The Northern Lights

Yesterday morning I woke up with a missed call from a teacher named Dan. Dan is the special education teacher at my school and I consider him a good friend. He was one of the first teachers that I really got to know here. He's one of the people I talk to the most at school and can always bounce ideas off of. If I'm having problems with a student, I can always send them to Dan's room, if needed. Outside of school, Dan has also been a great person to know. He took me fishing on my second week here. Afterwards, he taught me how to fillet a fish (unfortunately they weren't fish that I caught).

 When I first saw the missed call from Dan, I thought I had overslept and he was trying to get a hold of me. I checked my clock twice, before I listened to the message.

"Patrick, get up! The Northern Lights are out. You're gonna wanna see this. Seeya later." Dan said, with a sort of southern twang to his voice.

I got out of bed and swung open the curtain on my bedroom window. I looked out and saw a green glare from the north. I crooked my neck as far as it would go to the right, but I couldn't see enough. I got dressed as quickly as possible and went out to the boardwalk.

I have a new winter parka that I ordered online that makes me look like I'm wearing football shoulder pads underneath. I grabbed it on my way out, and I'm glad I did. It was 10 degrees outside, but only my glove-less hands were cold. I tucked my hands in the coat's oversized pockets, walked around my house, and looked to the sky. The Northern Lights were right there. A hazy green sky was overhead with orbs of light dancing in-between it all. I can't even describe how amazing it looked.

 It was one of those brief moments that I will always remember. Certain images are just getting stuck in my head up here. I like to think of them as Alaska images. When I leave here, whenever that is, I will always have these brief moments to draw back on. Similar to my fearful experience with the bush pilot chugging a Mountain Dew in swirling winds, I now have this moment:

Just me, standing alone, in the freezing cold, in complete silence, staring up at the sky.

 I moved to Alaska for several reasons. I'd be lying if I said, seeing the Northern Lights was one of them. But it was a moment that made me glad that I'm living where I am. That moment, frozen in time (pun intended) made me think that I made the right decision. It made me proud of where I live.

Pumpkin Carving

Yesterday in art class we carved pumpkins. I had some reservations about letting students use knives in class, but they did a great job (and no one got stabbed). I lit them up last night and they're sitting on my front steps. Here are a few of the jack-o-lanterns.

I'll be home for Christmas

I just purchased my ticket home for Christmas. I have about three weeks off and I've decided to spend that time back in Providence. Weather permitting, I will be back by December 22. I'm looking forward to seeing a lot of people back home. :)

I can teach in the dark

So today the power went out during school. No electricity. No internet. No cell phone reception. It was kind of scary to think that we were temporarily cut off from all of the outside world (as I like to call it). There was absolutely no power at all in the entire village. My room has no windows, so my Alaska Studies class at the time was hit especially hard by the outage. It was literally pitch black in my classroom. My first reaction?

"Everyone take out their cell phones and wave them in the air so we can see."

 I pretended to get a little concert vibe going and one of my students even took out a lighter. I ran to get a flashlight and make sure the world wasn't ending. Most classes weren't phased as much because they had windows to rely on. I was going to take the class outside but it was raining and pretty cold. I settled on plan B which was to continue to teach with my flashlight. I took the opportunity to goof around like I was telling a ghost story around a campfire. It wasn't my finest lesson, and I'm not sure how much my students retained about Russia's occupation of Alaska, but now I know I can teach in the dark. I might file away this lesson plan, because evidently these outages are just another part of living in rural Alaska. 

Flying in Alaska

I'll admit, I have a lot of time to think up here.

One of the things that I've been thinking about lately, and something that fascinates me about living and teaching in the Alaskan bush, is just how much people rely on planes up here. Everyday I hear planes. Everyday I see planes. The only way in and out of the village is by plane. They're like expensive taxis. Whenever I have training at the district office, the district pays for me to take a bush plane 40 miles east into Bethel. Forty miles is less than the distance between Providence to Boston to put things in perspective. It's hard to imagine taking a plane from Providence to Randolph, Massachusetts, but that's essentially what I'm doing out here.

When I receive amazingly untarnished postcards in the mail, I think about the incredibly long journey they take from Providence, Rhode Island to Tuntutuliak, Alaska. I imagine they start off in Boeing 747s and hop into planes progressively declining in size. It's like one of those Russian dolls that keeps getting smaller and smaller when you pull it apart. Eventually that postcard arrives in Tunt in a four-seat plane slightly bigger than a mini-van. Maybe it's a simple thing (often taken for granted), but only paying 42 cents for a card to go that far impresses me.

