the hood

One of the most interesting cultural discoveries I've made is that the village is more than a little gangsta.  The high school boys wear baggy clothes, crooked baseball caps, flashy sneakers, gold chains, I've actually heard teachers in the school hallways saying, "Hey, no gang signs in school," the works.  Wait, one exception--their pants generally ride above their buttocks rather than below; perhaps they're a little behind the times.

Joking aside, I don't know quite what to make of this.  It would seem that similar social and economic phenomena couple with the ever-increasing availability of popular media to cause these kids to identify with the culture and behavior of 'inner city' youth.  In both cases, life shows little promise of exit from a rather bleak and directionless world.  What is there to do?  Where is there to go?  What's the point?  I don't know what the suicide rate is like in our big cities, but in this village of 800 I know there were at least four or five last year.

Visibly, superficially, life here could hardly be more different from life in the city.  From the nation's highest population density to its lowest; from the omnipresent press of humanity in every direction to being able to look beyond the edge of town and see not a single sign of human endeavor in any direction; from the interminable roar of cars, buses, subways, to the distant, echoing whine of snowmobiles.  The lifestyle here would be unimaginably foreign to a kid from the projects.  And yet, deep down, I get the sense that their experience of life must be profoundly similar.

ball

I had a chance to play basketball last night, with several other staff members from the school, against the high school boys' team. It was a great time, some much needed exercise, and I played well enough to get some respect from the kids, which made me feel good.

Before the game, looking at my cheap sneakers, one the HS players offered to let me use his extra pair of proper basketball shoes. They turned out to be too big, but I was pleased as punch at the offer. These kids really are pretty damn cool.

our best idea

As I was preparing for this trip, one of the things I looked forward to was time for reading.  Trouble is, books are heavy.  But data weighs a good deal less than paper, so I packed along just a couple of real books, and loaded several audiobooks on my computer for transfer to my phone/mp3 player.  No cel service here, but I've been listening intently to an absolutely inspiring book on the national parks.

It's a companion book to the Ken Burns documentary series, "The National Parks:  America's best idea."  True to form, Burns tells the stories of grand historical events from a deeply human, even spiritual perspective, focusing on the lives of individuals and their personal experiences with the parks.  Listening to the most eloquent, impassioned quotations from the most eloquent and passionate supporters of the park idea, I often feel just a little inadequate for my lack of personal experience in national parks.  For though I regard myself as a deep lover of wildness and nature, I have not made the effort in my own life to see these most wondrous places.  For this, I feel a little ashamed, as if I have not made good on my own ideals.  How can I presume to be a supporter of the park idea, the idea of untamed wildness as valuable and worthwhile in its own right, when I only occasionally make the effort to take a camping trip, and have never traveled to the most scenic and magnificent places in my own country?

I have found an answer, and a kindred spirit, in a brief and unattributed quote from this wonderful book.  In an interview, naturalist Terry Tempest Williams mentions a young man who once attended a hearing on the proposed expansion of the national park system in Alaska in the late seventies.  He was blind, a piano tuner by profession, and had taken a bus from Austin to Denver to be at this hearing.  Standing, he said:
"I will never see wild Alaska.  I will never see these parks.  But when I'm in Texas, tuning those pianos, it will touch my heart, knowing they are there."

This book has inspired me to try to see more national parks in the future than I have in the past, but this simple quote from a blind Texan piano tuner has reassured me that I don't have to try to see them all--an impossible task.  To love these places, these refuges of wildness, even without knowing them; to take comfort in the simple knowledge that they exist; that is also good, also worthwhile.

If the book is any indication, the PBS series must be magnificent.  I intend to see it as soon as possible when I get home, and I encourage anyone and everyone to seek it out.

enjoy the weather

Okay, now it's cold. Have to get out for a hike today, just to see if I can.

Mountain Village, AK
-22°F

Current: Partly Cloudy
Wind: N at 12 mph
Humidity: 69%

Negaunee, MI
9°F

Current: Partly Cloudy
Wind: NW at 7 mph
Humidity: 55%
Sat

The moose.

So some of the eighth graders went moose hunting on monday; the principal went, along with a couple other adults, but I think it was one of the kids who carried the rifle--and they got one! One enormous leg is currently laid out on a table right down the hall from my room, being butchered. I'm about to head down there, say a quiet Puja, and see if I can help out at all.

after-school visitors

This week I added ten or twelve middle-schoolers (gr 7-8) to my list, and they've initially been far more... reserved (to put it nicely) than my 4-6 graders. More armor. LOTS more armor. I didn't know where to find them all at first, so it's been kind of a gradual roll-out; Monday I got just a few, more yesterday, and today was the first day with a full house for both time slots. It's getting better already, but there are only a few in this age range who readily accept help with their work; I'm feeling a lot of resistance from them. Not that this is in any way a surprise. As kids approach puberty, they become more fearful, less trusting; more rebellious, less eager to please any kind of authority figure. Anyway, school got out an hour early today, and five or six different students in the middle school to high school age range, some of my tutoring students and some I didn't know, came in and asked if they could work in my room. Several even asked for help with their math or with information about various diseases (science homework). Some came and went, but for close to two hours I had students in my room, doing schoolwork, entirely of their own accord. I was so thrilled I got teary-eyed, more than once! It made me feel like the space I've created here is coming to be perceived as a welcoming and comfortable place to learn. I can't think of any greater accomplishment.

The teachers and administrators here have been great; they've gone out of their way to let me know I'm taken care of and to give me the support I need. But to have students come into my room, to study, of their own free will: it's the most welcome I've felt since I came to Alaska. By far.

garbage garbage garbage

EVERYTHING goes in the trash here. No recycling whatsoever. I've become so accustomed to recycling, office paper in particular, that I'm finding it quite hard to adjust to. There's a dump outside of town. A little troubling; I feel terribly guilty whenever I accidentally print an unnecessary page or have to print a new copy of my schedule because something has changed. It's genuinely troubling; I feel it in my heart.

On the other hand, how much fuel would it take to ship any meaningful quantity of recyclable materials OUT of here. Hmmmm...