MY FAKE HOME AND THE SKIN SEWING CLASS

I’ve been lax about posting to the blog lately but just discovered photos that I haven’t shared yet that you all might enjoy.  I’ve been here for 14 ½ months, so through a full cycle of the seasons and activities of Barrow.  It all seems so familiar now, as if there’s no point in rewriting about what you read about last year about this time.  I have to remember though that little occasional peeks into life here isn’t the same as experiencing it every day. 

I still love most everything about life here, of course except for missing my family in the “lower 48” = ).  The quality of time I’m able to spend with them is much higher though with no job to drive to while there or no classes to attend.  Sometimes I wonder why I’m here and other times I really can’t imagine working anywhere else.

 

The snow has such a cheering affect.  I walk out the door in the morning and pedal down the dark street, packed hard with snow and ice, and think that this really must be the most wonderful place to begin a day.  Except for maybe being with family and snuggled up with my granddaughters. 

When I was in Washington last, my six year old granddaughter, Jordan, when we were talking about my returning to Barrow, said, “that’s your fake home, Oma.  Your real home is here with us.”  I was deeply moved and explained that it isn’t easy for a relatively new nurse to find work in Washington and that I had to earn money to take care of myself.  Jordan replied, after thinking about her response, “Oma, you can live here with us, but we’re not going to give you any money!”  Just what I thought…so here I am, loving my work and life here and absolutely loving my relatively frequent visits to my other home and family and to my funny pumpkin and her little sister = ).

Oh, yes...the photos...these were taken at a skin sewing class at the Inupiat Heritage Center last spring.  The class was offered to the community and advertised that it would be taught in Inupiaq.  Several friends and I arrived and learned from the instructor that the purpose of the workshop was to teach young Inupiaq parents sewing terms in their native language while learning a traditional skill.  We said that we understood completely and agreed to leave but were delighted that the instructor invited us to stay. 

Below is a list of sewing terms in Inupiaq.  I drew simple pictures so that I could remember what they were.  I enjoyed listening to the teacher talk in Inupiaq but was pleased, too, that she gave those of us who didn’t understand extra attention and that she seemed to enjoy our being there.

 We spent several hours cutting patterns and hides.  Skins from the animals here, the tutu (caribou) and the ugruk seal, are very expensive so our class was taught using cow hide and black sheep wool.  Our project was a pair of baby mukluks.  We met for two Saturday afternoons and then were sent home to finish our projects armed with enough waxed twine, long pieces of soft hide for the laces and fabric trim for the top.  I have a small pair of mukluks hanging on my wall that my grandmother, Margaret, who was a public health nurse in Nome, had made for my son, Peter, when he was a toddler.  They’re made with tutu skin so are the “real thing” = ).

I’m always surprised that these sorts of workshops are given at no cost.  Somehow though, it feels as though life was meant to be lived this way.  I am always thinking now of ways that I can contribute and participate in these generous gestures.

Part of what made the day so enjoyable was that a young hunter came and brought fresh tutu meat and spent the afternoon cooking stew for our group of women and one man.  Our benevolent cook called us when it was ready and pointed to containers, one of salt and the other of seal oil saying that they would both enhance the flavor of the tutu.  I’d tried my first tutu stew at the Thanksgiving Feast last year and enjoyed it quite a bit, but believe me, adding a little salt and seal oil took it to a whole new level.  It was wonderful and of course, difficult to put one’s spoon down to return to cutting and sewing.  While eating, the young man and the Inupiaq women all spoke their language and smiled and laughed a bit at those of us who didn’t understand what they were saying.  I think they may have been chuckling at our overindulging.  These are a very happy, generous and kind people.

I gave my finished pair of mukluks to my coworker, Bertrand’s newborn son, Aurelius.  I’m keeping my eyes open for a workshop this year as I have a new little grandnephew, Ryder, who lives in snowy Pennsylvania.  I’m sure he could use a pair!  It’s not occurring to me what I can bring that my instructor, our hunter/chef, if he is there, and classmates might enjoy…I think for now a friendly smile and gratitude might be all that I have and would be enough.  Ah, maybe I can bring desert!