twenty five.

i loved that caroline gave me clip on holiday earings. i loved that folks made a special point to call. i loved that mom's russian tea tasted like christmas. i loved that fawn made too much fry bread. i loved that leah magically salvaged my humble attempt at grandma's red velvet cake. i loved that so many friends filled our tiny living room with conversation and laughter. i loved that people contributed foods that were meaningful in their lives. i loved that there was enough for everyone. i loved that folks brought guitars and harmonicas. i loved that people donated gifts for the shelter. i loved that friends knew me well enough to bring homemade and thrift shop gifts as well. i loved that now mukluk has his very own christmas ornament. i loved that i felt loved.

but what really made my birthday. was when we brought leftovers to the shelter. and we figured out that it was one of the guests' birthday too. and she declared me her "birthday twin." with multiple hugs. and we sang a cheerful "happy birthday to us." and there was shared experience. and joy. and it somehow completed the day.

and although this year promises much uncertainty at the moment. i celebrate it. i welcome it. i wait and see. i listen. i wonder. just what will be.

hope.

neither one of us expected it to be on the front page. in the sunday paper at that. but there it was. in black and white. the reality of it all. spoken plainly. and he seemed rather overwhelmed. but said maybe, just maybe someone will wake up. people need to know. homelessness exists here. but it exists everywhere. and people's eyes need to be opened.

and he was so brave to talk to that reporter. to share his voice. his story. but now he seems apprehensive. of what others may think. or say. but mostly. folks around here tell him he did a good job. that they are proud of him.

and then we imagined. what if there was a part two. a sequel to the story. that his situation changed. for the better.

he said he was tired of all of this. and ready to try again. for something different. for something more. and i said that story would certainly be worthy of front page news again. even though we agreed neither one of us are front page news kind of people.

but we determined it was worth a try.

and something like hope surrounded us in that moment. as we concluded something good will come out of this. it must.

human.

"god bless you of so kind heart. you make us feel human."

this is what one of the guests at the shelter wrote on a thank you card tonight.

you make us feel human. the phrase continues echoing in my head. in rhythm with the quiet snores of folks sleeping. and what does it mean to feel human? and what does it mean to not feel human?

feeling human seems to connotate dignity. and honour. and recognition. of being a person of worth. of value. and not feeling human... that seems to imply the opposite.

and the idea that i might be a small part of someone feeling human brings hope. its all i really want to be a part of. honouring. and listening. and loving. and the idea of people facing situations where they feel less than human. is. well, more terrible than words.

so open our eyes to our common humanity. that we might see each other. really see each other. hear each other. truly hear each other. to recognize one another. as people. simply people. worthy of love. worthy of grace. worthy of hope.

remembering.

my heart had been forgetting. amidst overflowing calendars. and incomplete to do lists. and moving in too many directions. and thinking in too many directions. and continual feelings of inadequacy. and uncertainty.

my heart had been forgetting. amidst abstract words. and talking in circles. about issues. and causes. and ideas. and growing overwhelmed by the scope of it all.

my heart had been forgetting. how to be present. how to be still. how to listen.

my heart had been forgetting. until the first folks walked in the shelter this evening. one who brought his large print harry potter book that he found at the thrift shop. one who always seems overjoyed to see me but can never remember my name. one who looked so relieved to be in from the cold. one who wandered in at three in the morning. with no where else to go. postponing sleep for a little conversation. for a chance to be heard.

and amidst the cold frigid temperatures outside. my heart was strangely warmed. and began to remember.

and something like thankfulness. and something like hope. and something like passion. began to stir again.

names.

my hasty footsteps cross paths with his. he smiles. and joyfully shouts out. abigail or abby? do you go by abigail or abby?

i slow down my hurried feet. and pause in the middle of the vacant street. either one. i'll answer to either one. you've got a good memory, you know.

i always remember names. went into the hospital the other day. said hello to doctor so and so. and he was surprised i remembered his name. from when i went to see him four years ago. yep. i remember names.

well i'm not always as good with names as you are. and i'm sorry but i've forgotten yours.

well its written on one of your cards up there at the food bank.

hmm. yes. but i've still forgotten. and i'm sorry.

its robert. most people call me robert. except this one lady who calls me stanley. that's my middle name. she says i look like a stanley.

robert. i'll try to remember that now.

a few more words exchanged. laughter. smiles. and our paths part ways.

and i found the folder of papers from the shelter this past winter. forms and signatures and lists of names. of people that needed a safe place to stay. of people that told their stories over cup-o-noodles and hot cocoa and went back out into the cold the next morning. of people that we can add into numbers. to say how many guests came. to put in our brochure.

