On tax day, I take prints and visit Warren Matumeak and daughters; I return to Wasilla and find a Tea Party; my coverage is interupted

It had been very chilly in our bedroom when we went in to seek sleep the night before. After I tucked Margie into the single bed where, as a result her injuries, she still must sleep, I jumped into our bed and the cold sting of the sheets against my flesh almost shot me back out again.

But I held my spot, because I knew that the blankets would hold my body heat and soon I would be warm and toasty.

Sure enough, it happened just that way. Sooner or later, insomniac me went to sleep. And then, somewhere around 3:00 AM, I dreamed that I was out in the country somewhere but was inadequately dressed and so was getting cold. Then I woke up and discovered that I was inadequately blanketed and truly was getting cold.

I keep a special quilt on the bed just for such moments, but the quilt was gone, folded and put away somewhere. Oh well, I figured, I could just reposition myself a bit to create a better layer of air insulation between the blankets and me and I would warm up and be fine.

I did not want to get up and go search for a blanket.

And so the rest of the night went, me always thinking that I had found just the right spot, dozing temporarily off, then waking, chilled, again.

In the morning, when I finally got up, it was to a clear, blue, sky and a beautiful world. Barefooted, I stepped onto the back porch to shoot this image. The porch was frozen and I felt the cold, sting of ice against my feet, but it was only for a few a seconds and I did not mind at all.

A few months back, Darlene Matumeak-Kagak got in touch with me to request a print of a photo that I took at Kivgiq 2003 of she and her sister, Mae Ahgeak, dancing with their father Warren Matumeak. Warren is pictured in my April 14 post, drumming and singing.

Providing prints to people who want them is a very difficult thing for me because, literally, I have received requests for THOUSANDS of prints, dating back to my film days and it is just impossible. Furthermore, the big majority of people who want these prints are Alaska Native who have befriended and helped me and without whom none of this work that I have done would have been possible, so it has always been my policy not to sell prints to such folk, but to give them and, despite my huge backlog of undelivered orders, I have given THOUSANDS away.

So I always tell people that if they want a picture, don't be afraid to keep sending me little reminders. In time, a reminder may well hit me when I am in a circumstance that makes it possible for me to make a print. The digital age has made it easier for me to get pictures to people in .jpg form, but even then, there are so many that it remains a challenge -plus a .jpg is not a print.

Darlene and her husband Jake have been very good to me over the years. Warren, her father, is one of the great men of the Arctic, a man who I greatly respect, love and admire. So, when I learned that he was coming to Anchorage to get chemo for cancer, I decided that I needed to make those prints right now and deliver them personally.

So here I am, in my car, looking at the Talkeetna Mountains from the stop sign at the intersection of Seldon and Lucille as I drive to Anchorage. Sitting alongside me in the passenger seat is three, 13 x 19 Velvet Fine Art prints that I had made late the night before.

The road was slick, but the temperature was rising and would hit 40 come late afternoon. I don't know what the low had been. About 10, I would guess.

Pioneer Peak and the Chugach Mountains, as I cross the Knik River bridge.

Someone in the opposing, north-bound lanes of traffic had been pulled over. Police officers were positioned at both the passenger and driver doors and, if I recall correctly, three patrol vehicles had stopped.

I don't know what happened. For all I know, in the end, the driver got off with a warning. I could do some investigative reporting and find out, but I don't think I will bother.

After I got to town, the very first thing that I did was drive out to the Dimond area to pick Melanie up so we could have lunch together. Along the way, while stopped at a red light, I saw this scene. I thought about how thin is the line that separates me from being part of it and wondered if and when I might yet cross that line.

I did not recognize the man, but maybe I know some of his family, somewhere out in Rural Alaska. Maybe some of his relatives have brought me into their home, be it a house or a camp, and have fed me.

For some reason, I failed to take any pictures during my lunch with Melanie. We got to talking and I just forgot. I can tell you this, she is a big help to me and her mom right now and to her youngest brother, too. I need to be more of a help to her.

She has also helped many cats, and that is just one of the many trillion reasons why I love her so.

As I do all my children, and those with whom they have united to bring even more family into our lives.

After I dropped Melanie off back at her work, I drove straight to the airport to meet Warren and his three daughters, who were already headed back to Barrow. Given what I had heard about his cancer, he looked surprisingly strong and good, and his spirits seemed high. He told me, though, that how he looked on the outside hid what he felt inside.

