Blueberry picking on the Arctic tundra. This photograph was used in a Ted Talk about Climate Change. Sarichef Island, September, 2010
As is the case anywhere one might go, there are multiple realities in Shishmaref – or in any bush village. Some of these realities fit together neatly in a positive and even happy manner, like smiling faces after berry picking on a pleasantly crisp fall morning. Some realities exist more as collective memories, and you’d have to dig and observe closely to find their vestiges. Other realities contradict and clash and it can be difficult to understand how they are connected to the broader cultural, and still other realities go mostly undiscussed – pretended away – as they seep into village fabric like a sludgy toxin.
A reality in the “sludgy toxin” category in most bush communities we are familiar with are the schools. For anyone who was fortunate enough to be educated in a fairly decent k-12 system, or who has taught in such schools, the level of professional misfeasance and malfeasance – the combination of indifference, incompetence and outright corruption in Alaska’s bush schools – would probably defy belief. Before coming to Alaska, Barbra and I taught in good schools in the lower 48. So we know what that looks like. Nothing in that experience prepared us for what we encountered in the Alaskan Bush. The blame, when one talks to many teachers and administrators in bush Alaska, is placed on the children themselves and their parents. These educators and administrators spin their tales to state legislators, the governor’s office, department of education officials, university education departments and anyone else who asks, and Alaska’s state legislators, the governor’s office, department of education officials and university personnel nod along, agreeing that little can be done to improve matters.
But the reality is that any of the schools we taught in, visited or heard about from others could have easily… and I emphasize easily… been improved with a bit of competent administration. The acquiescence to self-serving fictions among Alaska’s leadership – the phony wistful sighs followed by reassurances among themselves that the problems can’t be fixed, so therefore they aren’t obliged to try – continues year after year.
Because it is easy to dismiss these bush schools and the Native communities they serve. After all, these are other people’s children.
Thank you for allowing me to finally get that off my chest. Comments, as always, are welcome. JD
In bush communities such as Shishmaref, virtually everything comes into the village either by plane or by barge. Trucks, boats, hondas*, snowmachines*, pipes, building materials, food, clothing, clothing washers, bags of chips, cases of pop, birthday presents… It’s not practical to ship out empty detergent bottles, worn out dryers, broken down vehicles or broken toys. So most of the refuse goes to a local dump. In these modern times, when most of what is consumed takes a very long time to return to its elemental or mineral form, whatever isn’t burned remains there – buried or piled high. And there it will remain till the sea comes one day. (Photograph by Barbra Donachy, October 31, 2010)
* “Honda” is the Alaskan term for quad or ATV. “Snowmachine” is Alaskan for snowmobile. Out in the bush, bicycles are often called pedal bikes to distinguish them from hondas/ATVs, which are also often called bikes.
This camp along the shore of the Chukchi Sea almost looks like an ocean going vessel, the cabin itself the wheelhouse, a flag marking the vessel’s bow as it faces a fall sea. Snow but no ice, you can see how the ravenous ocean eats at the shoreline of tiny Sarichef Island. All this will be gone one day… perhaps in not so many years. October 31, 2010
An abandoned home in Shishmaref faces an encroaching sea.
It is reported that since 1969, the ocean has eaten away 200 feet of land along the coast of already tiny Sarichef Island where Shishmaref is located. In the past, a sheet of ice forming in fall and lasting through spring kept the Chukchi sea blanketed and calm. Warming sea temperatures in the Arctic mean the ocean is freezing later. When fall and winter storms occur, packing winds that have traveled uninterrupted over thousands of miles of open sea, the surf thus generated claws at the barrier island without mercy. Particularly violent storms can rip away massive chunks of land. Entire homes have been washed away, a fate this abandoned house appears to be facing. Photograph: October 10, 2010
To imagine Shishmaref, begin with Sarichef Island where the village is situated. Sarichef is one of several low-lying barrier islands running for about 70 miles along the northwest shore of Alaska’s Seward Peninsula. If you’ve ever been to North Carolina’s Outer Banks, you have some idea of such islands. Sand is everywhere. The above photo depicts a section of the main thoroughfare traversing this village of about 570 residents. There are no roads connecting Shishmaref with the larger world. Vehicles and building materials arrive primarily by ocean barge. Groceries are freighted in by plane. Because of the added freight costs, everything in the small local store is quite expensive. Pink salmon and Dolly Varden Char which migrate along the beach, seals taken from the nearby sea, and Musk Oxen, Caribou, an occasional Moose and waterfowl along with blueberries and Cloudberries taken from the mainland supplement most diets.
In 2010-2011 when we lived there, virtually the entire community was without the kind of city plumbing considered necessary in most of North America. The white plastic container near the middle of the street is where “honey buckets” are emptied into. These containers are then taken to a settling lagoon. Most houses have large water tanks of up to about 300 gallons which must regularly be refilled. The closest village is Wales, population about 145, over 70 roadless miles down the coast.