and i have to start making case files with notes. about children. and families. about successes and struggles. about progress. and setbacks. and keep them in a special file drawer. except i don't even get to use names. just initials.

and i sit in a class. where we talk about people far away. people whose daily lives know tension. and fear. and violence. and war. and there's a picture of children. growing up amidst it all. and those children have names. and there's a picture of soliders on the other side. living amidst it all. and those soldiers have names. and they remind us of the humanity of it all. of these issues that we comfortably sit around talking about. drinking our decaf coffee. munching our organic fig bars.

names. records of names. food bank cards. shelter rosters. case files. newspapers. and so many unnamed. each a person. a life. a story. oh that we may come to love each other. to honour each other. to truly see each other. for who we are. for the depth that we are. beyond these flat records of names.

snowflakes fall in the september breeze.

28th september. this is what our eyes saw. as we awoke to greet the day.

villages.

sometimes i wonder. if the order of this journey had been rearranged. how i might see this place. this moment. differently. if i might feel more immersed. more connected. if i had first headed north.

but instead. my feet traveled south. my heart followed. and my eyes were changed. for good.

and it took time of course. everything takes time. but people took me in. showed me how to live. allowed me to be a part of their village. a part of their family. a part of their lives. so something in me still yearns for that. a sense of belonging. amidst vibrant culture. amidst authentic community.

and i have been welcomed where i am. and i do live in a close community. and i have had opportunities to be amidst beautiful culture. but its just different. and somedays i feel more of an observer than a participant.

and while i adore this little town. something in me has longed to experience village life. anticipating a deeper cultural immersion. a retreat to simplicity. to subsistence. to roots.

only one of the surrounding villages is accessible by the road system. and the "work" i'm involved in is solely based in town. so. i haven't had opportunity to visit a village until just recently. when a bus full of elders and i ventured to teller for the annual cultural festival.

and we saw hours and hours of eskimo dancing. four different villages represented. beautifully intergenerational. with songs and drumming and movement flowing from somewhere deep within. connecting with sometime not so long ago. invitational dances. welcoming all. celebratory images of unity. of togetherness. across villages.

and we ate ekimo food of dried fish. and greens. and muktuk. and beluga. and we discovered cranberries ripe for picking. and we walked along the musical beach to see brevig mission across the water. and we saw cousins and aunties and uncles reunite. and we watched a community come together to support one another amidst struggles and questions. and we felt welcomed. and taken care of. and joyful.

and it was a fleeting glimpse. of a village. that is less isolated than most. during a special gathering. and i offer thanks for the visit. for a new place for my eyes to take in. knowing my perspective. my understanding. is terribly limited. and there are depths and dimensions of that place. of everyday life. that i cannot grasp at the moment. for i've only briefly observed. i haven't fully participated.

and i hope in a place. where i might be wholly immersed. amidst the reality of a place. amidst the struggles. the joys. of people. to celebrate. to honour. to live. to share. to love. and perhaps that place. is the very place i am in. in this moment if only my eyes might open up.

awareness.

as a part of hunger action month, this past week, i participated in food bank of alaska's food stamp challenge. it entailed living off a food stamp allowance for the week. which averages out to $34.47 per person. in addition to the food stamp equivalent, i was also allowed $15 for fresh produce or perishables and a few specified items to represent food bank commodities (green beans, fruit cocktail, tuna, apple juice). in addition, a friend could take me out to eat for $4.50. (with all these amounts, keep in mind, nome prices are significantly higher than in the continental us). i wasn't supposed to accept food from outside sources, which was a challenge in itself, as food seems to be continually offered.

the experience certainly raised my own awareness. it involved prioritizing. giving up things. and it would have been much more profound had i had a family to also feed. i wrote a couple of blogs on the food stamp challenge site. you can also read about others' experiences as well. there were fifty or so folks from alaska that participated. today was my final day. so i'm still figuring out what it means. and what it inspires. check out the blogs if you're so inclined. and i'm always available for questions...

returning.

a labyrinth journey. guiding us to a sacred center. a healing space. inspiring us to continue. into a wider world. to be amidst. then leading us back. to that place of restoration. on this continual cyclical sojourn.

we returned to the waterfalls. to the river. to the trees. to the places that spoke to our souls. the places where our souls found peace. in hopes of listening again. to lessons the earth might offer. in hopes of renewal.

yet in our rediscovery. these sacred spaces. had somehow changed. the images upon our eyes were inconsistent with the memories of our hearts. the tundra had been a landscape of pure green. generously offering ripe blueberries. the sunshine had warmed our skin. faithfully offering its presence. now the tundra was a spectrum of vibrant gold. compassionately giving ripe cranberries. and the sunshine hid behind clouds. as it gradually disappeared more and more each day.

