My "other" Team of Mixed 6...

Well, I did it.
I got behind the wheel.
Not since I left Minnesota in July have I driven anything other than the school's ATV.
That is, until tonight.
Tonight Daniel introduced me to the team - his Dog Sled team that he is training to run the Kobuk 140 race this winter. We have bumped in to each other a couple of times since he first offered up a chance to help him run his dogs. I had other obligations on Monday. Tuesday we missed each other in passing but tonight, he swung by my place at 5:30 and we rode his Honda out to his sheds and the dogs.

The dogs were happy to see him. They were a little apprehensive of me until I started wielding the harnesses that they apparently live for. "Spit" was the first dog that I got to harness by myself. The all black female nearly put it on herself. Some of the other dogs weren't as cooperative. It's not that they didn't want the harnesses on. It was just that they were just so darn excited to be getting a chance to get off the leash and pull that they could hardly control their emotions and were bounding all over the place.

Daniel said he trains them 6 at a time and plans on running a 12 dog team in a couple of races this winter. Tonight he was interested in trying out a couple of younger dogs and even running one or two at Lead for only their first or second time. I nodded every time he spoke to me. I was game for anything.

Spit, Yukon and Pepper are three of the six I rode with tonight. The other three have Inupiaq names that I can't remember, pronounce, or spell - so when I called to them I used words like "Whoa Boy and Mush Girl" even though I hadn't positively identified the sex of any of them. Besides, Daniel gave very little instructions on voice commands. I just felt more comfortable talking to them...made it feel a little more official.

Come to think of it, Daniel gave me very little instructions on any of it...he pretty much told me the steering wheel turns left and right (That part I had figured out) and that the brake can slow them down. He smiled, I smiled. He followed that by saying, "Don't worry. I'll be right behind you on the Honda."

It was awesome.

When I pulled the hook and he gave the "Mush" - we shot out of camp like a rocket. I was hanging on and giggling out loud. Right out of the gates they pull like hell. At first I couldn't believe that they were able to pull my fat butt across the tundra at such a high speed. The Arctic air was a brisk 17 degrees but the sun was out and the blue skies made the whole scene worthy of "The Alaska they advertise." Eventually the dogs tired a bit and steadied down to decent clip. I stood there on the tundra Segway and drank it all in.

Periodically Daniel would give me the signal to stop the team. We'd hook them up to the Honda and let them rest. A couple of times we switched their orders and unsuccessfully tried two young ones as leads. They started out for about 25 yards like a bat outta hell but then turned around to make sure that we were still behind them. Like 4th graders in my classroom, they were easily distracted and somehow forgot that they had been chosen to lead... the tangled mess reminded me of fishing with 4 year olds.

It wasn't a walk in the park. I took some physical exertion on my part. The dogs did most of the work and I slowly got the hang of it. I continued to holler words of encouragement - not because I knew what I was doing but because it made me feel like a real Alaskan sled dog runner. I think the dogs could sense my sincere enthusiasm. Daniel appeared to.

When we reached the end of the island, Daniel pulled in front of the team with his ATV and started a wide arc of a turn. The dogs followed. They knew the drill - we were headed for home. Before we could get back on the trail though Daniels's wide, Dolly, pulled up on her Honda. So I stopped the team, threw in the hook and introduced myself. Dolly was happy to see us but probably more happy to see the dogs doing what the do. She had brought out a bottle of water and a Cherry 7Up. Daniel offered the can to me and I obliged... another thing I haven't done since Minnesota - tonight I drank half a Cherry 7Up.

I was only able to drink half of it before I handed it off to Daniel because the dogs were ready to rock. They had rested long enough and again, as soon as I pulled the hook, they were making hay!

What's the saying?
"Unless you're the Lead Dog - the view is always the same!"

The north end of Kivalina Island has some thicker patches of stones and rocks. The ground isn't as compact and it's difficult to walk in. The dogs had their work cut out for them trying to pull me through that mess. I did what I could and pushed from behind with one leg... I think I saw something like that in a movie once. I don't know if it helped the dogs but again, it helped me feel the part.

Dolly and Daniel enjoyed their nice evening ATV ride. I diligently steered the training wagon - I don't know if that's an official term or not. Maybe I'll ask next time. 

