Kivgiq, 2011, part 6, day 2a: My Kivgiq work gets interrupted by family and love

Earlier today, I was busily editing day 2 of Kivgiq and I kept seeing the words, "Family" and "love," - just like you see them here, behind the Kaktovik drummers.

There was evidence of "family" and "love" all around - sometimes mixed with a bit of mischief, such as when little Jessie James Bodfish Panik of Wainwright boy went running across the dance stage with a drum stick.

Of course, today when I would look at such pictures, I would think of my own family, especially my own small grandsons, Kalib and Jobe.

I have pretty much been alone all week. On Monday, we got a call from Jacob. Lavina was not feeling well and needed help with the little ones. So Monday afternoon - our anniversary - I drove Margie into town, dropped her off to help with Kalib and Jobe and then turned right around and drove back home to Wasilla.

In the time since, except for momentarily glimpses of Caleb just before he goes to bed after working his night shift, I have been all alone.

It doesn't bother me to be alone, not when I have all these pictures to sort through and edit. I can just go and go and go without interruption and so I do.

Perhaps too much. Without Margie here to rein me in a bit, I tend not to stop, but to keep going when I should give up and go to bed. I posted last night's blog at 2:04 AM, for example, then stayed right here, at this computer and dabbled with other things until about 4:00 AM.

I did not expect to see Margie until this evening, but, right after lunch, I heard a knock upon my office door. Guess who was here?

This guy, Jobe! Lavina was feeling much better and had driven Margie home.

I'm afraid my work fell apart after that. My picture editing slowed down to almost nothing.

I accomplished very little workwise, but accomplished a bit more "family" and "love" wise.

Kalib came, too, but he had fallen asleep in the car and never woke up. Lavina soon left, taking the sleeping Kalib with her. She left Jobe to spend all or part of the weekend with us - depending on how lonely she gets without him.

And I discovered something else late this afternoon. Monday is a holiday. That makes this a three-day weekend. My readership tends to drop off on weekends - especially three day weekends.

And the truth is, I am very tired. "Exhausted" would be a better word. I pushed myself hard day and night during Kivgiq and I have done the same since my return.

So I decided to take it a little easy this weekend - to get some visiting done with Jobe. I will keep editing my Kivgiq pictures, but I will hold my further Kivgiq posts until the weekend has passed. By then, maybe I will have a better handle on the material that I have.

I will still make little posts through the weekend - maybe on Jobe, or whatever. 

Then, on Tuesday, I will resume my Kivgiq posts. I am not covering a news story anymore anyway. I am now putting out a record of a historical event - but one that I want to share the pictures from, particularly with my friends on the Arctic Slope but also with anyone else who is interested. It's going to take more time than I originally anticiapated, but that's okay.

Maybe I will find some time this weekend to hang out with moose. I found this mom and her two nearly grown calves as I was driving home from my coffee break.

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What would you do if you found $50,000 lying in the road in an unmarked suitcase?

As 2010 drew to its close, Gilford Mongoyak, Jr. was driving near Sam & Lee's Restaurant in his hometown of Barrow when he saw a suitcase lying in the road. Gilford does not own a car, but he had rented this one so that he could take care of some year-end business. Before returning it, he thought that he would just take a nice little evening drive about Barrow and that is what he was doing when he came upon the suitcase.

There were other people out and about, on the road, walking, driving, but no one paid any attention to the suitcase. Gilford drove right past it himself, but then decided that he ought to check it out. He backed up, picked up the suitcase and examined the outside of it.

It carried no identification, so he drove home and took the suitcase inside and showed it to his wife. They did not want to open it, but they did want to return it to its rightful owner and so they opened it up to see if there was any ID inside.

There wasn't, but there was something bundled up in white wrapping paper. "I opened that up," Gilford told me over the phone after I called him to find out this event that I had first learned about through Facebook had come to pass. "I found bills. I said to my wife, "it looks like $10,000."

They did not know what to do, so they started to talk.

"My hands kind of started really shaking with that kind of money right there," he says. "We say, really, what should we do? So my wife and I decided the best thing to do was to take it to Public Safety (Police Department)."

I took the above snapshot of Gilford day last August after I happened upon him as I walked through the Iñupiat Heritage Center in Barrow. I thought that it would be good to include Gilford in a project that I am working on and so I took this quick snapshot to remind me to go back and find him at later date when I had the time to do it right.

So Gilford and his wife took the suitcase to the Police Department. They entered to find a receptionist behind an opaque black window. They stated their business and then a police officer came out to see them.

"You won't believe what I found," Gilford remembers telling him, "look, it's $10,000."

The officer opened up the suitcase and studied the contents

"Then he took a look up at me and said, 'you know what? It's not $10,000. It's $50,000.'"

