“Winter solitude
in a world of one color
the sound of wind.”
~~Matsuo Basho~~
In an Inupiaq village on the north coast of Alaska you are always reminded of family. I sit in a living room in Wainwright, surrounded on two sides by a collage of watching eyes - nearly a 100 years of family, both deceased and alive. An old black and white print of a grandfather and grandmother in traditional parka and kuspuk. The faded color photo of a husband looking fine in his button-down shirt. Glossy pictures of daughters at graduation, sons graduating into the marines, Semper Fidalis , and a multitude of smiling granddaughters and sons.
In the open kitchen, 3 green thermoses, 2 coffee makers, and 2 kettles are testament to a life spent in the cold - or perhaps just a strong desire to drink coffee and tea. The former perhaps most plausible in light of the parka bundled on the floor that dwarfs the chair I am on, or the calf-high Cabella's snow boots that look like they were made for giants. This is the land of winter's cold and the warmth of family.
This is also the land of no trees, although the village is blessed with one of the biggest chain saws I've seen. Only eight of these in the world - "not a precision instrument" the operator said as he trenched down hoping to miss, and sometimes missing the village's waterlines.
Today, sunrise was at 12:25pm and it set again 2 hours later at 2:26pm. The moon was up all day. Outside of town, I walked past the snow fences that guard the village from drifts that could engulf houses - but in their resting moments act as screens for the light and colors of dawn -
and dusk-
Amidst the white - gold
Between the flurries - laughter
luminous winter
This was a brief two weeks of life in the far North of Alaska, among the short days, long blizzards, and warmth of a people blessed with the art of sharing.
A Riddle - On Snow
"From Heaven I fall, though from earth I begin.
No lady alive can show such a skin.
I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather,
But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together.
Though candor and truth in my aspect I bear,
Yet many poor creatures I help to insnare.
Though so much of Heaven appears in my make,
The foulest impressions I easily take.
My parent and I produce one another,
The mother the daughter, the daughter the mother."
~~James Parton~~
