a road trip and a job

For that last several weeks, I've been thinking a lot about work next year.  My original intention was simply to spend my three months here and then go home and look for a job in the Marquette area, which promises to be a challenge, especially right now.  But the whole time I've been up here, and even over the phone before I came, people have been intimating that I should consider a regular teaching position in the district.  Back in February I mentioned it to Carrie, and to my surprise she was amenable to the idea.  It would be an adventure for our little family, and it would provide us with a financial cushion to face the tough Michigan job market the following year.


So I began talking with Robert Stewart, HR director for the district, about where they might be able to use me.  He told me he'd put me to work, it was just a matter of deciding where, offered me a contract before he even knew what positions would be open.  I waited to see.


And then a couple weeks ago I heard about a job in Saint Marys, the next village upriver, which has its own independent school district.  More than one person who had gotten to know me insisted that I would love it there.  They do a lot of active learning, like hunting trips with the kids, and try to present subject-area material in ways that are meaningful for them, in the context of their culture and habits.  The village actually grew around an old Russian Orthodox mission school.  The people who moved there originally did so because they valued education, so the community has a good disposition toward school.  That doesn't mean there aren't problems, but certainly makes for an advantageous starting point.  Further, it is run by a guy who really values active education, getting the kids doing things, rather than just reading a textbook and turning in homework.  It sounded fantastic.


I got in touch with the superintendent there, Dave Herbert, and he expressed interest in meeting me or talking on Skype.  My mentor here, Rusty Clark, was a strong proponent of finding a ride and actually going in person, so when Dave and I talked on Wednesday and I found out he'd be out of town the rest of the week, I started asking around to see if anyone would be willing to take me up there that afternoon.


Dmitri and Teresa came through!  Dmitri called his son Jackie, and for the cost of a couple quarts of oil and a tank of gas, Jackie took me to St Marys, hung out while Dave and I talked, and brought me home.  Longest trip I've ever taken on a snow machine (the term snowmobile doesn't exist here, as I may have said before), and I had to figure out how to be a passenger on one.  It was fairly bumpy and tossy, and there was nothing to hold onto, so I put my hands on Jackie's shoulders, turned my toes out, and gripped the machine with my heels--just like riding a horse.

Dave and I totally hit it off; he strikes me as an absolutely first rate educator.  I think he has the right attitudes on so many things!  One of which, sadly for me, is the importance of continuity in an educational community--meaning he wants someone who is committed to spending at least two years there, which is a promise I can't make.  Of course, in theory I could say Sure, I'll be here two years, and then just back out after one.  I wouldn't be on a contract or anything, so legally that's possible.  But I don't think I'd be capable of lying like that, even to someone I didn't care about.  To someone I have quickly come to respect and admire very highly, it hurts my heart even to imagine such dishonesty.  Not that I know for certain I won't be up here more than a year, but I'd compare the likelihood of that to the likelihood of changing my mind altogether about teaching and going back to long-haul trucking:  Yes, the future is fundamentally unknown; but realistically, it's just not in the cards.  

What kind of breaks my heart about the whole thing is that I passionately support his position.  The kind of community he has built around that school, and will be working to rebuild next year, requires the kind of continuity he's looking for in his staff.  The deepest and best kind of learning is only possible with a deep-seated trust, and that arises only in relationships that are fostered and nurtured over a significant period of time.  So I had to back out, and I dearly hope he finds the perfect person for his school, who will love the place and the kids and the community, and stay for years and years.

The other big factor for me is the certainty available here in LYSD.  If I was totally on board with the time commitment, it still would only have made me  a contender for the position; it's not like he promised me the job.  Then I would have had to interview again, with the board there, probably over Skype, and because Dave is taking the time and care that really ought to be taken with such matters (again, doing it right), I wouldn't have known until I was back home.  And then if I didn't get it, I'd be stuck in Michigan with no promise of employment there or Alaska, and no access to the people doing the hiring up here.  

Contrast that with this:  After making the decision Thursday, I stopped by the district office on my way home and signed a contract.  Next year, I'll be teaching middle school math and science in Pilot Station.  Done.  That's a serious comfort.  If I was twenty-two and single, it wouldn't much matter; I'd figure something out.  I've lived most of my adult life below the poverty line, and it never much bothered me; I've always had nice stuff and been plenty comfortable.  But now I have real bills to pay, and a family to support, and scraping by on whatever comes along doesn't work anymore.