yet this familiar place we nearly failed to recognize still held a certain beauty. still beckoned us to listen.

and the colours encouraged us to embrace the present moment. to risk of falling in love with that which is vanishing. yet irresistibly beautiful. and the berries inspired our continued thanks. to the grace of the earth. as she provided enough for her children. and the retreating sun opened our eyes. to the vast array of stars. continually present. yet often hidden. by a closer light.

stars leading our souls back to other moments of healing. stars reminding us of a vastness beyond the overwhelming landscape. beyond the fathomless sea. beyond all that is conceivable.

and though time arrived. for our journey to evolve. into new places. beyond this safe space. the beauty seen. experienced. felt. in its varied dimensions. is inherently a part of us. a part of our very breath. and it guides the rhythm of our footsteps. until we are lead back again.

autumn's beginnings.

i remember the days when my soul welcomed autumn. when my heart rejoiced in the arrival of crimson and saffron on the trees. in hues so poetically harmonious with the season's blue skies.

i remember the days when my soul yearned for autumn. when my eyes craved changing colours. even amidst a land of vibrant, eternal summertime.

yet i've observed a certain hesitancy towards the season this year. wishing summertime would again be eternal. knowing autumn. as beautiful as it will be. will be a mere flicker. a fleeting transition to a long winter. of coldness. of darkness. something in my soul has seemed quite resistent towards winter. to the point of overshadowing my adoration of autumn.

yet recent wanderings amidst the transforming tundra have inspired a rekindling of that love. observing a spectrum of shades. from deep burgundy. to glowing goldenrod. and everything in between. intermingled with present, but fading summer greens. the same colours i remember falling in love with. but instead of on the trees. the colours appear right where our feet pass. further reminders that this is indeed sacred ground.

and my soul seemed to remember the beauty of autumn. all over again. as quickly as the season may pass. it is meant to be embraced. to be celebrated. and as suddenly as winter may arrive, we must remember. winter has a mysterious beauty of its own. but we mustn't let worry of what will be cloud our appreication of what is. especially with regard to things beyond our control. like changing seasons.

and as we hiked amidst the early autumn tundra. there were things beyond our control. namely an ever increasing fog. reminding me of foggy autumn hikes of days gone by. where we continued blindly. following the path set before our feet. yet here, there is no path. and there is grave danger of getting lost in enveloping fog. and though i desperately wished to continue our journey toward the intended endpoint. in my innocent idealism. or foolishness. i eventually had to succumb to the wisdom and practicality of my fellow sojourners. so we turned around. much to my disappointment.

yet the journey soon began to speak. of the value of knowing when to let go. of the wisdom of being open to unexpected expereinces. of the beauty of the journey regardless of its outcome. i just hope my soul was listening.

and so i give thanks. for the chance to be amidst the colours of autumn. for wise traveling companions. for the present moment. the present season. the present journey. and whatever joys it brings.

beyond words.

this afternoon, we filled the tiny airport with laughter. and joy. and dancing. and hugs. as we offered our thank yous and goodbyes in multiple languages. with hopes of greeting each other again. perhaps on the other side of the bering strait next time.

a mere week ago, we met in the same space. in an atmosphere of silence and uncertainty. none of us knew what to expect. or even how to interact. yet through the exchange of cultures, of personalities, of experiences, we grew into a diverse family. as we celebrated our differences. and discovered common ground.

eleven youth and three adults from new chaplino and provideniya, russia were able to visit nome this past week through a grant the community center received from the national park service. the purpose was to connect people in the beringia region, who live in different countries and speak different languages, but share many similar lifestyle practices and traditions.

the group that visited consisted of siberian yupik dancers. and ecology students. during the week, the students had the opportunity to share their gifts with the community. and we did our best to show them around nome. yet regardless of what we did. or didn't do. simply being in one another's presence. and honouring one another's origins. inherently taught us more that can be expressed in words. the whole experience transcended language, really.

and i was reminded of the beauty. of soul connections. of shared experiences. that go beyond words. of the creative ways people can interact. and reach common understanding. when language barriers are present. yet in its absence, i was also reminded of the depth that language allows us to converse in. and how we often overlook its potential to understand one another more intimately. and how often we shy away from depth. and maintain safe words. that merely float on the surface of something greater.

one of the most vibrant illustrations of transcendent connections happened during a community dance performance. eskimo dancers from both new chaplino and king island shared their talents. and though new chaplino's dances were sung in siberian yupik. and king island's in inupiaq, the movements went beyond words. and some of the most beautiful moments were during welcome or invitational songs where dancers and community members from both sides danced and drummed and sang together. finding a certain cultual harmony. and the image of people of such similar heritage with a history of such political division uniting in music and movement was profound. perhaps what this was all supposed to be about.