Oh yeah...

Next time...

Daniel wants me to go back tomorrow.

I'm game.

Iditarod material? I'd better loose some more weight...

Canoeing with the Cree

On page 145 of the book Cousin Ryan sent me it reads...

"Such sights as this are reserved for those who will suffer to behold them."

A young Eric Sevareid penned this thought on his epic canoe trip from Minnesota to Hudson Bay. As recent high school graduates, he and his friend set out an journey to do something very few people had done and when they reached a body of water north of Lake Winnipeg that was accurately named God's Lake, this was his way of putting on paper what he saw with his eyes.

I have stood ammo watch in the middle of a Kuwaiti dessert and looked towards Heaven to take in a night sky filled with more stars then you could ever imagine. That cold and lonely night will live with me forever. I suffered many long days, nights, months and years away from my family and friends while I served in Uncle Sam's Marine Corps. And I would go through it all again to take in that one star filled night with 3 of the country's finest young men standing there right beside me.

                      "Such sights as this are reserved for those who will suffer to behold them."

If you've followed along you might know that this journey to the Northwest Arctic of Alaska has been a series of conflicting emotions. One minute it seems as if I'm living the dream. To a casual onlooker or an outsider, pulling trout and salmon from an Arctic river is understandably the Alaskan dream that so many of us clung to as young Wilderness Explorers.  But to those that can read between the lines - that can see through the pictures of wild game and breath taking scenery - that know that I wrestle daily with separation and depression, exhaustion and doubt - they know that I am "suffering" from time to time but that I am strong. I can do this. I have more good days than bad. But still this is a difficult place to live, to teach, and to be. And yet...

                     "Such sights as this are reserved for those who will suffer to behold them."

I left Senior Housing at 7:00 pm tonight for my second walk since ending volleyball practice. Although this morning was wildly successful in my classroom, the afternoon was equally disastrous. And so I stepped it out - not once - but twice to let go of any negative thoughts that desperately try to tear me apart. I was stepping it out and looking to the west as the oranges, pinks and yellows ate up the last remaining blues of daylight. At my midway point of the runway I decided not to turn towards the mountains but to about face and retrace my steps along the westward side. And then I saw this...

The Full Moon rising over the Brooks Range. To the west, the Sun said goodbye to a Tuesday on the Chukchi Sea and to the east, the moon snuck up on me over the peaks of the Brooks Range. A photo or a creative essay will never be able to do this justice...you wouldn't believe me anyway.

                            "Such sights as this are reserved for those who will suffer to behold them."

Do you miss your wife?

It's a perfectly reasonable question isn't it?

"Do I miss my wife?"

In a casual blogpost the other day, my wife - who I miss and need like the air that I breathe – wrote about that...   "Do you miss your husband?"

Now, I'd be labeled a complete moron if I answered the same question---"Nope, don’t miss her one bit!"

That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I miss her dearly. Those of you who know us, realize that I am the sappy sentimental one and, thanks to her big brother, Michele possesses sarcasm that can cut like a knife.)

The question actually "stumps' me a little bit to be honest. I’m sure it’s just an innocent attempt at a conversation starter when people are trying to be polite.

There's more to that answer than just a simple, "yes" or "no."

Do I miss her snoring at 10:30 pm, shortly after bedtime when I hoped for a happy nightcap?  NO

Do I miss folding laundry and putting away dishes and being hollered at for dragging dirt in to the house?  NO

Do I miss sitting on our couch playing around on Facebook while I should be helping her cook-clean? NO

But, I do miss.....

I miss her snoring cause that means she's laying next me in the same bed and probably has a leg wrapped around mine – just enough of a touch to let me know that she’s there. And loves me. 

I miss folding the clean laundry and putting away the dishes and being hollered at for dirt around the house because that means she's done her part in taking care of our family and I can do mine.  And I get to see her everyday and that I’m a part of our everyday life Pine City.

I miss our couch and pretending that I don't know that she’s doing housework but all she has to do is ask me to help and I will.

So, do I miss my wife? Yes.

13 weeks and two days in.

We got this.

A treat.