Gilford asked the officer if anyone was looking for $50,000. The officer told him yes, a woman from Osaka Restaurant.

Due to a back injury, Gilford is unable to work in the labor force that once sustained him. He supports himself primarily through the sale of his art. Here, he has set up in the Heritage Center. Some days, he does okay. Somedays, there are no sales.

Shortly after that, some other officers came in, as well as woman from Osaka who Gilford believes was the owner. I called Osaka to see if could find out who she was, talk to her and get more information, but was told that no one could talk to me about the matter. I also called the Police Department, where a spokesman told me that they could not comment at this time.

Gilford describes the woman as being very happy to get the money back and says she was wearing mink. He believes she had planned to leave on the evening flight south.

"She asked for my name and number. She was happy, shaking," he recalls. "I thought she would call me that night."

She never did call, so a couple of days later, Gilford called her. "I asked her if there is any reward. She said, 'I buy you dinner?'"

The offer did not appeal to him.

There were those who told him that instead of an offer for free meal, he could have kept the entire $50,000 and no one would ever have known.

"A lot of my friends told me that. But I was raised in a good Christian home with a good Christian mom and dad. They always taught me to do the right thing. I have friends who are saying that I was a good Samaritan. My daughter is proud of me." 

His sister, Claudia Mongoyak, who first informed me of Gilford's discovery is also proud of her brother. "I am honored to have such an honest and trustworthy brother," she told me on Facebook.

"My brother Gilford is unemployed due to back problems and makes a living out of selling his carvings and jewelry. He once found a wallker with $500 or $600 in it and called that person and that person was so appreciative to get her wallet back." 

As to the offer of a free dinner at Osaka, "I don't know what to say about that. LOL."

If he could have kept the money, one friend asked, what would he have done with it? "I would have bought a brand new washer and dryer. Our windows are no good. They let too much cold air in. I would have totally fixed the house up.

"I was rich for like 15 or 20 minutes," he laughed.

If anyone should care to learn more about Gilford and his art or to make a purchase, he can be contacted at gmongoyakjr@hotmail.com.

And this from Wasilla:

The holiday is over and the boys have returned to Anchorage to go to day care and be with their parents, but, before they did, Kalib grew bored with doorknobs. He decided the best way to get into a pantry is with his spatula.

When his mom arrived to pick him up, he raced to the window and kissed her through the glass.

Jobe was greatly amused by the walking fingers of his grandma.

Jobe and Kalib spend their last moments with this season's Christmas tree. I am very sad to say it, but next time they come out this tree will be gone.

The holiday season is over.

The carols will now fall silent.

That certain feeling that comes only at Christmas is gone and will not be back for nearly a year.

And this one from India:

About 35 or so miles south of the broiling city of Chennai sits the temple at Mamallapuram, cut entirely out of the rock face of a low cliff.

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Flying in the general direction of the sun

When my scheduled time to depart Barrow approached, I did not want to go. I wanted to stay put. There were two reasons for this - one, because in the midst of all this darkness, cold and sorrow, I had felt the warmth, the light and the love that Barrow is capable of producing. Never misunderstand me - Barrow bears more than its fair share of turmoil and hurt - as do all Native American communities that I have ever spent time in - but at its core, its base, wrapped in the heart and soul of the people who have lived here for so long and borne so much there is something strong, loving, giving and spiritual. This warmth and strength can truly manifest itself in the time of no sun, in a time when beloved ones have been lost and people have come together to nurture and support each other.

And so it was on this trip.

Two, in the darkness itself I found a degree of solace that I could not have had I been in a place where the sun rises each day. The darkness of the day itself was like a blanket of warmth and comfort draped upon me.

I am a person who likes to walk, regardless the weather or the presence of polar bears, of which daily sightings were reported in town. If I walk on the roads, people always stop to give me a ride, so, as much as I could, I stayed off the roads and walked across the lagoon - two, three, maybe even four times a day. I would walk, under that dark or dim sky, all alone and it felt good to me. Depending on the direction that I walked, the wind might bite into my face with the sting and threat of frostbite but even so it felt good to me.

And there, alone, walking under a sky free from sunlight, I would talk aloud to Soundarya. It wasn't always a pleasant conversation. When someone that you love so dearly dies at their own hand, even though you know she was suffering such bitter, painful, grief herself, it leaves you with many questions and additional hurts.

But it was always a good conversation, a loving conversation, one that I needed to have. Even though the rational side of my brain knew she was not really there, somehow, it always felt to me that in some way, she was present and that she wanted to communicate with me as badly as I wanted to communicate with her.

So I spoke out loud and then in silent pauses listened for words I could not hear, but could only feel, or imagine that I felt.