the youth from russia seemed deeply connected to their roots. to their traditions. to where they come from. much more so than i have observed with young folks in nome. and i admired that in them. yet i also observed them very much in tune with modern culture. with mp3 players. and shopping. and rap music. and i wondered how they make sense of it all. these different worlds. that they are apart of. that are apart of them. but i couldn't really ask. couldn't find the words.

i offer tremendous thanks. that my journey merged with the journeys of such beautiful, interesting people. that we were able to learn more from each other than we can express. that we journey on with changed perspectives. and that we journey on with hopes that our paths might cross again.

happy's not the word. you make me free.

i wondered about the timing of it. there were too many things on the to-do list. or the to-think-about list. hardly ever written down. but almost always floating around in my head. it just didn't seem the ideal week to leave everything behind. but perhaps the timing was just right after all.

as soon as we arrived at bear creek fish camp. there was a sense of peace. of release. as if all the busy thoughts clouding my consciousness could be let go of. as if we could simply be. right where we were. amidst beautiful creation.

and there was a certain freedom. to play. to laugh. to sing. to dance. to spalsh. to enjoy. a certain innocence. as if this was all that mattered. this moment. this space. these companions. and i remember asking, can this just be life?

and we picked endless blueberries. and swam in numbing rivers. and fished with hope even when the fish weren't biting. and we hiked along the tundra. and celebrated the sunlight. and gathered around the campfire at night. and we drank spruce needle tea that tasted like christmas. and shared delicious meals together. and played neverending games of cards and charades.

it was as if we were all at liberty to be ourselves. and we all seemed to come a little bit more alive.

and something about it all. inspired me to sing. quite continually. each moment reminding me of a familiar tune. that would come bursting out. beyond my control. a musical of joyful noise. and perhaps in other settings in life. i also sing continually. at least in my head. but this certain flow of melodies seemed rather out of the ordinary. in a freeing sort of way.

and something about it all. was magical. or sacred. as we gathered in this natural sanctuary. to honour one another. to honour the earth and sky and water in our midst. to honour our own spirits.

and i didn't want to leave. this safe haven. this refreshing space. but journeys must continue. and songs must spill into new verses. so the beauty of it all will remain with us. as we venture on.

salmonberry delight.

wandering amidst the tundra. in sunshine. in rain. scanning the vast green for vibrant bits of orange. discovering juicy clusters. budding from tiny flowers. growing into fullness. just as they were meant to. after being hidden for so long. and thanking the earth. for her generosity. her fruitfulness. her gifts flowing so naturally.

wandering amidst the tundra. in solitude with my own soul. in communion with all that is surrounding. mindful of the moment. the moment which is just enough.

wandering amidst the tundra. with no particular path. bouncing from berry patch to berry patch. each new discovery leading to the next. humble moments of barrenness. without a berry in sight. trying moments of unripe berries. needing time to become whole. teaching us lessons in patience. in waiting. in trusting in fruit to come. joyful moments of abudance. berry heaven, one might say.

wandering amidst the tundra. filling our buckets with delights of the earth. allowing the occasional berry to grace our tongues. with juices so fresh and sweet. yet reserving most for times to come. knowing that winter will soon arrive. overwhelming this frutiful tundra. with coverings of white. and we must prepare. for changing times. of scarcity. so that when they reach. there might still be enough.

wandering amidst the tundra. remebering a time when saving fruit for another day didn't make sense. as tomorrow was not assumed. and if we did receive the gift of the next day, we would also recieve the gifts of the land. of the trees. of the sea. meant to be enjoyed in the moment. and shared with our neighbour. with faith that if tomorrow did come. something would be in season. and there would be enough.

wandering amidst the tundra. trying to make sense of these two worlds. of what was. of what is. with little concept of what will be. trying to understand where i fit. my place in the spectrum of it all. appreciating those who listen. who may have had glimpses of one of these worlds. and especially yearning for those who might understand both. who might understand me.

wandering amist the tundra. ever mindful of the berries. of the beauty. of the moment. ever thankful for the joy of it all.

listening.

the beauty of the trees,
the softness of the air,

the fragrance of the grass,

speaks to me.

the summit of the mountain,

the thunder of the sky,

the rhythm of the sea,

speaks to me.

the faintness of the stars,

the freshness of the morning,

the dewdrop on the flower,

speaks to me.

the strength of fire,

the taste of salmon,

the trail of the sun,

and the life that never goes away,

they speak to me.

and my heart sours.