Saturday.
4:25
I go Store.
$1.72
One Can Dr. Pepper.
Go Out and look over Channel and Lagoon.
1st Pop I drink since August.
It good.

Taikuu
(Inupiaq for "Thank You" - like Haiku but not 17 syllables.)

Third Berm from the setting sun.

A gentleman at “Store” stopped me yesterday morning while I was looking for English muffins. Wild Bill bought a new toaster for Senior Housing and I was craving another go round of breakfast sandwiches. I didn’t find the muffins I was after but I had a nice little talk with another local.

“Aren’t you the teacher that walks all the time,” he questioned?

I liked that. I’m the guy that is known as the walker. The guy unafraid to get out and about, rarely affected by the weather. My walks have helped me become recognizable in the community and at the same time, shed 17 pounds in just over 2 months. They’ve also been a means for me to clear my mind. I usually start with an inner ear prayer and often find myself still bouncing in and out of prayer-like thoughts by the time I reach the turnaround midway down the runway.

The fella offered me a chance to help him run his sled dogs. He said he figured with as much as he’s seen me around the village and being a big strong guy, I could help him handle and exercise his dogs. I let him know I was definitely interested and would hopefully run in to him again soon.

Last night, I actually took the long walk out past the dump to the camp where he keeps his dogs tied up. He wasn’t out there but I poked around and introduced myself to a couple of the sled dogs. I thought it was interesting that the dogs that actually let me pet them, turned to the side in a submissive stance. And once I paid attention to their body language, I realized that they were giving up the snap side of their collars in hopes that I would unhook them and harness them up. No such luck last night but I’ll continue to make the 2 and a half-mile walk out there a little more regularly now that I know I potentially will have an opportunity to work some real sled dogs.

Kivalina is a fun study in cultural anthropology. At times I feel like an embedded reporter. Sometimes – a missionary. Other times, a guest sent here for some greater personal or spiritual understanding of a far away people to better take in my world back home.

This morning during Day#2 of a 3 day in-service we were treated to a visit from two Inupiaq Elders. Ma Beck and Austin came in to sit with us and talk about their lives as life long residents of Kivalina. It was actually really interesting to listen to them recall and share stories of their childhood: Skin Boats towed up-river by dog teams on shore. Storing fish up-river in willow nests to be dug up and retrieved later in the winter after freeze up. The arrival of the first Evinrude outboard motors. Whaling trips on Arctic ice. I could listen to elders all day long.

The story I think that hit me the hardest was Ma Beck’s story of her grandmother always referring to this place as the “Third Berm”. The way she explained it, where I sit now was once the third berm in. There used to be two other islands between Russia and us. Where Kivalina sits now used to be their graveyard and berry picking grounds. The islands where they lived are no longer there. I can look out to the west and tell that the waves are rolling across shallow water. The changing and far reaching wave breaks suggest that there are things out there underwater that I can only speculate about. But how crazy is that? This little sliver of land – 6 miles long and 300 yards across at the widest was once known as the Third Berm.

Today was a good day. Always great to listen to elders no matter where you are…relatives or not…I suggest more of us should take the time to listen more and talk less with them.

Had a great scrimmage with my Mixed 6 team against a few adults from the community this afternoon. It was fun to watch how the young adults and “my” kids interacted. I stood at the net and ref’ed. Soaking it all in – as the only white “guest” in the gym.

Sometimes I really like this place but …

Even Eden had Snakes.

Do you miss your husband?

It's an odd question isn't it?

"Do I miss my husband?"

In a casual conversation the other day, a friend who is not super close to me but we are acquaintances and see each other from time to time asked me that.   "Do you miss your husband?"

Now, I'd be labeled a complete brat if I answered---"Nope, not one bit!"

Not that that's the truth but those of you who know me well know that the sarcasm can run thick somedays with me.

It actually "stumped' me a little bit to be honest.

There's more to that answer than just a simple, "yes" or "no."

Do I miss him snoring at 3am in the morning keeping me awake?  NO

Do I miss the extra laundry and dishes and dirt around the house?  NO

Do I miss that him sitting on the couch playing around on Facebook while I'm cooking-cleaning? NO

But, I do miss.....

