Village Life in Rural Alaska

Brilliant blue skies formed a perfect backdrop to the winter’s lingering grip upon an isolated, remote village in Alaska. Wandering along the edge of town, carefully avoiding the areas where the snow would drop you down three feet, I clammered along the and kept my eyes upon the mountains. I loved the afternoons.

We only had a few hours of pure daylight, so the moments mattered.

Autumn seasons came and disappeared within weeks. We usually had our first snow by August 23, and that signaled time for school. Even so, the beautiful mountains called to my soul as I walked to and from the school.

I looked up and saw Suakpik looming ahead. I loved this mountain. The rocky, spiked peak and often the silver grey of the stone precipice made me want to climb it, even though I knew I couldn’t, at least not without major assistance.

Below the mountain, the John river ran through the middle of town. Rippling in the spring, with high waters and frozen over in the winter, the river delighted all. Skaters, swimmers, and fishing pleased at least one person every season.

My friends would wear homemade mukluks and slide on the ice. I wanted a pair really bad, and in my young years didn’t know how to ask for any. To this day, I know they must of been perfect to wear and one day, maybe I’ll enlist someone from the village to make me a pair, after all.

I remember hiding under the bridge with my friends, listening to a boombox we brought with us, fully stocked with batteries. The music of the 80’s surrounded us as we laughed and joked during the hot summers.

Whenever I think back to those years, I remember good times, pleasant memories of family and friends. We connected, this White girl and her Native Alaskan friends. I blended in with them, and was accepted as part of the village. Their families were mine and my parents held a special place in their heart for the people of the village of Anaktuvuk Pass.

People made the village unique and culture gave it definition and connection.

While winter seems to last forever, I know the mosquitoes and flies are on their way. Funny how the mention of them makes me feel itchy. My first year in the village, 1981, proved to be a landmark experience when it came to bugs. The first fall was full of bites and itchy skin. I learned to walk against the wind, and the bugs would miss you. Even to this day, the smell of “Off — Deep Woods” makes me homesick for the village life.

The senses make connections in quick order when emotions are involved. The more I think about the emotional connection, the vivid details appear in my mind’s eye. If I close my eyes, sometimes I can even see the water gurgling along the streams as I wandered through the willow brush at the end of the airstrip.

The small birds flit about as we meander through paths, and follow the river through toward the tundra. Life in the surrounding areas always intrigued my mind. I’d often wander, like I did along the edge of the village, looking at the ground cover or gazing at mountain peaks.

The memories we hold wait for us to resurrect and share with others throughout our lifetime. Memories are gifts. I think back to the time in Alaska and feel blessed to walk among my friends, crunch through the snow, and wade in the overflow of the spring thaw.

Even as I write, I still see so much more and wish to return, one day to the place of my youth. For now, I’ll close my eyes and remember the treasured moments.

~Just a thought by Pamela

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This post was previously published on Blue Insights.

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