~chief dan george

learning to listen. as nature speaks. as she sings.

wandering amidst mountains. and valleys. and tundra. and wildflowers. searching for a waterfall. journeying in communion. reflecting in solitude. sharing in awe. discovering beauty. resting by the rushing waters. as summer sunshine bathed our faces. and creation's music overwhelmed our hearts. receiving permission. from the earth herself. to be. to simply be. abandoning all else but this very moment. this very space. inspiring memories. of warm beaches. and coconut trees. where amidst uncertainty. there was peace. where answers were unnecessary. because the moment was all we knew. the moment was enough.

wandering amidst grains of sand. and rhythmic waves. and beach glass. and driftwood. in barefoot bliss. questioning the pieces of driftwood. as to their origins as to their stories. curiously wondering where they began their journey. somewhere far away, no doubt. to settle in this treeless land. wondering how they came to abandon their roots. and what their travels were like. wondering how long they had rested on these shores. and how much longer before the whim of the sea carried them off again. wondering what purpose each had in this space. to become a piece of firewood. to serve as a fish drying rack. or a walking stick. or a bench by the sea. and how many would find no other purpose than stillness until they drifted away once more.

wondering if i too am driftwood. somehow uprooted and far from home. inspired by something greater to rest on these shores. with an uncertain purpose. for an uncertain time. depending on the whim of the sea. to leave me be. to carry me away. a restlessness within. wondering where i might drift to next. wondering what journeys are ahead. yet somehow finding peace. to simply be still in this moment. amidst the music of the sea. and the warmth of the sunshine. trusting in where i am. for where i am is enough.

and nature continues to speak. in ways i still don't understand. yet i must seek openness. listening carefully to the wisdom dancing all around. to the wisdom dancing within. as my heart sours.

offering thanks.

offering thanks. for moments together. for a family who loves me more than i realize. enough to travel to the end of the world to see me. once again. this time in the opposite direction. to experience the subartic summer solstice.

offering thanks. for moments together. listening to alaskan bluegrass. hiking on the tundra. walking along the beach. jumping in the bering sea. sharing amazement at the extended daylight. laughing at the characters of nome. playing with our puppy. picking greens. eating salmon. learning about culture. riding through the beautiful countryside of southern alaska. spotting wildlife. seeing glaciers. hiking amidst the forest. walking through street fairs. enjoying local ice cream. appreciating each others' presence.

offering thanks. for moments together. especially when time seems fleeting. but perhaps time is always fleeting. so perhaps we seek continual mindfulness. for the moments we have. for the people we have. for the beauty we have.

offering thanks. for moments together. for images of those moments. preserving memories. reminding us of beauty. just in case our hearts grow forgetful.

offering thanks. for moments together. even now, as we are far apart. yet somehow closer than before.

abundant light.

before you go to alaska. everybody has to tell you about the time they went to alaska. or the time someone they knew went to alaska. apparently everyone's got some connection. everyone's got some story. and many of the adventures recounted to me six months ago, as i stepped off the plane from the caribbean and somehow tried to make sense of my own upcoming journey to the far north, tend to run together. my apologies for not taking better mental notes. but at least one of such shared memories must have stuck with me. as it resurfaced in my own consciousness just the other day.

with his jovial chuckle, gary recounted the time he and his buddies took a trip up to alaska. gliding along the rivers. with no sense of time. enjoying each others presence and the surrounding beauty. floating along in the daylight. then realizing it was four o clock in the morning. and still daylight. and that maybe they should stop and camp. and then gary laughed some more as he offered the memory. nostaglically breathing in those good old days. picturing in his mind a scene that seemed so unknown. so unreal. eternal daylight. endless days.

and then the other night. when i was the one drifting along an alaskan river. gary's story made sense. kayaking along the docile nome river. amidst mountains. and tundra. and willows. and birds. continual blue skies and sunshine. that discourage any sort of prediction of the time. so one simply floats on. not worrying about time. knowing there is more than enough daylight. there is no need to hurry. one can simply float on.

and just when my eyes had nearly forgotten the colour green. they are joyfully reminded. as the landscape gradually transforms. and the mountains come alive. polka dotted by tiny wildflowers. perhaps inspiring a revival of the soul. during those moments when my soul recognizes its unity with the earth. with the river. with the sky.

and so i offer thanks. for long awaited renewal. for indescribable beauty. for endless days. when time seems abundant. when hurry seems irrelevant. and i offer thanks. for the soon approaching chance. to share this beauty. this light. with folks who've only heard second and third hand tales. of alaskan adventures.

a glimpse of the sea.