I miss his snoring cause that means he's laying next me in the same bed and I can kick him if I want to get him to stop snoring.  

I miss the extra laundry and dishes and dirt around the house because that means he's here and I get to see him everyday and that he's eating with us and that he's a part of our everyday life.

I miss seeing him on the couch pretending he doesn't know that I'm doing housework cause that means he's here and all I have to do is ask him to help and he will.

So, do I miss my husband? Yes and No.

13 weeks in.
We got this.

Provisional Purgatory

Provisional: 1.) arranged or existing for the present, possibly to be changed later.

Purgatory: 1.) in Roman Catholic doctrine, a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven.

Put the two together and I think I have a perfect explanation of what it feels like to be serving/living/working in Kivalina.

I remember explaining my quest to the sweet little old lady seated next to me on the flight from Portland to Anchorage last July and she responded, “So you’re a Missionary? And this is your Mission Trip?”

Little did I know how true her prophecy was.

My Dadd recently commented on a Facebook photo of the neighboring village of Noatak...        

“This is the Alaska that they advertise.” 

Yep, Dadd you’re right and the one they advertise is the one I get to only visit on weekends. I go “home” to Kivalina and wonder why it’s acceptable to drop trash every place except in a receptacle. Is that a feminine product at the base of the steps leading up to the school? Is that a soiled diaper on the road to the store, right near the new Annex. Why are the dogs in Noatak tied with enough room to run while the ones in this village are lucky if their tether is 3 feet long? Trees? No dice. Running water? Only in the school and teacher housing. 

Is this what Purgatory is like?

I have failed to share with the followers of this “Adventure” one of the unique pleasantries that I’ve experienced while using the student bathroom here at McQueen. I’ll be the first one to admit, I was fooled for weeks by the wads of toilet paper that I regularly saw on and around the commodes. The use of indoor plumbing is something that that those of us raised on porcelain can only truly appreciate after actually seeing this mess first hand. You see at home, the children of Kivalina use Honey Buckets. Without running water and subsequently no sewer hook ups, the villagers use a bucket lined with a trash bag. In order to fit more waste in to the Honey Bucket, some people wipe and put the toilet paper in a bin beside the bucket to be burned or disposed of separately. So, when the preschoolers and kindergartners make their way in to the grade school, many have rarely used conventional toilets before. They wipe and toss the paper on the floor to the side – you can fit more poo in the Honey Bucket this way, right? This isn’t savagery. They know no different. And so the floor at school is littered with TP that has been used but not flushed. Imagine my disgust when I only figured this out after a couple of weeks of police calling the trash in the bathroom.

What came first – the chicken or the egg?

Kivalina is stuck in this gunslinger’s duel over who is going to pull the cord first. Who is going to pay for village relocation? Is it a responsibility of the State of Alaska? Is it a Federal Responsibility? What are “we” waiting for people?

Climate Change is debatable but Coastal Erosion, no matter the cause, is real. More than the shores of Kivalina are eroding though. Their way of life, values and traditions are being figuratively washed away to sea as well. Village life is bearable but no longer is it suitable living conditions in the 21^st century United States. This is more like Third World living but with, Cheetos, Pepsi, Cell Phones and Satellite TV. Nobody wants to pony up the necessary money to build roads and the necessary infrastructure to start an entirely new community. Pay first, build second and then drop the people in place later. The fact is the Oil Money of Alaska isn’t as readily available anymore. Federal money is hard to come by as well… and so they wait.

Waiting on someone to draw first - A gunslinger’s duel of complacency.

Move?

When?

Where?

Who’s going to pay for it?

And in the meantime little to nothing is done to take care of the assets “we” do have here.

Very little in home improvements – why? We’re just going to move.

Very little in improvements to the school – why? We’re just going to move.

Trash and recycling – why? We’re just going to move.

Roads and travel routes – why? We’re just going to move.

Replace the playground – why? We’re just going to move.

It’s a harsh reality to live with, this local feeling of complacency.