His doctors here in Anchorage had started him on some intense chemo and he would stay on it back home in Barrow for about two more weeks and then he would return. If it was having the desired effect, he would stay on it. If it wasn't... well, he said, he had experienced 82 wonderful years in this life and was ready to go to his home on the other side.

Those of us who know him here, I answered, are not ready for that. We need and want him here. This, he said, was what he also wants and is hoping for, but, if not, he is ready. He has already experienced many miracles in his life that have kept him here when it seemed, perhaps, that his time was already over.

He told me about one, in the days before snowmachines, when he had been out on the ice with his dogs and had to cross a wide section of very thin ice, one inch thick at most. His dogs did not want to go on, but he had no choice and so urged them forward. He leaned into the sled, which was buoyant. The dogs pushed forward and as they did, their paws punched repeatedly through the ice, but sea ice is flexible in a way that freshwater ice is not and the dogs managed to keep moving forward without going all the way through. A couple of times, Warren gave a push with his foot and his boot also broke through.

Finally, they reached stronger ice about two inches thick and soon were on safe ice. Warren stopped his dogs, and offered a prayer of thanks.

All too soon, it was time for them to head for security and then on to the Alaska Airlines gate where they would board their flight back to Barrow.

One of his daughters offered to get a wheelchair to make the journey a little easier for him, but Warren said, no, he needed the exercise and he would walk.

This reminded me of another of his survival miracles, one that happened about 24 years ago and that I wrote up in an early issue of Uiñiq. In that instance, Warren suffered a heart attack out on the tundra while hunting caribou with his young grandson Tommy, who, if I remember right, was eight years old at the time. Warren knew that he was going to die and so had his young grandson bundle him onto the sled and then told him to drive the snowmachine toward the moon, because in that direction he would find his grandmother at camp and could return his body to her.

It was a tough and long ride, but young Tommy saved his aapa's life. 

Afterward, I would often see Warren in the evenings on the indoor track built above the Barrow High gymnasium - walking and walking and walking, building up the strength in his heart.

Behind him here are his daughters Darlene, Alice and Mae.

This is the photo that I had printed in triplicate for them, with Darlene dancing at the left and Mae at the right. Suurimmaanitchuat.

I should note that in his work days, Warren served as Planning Director for the North Slope Borough and later as director of the North Slope Borough Wildlife Management Department. He is a choir director at the Utqeaqvik Presbyterian Church and is well known for his oratory from behind the pulpit.

Do any of you regular readers ever pick up on the conflict that tears always within me, between the pull of my communal home on the Arctic Slope and my physical and blood-family home in Wasilla?

Now, at Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage, I had once again taken a mental trip back to the communal home, but it was time to return to Wasilla. As stated in the sidebar at right, one of the primary reasons that I started this blog was to better get to know Wasilla, where I have lived now for nearly 30 years. Yet, outside my house and family, Wasilla is a town in which I have mostly been a stranger, because my work, heart, and soul has always been out in the rural areas where I have done my work.

Yet, I love Wasilla and I want to know what this place, where I have for so long kept a physical presence, is all about. I want to find its soul, but, even since I started this blog, a lack of time and financial resource has severely limited my search. I am not even close to meeting this goal.

Perhaps I am little bit frightened by this goal, too. I don't know.

As I drove back to Wasilla, I passed this Volkswagen.

The first car that Margie and I ever owned was a lemon-yellow Super Beetle. We loved that car like we have loved no car since - but I do love the Ford Escape. Among the many cars that we have now ground down, I love the Escape second only to the Super Beetle.

Back in Wasilla, it was Tax Day, and the Liberty Tax mascot was out, seeking to draw in those who had procrastinated almost beyond hope.

It would prove to be a very hard tax day for us, as we came up owing, with no funds to pay the difference. It won't be fun, but we will get through this. It happened before, in 1997, about ten times worse than now. We got through it. I never wanted it to happen again, but it did, and we will get through it again.

Not far down the road, I saw a man riding his four-wheeler like he was part of the US Calvary, leading a caravan of three, charging to the rescue of his beleaguered nation on Tax Day, charging to Wasilla's Tea Party rally.