a glimpse of the sea

seems to awaken my soul
as winter dissolves

a week of blue sky sunny days. light that seems neverending. snow still very present. but the hope of spring in the air. roads closed all winter cleared bit by bit. allowing a new freedom of exploration. on a friday afternoon. we load up the big white bus. and the old gray aerostar van. with fig newtons. and coffee. and tea. and elders. the plan is to drive as far as the road allows. and see what we see. i get to drive the old gray aerostar. which is pretty rockin.

down the east coast. speckled mountains to the left. thawing sea to the right. and as we sojourn on. with the eccletic local radio in the background. occassionally interrupted by observataions and memories. what was a thin line of blue on the horizon closer to town. grows in its scope. gracing our eyes. with more and more blue. and the white still seems to cover most of the sea. but there is evidence of melting. and hope of more to come.

and my heart danced a little. to see the sea. as if it had forgotten. as if it had doubted that the sea really exists. blanketed by depths of ice. since our hello.

and my soul retreated back. to moments of joy. surronded by the sea. twirling in its calm waters. feeling safe. at peace. a part of something bigger than i could comprehend. yet allowed to move amidst it. allowed to float. and be. and dance. and how it all connected me. to that which is holy. to that which is inconcieveably greater. to that which is intimately close.

and i don't know what potential to twirl in the sea there is in these parts. but simply the image. of distant and growing blue waters stirred a sense of hope. that this long awaited summer is on its way. that there is new beauty to discover. beauty my eyes have yet to see. yet eagerly anticipate.

and its still an inbetween time. the season uncertain of its own identity. this gradual transformation taking place. slowly. bit by bit. before our eyes. if our eyes remain open.

and we turn around just after mile fourteen. the snow too slushy for the big white van to handle. and we park at a lookout. and share out the fig newtons and coffee and tea. and soak in the view. and listen to water running down the hill. and look forward to days. when we can drive even further. to see what there is to see. and we celebrate this beauty. with hope that more beauty awaits. just around the corner.

palms.

traditions seem to evoke memories. even in this transient lifestyle. commonalities still surface that stir reminders of what was. things like palm leaves.

this morning, the worship space was simply adorned with palms. and everyone was given one to wave. little amber wandered in late. uncertain of where to go. and she found a seat by me. innocently whispering quandaries throughout the service. about palm leaves. and prayer. and communion bread. and potluck after church. and she asked how these leaves could be alive. green plants are certainly a rarity in nome these days. and i said they must have come from a warmer place.
and my mind wandered to warmer places. where palms do grow. where palms dance in the breeze as a natural expression of praise. creation shouting its own hosannas. and i thought of moments sitting in mass in grand roy. as children showed me how to plait palm leaves. carefully weaving each blade. and i remembered how i saved my plaited palm branch. and it dried. and i brought it back to north carolina. and now it rests somewhere in my room.

and so i tried to plait my palm branch this morning. but the blades were too spread out. the weave was too loose to hold. and it came undone. and i mourned for that which has unraveled. for moments in grenada. for children. and palm trees. and vibrant beauty. knowing that folks had gathered today. had sang their hosannas. and waved their branches. and plaited their palms. and waited for the ice cream truck. and ate their sunday lunch. and plaited hair in the shade to get ready for school tomorrow.

and tears spilled out. to consider it all. all that was. all that seems undone. all that seems disconnected.

and even like little amber. as i question. and fail to fully understand all of this. i must continue to be present. and find beauty in the palms that are here.

i did manage to find a use for the unplaited palm branch. little mukluk and madison, our temporary guest, appreciated the gift. my apologies if such a decision breached palm sunday etiquette. but those two were irresistibly adorable with their new toy.

footprints in the snow.

we all had a story of how we got there. every story a bit different. but oh how i loved listening to glimpses of those stories. as words flowed out. in between bites of spaghetti and sips of hot cocoa. as we sat around the table. where there was a place for everyone.

and those couple of hours passed quickly. and soon it was midnight. quiet time. quiet except for that musical snoring in the corner. and the wind howling outside. and the guests who showed up a bit later than the rest.

and folks stretched out on their cots. and covered up with blankets. and rested until morning. that is until the pancakes inspired the smoke alarm to sound. and after breakfast, everything was straightened up. and put back in its place. daylight was coming. and it was time to venture out in the cold again.

there's no current permanent shelter in nome for people to escape the frigid temperatures and biting winds. but a team of folks is striving to put something in place. at least for the last bit of these winter months. so that all people will have access to a warm, dry, safe space to sleep. we opened a temporary emergency shelter up two nights last week in the nazarene church down the street. and generally, there was much thanks expressed. i was able to volunteer the first night. some of most meaningful moments i've been a part of here.