Recently, we experienced a couple of days in a row of uncomfortable weather. The winds howled and the westerly waves pounded the shores. What I’ve since learned is that the beaches are scalloping. The ocean is rising and at the same time coming in at an angle. This lethal combination is eating away at the coastline. The high school students were pulled from class to help the adults fill sand bags. These aren’t the typical sandbags that one might think of using to reinforce a dike or hold back a river. These Super Sand Bags are the size of a small Volkswagen but have a shelf life similar to a bunch of bananas on the kitchen counter.  The Chukchi Sea was threatening to punch a breach in the runway. When I went to investigate, a village elder pointed at the sea and back at the lagoon and then hollered in broken English, “Bad! New channel coming! Bad!”

Facing north @ the Breach 10/20/15

It was an eerie experience being there with him that day. One I won’t soon forget. The runway erosion has been patched but like most “patch work” it is temporary – provisional. The edge of the beach is now only 9 steps away from the edge of the runway. If the runway becomes compromised, the village looses contact with the outside world. Nothing in and nothing out…

So they scrambled to save the runway with a provisional fix that they must know won’t last.

A sad truth though is that if they let it go and stood by and watched as our only safe connection was taken back to the sea, maybe we could have declared a State of Emergency. In a State of Emergency political red tape is more easily manipulated or even avoided. If they didn’t put in the Super Sand bags maybe it would have gotten bad enough to fix the problem now. Relocate. Here’s the money.

But nobody could just stand by and let that happen.

Facing south midway down the runway in Kivalina - 10/20/15

When do you take care of what you have and when do you let it wear down and wear out because you know help is on the way?

And that’s the mindset that creeps in to every thought around here… things are wasting away and “we” wait on a fix that might never come. But the solution is being worked on and in some cases, promised. It’s going to be difficult to teach these children to appreciate anything that is replaced or built new. Undoing years of  “provisional” thought…things are going to change – later.

Possibly?

An Arctic sunset...

And a visit from Nadine...

Emergency Leave - Kivalina to Milaca...

In February of 1994 my grandfather was prematurely taken from us. A driven under the influence of cocaine hit my grandparents’ car immediately taking my grandpa from us and leaving my grandmother in intensive care. To make matters worse, I was in Camp Pendleton barely eight months in to my service in the Marine Corps. The Red Cross contacted the Officer of the Day; he tracked me down and delivered the difficult news. I don’t remember many particulars as far as travel arrangements or how I got home. All I remember was that the people around me then, did everything they could to make a terrible situation better.

It was important for me to be there for my grandmother and the rest of my family. Getting home from California and back afterwards must have taken some logistical finagling but it was all worth it. I served as a pallbearer at my grandfather’s funeral in my Dress Alpha uniform. Big Paul would have been proud.

Twenty years later, the thought of something catastrophic happening back home while I’m away has crossed my mind. Here in Alaska, this may be one of my biggest fears. It’s difficult to think that way but I cannot lie – I would never want that stranded feeling of helplessness so far from home again.

Yesterday a fellow teacher here in Kivalina lost her sister to a stroke. Coleen is our Special Education teacher and one heck of a cool lady. She’s a self described “reformed hippie” and nearing the end of a second career. Coleen actually retired from the construction business a few years back, got a teaching degree and has taken to a life of travel and adventure. Last year she taught in China. This year she’s here with us in Kivalina. At 63 years old, she’s spunky and always smiling. She works her tail off for these kids and for me is a great reminder of life back in Minnesota.

Ya see, Coleen is from Milaca – less than 49 miles from my home in Pine City! We are practically neighbors. Here in Kivalina, we are neighbors; less than 30 yards separate our homes. She would be someone that I would naturally gravitate towards even without our common bond of the great Gopher State. So when I found out she was hurting and heading home, I offered her a hug and support in any way that I could.

What I saw today was inspiring.

With a few more details available, Coleen knew that she was ready to leave Kivalina soon. She came in to our morning football breakfast looking for help. I was privileged to watch some great people show heartfelt compassion for a co-worker and a friend.

Emma immediately jumped on Alaska Airline’s web site and began navigating the difficult world of flight arrangements. Lyle got on the phone with Ravn Air and sought availability for seats on today’s remaining afternoon flights. With a few options listed and Coleen emotionally worn we all started making decisions on her behalf. Lyle handed the phone off to Bill and he offered up his pre-booked holiday flights if the Airline would accommodate.