So I took the job here in the district, and I feel great about it.  There is a part of me that's deeply sad at missing the chance to work in what truly looks like a dream job for someone like me.  But that sadness is part and parcel of a great joy at knowing that school is there, that those people are there, in a good place, doing good work, furthering the greater good.  There is no more gratifying thought.  I hope hope hope that Carrie and I will have a chance to make it over there for a visit next year.  I was so impressed with Dave, and with the place, that I feel like I want to maintain a connection and know what's going on there, even if I'm not involved.

Oh!  And one other cool thing about the job in Pilot--Stacey, my current vice-principal, will be the principal there next year, which should be great.  I like her a lot, and her kids seem really cool.  I guess her older daughter is graduating, and her younger daughter is below my age group, but it will be nice to have a couple familiar faces in the halls at the beginning of the year.  It's an incredible relief to have a job lined up before I go home.  I am very grateful. 

a visitation

I just spent some time at a visitation for a little girl who died here in the village last Thursday.  I was nervous about going, unsure if I would be welcome, but I bought some oranges and asked a woman at the store if she thought it would be okay and where the house was.  It was pretty hard, but I'm glad I went.  I got to talk with the mom, Eskie, for a while; Acelynn was adopted from Pilot Station and had been having some ongoing health problems since Christmas--eczema, new allergies, and then she came down with pneumonia and I guess the antibiotics didn't knock it out.  Siri had pneumonia this year.  She's okay.

Bernie and Eskie are an older couple with some grown kids, and I'm not sure of the whole story--maybe they just loved kids and wanted more--but they adopted Acelynn some time ago, maybe when she was just a little baby, I'm not sure.  She would have been three next month.  I got to visit with their toddler grandson Clyde for a while.  He was interested in my hair and beard and glasses, charming and adorable.

Acelynn was laid out on a low platform on the floor with her little hands crossed on her stomach, a rosary wrapped around one.  I kept glancing over and imagining I saw her breathing; it was strange to watch closely and not see her chest move.  One of the impressions I got was that I was amongst people who were much more familiar with death than I am.

I stayed for quite a while, sitting quietly, saying pujas and refuges, and occasionally talking with people nearby.  I was offered some juice and a 7up, and I had a bit of fry-bread.  Finally I knelt down and put my hand over hers, said a final puja, and excused myself.

I don't really know what you can say about death.  A natural part of life, to be sure, but it's awfully difficult and sad to lose someone you care about.  Strange to think that a few generations ago, what happened here was a pretty normal thing that most families would have experienced.  Would it be less sad if it was more normal?
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A post-script:  Apparently, Acelynn had various health problems throughout her short life.  It was suggested to me that her biological parents may have been a little too closely related, which might have had a part in that.  Someone in town made a beautiful little coffin, as they didn't want to use a big one.  So now the body is lying in its final bed, wearing a lovely fur parka.

Going today was much easier than yesterday.  I had stopped at Lucy's house for a visit because she was out of town over the weekend, and she was there with her granddaughter Rayna, as usual, and also her daughter. It turned out they were headed over to the visitation as well, so I got a lift in a very nice borrowed pickup truck.  Showing up with some locals, and already being slightly acquainted with the family and the house and the idea of being in a room with a body, all made me far more comfortable than I was yesterday.  This made it much easier to just be in the space, share the grief, and try to realize compassion and wisdom for Acelynn and her family.

I took along a couple small boxes of food, the remainder of my too-large bush order, and again I was unsure if it would just be silly to offer them a bunch of raw ingredients, but they seemed pleased.  All in all, I'm amazed at how welcome I felt in their home.  There were loads of people there today, almost standing room only.  It was good to see, and I felt blessed and privileged to be a part of it.

appallingly obvious

This talk by David Brooks reminded me uncannily of a blog post I wrote last year about the apparent conflict between the realms of thinking and feeling, ego and id, Apollonian and Dionysian, head and heart.  My basic point was that I think the primary basis of our decision-making processes is not the rational mind, as we tend to assume, but rather the emotional core that underlies our conscious selves.  Brooks takes this much further, giving the idea a most affirming and clarifying boost, at least for me, by saying that "emotions are not separate from reason, but they are the foundation of reason because they tell us what to value."