and its not perfect. so many details to still work out. and the small base of core volunteers is exhausted. and burning out. and honestly, the shelter should be open every night during the winter in nome. but they say we don't have the human resources to maintain it every night.
they say folks are used to surviving in these conditions. but something in me says they shouldn't have to.

we're not giving up. just trying to reorganize. to do the best we can with what we've got at the moment. and expand what we've got to give. and look towards sustainable efforts. towards long term solutions that deal with the underlying causes. striving towards empowerment. and justice. and honour. and dignity. things just take time.

and the story doesn't end here. and maybe stories don't end. maybe they always flow on.

we all had a story of how we got there. and our stories continue. as our journeys continue. as we leave our footprints in the snow. and i offer thanks for those moments. even so brief. when our footprints merge as one.

fry bread.

something in me yearns for interconnectedness. for a continual journey. where experiences and people and ideas are all related. one thing leading to the next. each moment meaningful in itself. yet interwoven with what was. and what is to be.

often these days, its a stretch to see how this sojourn is interconnected. in this leap from grenada to nome. in these polar opposite sort of places.

so whenever a parallel surfaces, my heart does a little dance. considering sunsets over the sea. and story listening. and fry bread.

they call it fry bakes in grenada. but its pretty much the same thing as the fry bread eaten up here. flour and water and salt. mixed and kneaded together. fried in hot oil. variations certainly occur. with yeast. and honey. and such. its all terribly unhealthy and wonderfully delicious.

learned to make them as patties in grenada. memories of fry bake lessons with glenda. and aj. and azaria. delicious with fried jacks or fish. fresh from the bay. and azaria would always remind me not to let the frying pan handle extend off the stove. else someone accidently knock it over.

in nome i've observed more doughnut shaped fried treats. but the same sort of idea.

and recently, geneva and i decided to add a little fry bread twist to the process. making good use of cookie cutters. to create fry bread in the shapes of hearts, snowpeople and bunnies. they turned out pretty ok. even though we forgot to let the dough rise.

and the experience reminded me of those delicious grenadian fry bake moments. especially when geneva pointed out the need to keep the frying pan handle from sticking off the edge of the stove. else someone accidently knock it over.

and i apprecitated the time to chat. and sing. and laugh. and create something to share. the plan was to bring the fry bread over to the potluck at regional conference.

they probably didn't need our little contribution of fry bread. in light of the abundant spread of food prepared. but as always, its a joy to be able to offer a little something to share. and to join in the potluck experience. where a variety of gifts are offered. where there's enough for everyone. a place for everyone. and potlucks remind me of college. of a community i appreciated. a community i belonged to.

this potluck was a part of a series of events centered around the theme of cultural sustainability. folks from all over the bering strait region traveled to participate in it. a reunion of sorts. expressing culture. learning about culture. embracing culture.

and geneva and i well enjoyed ourselves as we embraced the food aspect of native alaskan culture. mukluk (whale blubber), fish eggs, dried fish, greens, baked salmon, various berries, musk ox, an assortment of other traditional and nontraditional foods. and of course, fry bread. i think the kind i consumed was a bit fluffier than our humble contribution. but hopefully, someone appreciated our offering. at least the bunny shapes.

and we shared this meal with a gym full of people from the community and the region. probably one of the largest potlucks i've ever expereienced. and it was beautiful. enough for everyone. interesting local foods. thankful to be a part of it.

and when the meal was over. the tables were cleared. and space was created for the last night of eskimo dancing. geneva suggested we sit on the floor. front and center. so we sat there amidst the children. as they watched in awe. mimicing the movements. in rhythm with the drums. anticipating the invitations to join in the dancing.

and as drummers kept the beat in the background, others offered complimentary movements. mostly arm motions. telling stories and experiences. with their dancing. as chants were offered in native languages of inupiaq or yupik, depending on the village of the performers. and it looked simple. but i sense it is much more complex than i comprehend. and i wished i could understand the language. and the stories. and i tried to listen with my eyes. and my heart. but it was often beyond me.

but i did see people come alive. elders who were celebrating their culture. their identity. the stories that are a part of them. the traditions that have shaped them. and youth who were honouring their roots. the places they come from. intentionally preserving this culture. that they proudly claim as their own.

and it made me wish for those deep cultural and spiritual connections. harmony with the people and the stories i come from. a harmony i will never really know. but still i celebrate alongside. offering thanks for cultural richness. for cultural livlihood. with hopes that this beauty truly will be sustained.

offering thanks for random connections. for soul connections. for potlucks and eskimo dancing and of course. fry bread.

puzzles.