Typically rebooking fees are astronomical when the price of the original ticket was purchased on a “fire sale”. Ravn Airlines was very easy to work with and only charged a 25-dollar fee for Bill to change the dates from Christmas until NOW and the names from his to Coleen’s. Round trip tickets from Kivalina to Kotzebue and back where no longer something to worry about.

Lyle went up to the school and fetched the necessary paperwork for bereavement leave after he and I discussed the contractual obligations of the district in such situations. Emma knocked out the finally arrangements for last minute flight bookings and enrollments in Flight Plans to save her some money on the way back. She even forked over a gift card that she has for a restaurant in the Seattle airport – breakfast for tomorrow morning in Seattle was covered. And I ran home to retrieve my cell phone.

I gave Coleen my cell phone which doesn’t actually work in Kivalina but is online and working as soon as you reach Kotzebue. So Coleen would have contact with any of us and any of her family from Kotz, Anchorage, Seattle and in to Minneapolis. I showed Coleen Lyle and Emma’s numbers as stored contacts and even offered up my wife’s number as a point of contact once she reaches Minnesota tomorrow evening. I handed her the charger and told her that my unlimited minutes are now her unlimited minutes. I expect her to use it as needed.

With a plane inbound in less than 2 hours, we sent her home to pack. Nancy, her roommate, was baking the best pumpkin and chocolate muffins and offered her own gentle support. I hooked up the trailer to the school ATV and Emma printed off boarding passes and itineraries. All of us sat in the office at the school listening to the VHF for flight updates and making small talk.

We were all there to hug her goodbye and wish her well – it was a quick couple of hours but handled with military like precision.

When Coleen is surrounded by her friends, family and loved ones in Minnesota in the coming days I know she’ll think back on the “family” that she’s left back here in Kivalina. We’re going to miss her while she’s gone.  

Well......sh!t.

I've been trying to come up with something uplifting and funny to blog about.

All I could come up with is my title for this blog post.

Seriously though-Kirby had been laying on the dose of reality pretty thick these past few weeks.  He tries to cover some of it up with his hair being braided (WHICH I do not approve of) and talking about his victorious volleyball team and how awesome his friends are.

(On a side note..everytime we Skype the first thing I see is this big, out of control red beard in my screen. I'm not used to seeing his beard so long. It throws me for a loop for about 5 seconds and I have to stop looking at it before I can comprehend the beginings of our conversations.    Don't get me started on his braids......)

I knew it wasn't going to be all 'unicorns and rainbows' and I expected some highs and lows of course.  I knew that living on a remote island was going to be challenging and eye opening.

But, I knew that Kirby could handle it.

And he is.

We are on week 13 of this unique curve ball.

It makes me smile when we Skype and I see the older kids milling about in his classroom-wanting to hang out with him.

It makes me smile when I read about him reverting back to his college jobs and military training to keep his little classroom of 22 4th and 5th graders in line everyday.

It makes me smile to think of him sharing bits and pieces of his life with the kids that no know other 'life' besides what they know as everyday life.

(I seriously felt like a celebrity the other night when we were skyping..he had his players in and out of his room and they got on screen and said Hi, then came back a few seconds later and just looked at us, then came back again a second-third-fourth time....)

It makes me smile to see him smile.

Life is good. We are blessed.

Old Habits…

Pine City is far from a metropolis. It is a quintessential small town if ever there was one. There are three stoplights. The biggest traffic jam of the year is when the graduating Seniors all ride tractors to school. And at that, our house sits midway down a dead end road. But some habits are hard to break.

Momma always taught me to look both ways before crossing the road. And I listened.

Then and now.

Kivalina is miniscule compared to Pine City. Pine City has three stoplights; Kivalina has three “roads” and three trucks. Honestly, there is the beat up Dodge Durango that I sometimes see parked at the Post Office, the Full-sized Ford that is used to ship freight for the store and the white Expedition that I’m not positive I’ve seen running.

