Little Alan offers the blessing on Sharene's birthday; sad news from India

Yesterday was Shareen's birthday, so her brother-in-law, Alan Snow, served up a dinner of both chicken and steak fajitas. When the time came, many gathered around the table in Savik's house. Sharene's son, little Alan, named after his late father, sat on her lap and offered the blessing.

It was a good, sincere, short blessing, as little Alan knows how to get right down to the point - to thank the Lord for the food, ask his blessings on it, say "amen" and then get right down to eating.

Those familiar with Savik's table as it has appeared here before will undoubtedly have noticed that one face normally present there was missing. That would be the kindly face of Myrna, Savik's wife. Shortly before I arrived, she was admitted to the hospital here in Barrow and then a few days ago was medivacced to Anchorage.

Myrna and Savik's daughter, Ginger, took this excellent picture of her parents just over one month ago on Savik's birthday. This copy hangs on Roy's wall, right next door, where I am staying.

Those who know Myrna know that she has long been a church-going woman of faith and prayer. Now, I am certain, many pray for her.

Thankfully, she has improved significantly and might return home tomorrow.

I am not certain what birthday this was for Sharene, although I have known her for many more years than two, but two was the symbolic number of candles placed on her cake.

After the candles were blown out, little Alan became fascinated with the design on the side of the cake. His fascination proved catching.

In the evening, I took a walk along the seashore. The ice ivu piled up on the beach glowed in the light from Barrow.

After I departed the seashore and stepped back onto the road, a snowmachine pulled up alongside me and stopped. It was Jimmy, and he wanted to know if I needed a ride and where I was going. I told him I was just walking, going no place in particular except eventually back to Roy's, which was in the opposite direction.

He said he was going no place in particular, but was just riding around.

So I jumped on the back of the snowmachine and went no place in particular with him.

It felt good and it made me want to have a snowmachine, right here in Barrow, and to be able to climb on anytime and just go where I want to go.

A lot of people have snowmachines in Wasilla and snowmachine about Wasilla.

It isn't the same, my friends - it just isn't the same.

I slept in wonderfully late this morning, Sunday - for the second day in a row. I did not get up until after 10:00 AM. I tried to check my email via Sharene's wireless on my iPhone, but for some reason the iPhone had purged itself of the password and I could not log on.

I could have logged on with this laptop, but it has been giving me so much trouble that I did not want to fool with it. So I set out on foot to Pepe's for breakfast, reasoning that I could wait that long to check my email.

After my Saturday sleep in I had also gone to Pepe's for a late breakfast and I had greatly enjoyed it. Everything tasted so delicious, from the ham and eggs-over-easy, hash browns , the wheat toast with raspberry jam and, of course, the coffee, which I savored in slow sips.

Joe the Water Man was there to wait on me and to say witty things. Fran heard my voice from the other side of the partition and called out to say "hi."

So I wanted a complete repeat of all that pleasant wonderfulness today.

I sat down, pulled out my iPhone, logged on and about a dozen emails poured into my phone. One caught my eye before any of the others. It was from my friend Kavitha in India, a cousin to Soundarya, and was titled, "a very sad news." I suddenly got a feeling like someone had kicked me hard in the gut.

I opened it up and read. Then Joe came by to take my order, but I could not make the words. I could do little but stammer. Anil, Soundarya's husband, had been killed in a car crash early in the morning. Then I found another email from my nephew, Vijay, informing me of the same thing.

Eventually, I did place my order, but I have little recollection of eating it, or of how it tasted.

I stayed in Pepe's until after noon. Then Vivek called me from Minnesota and we talked for awhile. This was one time that he felt bad to be in the US rather than India. He and Soundarya were born five days apart and are as close as cousins get.

I left and began to walk back toward Roy's house. 

As I walked, I looked at these wires - one small part of the link that binds everyone in today's world together. This car came by. 

I felt helpless, unable to do anything. Given my present circumstance - no visa, little money - India might as well be on Jupiter. I cannot get there. I cannot lend comfort. I can do nothing to help out.

Still, I hope that Soundarya and all of her family - which is also an extension of my family - knows.

She knows. They know.

I still wish I could be there.

I needed more time to walk and think, so I headed toward the ocean. I walked down a street which I thought to be empty of traffic. The weather was extremely warm for this time of year, but it was a bit windy, so I had pulled the hood of my parka over my hat.