Flying into the village of Shishmaref for the first time was an unforgettable thrill. This wintertime photograph, in which the barrier island upon which Shishmaref is located appears to be connected to land, belies the village’s isolation. That is ice, not terra firma, surrounding Sarichef Island which encompasses only 2.8 square miles and rises no higher than 13 feet above the surrounding sea. The village itself is home to fewer than 600 mostly Inupiat residents. Tucked up against the ever encroaching Chukchi Sea, Shishmaref lies a mere 20 miles below the Arctic Circle, 105 miles from the Siberian coastline across the Bering Strait, 601 miles from Anchorage and 2,939 miles from L.A. The wintertime winds, with a fetch of perhaps thousands of miles across frozen northern seas, blew at times with terrifying ferocity and cold, on one memorable occasion all but burying the village in snow.
In the next few photos to come, I will try to show a bit about life in this remote village which is perhaps best known as being on the vanguard of the impacts of climate warming, but where also there is beautifully crafted artwork and a spirit of resilience. As always, your comments are welcome.
When we first came to Alaska back in 2009, you could still make the 49 mile drive from Cordova to the Million Dollar Bridge (the Bridge to Nowhere). Across the broad, swift, roily Copper River, massive Childs Glacier towered. We had just completed the Salmon Jam half-marathon. Along with another couple, we rented a car and made the drive out through the vast delta wetlands along a mostly unpaved rough, pot-holed road – Trumpeter Swans, other waterfowl, beaver lodges, bear scat and even a couple of moose along the way, distant mountains, our eyes wide with Alaska wow.
Barbra was our primary photographer in those days. We had identified an area that was active, popping and cracking, sloughing off showers of ice. “That entire face is going to go,” I predicted. Barbra set up the camera on a tripod and programmed it to take a shot every second. (The result was like a stop action film.) Shortly after the above shot was made, a wave of five or six feet came barreling toward us with a speed that caught us off guard. I grabbed the tripod as we scrambled for higher ground. Back in Cordova, upon seeing the photos on our camera a Forest Service Ranger told us we had witnessed a “once in every five years or so event.”
Barbra and I hiked from the Arctic village of Point Hope about three miles across the frozen Chukchi Sea to where a Bowhead Whale had been caught. These Inupiat crews still use handmade wood-framed boats fitted with seal skin hulls. Here the crew is preparing to bring the whale up onto the ice. It is cold, difficult work; that day a man lost part of his finger setting up the block-and-tackle. But it is joyous, too, as the meat and blubber is distributed throughout the village. After taking this picture, I handed the camera to Barbra and added my shoulder to the tow rope.
I have recently (mostly) completed curating over a decade’s worth of photographs taken during the years we lived in the Alaska Bush – villages not accessible by road. Keep watching this site for a new photograph each day. Your comments are appreciated. JD
The flower petals have dropped. Tiny, hard berries are taunting me with their promise. It will be quite some time before they will be ripe and ready for picking. Normally, when I canât stand the wait for this summerâs fruit, I usually have last yearâs berries stashed in my freezer to bake with while I oh-so-patiently wait for this yearâs fruit to mature. With the move this year, we gifted our stash to friends at the Lake. So, I wait.
We all know Iâm not really going to wait to play in the kitchen. đ Now that I have not one, but two grocery stores nearby, I donât have to keep a stocked pantry like we did at the Lake. But pantry items do drive inspiration. We mailed quite a bit of dry goods that we hadn’t used up. Boxes of pasta, pounds of rice and cans of pumpkin puree didnât trigger any ideas. There was this bag of mini-marshmallows tucked away. I had purchased them for hot cocoa. What about hot cocoa cookies? Rocky road bars? Marshmallow thumbprints? None of these ideas appealed to me. Then I thought sâmores! I am a sâmores fan, but only in small quantities. I enjoy the summertime fireside treat in ones or twos. What if the essence of chocolate, graham crackers, and toasted marshmallows were featured in cookies instead of their original over-sweet form? The result? A chewy cookie with bursts of chocolate, crunches of graham cracker, and bites of gooey marshmallow.
The recipe was a successful distraction until the real show starts. (C’mon berries!) Between now and then, I will keep myself occupied with processing spruce tip syrup. And maybe figuring out a way to bake with pasta, rice, and pumpkin? Or not.
Double Chocolate Sâmore Cookies – small batch
Ingredients
1 cup all-purpose flour
3 tbsp dutch-processed cocoa powder
1/4 cup graham cracker crumbs
1 tsp baking soda
Pinch salt
1 stick unsalted butter, room temperature
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1 large egg
1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup mini marshmallows (and a few extra for finishing)
1 sheet graham cracker, roughly chopped
Directions
Preheat oven to 375°F.
Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
In a bowl, whisk together flour, cocoa powder, graham cracker crumbs, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.
Using electric mixer, beat butter and sugars until light and fluffy.
Mix in vanilla.
Mix in egg.
Slowly add in flour mixture. Mix until incorporated.
Fold in chocolate chips, marshmallows and chopped graham cracker.
I used a 1 1/2 tbsp cookie scoop to spoon out 12 portions of dough to place on prepared cookie sheet.
Bake cookies for 10 minutes.
Quickly remove baking sheet from oven and add a few more marshmallows on each cookie. Place back in the oven for 2 additional minutes.