The “traffic” though can get busy around the village. ATV’s cruise in and around Kivalina at all hours of the day and night. And there is no age limit to drive these machines. I regularly see kids from my class operating “Hondas” well beyond their limits. 2-4 siblings hanging on in varying degrees usually accompany them. There must be lax operator restrictions in the great state of Alaska and not one helmet in the borough. For the most part, there haven’t been any “major” safety violations that I’ve been privy to. Usually it’s just kids out buzzing around for a joy ride. Parents gladly turn over the keys to the ATVs in exchange for some peace and quiet in the home.

On my evening walks I am out and about amongst the humming engines and giggling school children. I usually feel safe enough and most everyone on the Hondas have shown some sort of etiquette and kept respectable distance when passing the guy with the orange beard.

But I look both ways…always.

But it’s actually out on the north end of the village that I noticed my “Old Habit” and not when on the lookout for a fourwheeler that might clip me. My route has always been up the frontage road by the rock revetment on the West side of town – on to the Honda two-trail that runs up along the West side of the runway and then across to the cemetery and back through the heart of downtown Kivalina.

And no matter the time of day, before I cross the runway… I always look both ways.

4 planes a day. Usually like clockwork…2 Ravn flights and 2 Bering Air flights….AM & PM…if the weather is stable they are predictable and dependable… yet, I don’t cross the runway without looking both ways…never been out there at the same time as the planes. But I still look...just in case...

I guess Old Habits are hard to break.

90% & 10%

Back in my college days I found a job that suited me quite well. On a recommendation from a friend, I took up employment at the Archdeacon Gilfillan Center in Bemidji, Minnesota. The Gilfillan Center was a Residential Treatment home for trouble kids ranging in ages from 6-18 years old. Some children were orphans, others “Wards of the State”. Most of them took medication to stabilize a mental illness and those that weren’t treated always found ways to “Self-Medicate” when they were on the outside.

The Gilfillan Center started as part of the assimilation programs of the late 1800’s and used to be a boys home for Northern Minnesota’s Native Americans. When I worked there, it was fully integrated with some of Minnesota and North Dakota’s most vulnerable children that could be rough and tumble one minute and an emotional infant the next.

I took a liking to my job and earned the trust of the kids there by being reliable, firm and fair. I don’t know if I always possessed the kind of patience needed to work in a place with delicate needs but I sure learned to love kids even when it was hard to love them. Because when things went South – as they often did – they went bad in a hurry. Kids you had worked so hard to build relationships with would blow up, throw chairs, self mutilate, defecate, spit, cuss and loose their minds without much warning some times…and as a staff, we still had to find a way to love them. I used to say that being a Residential Counselor at LeMoine Cottage was the best job I ever had 90% of the time. The other 10% was when it scrapped the bottom of the barrel, easily compared to a life in a fiery eternity.

Today I had a revelation. McQueen School is just like LeMoine Cottage and instead of being the Senior Residential Counselor with a supporting staff, I am a teacher that is sometimes “on an island” both figuratively and literally. I have a SPED aide in my class but her sole focus is on the autistic boy she serves and rightfully so. This is a small place but that young man is a Houdini and we don’t want to loose him. The other classroom aide that I have hasn’t completely earned the respect of the students. Although she’s a villager, my students see her as someone without much actual power in the classroom. The biggest asset she brings to the classroom is her Contact List stored inside her ever-present cell phone. Parents can be summoned with a simple phone call.

But when do I make that call? When do I fold my hand and say that “Enough is Enough, I’m calling home?”

Today started out like it was going to be an easy day – an enjoyable one even. In Reading we discussed the cinematographers tricks of the trade and shared our interests in movies. We learned a few bits of Lingo from the Biz and even watched about 10 minutes of the Pixar Classic “UP.”

From there we moved effortlessly in to an equally enjoyable Math lesson. In that class we combined Science & Technology into our word problems – trying to make real world connections. The lesson revolved around the digital age of photography vs. the chemical age with film development and disposable cameras. For fun we passed around my cell phone and took Selfies. We passed around my Digital camera and shot some candids. We passed around my Instant Camera and “shook it like a Polaroid Picture.” We passed around my GoPro and previewed our instant classic on the digital playback screen. The class was engaged, smiling and working hard.

I sent them off to lunch and headed home for some pretzel chips, a turkey sandwich and a cold glass of water.

