Typical Turkey

Thanksgiving has typically meant hosting the In-Laws. Meant watching my wife prepare a meal fit for King and afternoon football. In the past 10 plus years, Thanksgiving has been a breath of fresh air after a whirlwind Fall football and hunting season. This was no “typical” Thanksgiving.

With my class, I approached this week like I had done so many times before. Thanksgiving is a good time for self-reflection and easily translates to writing assignments that any kid can tackle. We sprinkled in a few Holiday fun activities and all looked forward to some time away. Thursday couldn’t come quick enough.

 

On Thanksgiving the entire village of Kivalina gathered for a Community dinner. This year, as I would suspect as in most years, it was held in the school gymnasium. It’s a potluck of sorts but truly a celebration of togetherness and shared native food. It looks like good old-fashioned fellowship like you might see in your Church basement or at a large family gathering but this one had a few special twists.

First off, I was told to bring your own utensils. Bowls, silverware and a knife sharp enough to do some serious cutting. I forgot about the knife but was taken care of by the father of one of my students, Repogle Swan. My tableware was nothing compared to the layouts that most families came with. There were complete boxes filled with paper towels, tobacco sauce, drinks, plates and bowls – it looked like the good stuff you only bring out on Thanksgiving. Another hint was to get there early if you wanted a spot at a table, otherwise you’d end up sitting in the bleachers in the overflow section. I was glad I followed that advice. There were a lot of folks there.

It started as most social events do - introductions and small talk amongst the tables. A few minutes of mingling while the children ran around and played. But things kicked off rather swiftly with a welcoming message from Elder Austin Swan followed by a blessing by his son, Gary Swan. Gary, the school’s maintenance man, said a great prayer of thanks. All appreciated his humble message even if the message on his t-shirt read, “I am a good example of a bad example.”

Immediately following the prayer two Elder women stood to address the crowd with a handful of notes. The women took turns reading from each paper the dedication of people’s first “Catch”. In Bush Alaska you don’t kill a Caribou, you catch one. You don’t trap a lynx, you catch one. You don’t shoot a goose, you catch one. And when you do get your first “Catch” a family member is supposed to prepare a dish in your honor to be served at the Village Thanksgiving feast. So, it went something like this… “In Honor of Andrew Jacob Baldwin’s first catch of a caribou, his sister has prepared a caribou soup to be shared with Elders. We are proud of you, Andrew.” The crowd claps and the hunter smiles. The dish of honor is even specified to whom it is supposed to be shared. Some dishes are for everyone; some are for family members only; and some for elders. The servers were responsible for keeping track of that.

There’s the other interesting thing about the meal. I sat at my seat, talked with the folks at my table, hugged and high fived the students that came by to visit and then the food just came to me. The Youth Leaders from the High School and a few other helpful adults made the rounds and dished out portions – most of the time they give you a brief explanation of the dish and asked if you’d like some. Sometimes though, I had no choice. Grub was being slopped on my plate whether I liked it or not.

I sat with Jon, another first –timer from the Outside. What surprised me though was that only about half of the teaching staff showed up to the feast. Apparently the volume of native food and the expectation that you’ll eat it is too much for some of our staff. I was looking forward to the challenge and am glad that I did.

My Thanksgiving Meal consisted of: Chicken Stew, Caribou Rib Soup, two kinds of Muktuk (Bowhead Whale meat) one boiled and one raw/fermented in seal oil, beluga (Raw), Aivik (Walrus), a caribou & rice dish, and Eskimo Ice Cream.

I took the chicken stew – not because I wanted it but because it was the first thing that was offered. They filled my bowl and I wolfed it down. It had some delicious dumplings in it – if I had known that I might have asked for a bigger scoop.

The Caribou Rib Soup was by far my favorite on the night. The meat was tender. The rice and potatoes we perfectly cooked. The soup was seasoned with enough kick to enhance the flavor but not so much as to overpower the delicious caribou meat. I wished I had saved some for a later course because the rest of my meal wasn’t as easy to swallow.