But what's really interesting is that I came to this conclusion very much from the heart side--this is what I feel to be true--whereas Brooks approaches it almost entirely from the head side, via the modern scientific study of the mind and brain.  Yet we reach largely the same conclusion.

To repeat the quote from that older post:  Einstein said, "It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity."  In light of what Brooks has to say on the matter, I am suddenly wondering if our humanity isn't beginning to catch up--and how ironic that it should do so using the tools of technology!

of tea, and guspuks, and of course, more hiking

That was the best workout my legs have had in a long time.  I went up to watch the sunset and decided to head down the far side.  Well, it's a pretty tall hill, and while the near side is a long, gradual slope, the far is quite steep.  So I went down the hill on my back (ehem, maybe a couple times) and hiked along the base for a while, then needed to get back over the ridge to get home.  Luckily, more than half my climb was eased by a snowmobile track, but after that ran out there was a whole lot of climbing and sinking and scrambling and backsliding involved in reaching the top.  I think I'm going to feel that tomorrow.

Earlier, I paid a visit to Lucy and got a look at my nearly-finished guspuk--it is awesome!  And nearly finished; I'll post pictures wearing it as soon as it's ready, likely tomorrow.  I even got to try it on, and it's wonderful.  I took along some nice green tea that I brought from Marquette (haven't been drinking it very often, so there's plenty left, figured I'd share), and we talked for an hour or more about life and stories.  A few things bear repeating.

Most memorable for me was how she learned to sew and work with her hands.  Lucy went to an Indian school in Oregon for part of her childhood, and when she came home she discovered that her mother had contracted tuberculosis and had to be hospitalized.  If I understood right, she wound up being gone several years, so Lucy didn't have a chance to learn to sew from her mother, at least not at any length.  When I asked Lucy how she learned (and she really is quite brilliant at it), she said as a young woman she would look at other people's clothes and simply try to copy what they did.  Clearly, she has a real talent, and when I pointed this out, she explained that when she was little her mother (presumably before she left) sat Lucy and her sister down and told them to take a centipede and rub it between their hands until there was nothing left of it, for this was a way to ensure that the girls would be clever with their fingers and able to master the fine motor skills that were once critical to a family's survival, and remain an important part of Yup'ik culture.  Her sister was frightened of the little creature, but Lucy rubbed and rubbed until the centipede was completely gone, and she evidently attributes her knack to this practice.  She even said that down on the coast people used to use a spider in the same way.  Both make such sense!  If you want to be skilled in a very fine, small-scale task like sewing, what better creature to emulate than a centipede or a spider?  I have learned very little, sadly, about traditional Yup'ik culture, but this story is wonderful.

At some point, we were talking about baking bread.  When she was a little girl, they had a wood stove that they could bake bread in, and after their mother was gone, the kids were more or less on their own.  Their father would leave very early in the morning with his dog team, and he'd be gone until nightfall checking traps or gathering wood.  If there was a problem or argument at home, the kids had to work it out for themselves, and they had to cook and run the household as well.

Somehow the topic of bread reminded me of my great-great-grandmother coming over from Italy as a young woman and crying because there was no chestnut tree in the yard (Dad, is that right?) of her new house, so she didn't know how she would make bread for her family.  Of course that led me to the story my Great-Grandma Rosa used to tell about coming over on the boat, four years old, and having two younger siblings.  Since her mother's arms were full, Rosa had to hold onto her mother's skirts--she used to show us how she gripped a handful and twisted her fist around.  I did this for Lucy, and she seemed suitably impressed.

And of course, we talked about kids these days.  Her granddaughter Rayna (whom my parents met on skype) was across the room watching TV and snacking on Doritoes, and Lucy cast an occasional glance at her as she explained to me that she never spoke disrespectfully to her father, as long as he lived.  She even mentioned in passing that her husband was very abusive, and she would run away sometimes, but she always came back to him because she didn't want her children to be without a mother.  They say an executive in today's hectic business world needs an ability to make "tough decisions."  Lucy certainly seems to have had her share of experience with this.