My parka hood muffled the noise enough to cause me to not hear a pickup approaching from behind until it was very nearly upon me. I stepped to my left, turning to look as I did, and saw that I was stepping right into the path of the truck.

It was okay, though, because the driver had spotted me and was approaching cautiously.

It was Roy Nageak. He told me that he was going to try drive out to Point Barrow to check out the ice conditions there and wandered if I wanted to come along? I did. I hopped in and off we went.

The snow was drifting, though, and we had to stop well short of the Point. We did make it past NARL, however.

Roy also gave me some interesting and good news, which I plan to make a report on later.

Remembering:

Anil on his wedding day.

Soundarya, on her wedding day.

Anil and Soundarya, at the threshold.

Folks - you know how us humans tend to get all wrapped up in us vs them? In our differences of religion, race, ethnicity, country of birth? These things need not separate us. We can love right through these differences.

Forgive me if I do not post tomorrow - Monday. I am almost a day behind schedule, anyway. I am tired of wrestling with this malfunctioning computer. I need to think. And I need to find a way to contact someone.

I plan to post Tuesday - hopefully with a summation of the Elders Youth conference.

Farewell to Mabel Aiken - a kind, gentle and caring lady

This morning, I sit alone in a quiet motel room, yet in my head I hear hymns, sung the Iñupiaq way, and I feel a strong connection to many souls, who on this day will gather together in a church in Barrow to hold services for and pay their respects to a very dear lady by the name of Mabel Aiken. If it were at all feasible, I would be there with them, but it is not.

I wish that I had a picture of Mabel in my laptop computer so that I could post it here, but I do not. I do, however, have this picture of her husband Kunuk and many members of her family and crew at the edge of the lead, as they watch the approach of a bowhead whale.

When I took this picture, Mabel was not physically present, but she was still very much with her family and crew. Back on land, she was busily overseeing the base operations necessary to sustain them on the ice. Through the VHF radio, she kept constant contact and whenever they needed anything, she made certain it was ready to go, to be packed onto a sled and sent out. She cooked, she sewed, she prayed. She gave them encouragement.

She was not physically present on the ice, yet her presence could be felt at all times.

From this time forward, Mabel Aiken will no longer be present in the physical world, yet her spirit will be felt every day. 

Mable was a gentle, kind, soft-spoken, caring woman who was always good to me and I am blessed for having had the opportunity to spend some time with her in this life.

To Kunuk, to all the Aikens and to all those who knew and loved Mabel - may The Creator be with you on this day and bring you comfort and solace, even at those moments when it may seem that comfort and solace cannot be had.

As you sing so beautifully and with such soul and passion:

God be with you, 'til we meet again...

I love you all.

To those readers who never knew her, just know that she lived and that she made the Arctic a warmer place and all the world just a little bit better than it would have been without her.

Patty Stoll, the Fit Lady: Her face brightened my walks, my bike rides, my ski journies, but I will never again see her energetic smile

This morning, I received an email from Otto, who I had sometimes met when he was walking or biking with Patty Stoll and I was out doing the same.

"Patty has lost her battle with cancer," he informed me. "...I know you will miss her dearly, as I do, she was such a positive in my life and I don't think anyone will be able to fill the void."

Despite the cancer that nearly a year-and-half ago her doctor had told her would kill her within two or three months, that there was no point treating it for it was hopeless and that she best prepare to die, the news came as a shock.

Patty did not heed that doctor, but fought, and gained much more life - high quality life - than he was willing to believe she could. "It just wouldn't be right," she explained me. "If I could not be here to enjoy this beautiful place."

When last I saw her, at the corner of Seldon and Wards, during one of my brief periods at home early in the summer, she looked good. She felt good and was looking forward to future years. I did not take a picture that visit or mention it in my blog. 

It felt to me like one of those occasions when it was best to just visit and talk and not worry about documenting every thing and to not even bother with the subject of cancer.

I can't remember precisely when I first met Patty, but it was not long after we first moved to Wasilla some 28 years ago.  I was out walking in the woods behind our house when she came walking in the opposite direction - young, blond, fit, energetic and friendly. We stopped and visited.

And so it was from then on - I would frequently meet Patty coming in the opposite direction as we walked, mountain biked and cross country skied. "We've got to stop meeting like this," she would say. Most often, we would stop and chat - although sometimes her bike was moving fast and mine was too and we would just shout, "hey...!"