All of a sudden, my coverage of Tax Day and the Tea Party is interrupted. This is because, as I sat here, diligently working on my report, my office door flew open and Kalib came charging in.

His mother had brought him and Jobe out to visit us while she goes to Metro Cafe to go online and do some homework.

I thought he had come rushing in to hug me, so I extended my arms, but he was not interested in giving his grandpa a hug. He just wanted to feed his grandpa's fish, and he didn't want to waste any time getting at it.

After he fed the fish, he disappeared, but I soon followed him into the living room and this is what I found: Kalib, Caleb, and Jobe.

In time, I came back to the blog, but I had stated that I would have it up no later than noon and here it is, nearly 2:00 PM, and I cannot spend another minute of this day working on this blog.

So I will save the tea party part for tomorrow. Or, perhaps, by then, life will have moved on and so will I have and my tea party coverage will just languish, perhaps to one day be seen, perhaps never.

We will see.

PS: My niece, Shaela Ann Cook, has a new blog. I have given her a link and invite all to visit her site. You will see that her outlook towards food is very different than mine, but it doesn't matter. We love each other and she supports Iñupiat whaling. She wants to make a movie on my book, Gift of the Whale, if only she could find the means.

I take an intermission from my New York series to bring you... Kalib and Jobe! Plus their two fur sibs!

I will return to finish off the New York series with Chie and then probably one more post, but, having been gone for so long, I got lonesome to see my grandsons. I grabbed Margie and headed to town, where we found Kalib at the window, waiting for us.

Margie and Kalib looked out the window at the advance of the spring.

I'm not quite sure how Margie pulled off this little balancing act, but Kalib was mighty interested.

Kalib was sleepy when we arrived and soon lay down to take a nap.

And Jobe woke up from his nap. I was amazed to see how he had grown and filled out in the time that I had been gone. He looks like a dapper little man now.

Jobe, on my lap.

Jobe and his grandma. We let Lavina borrow our car to go off and study her math.

Soon, Jobe wanted to nap again. Margie tied him into his cradleboard.

Margie peeks in at Jobe.

I had to go over and peek in, too. This is what I saw.

Fur sibling Martigny.

Fur sibling Muzzy.

As for me, I am unspeakably tired. And I have other tasks that I must do. So I am going to wait until Monday morning to return to my New York series and Chie Sakakibara.

Truth is, I am just flat-out exhausted.

I don't think I will ever recover.

I return to Anchorage for the final Barrow Whaler games, then visit an under-the-weather Kalib and and a bright-eyed Jobe

I drove back to Anchorage today to photograph the final games of both the Barrow Whaler Ladies and the Barrow Whalers.

I simply do not have time right now to edit and prepare those photos, but I will share this one of Kalib that I took afterward. Margie had been babysitting both he and Jobe so that Lavina could go watch some ball playing herself.

Poor Kalib, though - he still was not feeling good.

When Lavina and I came back, he had just fallen asleep on the couch.

Lavina carried him off to bed.

Lavina, and Jobe. Intellectually, I know that babies do this, yet, it still amazes to see how much he has grown both physically and mentally in just over a month.

I suppose I can take just a little bit of time to add one picture that I took at the games, just as a contrast of a baby at seven months to Jobe's one. This is a Barrow baby and I was introduced to him and I memorized his name but I did not speak it into my cell phone and I have forgotten it.

Compared to Jobe, he looked downright huge.

I guess I will quickly grab, without taking any real time to edit or search through my larger take, one photo each from the boys' and girls' games.

Both teams played the consolation match for third place. Meimoana Havea looks for a shot as Dana Chrestman sets up a screen. I'm afraid the Whaler Ladies lost to Sitka, 24-53.

The Barrow boys, however, beat Mt. Edgecumbe, 66 to 46. Forrest Enlow makes it difficult for Mt. Edgecumbe to throw the ball into play.

This is Abu's mom.

And this Johnny Leavitt, who wants a copy of this picture, plus a few dozen more that I have taken of him at various moments in the past.

Here's this one, Johnny.

And here's June and Juko Aiken with a rowdy group of young fans.

I suppose, having gone this far, I cannot leave the Barrow cheerleaders out.

Now some of the smaller villages have their tournament, including the Point Hope Boys and the Wainwright Girls. I think I must stay home both Thursday and Friday, but I will go back Saturday, when I expect to see some of the village kids battling for their championships.