I did not wish to leave this environment, where I could walk upon the lagoon in the dim and dark and converse with Soundarya and then go sit amidst the warmth of friends who would feed me caribou, whale and fish -people not related by blood to me but who are my family, none-the-less.

Perhaps this sounds crazy and perhaps it would be best if I were to just keep all this to myself, but this is how it was and I did not want to leave Barrow.

I knew my loving family awaited me at home but still I did not want to go. 

I took this picture as I walked off the lagoon, about 8:30 or 9:00 AM, enroute to Pepe's for breakfast.

And here I am at Pepe's - taking a portrait of Joe The Water Man, son of Fran Tate, owner of Pepe's. Joe became famous in Barrow in the days when no one had running water piped into their homes and he drove a water truck, to fill their tanks and barrels.

He never wore a parka or even a jacket or sweat shirt, but always just a t-shirt, no matter what the weather. Twenty below, 30 below, - 40, - 50... there was one day that the official weather bureau thermometer is said to have broken after the mercury plunged right through the bottom of it, but a number of thermometers around town, including one that I myself laid eyes upon, registered - 63.

And there was Joe The Water Man, delivering water in his t-shirt.

On days with wind chills of - 90, - 100: there was Joe, in his t-shirt, delivering water.

Joe does not drive the water truck anymore. He keeps my coffee hot and makes certain that I get two packets of raspberry jam with my wheat toast - unless there is no wheat bread to be had, and no raspberry jam either.

This happens sometimes. 

He does not really wear this hat to work. A fellow from Anchorage who calls himself The Mad Hatter and who likes to frolic in Cuba and Thailand had come to Barrow to sell hats and had let Joe try this one on.

I thought he looked pretty good in it.

Up the street from Pepe's is a water tank, with a Nativity scene in front of it and the guiding star of the east above.

Now here I am, at just a bit after 11:00 AM, sitting in the Alaska Airlines flight that will fly me to Anchorage. What you see beyond blowing a mini-blizzard into the air is a snowplow, clearing the runway. I had checked to see if I could postpone my departure and leave on another day, but every single seat out of Barrow had been booked into January.

I did not want to miss Christmas with my family, so I decided that I had better leave as scheduled.

And here we are, lifting off, departing Barrow.

We wing our way south, toward the sun, toward the glow of dawn/twilight. I was raised to believe that the sun always rises in the east and sets in the west.

In Alaska, this is not always true. The sun can rise in the south and set in the south. It can rise in the north and set in the north.

It can rise and set not at all.

See that little stream down below? Before I crashed it, I would sometimes fly my airplane, the Running Dog, right over that stream, between those low mountains.

It looked very different down there than it does from up here, but even so, I recognize it.

You can see that although we are still a couple of hundred miles from the sight of the sun, the amount of light is on the increase.

Now we pass over the northern flanks of the Brooks Range...

...now the southern.

We reach a point where the sun still fails to shine directly upon the ground, but it does shine on a couple of clouds below us at an altitude that I can only guess at. I won't even try.

As we near the Yukon River, very near to the place where the Tanana flows into it, the sun manages to strike the ridge tops, but not the valleys.

The White Mountains.

At one point I turned around and saw that there was a sunbeam, traveling with me, right there in the plane. It was the little son of Olemaun and Thelma Rexford, owners of Aarigaa Java and Aarigaa Tours, in the arms of his dad.

Oh, I have forgotten the name of this little one!

But someone can remind me, I'm certain.

And in front of me - another sunbeam, fast asleep.

By the time we reached the Alaska Range, the sun was up, but it was overcast and we could not see it. Soon, we were descending, and then were flying low over Cook Inlet - on final to landing in Anchorage.

Margie picked me up at the airport and then we drove to Taco King for lunch. Except for Rex, who had just driven from California to Anchorage with Ama and had then caught an airplane to New York or Newark and from there on to New England, all of the Anchorage family met us there.

Kalib came with his spatula and blanket.

Next, we were driving home to Wasilla.

I am now days behind. I will try to catch up tomorrow, when I will bring you back to Wasilla with me.

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Little genius Mariah Ahgeak captures me

During the singspiration, two-year old Mariah Ahgeak, one of Warren Matumeak's great-granddaughters, walked up to me during a moment when I had taken a seat in a pew, had set my camera down and had pulled out my silenced iPhone to check the time.

Mariah was very interested in the phone and she knew that it was also a camera. I thought that she wanted me to take a picture of her and show it to her - as so many children do. So I activated the camera, took a picture of her and showed it to her - but that was not what she wanted. She wanted to take the camera and take a picture of me. 

I was reluctant to let her take my iPhone, because I feared she might not want to give it back - and it can be hard to explain to a two-year old why she must, but she was so determined and enthusiastic that I relented. I let her take a picture of me with the iPhone.