That was really the only way I knew her. We did not get together at each other's homes, hang out, go to dinner - we just met, out on the trail. Yet that was enough to recognize and respect each other as friends, to see that we were people with many common interests. 

And when they built the Serendipity subdivision and robbed us of the woods that we had so freely walked, skied and mountain biked through, we both mourned the loss of something so wonderful, just outside our doors.

We kept walking and biking, though, and kept meeting like this.

Once, she left for a summer to sail a boat up the east coast from the Caribbean to Canada.

I will keep walking and biking through this neighborhood. I will continue to enjoy it. But, just as I have felt the ache of loss of the woods to Serendipity each time that I have set out on a walk or bike ride in the past half-dozen years or so, I will now walk with a new ache, knowing that I will never again encounter the smiling and energetic face of Patty Stoll, the woman who I affectionately and admiringly called, The Fit Lady. She kept such good care of herself. Always ate right - got plenty of good exercise.

It was - 24 degrees (-31 c) when I took this picture in late December, 2008, but Patty didn't object. She loved it, she thrived in it.

Otto tells me her ashes will be scattered at Gold Chord Basin in Hatcher Pass.

After I learned the news, took a walk. I planned to take a photo of Patty's empty house, but when I reached it, people - family members - children and siblings - had just come out the door and were climbing into their cars.

I had never met any of them before. At left is her son, Willie, who she once so proudly told me was running in the New York Marathon even as we were talking, her daughter, Erin, the artsy one - the graphic designer and her son Erick, who describes himself as "the motor head" of the family. He loves to work with any kind of moving machine, be it a car, snowmachine, fourwheeler, boat motor...

From them, I learned that Patty had done well all summer, that her death Tuesday took everybody by surprise, for she had appeared fit and healthy just one week before. 

"Cancer does not play fair," a sister said.

I then continued on my walk. Tequilla, the sweetheart dog who always feels that she must act tough, barked at me.

I saw a grader coming down Tamar. It is October 1 - see how the leaves here are mostly gone now? It was that big wind that was blowing when I left for Barrow one week ago that took them.

This is Bill, the driver of the grader. Hired through contract by the Borough, Bill was working to fix up the road and to prepare it for freeze-up, which should come soon. On clear days, the morning frost has been heavy for some time now.

The brothers two: Kalib and Jobe - what do they think of each other? I stop briefly at All Saints Episcopal to pay my respects to Senator Ted Stevens; a man walks alongside a fence

I made a quick trip to Anchorage late this afternoon and visited Kalib and Jobe. Jobe had been on his mother's lap, but Kalib pulled him from her and held him - for a few brief seconds.

This could be deceptive. Kalib is not trying to slug Jobe. Kalib is merely bounding across the couch with his usual energy. Lavina knows how rough Kalib can play and so she is ready, just in case he bounds too far.

Jobe studies his big brother. I wonder what he thinks of him? I wonder how he will think of him in the future? I had three older brothers and when I was small I looked at them with a combination of terror, adoration and, of course, love.

Well, the terror part didn't really apply too often to Ron, the youngest of three, four-and-half years older than me. He had his terror moments, but mostly he was very good to me, bought me treats, let me read his comic books, Mad Magazine and often took me out to fly the wonderful model airplanes that he spent so much time building. When I graduated from high school and followed him to Brigham Young University, where he had returned after serving a two-year Mormon mission in Germany, he let me look at his Playboy Magazines.

We hung the centerfolds on the wall in such a way that when the inspectors that BYU sent out to inspect student rooms, even in off-campus housing, the images would be hidden the moment our bedroom door opened. It was always amusing, to sit there  in our room as those serious, righteous-looking men in suits came through the door, stood there with the Playboy centerfolds hidden right behind them, observed the fish swimming in my tank, our study areas, various books - including the Bible and the Book of Mormon and proclaimed our room to be clean, appropriate and up to good BYU-LDS standards.

Damn! Ron died altogether too soon!

The older two, Mac the tall twin and Rex the short twin, kept me in a state of near constant terror, but still I held them in adulation and it was they who the bullies who came after me soon learned to fear and respect. 

So I wonder what it will be like for these two as they grow?