Lucy grew up in a now-abandoned village some miles downriver from here.  Their old house is apparently the last one still standing up.  In her life, she has witnessed an astonishing transformation in her culture, and rather than reaching a 'new normal' the people can get used to, the pace of change actually continues to increase.  Not just here, or course, this is true all over.  It's a fascinating time to be alive!

a couple random things

This morning, for the first time, there was a distinct glow on the horizon as I walked to work.  It provided more than enough light to see my way along through the snowy field behind the Hilton.  Hitherto, except when there's a moon, I usually just stumble along over the faint and featureless snowscape toward the distant street lights, occasionally tripping over a fresh drift or sinking thigh deep off the edge of the trodden path.  It seems this will no longer be a problem.  We're still picking up some six minutes of sunlight with each passing day.

A very funny image, from Neil Gaiman's blog.  I'm a great fan of mistranslation, and this little menu or ticket or whatever is an absolute classic of the genre.  I just hope it turns up with adequate resolution to read.

And finally, I've been invited for a steam by my friend Jim, a contact from school and pickup basketball.  Jim is a white guy like me, but I won't hold that against him.  ;)   I intend to enjoy it immensely.  And I have to go.

close encounter

Since I got here, the only wild animals I've seen are birds, and not very many.  The scrub teams with little critters; there are tracks everywhere.  But I haven't seen so much as a rabbit, much less a coyote or moose.  Last night I took a hike up over the ridge to watch the sunset, and I sat down to watch the colors drift away, then meditated for a good long while in the slowly fading light.  Well, it seemed like a long while, but I haven't been sitting for long periods lately, so I'm sure it wasn't much more than twenty or thirty minutes.  When I was done, I got up and started fiddling with my clothes, getting the camera put away and slung across my back, turned to start back, and there was a red fox not fifty feet away, trotting briskly toward me.  He paused when I turned, but when I held still in a moment of surprise, he started toward me again and would have passed within ten or twenty feet of me had I not foolishly fumbled for my camera and popped the flash up.  Between the partial flash it uses to focus in low light, and me raising my arms up to hold the camera to my eye, I made myself sufficiently obnoxious to chase him off.  By the time I lowered the camera, he was a dark spot disappearing over a nearby hill.  I definitely wish I had just held still and enjoyed the moment.  Still, it was delightful to see him at all, and although the light was poor, he was close enough that I really got a pretty good look at him--nice and big and healthy.  I'm thrilled.

a surprise ending

An absolutely thrilling basketball game tonight to finish off the evening's festivities.  The middle school teams are at home this weekend; both the boys' and girls' teams played.  Last game of the night, the boys played Scammon Bay.  As the teams were warming up, I was thinking it looked like our middle school team was playing a high school team; nearly all of their players were dramatically taller than nearly all of our players.  Plus, they had a generous supply of substitutes; their team was probably a dozen strong, while Mountain fielded a total of six.  And of course those six had already played one game, in which they blew a huge lead and ended up losing because they were just plain spent.  All signs pointed to a crushing defeat.

The game started.  Scammon did not, as I had expected, leap immediately to a commanding lead.  To my amazement, Mountain pulled slightly ahead early on.  But I was still expecting things to blow up at any moment, and the blowout to begin.  It didn't, and it didn't, and it didn't.  I'm not sure either team ever led by more than four or five points.  Every possession was hard fought, every point hard won.  The Strivers were hurtling themselves around the court like madmen, and I kept thinking They can't possibly keep this up!  Incredibly, they did.  With just one sub to give an occasional short breather to one or another player, our kids were pushing themselves beyond themselves.  I found out afterward that at least one or two of our players were using their brief breaks to rush off to the bathroom and vomit, then returning and playing just as hard as ever.  They were amazing.

With eight seconds left, the score was tied, and Scammon had possession.  Mountain's headless chicken defense ruffled them enough that the inbound pass went awry, glanced off the hand of the recipient and out of bounds--Strivers ball.  Seven seconds on the clock.  Inbound the ball into a mass of scrambling madness that seems to use far too much time, they're dribbling down to the corner, the defense is closing in, there can't possibly be enough time to get a shot off, and somehow the Strivers slip a pass back out of the corner, and then...

And yes, the crowd went seriously wild.  Have I mentioned that these folks love basketball?

It was my enormous good fortune, at the very moment that shot went down, to glance over at the coach.  Leaping to his feet, arms hurtling skyward, face bursting open in wild disbelief, his entire body was an explosion of overwhelming, unadulterated, ecstatic joy.  He was like the Platonic form of the concept:  Victory.