When done, cookies will be firm on the edges and soft in the middle. Allow to cool for about 5 minutes on sheet before removing to cool completely on a wire rack.
Light and creamy vanilla cheesecake drizzled flooded with wineberry syrup. Just building the anticipation for berry-picking season.
For most, I imagine spring flowers sow hope for warmer weather and start dreams of sunny summer adventures. The flowers of this particular spring were different for me.
For the last two summers, Jack and I have spent countless hours studying and identifying all the flowers we could find in the surrounding areas of Chignik Lake. It was a beautiful education. The flowering season began with chocolate lilies and ended with tiny white yarrow with lilac-colored geranium sustaining throughout. Along the growing months from May through October, a rainbow of blossoming gems ebbed and flowed. Although I loved seeing and identifying all the blooms, the flowers that gave me the most joy were the ones that I knew would transform into fruit. As we hiked through the months, I would monitor the progress of my miniature crops as they turned from tiny bud to flower to hard little fruit, and then to the final stage of delectable berry treasures that were ready to harvest.
Whenever Jack and I visit different places, we regularly look for flowers. It is interesting to us to see which flowers we have learned about at the Lake which also grow in other places. As it turns out, we are now in a new place. Yes, a surprising plot twist.
We would not have guessed we were going to make a moveâŠeven as late as this recent February. A principal job was opening at my school and I was just about finished with my credentialing coursework. We loved our community and our home. We have close friends and a deep connection to Chignik Lake. But life happens. Way leads to way. Turned out the way that opened was a door we had been keeping an eye on for a long time.
If youâve been following our story for a long while (like thirteen years long), youâll remember that our whole Alaska adventure began with a summer-long trip. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime trips that people do. A hobby at that time had been running destination half marathons. Jack found an interesting destination that would align this hobby with a blend of other interests like road-tripping, camping, boating, and of course visiting Alaska. With just six days to make it up the Al-Can, launching our trusty C-Dory in Valdez, and boating over to the destination Salmon Jam Half Marathon in Cordova Alaska, we would start a journey that we had no idea would change our life. On the way home from that Epic Alaska Summer Adventure, we decided that Alaska would become home. In the way life sometimes circles and spirals, we find ourselves back in Cordova. This time, it is not a travel destination, but a new home.
A common thread in all of our our Alaskan homes has been the opportunity to forage for interesting edible plants. How fortunate are we to live in a big beautiful state that offers so many wild foodsâŠamong my all-time favorites – berries! We discovered many flowers on our initial hikes on the trails in the Chugach National Forest. Iâm happy to report blueberry, low bush and high bush cranberry, salmonberry, currant, nagoonberry and lots of strawberry flowers. Now, in this new place, I get to follow my familiar summertime tradition of monitoring all of these flowersâ progress from bud to fruit. With any luck, weâll find lots to harvest later this summer.
Jack suggested I share my process for making wineberry (aka nagoonberry) syrup. Most people find the process to be tedious. It’s pretty simple, actually. After picking the precious gems from your secret spot, take them home and xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx. For each cup of processed berries add 1/4 cup of water. Simmer the berries until soft. Smash the mixture with a potato masher. Separate the juice from the pulp by suspending a cheesecloth over a . Every time I try to publish this, it gets redacted. I guess the FBI doesn’t want it shared – (Fruit and Berry Interagency). đ
For this creation, I used a no-bake cheesecake recipe adapted from a blog I follow, Sally’s Baking Addiction. I modified it to make a 4-inch version, which is perfect for two hungry writers, or can be served to four for a nice little sweet bite at the end of a meal. I like the no-bake version to complement fruit syrups because it is light and airy but still retains the tanginess of the flavor you’d expect from a cheesecake.
4-inch No Bake Cheesecake
Ingredients
Crust
1/2 cup graham cracker crumbs
1.5 tbsp brown sugar
3 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
Cheesecake
1/4 cup + 1 tbsp heavy whipping cream
6 oz. cream cheese, room temp
2 tbsp granulated sugar
1/2 tbsp powdered sugar
1 tbsp sour cream
1/2 tsp lemon juice
1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract
Directions
To make the crust, stir together crust ingredients. Pour into a 4-inch springform pan. Use the back of a spoon to pack the crust tightly against the bottom and sides of the pan. Place pan in freezer while the filling is being made.
Using an electric mixer fitted with a whisk attachment, whisk heavy cream until stiff peaks are formed. Scrape whipped cream into a separate bowl.
Using the original bowl you used for whipping cream, beat cream cheese and granulated sugar together until smooth.
Add powdered sugar, sour cream, lemon and vanilla. Beat again until mixture is smooth.
Gently fold whipped cream into cream cheese mixture.
Spread cheesecake filling into prepared crust.
Cover with plastic wrap and let cheesecake chill and set. I left it in the fridge for about 18 hours.
When ready to serve, loosen the chilled cheesecake by running a knife around the perimeter of the pan before springing it open. I prefer to serve the cheesecake without any syrup and let my guests adorn their own. It definitely adds to the anticipation and the wow factor.
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