i've never seen so many puzzles in my life. completed ones adorning the hallways. unfinished ones covering the coffee tables. images of houses. and scenery. and animals. and television stars. and i've never really been an avid puzzle person. just not that spacially gifted, i guess. but there are many of the elders at the senior center who are devout puzzle constructors. crowding around the puzzle table day after day until every piece is in its place. and the whole puzzle is taken upstairs to be glued together. and the fragments of a new picture are scattered about for the next challenge.

and as my eyes pass by these puzzles. day after day. sometimes i grow slightly envious of the pieces. and how they've all found their place. and how they're all dwelling where they fit. in union with all the others. apart of something greater than themselves. contributing to something that is whole. and beautiful. each part a little different than the next. yet significant to the community. each community incomplete if one of its pieces is missing.

and i'm envious because i don't know where my piece fits. or if it ever will. or if its even meant to be glued down. and sometimes i wonder if i'm looking at it backwards or upside down. blind to its beauty. confused of its true form.

and then part of me morns for the puzzle pieces. when they get glued down. and stuck. like that's it. no more wandering about. it seems kind of boring being in the same place all the time. surrounded by all the same pieces.

so i can't decide if each puzzle piece finding its place is beautiful. or tragic.

and conversely, i can't understand if each puzzle place not knowing its place is tragic. or beautiful.

and i yearn to have a place. where i am harmoniously contributing towards something whole. yet part of me also knows i can't just be glued down. there's too many other puzzles to see.

so this puzzle piece will continue her wandering. and wondering. uncertain if she will discover her place to fit. or if fitting in is really the point.

or if there's a puzzle out there that exists for all the pieces that can't seem to figure out where they're supposed to go.

the place i've felt most in my element these days has been making peanut butter cookies and sledding with geneva. an eleven year old girl i've started to mentor. spending time together seems to give us both a sense of belonging. a place to fit.

and geneva makes me think of azaria. my eleven year old, craft loving, baking expert that i dearly miss from those moments in grenada. those moments in grenada. where so many days i questioned my purpose. and so many days, i seemed to fit.

so perhaps all i can do in this moment is apply those grenada lessons forward. and live one day at a time. not worrying so much about fitting in. or not fitting in. but just being who i am. and embracing freedom. and continuing this journey towards something that is whole. and finding solidarity with those other pieces that might not quite fit either.

a different sort of beauty.

i knew it when i gazed out the plane window in anchorage. the sunsets are different here.

lingering. in no sort of hurry. dancing on the horizon as long as they please.

and i remember those sunsets over the bay in grand roy. the ones i would rush to see. for fear of missing them. one of the few things in grenada that was quick. the sun would sink so abruptly. then inspire a unique splash of colour in the clouds. each sunset different. reminding me of fleeting beauty to be embraced. a sacred celebration as the light disappeared into the sea.


but on those days that are clear in nome, when our hearts give thanks for the sunshine and the blue skies, we don't have to hurry to see the sunset. she lingers. she stays around a while. don't worry, she whispers in the quiet stillness. there is beauty in abundance. beauty that lasts. you must only open your eyes to see.


and the sky gradually transforms. as day and night trade places. and during these winter months, darkness lingers much longer than the sunsets. but folks tell me not to worry. the sun visits us more and more each day. and summertime will hold an unfathomable magic.


but we can't just live during summertime. so we breathe in the cold winter air. and marvel at the snow. and open our eyes to the present beauty. and trust in the beauty that is to come.


and only on my third alaskan sunset, my wonderfully eccentric, compassionate, worldly coworker issac, let me tag along behind him on a pair of borrowed skis. as the sunset tarried in her simple glory. and we carved out a path on the frozen sea. in awe of the vast beauty unraveling before us.


and i slowly and awkwardly ventured on. my first time on cross country skis. falling flat on occasion. yet somehow finding a certain rhythm. lost in all of this. another set of "i live here?" moments. like i would have in grenada. just surrounded by a different sort of beauty this time.


and in skiing over the sea, everything seems so open. so wide. and there is no path. you just go. and find your way. stride by stride. and there's not a right way. or a wrong way. the way just evolves in time. and you just wander. and trust in where you're going.


and i feel like i'm wandering. from place to place. with no clear path before me. making it up as i go along. yet somehow caught up in the beauty of it all.


and i don't know where i fit. or where this path is taking me. but i'm on it. and it may go in a straight line. or a circle. or just meander around. but i must trust that its taking me where i'm going. so perhaps i'm a nomad in nome. in search of something i'm not quite sure of. but searching still the same.


and there is beauty to be held in this place. but hopefully, as in grenada, i will discover the people that give this place its true beauty. i will discover the spirit that dwells here. the spirit that lingers.