilling, and re-emptying the lower kitchen drawers, we had done it again. Vegetable sushi and our first birthday cake. Thanks to Layla liking her sushi on the less-than-interesting side and a great cake recipe from our friend Kate in Juneau, both were a success, and we ate happily while listening to the early edition of the Birthday Program.

Yes, on Layla’s birthday and after we gave everyone she knows the number and standard time to call in a “happy birthday and many more” to Layla, KBRW decides to move the Birthday Program up an hour in order to cover the evening Kivgiq festivities. Although everyone in town knew that it was very unlikely for the festival to resume promptly at 7:00 as scheduled—the sense of time based on hours and minutes is as new and awkward here as it is engrained and worshipped down south—the Birthday Program ended promptly at seven just as Layla’s friends and family across the globe were gearing up for their 15 seconds of arctic fame. Thankfully, a few people got my last second email about the change and made it on to the air. Layla was very surprised and laughed out loud at how “Eskimo” the wishes from her friends and family sounded, and all in all had a great birthday evening.

We really enjoyed the three-day Kivgiq festival that began on Layla’s birthday and continued until the early hours of Sunday morning. The three of us went to an Inupiat traditional foods lunch where Luke, and Layla and I, got our first real Eskimo food. We’re not sure what to think about the fact that he made the “what-the-heck-are-you-feeding-me” face after his first bite of chocolate birthday cake but couldn’t get enough of the caribou stew. But hey, the stew was good, they’ve been cooking those recipes for thousands of years, and that was only my first cake.

Luke was covered in seal oil and rice as we finished our plates, and so was I as his acting high chair, but that didn’t stop Layla from proudly introducing us to her boss, North Slope Borough Mayor, Edward Itta. The mayor greeted us less as a boss or politician and more like a father greeting guests at his son’s graduation party. He was a proud man that day, as he should have been with hundreds of elders, children and their great, (great) grandchildren coming from hundreds of miles across the tundra for the gathering. On the North Slope, they aren’t just constituents, they’re family, and the mayor’s smile showed it. We were proud parents as well, as Luke quickly and directly gave the mayor “five” on his first prompt. I don’t know if it says more about the mayor or about Luke that his first “five” to someone other than Layla and I was such a confident gesture with the mayor of the nation’s most expansive local government, but either way, it made everyone smile.

The days of Kivgiq were filled with dancing, drumming and otherwise celebrating the proud Inupiat culture of northern Alaska. Traditionally, the festival would draw Inuit from western Canada and nearby eastern Siberia, but new passport requirements and other recently effective Homeland Security measures prevented it this year. Although it’s unlikely that terrorists will plan to attack the U.S. through the North Slope, or that an Inuit elder would hide a bomb in her mukluks or refuse to put her seal oil in a Ziploc bag, broad laws have broad effects, and no one here complained, at least not loudly. That’s not because they didn’t miss the company of their Inuit brethren from both East and West, but more because the culture seems to have learned to endure, not whine. On the Slope, you can find plenty to complain about, but complaining never made it warmer or the whales any lighter to pull onto the ice.

The Alaskan Eskimos carried on the celebration in grand fashion with deafening drumming and dancers in colorful parkas presenting stories of hunting and other interactions with the wild world around them. Children of all ages were everywhere. Amidst the happy chaos, speakers would begin and end their parts with a loud “Aarigaa!” loosely meaning “good” or “how nice!” The young people needed no signs or ropes to tell them to reserve the best seats for the elders, who with their deep wrinkles and whitening hair sat in quiet approval of how the following generations were reviving and continuing the old ways. The performers and contributors emphasized the core Inupiat values, and elders told stories of history and humor. As a “taniq,” I could’ve used more interpretation and maybe some descriptions of what I was eating, but we got the feel of it and enjoyed it very much. The MC’s constant reminders, heard frequently at the event and over the airwaves, described the atmosphere better than he knew. “Parents, please control your children so the elders can hear.”

Thanks for enduring this long entry. More, or less, next time…

Back to the bright side

Well, we’re finally settling into our cottage on the edge of town, one block from the lagoon and 5 from the sea. The house was turn-key ready, complete with tarp-covered boats, a windowless wooden box of a shed, a traditional skin whaling boat and other artifacts that the wind uncovers every few days. Even though they aren’t ours, they sure have helped us feel a part of the community.

Since the sun came up a couple weeks ago, I watch the sunrise every morning, er, afternoon. Just like in westerns and romance movies, the sunrises blend into the sunsets, and the moon continuously circles large around town. For days, Luke would sleep or occupy himself from sun-up to sun-down giving me enough time to mix a refreshing glass of Tang or to drain the water-heater with a luxurious, hot, five-minute shower.

We feel safe here. Not only do we leave our keys in the car, often, we leave it running. Luke gets a two-stroke serenade that sometimes lasts long into the night from the local kids, and each night the community sends well-wishes over the radio to those with birthdays or anniversaries. Almost without fail, each greeting ends with, “and many more….hold on…” as they pass the phone to other family members lined up to send the same wish to the same people. Frequently, the well-wishers extend their blessings to “anyone else who has a birthday or anniversary today…hold on.”

We found a great little car, and it’s proven to be quite economical. One door stays closed, almost all the lights work, and we average slightly more than 2 miles per dollar. Not to be a snobby new neighbor, but as it rolls, and has windows, it does seem like a nicer car than most of the ones we see parked, or buried, around many of the other houses in town.

Layla’s been hard at work, and Luke and I have been slouching around, spending all of her money. Many of the locals already know Luke by name, and he has his favorite librarian, Stuaqpak (“big store”) check out girl, and kindergarten ballerina girlfriend. Luke says,”kfhbvghhhji777777777777777vjj bnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
‘;;;;;;;; vy.”

Quyanaqpak (“big thank you”)….hold on…