The 2 pieces of cooked bowhead whale were actually pretty good. The dark meat was tender enough to chew and the fat gave the bite enough flavor to make it enjoyable. I cannot say the same for the fermented, raw slivers of bowhead that were piled on my plate without a chance to deflect. Jon actually preferred the raw whale. Whereas, I was able to chew it, swallow it and keep it down but let’s just say that after 3 pieces I was looking for a way to pawn it off on Sattu, the only school boy that sat with us.

The hunk of Walrus that I got had a big piece of fat on one side and a sizeable chunk of roast beef like meat on the other. I’m glad Jon dug in first because I was able to see his reaction to a mouthful of ocean mammal fat and decide that I would take a different approach. The meat was bearable. No, better than that. I could have made a meal out of just walrus. If I never have raw bowhead again, I’ll be OK. So, by now you can imagine my run-in with the 6-8 oz. of raw beluga that sat before me. Repi offered me his knife and said that it’s easier to chew if you cut it first. “Don’t be shy. Use your hands to hold it,” he said. Just holding it was easier said than done. The seal oil that the Inupiat people use gives everything a sheen that makes holding it near impossible. The seal oil also gives it that taste and smell that makes most Gringos run. I popped in a piece and went to town.

Chewy doesn’t adequately describe the Beluga. Laffy Taffys are chewy. Beef Jerky can be chewy. This was like gnawing on a piece of leather that had been soaked in a bucket of olive oil in the bottom of a bait bucket for the month of July. But I held strong. Bit, crushed, sloshed and swallowed enough that the locals weren’t pointing and laughing. And when they weren’t looking, I put the rest on Sattu’s plate.

The caribou and rice was decent. I prefer the soup.

I had a bad experience at C3 Camp with Eskimo Ice Cream. When the campers collected buckets full of berries, our Inupiat hosts from Buckland decided to treat us to Eskimo Ice Cream in August. They literally took CRISCO (YES – Crisco!) and threw in some blueberries and whipped it around until it made a psychedelic cup full of goo. When the desserts came around on Thursday, I was worried about the Ice Cream.

I got 2 different scoops – a lighter concoction and a darker one that appeared to have blackberries and aikpik (Salmonberries) in it. Sattu said, “Try it. You’ll like it.” I told him my nightmare from this summer and he set me at ease by saying, “You’ll like the darker one, more sugar.”

He was right the darker “Ice Cream” was better and instead of Crisco both portions had been made with whipped caribou fat. Yep – not cold, Bryer’s Mint Chocolate Chip but whipped caribou fat, sugar and blueberries, salmonberries and blackberries. There’s goes the diet.

I held it all down. Felt full and was glad that I came. Pastor Enoch gave a blessing before people filed out for the night. He invited everyone to stay as we had visitors from the Kotzebue Drum Crew. About half the crowd left. Most had boxes and bags filled with leftovers – I wasn’t told that it was cool to bring in gallon Ziplocs if you found a particular dish you liked. I would have to be happy with my two gifted boxes of Pilot Bread.

Eskimo dancing followed. Drums and mukluks, mittens and atikluks magically appeared. Familiar faces from the village joined visitors from Kotz. I had a front row seat and could feel the energy and the beat of the drums. No dance lasted more than 2-3 minutes. Everyone told a story about hunting a seal or traveling over the ice or down a river. Sometimes the group leader talked about origins and meaning and other times they just rolled in to the next tune. I sat in awe. Half of the crowd had left and half of the teachers followed. I looked around about midway through the performance and realized that Jon, Nancy, Coleen and I were the only four gringos in a gym of dancing Eskimos on Thanksgiving above the Arctic Circle. I wish I could have seen the smile on my face.

I thought about my wife and kids at home. I smiled on the inside as I remembered Logan telling me earlier in the day that he was sure they’d have leftover turkey by the time I got home in three weeks. I missed my wife’s cooking and the comforts of my own couch, my own house, and my old traditional ways. But this was no Typical Thanksgiving. This was my Thanksgiving in Kivalina.

Taikuu.