When I returned to the cafeteria to retrieve my well behaved, focused and loving students I found them mysteriously replaced with a pack of Gremlins. Not the cute fuzzy kind but the swing from the rafters, fed them after midnight, look you in the eye and rip your heart out kind.

The afternoon was a complete disaster.

It started with childish name-calling, finger pointing, tattling and rambunctiousness. It turned into tears, quitting and in some cases, blatant oppositional defiance. I never once raised my voice. I was calm and repetitive with my instructions. Siblings and mothers had somehow been put on alert by the presence of cell phones and other kin in the building because I had 4 random relatives show up at my door. And 2 of those directed their angst at me. Perhaps it was just an emotional response to seeing the kids crying or pouting…but a lot of this happened within the first 20 minutes of me setting foot back in to my classroom after chow. I had done nothing but yet I took the brunt of Hurricane McQueen head on.

Somewhere in between the:

flipping of desks,

a mother taking her kid home,

3 kids tossing their work and putting their heads down,

tears from a girl in the front row,

and others desperately trying to conform to my educational requests and not rock the boat… 

one boy slipped back out in to the foyer and curled up in a ball and cried…

It was his second time to the hallway today. This morning while I assumed everything was on the Up and Up, he tossed his Math work to the floor and stormed out in to his secret little hideaway that really is no secret.

Now in his second tantrum of the day, I asked him what was up and when he failed to respond I asked him if he wanted a hug…he burst in to tears.

It wasn’t me that any of the kids were mad at today.

It never really was – even in the Gilfillan days.

As I knelt down beside this tiny little boy that just needed some time to cry I realized that this place is just like the Gilfillan Center except at night – these kids go home…

Maybe that’s where the problem lies…

I don’t know. I’m just a guest.

Treading water and vowing never to give up, I safely navigated the rest of the afternoon and realized that other parts of the student body were experiencing much of the same issues as I was. We made it to dismissal and nobody got hurt – is it fair that I can call that a “good day”?

I was looking forward to a returning to the volleyball court with the team that I had shared some good fellowship with over the weekend. Before I could even change over in to gym clothes I was met by a young lady that missed 3 days of practice last week and was insisting that we host the village adults in a scrimmage this week. When I told her that I’d like her to regularly attend practice and that we’d think about a scrimmage against the adults next week she retorted, “You Suck as a Coach!” and walked away…

Ohhh to feel so appreciated….  : )

I digress – it’s not all bad here. I promise. I sent a Pen Pal letter to Cypress, Texas this morning from one of my 5^th graders that is an absolute doll.

When the girl that braided my hair caught wind of her teammates thoughts on my coaching resume, she quickly set the young sophomore straight.

Today has just been one of those days…

And then I noticed an envelope in my staff mailbox.

My wife and kids sent school pictures and a card that reads - 

“Change – a bend in the road is not the end of the road unless you fail to make the turn.”

My own children are healthy and beautiful and I can feel their love from 3,000 miles away. My wife’s timing is impeccable. I needed that shot in the arm – that reminded that I am fighting the good fight and doing good in the world…

And then…

I noticed a box addressed to yours truly…

A care package form the bald guy that goes by the name of “Dillon” – one word name – like Madonna, Prince and Kirby…

His family sent me a whole slew of goodies but the most valuable thing in the box was a note from one of the best buds a guy ever had… a guy that has turned over a few bar tables with me in our time…

A note that said:

“I admire your sense of adventure, I am sure it’s tough being away from your family for so long. This box is to let you know that there are others out there thinking about you. Reading your posts and really are rooting for you. Time goes by on BookFace (His cute nickname for FaceBook) or wherever that you scroll past and don’t pay attention to what is going on in other people’s lives. Political baloney, stupid minions, some dumb joke. What I think you have is an audience right now. People are paying attention and genuinely care.

The general population wishes they had the balls to take a chance on something you are doing. Big Ups, Shoot, I might be one of those people. Hang in there, I know its early on in this whole circus, and you haven’t even come close to winter. Let me know if I can do anything for you or the family.”

Don’t worry brother…. You just did!

I love you all and promise to love you even when loving you is hard.

Kirby