And what does Kalib think of Jobe right now? I know he is a little jealous, as Jobe gets attention that not so long ago went to Kalib alone, but I do believe he loves him as well.

Kalib rolls about in the midst of his dad and Muzzy.

Before I left them, I saw Jobe, Jacob and Lavina together on the couch and thought it would be nice if Kalib were there, too, so that I could get a picture of all four. Jacob and Lavina motioned to him, but he would not come over. Instead, he stood by the TV, where, in local news coverage of his life and death, Senator Ted Stevens, killed last week in a plane crash near Dillingham, appeared in an old news clip with President Jimmy Carter. 

It was okay that he did not come. It made a better picture this way.

I gave some thought to doing some serious coverage of the memorial for Senator Stevens on this, the day that he lay in repose in a closed casket in All Saints Episcopal Church in Anchorage, but decided against it. Many serious news organizations, including the Anchorage Daily News and The Alaska Dispatch and Alaska Newspapers, Incorporated, would be doing serious photo documentaries of everything that would happen, both today and tomorrow, the day of his funeral.

What could I add to it? Not much, I decided. Plus, I had no desire to go in and compete with my fellow photographers today. Still, Alaska history, American history, was being made today. Plus, I had several contacts with the man in life, had photographed him more times than I can remember and on this day I felt that I must go in and pay my respects.

So I did. I walked to the closed casket, stood solemnly in front of it for just the right amount of time, shook hands with his family members seated nearby, walked to the back, signed the guest register and then sat down for just a few minutes next to my friend, Al Grillo, the freelance photographer who for so long covered this state for the Associated Press. I shot a handful of frames and then I got up and quietly exited...

...but before I did, I noticed this trio and so photographed them, too. I have no idea who they are. I could have asked for their names, I suppose, and their feelings, but I was not being a journalist today. I was just being a citizen, there to briefly pay my respects and then go.

As I left, I saw Channel 11, preparing to broadcast. I'm not really too familiar with these folks, as I tend to watch Channel 2 News the most. Actually, I tend to get most of my news off the internet these days and locally that tends to mostly mean the Daily News and the Dispatch and a number of blogs, most of which don't really cover the news but get angry about it instead.

As I drove out of Anchorage, I saw a man, walking by a fence. This is frame 6...

...Frame 5...

...Frame 4...

...Frame 3...

...frame 2...

Frame 1.

And so walked this man on the evening that Senator Ted Stevens lay in repose.

View images as slide show

On the day that her brother was honored, Daisy Stevens sponsored a Gwich'in naming ceremony for three of her grandchildren

Up until this, the day that her late Uncle Jonathon Solomon was honored at the Gwich'in Gathering, this young lady was known only as Amara Stevens. On this day, she was given her Gwich'in name - Dee'iideek'it - which means she has taken over where her uncle left off. The naming ceremony was sponsored for her, her step brother and a cousin by their grandmother, Daisy Stevens, Jonathon's youngest sister.

Amara was being born on July 19, 2006, even as I took this picture during the burial procession for Jonathon Solomon, Traditional Chief of the Gwich'in.  "Jonathon met her before anyone of us while he was on his journey," Daisy says.

That's Amara's Uncle Jonathon at the left, doing part of the work that he has now left for Dee'iideek'it to take over. It was when I learned that Jonathon would receive a day of honor at the gathering that I decided I must be there. I suspect that in the career of every photojournalist, there are a handful of images capturing moments so exceptionally special that they stay with him always, images that define the world for him as he saw it.

In my case, this would include images such as Kunuk raising his harpoon and then thrusting it into the very first bowhead that I ever witnessed give itself to his people; there would be Malik, who in his life was said to be the most successful harpooner alive, reaching his hand out to touch the snout of a gray whale stuck in the ice, a whale whose life he worked so hard to save, a whale that he communicated with; the five moments of birth of my own children, each of whose first breath I captured; the moment that my own father took his final breath.

And then there is what I consider to be the extremely special image that Jonathan is the subject of, although he cannot be seen in it. The eagle can be seen, though, the one that came to his grave, the one that took away the pain and tears that flowed there and replaced them with smiles, warmth and hope.

That moment was so extraordinary and wonderful that when I learned that a day of this year's gathering was to be devoted to Jonathon's honor I knew I had to come.