A bit later, she popped up in front of me again, this time holding a tiny red camera, which she also used to take my picture. She looked so cute and determined with that little red camera, but I could not photograph her because I had a big lens on my camera and it would not focus that close and my iPhone was  buried in my pocket.

Two nights later, the family invited me to dinner and she was there.

Again, she wanted to take my picture.

I gave her my iPhone. Here she is, studying her subject before she shoots.

Here she is, photographing her subject.

Now she studies her work.

And here is her subject - me - in the picture that she took during the singspiration for her great-grandfather at the Utqiagvik Presbyterian Church.

I almost want to proclaim her a natural-born photographic genius, because in this simple snap, I can see everything that I was feeling - the deep, unrelenting sadness coupled with my joy and delight at seeing her determination and enthusiasm.

Soon, there will be no need for people like me because people like her are going to cover everything from the inside to a depth that has never been achieved before. Even so, I am glad that I arrived upon the scene in time to be of some use with my camera.

I think Mariah is a genius. I really do. Go back to the top, look into her eyes and tell me otherwise.

Jacob Kagak with his little niece, Theresa Cola Luafulu, Warren's granddaughter.

Darlene Kagak with her little niece, Theresa Cola Luafulu. Dorene took note of the fact that little Annie begun her life's journey at the same time that her grandfather's came to an end.

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away," Darlene said.

And here are the iPhone images that I took of Mariah during the singspiration:

Mariah!

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Goodbye, Warren Matumeak - part 5: Singspiration slide show; when Tommy saved his aapa's life

I am going to do things a little differently with this, my final post in this series. Anyone who has followed this blog for the past month or so will probably understand when I state that, at the moment, I am drained. I am exhausted.

So, instead of presenting my 14 image singerspiration post in the usual way - with images that alternate with narrative, I am inserting this one photo into the post and I present the rest entirely as a slide show. This means there will not be captions or any kind of explanation, but I think you will get the idea.

I do want to say a little more about two images, however. Very near to the end of slide show, you will see an image of Warren's daughters Alice Akpik and Darlene Matumeak standing just behind the pulpit. As they were bringing the singspiration for the their father to an end, they were suddenly struck with such emotion that they had to step back from the pulpit to fight off the tears.

As they stood there, the congregation spontaneously began to sing - softly, tenderly and lovingly, "Praying for You." So in that photo, Alice and Darlene are wrapped in that song of prayer offered by those gathered with them in the Utqiagvik Presbyterian Chapel.

While all the people of Barrow and just about anywhere on the Arctic Slope will recognize the gentleman standing with his guitar in the final two shots as Peter Matumeak, Warren's son, I want to be certain that readers who do not know him understand this as well.

Click here for full, 14-image Singspiration for Warren Matumeak slide show.

Before I went to Barrow, I mentioned that I had rounded up a number of pictures that I had taken of Warren in life, but that there were many more that I could not find - including my very favorite. I have found that photo, of Warren with his grandson, Tommy Akpik, which I present below, along with the story. I believe that I took it in the fall of 1986, not long after I had begun Uiñiq magazine:

Beneath a full, October moon that hung in a pale blue sky, Warren Matumeak and his nine-year old grandson Tommy came upon three caribou. Warren shot the first, and Tommy the other two. As they dragged the dead caribou onto the sled, Warren felt a pain in his chest. He began to sweat. His muscles grew weak, his breath short.

He realized he was suffering a heart attack. “Tommy,” he said, “I am going to go to heaven now. You take me to your grandmother. Now, drive toward the moon. Going that direction, you will see your aaka."  Warren did not expect to be alive to see her himself. Tommy was frightened, but he helped situate his grandfather on the sled. Then he started up the snowmachine, turned it toward the moon and began to drive.

He cried as he pulled the sled upon which he expected to deliver the body of his aapa to his aaka.

Aapa Warren had taught Tommy how to shoot, to hunt and how to live on the land and sea. Tommy would not let Aapa down in the moment of his death. Tommy drove slowly over the bumpy tundra, until the snowmachine became stuck in a drifted-over ravine. Tommy tried with all of his strength, but could not push it out.

“Let’s pray" Warren suggested. They did. Warren then found the strength to help Tommy push the snowmachine out.  An hour later, Tommy pulled up to the tent. He and his grandmother lay Warren down upon some caribou skins, then snowmachined to a nearby camp with a radio which they used to call Search and Rescue.

When the helicopter arrived, Martha joined her husband on board, but there was no room for Tommy. He went to the camp of his aapa's sister and brother-in-law, Thomas and Myrtle Akootchook, but lingered outside. Finally, Myrtle went looking and found him sitting outside, crying. Myrtle brought Tommy in, and gave him a can of soda pop.

That seemed to cheer Tommy up a bit.