On the day that Lance Mackey wins his fourth straight Iditarod, I meet a husky, go to the Barrow Whaler girls game, visit baby Jobe; Pioneer Peak

In the morning, I took a walk and this airplane flew overhead. It felt like our poor excuse for a winter had ended. It was warm - in the 30's and would rise into the 40's come afternoon.

Shortly after the plane passed over, I saw this woman, walking this husky. Somewhere, I have both of their names written down from a much earlier meeting, but I don't know where.

Just before 3:00 PM in the afternoon, the nose of Lance Mackey's lead dog would cross the finish line under the burled arch in Nome, giving cancer survivor Mackey his history-setting fourth straight Iditarod win - and he has won that many Yukon Quests. No one else in the history of dog mushing has accomplished such a feat. If you haven't already, you can read about it here at the Anchorage Daily News or here at the Alaska Dispatch.

When Mackey crossed the finish line, I was at the Sullivan Arena in Anchorage, ready to photograph the semi-finals Class 3A basketball game between the Barrow Whaler girls and the Mount Edgecumbe Braves.

Five Barrow starters were suspended by their coach when they were caught drinking on a road trip earlier in the season. Most people figured that it was it for this team this year, but the younger, less-experienced players continued on and played hard and strong. They won the Western Conference Championship and a spot in the State Championship tournament. On Monday, they won their first game against Cordorva.

I was not there, but today I went to the semi-final. In the third quarter, the whalers were down by 12, but in the last two minutes came within three points of the Braves, but lost 34-29.

I took quite a few pictures and they are still downloading into my computer. I have no time to edit them for this blog post and so just pulled this shot from the pre-start huddle. I have not yet taken even my first glance at any of the action pictures.

Wasilla played at the Sullivan today, too - and won - and some may wonder why I did not photograph them as well - especially since three of my children graduated from Wasilla High.

I could only spare the time to go to one game, though and my community ties remain much closer to Barrow than to Wasilla. Plus, I have a little publication that I have put together that this will fit nicely into. The problem is, that publication is completely done and I am just waiting for my client to finish the review before it goes to press. 

I do not want to take anything more out of it than I already have, but I want to put the Barrow Whaler girls in, so I need to find a way.

After the game, I stopped and paid a visit to baby Jobe. I was amazed to see how alert he was. He studied everything, including me.

Kalib was home, too, but he was sick and asleep. I never got to see him.

I hate even to mention it, but this was also the day that a judge held a hearing and made the divorce of my beloved youngest son and the wife he so greatly loves final, save for a bit of paperwork.

So it was a sad day, but, as it always does, life went on and it will continue to.

As I drove back into Wasilla, I looked into my rearview mirror and there loomed Pioneer Peak.

Twelve studies of Jobe on the day that he turned four weeks old (Kalib works his way in, too)

Jobe at four weeks, Study # 1: It had been too long since we had last seen Jobe and so on this, the day that he turned four weeks old, Margie and I shirked our various responsibilities and drove into Anchorage to visit him. Kalib was at daycare. Lavina had been spending all of her time inside the house, caring for baby, so we let her take our car and we stayed alone with Jobe.

Here he is, sleeping in his grandma's arms.

Study # 2: Sleeping in his grandma's arms, another view.

He begins to wake up.

He wakes up and cries out for milk. Margie hands him to me and then goes to the kitchen to warm up a bottle of momma's breast milk that Lavina left in the refrigerator. 

Now he is in my arms.

His little hand.

He brings his little hand to his mouth.

Margie returns with the milk, takes Jobe from me and feeds him. The bottle leaks. His pajamas get wet.

Margie lays him upon the changing table. Blue dolphins swim through the air above him.

After removing his wet clothing, grandma puts dry ones on him.

Having changed him, grandma smooths out his pajama collar.

Grandma holds and pats him as Kalib looks out at me from a picture that I took when he was within a week of the same age.

Jobe at four weeks, Study # 12: Back in his mother's arms. Before returning to the house, she stopped at daycare, picked Kalib up early and brought him home.

Kalib also starred in many shots after this. It is my intent to continue on with this day's take tomorrow, with the emphasis on Kalib.

But who knows what will happen between now and then?

Still, it is my intent. I'm pretty sure I will do it.