It had been and still is my intent to take the images that I took on this day of Jonathon's honor, mix them up with others that I took of Jonathon as a living man, tell what I could of the life he led and the battles that he led against seemingly impossible odds to protect the way of life of his people and the animals and fish they depend upon, particularly the Porcupine caribou.

Once again, even as happened to me with the unfinished tribute that I set out to make to my friend, Vincent Craig, my unfinished story on the General Assembly of the Inuit Circumpolar Conference that recently took place in Nuuk, Greenland, I find that the pace and demands of life has overwhelmed me. My short time at home is already over and even as I finish this post, I am 850 miles away from my wife, children, grandchildren and cats.

It will take time and thought to tell this story right and I do not have that time right now. So I am going to save it for later - months later, when it is dark and I hopefully have more time for putting stories together.*

I wish that I had documented the full ceremony when Amara became Dee'iideek'it, but I didn't and I have only myself to blame. The ceremony was scheduled to begin at 7:00 PM and I had told myself that I had better be there right at 7:00, despite "Indian Time."

"Indian Time" is something that everybody jokingly and affectionately refers to mean that nothing will ever start at the set time, but will start later, when everybody is gathered and comfortable about starting. Up until this, the third evening of the gathering, every event that I had attended had started on "Indian time" - anywhere from 20 minutes to more than hour after the scheduled time.

On this evening, I was still in the final download of pictures that I had taken earlier in the day as the clock approached seven. I thought about stopping and bolting over, but decided to let the download finish.

"This will start on Indian time," I said. The card finished the download at 7:07 and I headed straight over to the school, only to find that this event had started right on time.

Two of the three naming ceremonies had already been completed, Amara's and that of Isaiah Horace, who was given the name K'aiiheenjik, which means that he is a great, strong warrior and he is in the Bible - Samson. Jonathon's son, David, stands behind K'aiiheenjik and Dee'iideek'it, holding the rifle that the boy was given along with his name.

This Dylan Coppock, the third of Daisy's grandchildren to be given a Gwich'in name on this day. He listens intently as the Rev. Trimble Gilbert of Arctic Village, Second Traditional Chief of the Tanana Chiefs Conference, explains to him the importance of his new name, Ditsii ta'i"i. This means he is following in his grandfather's trail.

Simon Francis Sr, Traditional Chief of Fort Yukon looks on from the left. Behind Gilbert is Ditsii ta'i"i's grandparents, Kevenne and Gatherine Gottlieb and his father, Matt, son of Daisy.

Along with his name, Trimble Gilbert gives Ditsii ta'i"i a blessing.

Chief Simon presents him with gifts.

Ditsii ta'i"i speaks a few brief words of appreciation to the crowd.

His father places the gift of special necklace around his neck.

Dee"iideek'it applauds her step-brother.

Ditsii ta'i"i receives a hug from his grandfather.

Kenneth Frank of Arctic Village, who came to sing and drum, presents the boy with a rifle.

All three of those who received their Gwich'in names. Katherine Gottlieb, who in 2004 received a MacArthur "Genius Award" for her work in Native health care, whispers in her grandson's ear.

Ditsii ta'i"ii displays his new rifle.

K'aiiheenjik and his Uncle David - who you will read more about when I tell the bigger story of Jonathon Solomon, his life, burial and the eagle.

Matt presented a special chief's necklace to Chief Simon.

Gottlieb gives a priest's sash to Rev. Gilbert to honor him for his role in the naming ceremony. Gilbert is an ordained Episcopal priest.

Chief Simon also received a shotgun. 

Daisy addresses those who came to see her grandchildren receive their names. "The kids were quite happy to be getting their Indian names.  They talk about it all the time," she told me in an email.

Kenneth Frank and his daughter, Crystal, who sang with him.

View images as slide show

*At the end of last year, the first full year that I had produced this blog, I ran a series of pictures in review. This year, my plan is to use December, a dark month, to sit down, revisit some of these stories that I have touched upon but have not been able to find the time to complete, and tell them in greater depth.

Another possibility that I am thinking about would be a create a separate, digital, magazine that I could use to tell complete stories in a way that I am beginning to think may not be feasible in a blog - not to replace the blog, but to complement it. I haven't made up my mind about this, but I am thinking about it. If so, I would seek to construct those stories mostly during the darkness of winter, so that I could keep summers open for shooting and story gathering.