Another aspect of air travel in Alaska is the bush pilots. I've seen clips from the show Flying Wild Alaska, but now I've been in those planes with those pilots. Whenever I get on board, I like to make conversation with the pilots. They all seem to be very unique people. I was chatting with a pilot who had a beard like Giants closer Brian Wilson. He told me the job is hectic and dangerous. He was saying that there is a lot of stress put on them to get mail and essential goods to all these villages several times a day, often in gnarly weather. More importantly, when people get seriously ill or seriously injured they must get to a hospital. There are no hospitals in villages. There is rarely ever a doctor. Bush pilots go on medevac missions in Alaska when someone needs serious medical attention. You almost have to have a cowboy mentality to be a bush pilot in my opinion. Dealing with snow and extreme winds is something that makes flying challenging and often not possible. He mentioned that when the weather is too adverse for flying, the airport basically turns into a fire station, with pilots hanging around just waiting for some action.

One of my most memorable experiences in Alaska (so far) came on a bush plane with one of these unique bush pilots. It was a day with rough winds and I was flying from Bethel to Tunt. My pilot was a guy in his early 20s with ripped jeans, a light weight zip-up hoodie, and a backwards baseball hat. He looked strangely out of place, like the kind of guy that would be surfing in southern California if he wasn't flying planes in Alaska. I chatted with the guy before the plane took off. He asked me how the school year was going, assuming correctly that I was a teacher. When the plane took off, I could feel the powerful winds outside. The plane was swaying back and forth the entire time. It was a scary flight. I looked at the pilot, trying to pick up on his body language. He had his right arm flanked over the passenger seat, like he was taking a joy ride on an empty street in a new Cadillac. He reached into his backpack in the middle of the flight, pulled out a Mountain Dew, and downed the entire can of soda in one long swig. The pilot's behavior was so bizarre to me that it actually distracted me from the wind rocking the plane. The same flight that made me nervous was clearly nothing for this pilot. A memory that is vividly engrained in my head was just a daily caffeine break for the bush pilot. A thousand thoughts were going through my head at that moment and this pilot was just focused on his soda.

Plane taking off from Tunt

A village (not sure which one) from above

A bush pilot

Someday Robots Will Take My Job

It's Columbus Day. But for us Alaska teachers, it's still a work day. There's a district wide inservice, which means the teachers are all here (but no students). All the teachers are breaking off into groups according to their grade level and content area to participate in training. My training is a webinar and conference call to introduce a new type of teaching software that grades papers. This sounds boring on the surface, but I found it disturbing enough to write about.

I use the word disturbing because when I say that the software grades papers, I don't mean it grades multiple choice tests like a Scantron machine. I mean it grades essays. I don't know exactly how it works, and I don't particularly know if I want to know, but essentially an essay is put into the computer and a grade is almost instantly pumped out. Sure this makes my job easier, but what does this mean for the future of teaching?

One of the reasons why I became an English teacher because I enjoy its subjectivity. It's not math. There's more than one answer. There's countless ways to analyze a piece of literature. This essay-grading supercomputer is taking away that subjectivity in my opinion. What now defines a good paper? A set of key phrases that the computer is programmed to recognize? It just feels wrong. Sure, the counter-argument will be that eliminating subjectivity is a good thing. A student's grade will no longer be determined by what type of teacher they get and "how hard" they grade papers. We've all been in situations where what was good enough for an A in one class was barely good enough for a C+ in another. That's certainly not a good thing, but teachers should be able to recognize what makes good paper. By putting data into a machine, we take the responsibility away from teachers.

Teaching jobs seem safe from outsourcing, but for how long? More and more college students take online classes every year. How long before we have high school students taking classes from home? Will we see a University of Phoenix Online Middle School pop up? I love using technology in the classroom, but I sometimes wonder where it will stop. The technological toys that I have in the classroom sometimes make me forget I'm in the middle of the Alaskan tundra. Our school already has math classes taught on a monitor by a woman 40 miles away.  I traveled almost 4,000 miles to teach up here. Will teachers in the future always have to make that journey?

Weekend in Russian Mission, Alaska

Tonight I got home from a weekend in Russian Mission, Alaska. I was invited by a fellow teacher in my village and jumped at the opportunity to explore a different part of the state. Russian Mission is a little over 100 miles north of Tunt. It's a small village like Tunt, but it has an entirely different landscape. First of all, there's trees. I hadn't seen a tree in two months till this weekend. Tunt is flat tundra surrounded by lakes and rivers. Russian Mission is much closer to the Alaska you see on postcards. There's miles and miles of Christmas trees with a mountain range flanking the back of the village. The wildlife is also much more diverse. This area of Alaska has plenty of moose, caribou, beavers, and brown bears. The brown bear population in this part of southwest Alaska is one of the highest in the world. Unfortunately (probably fortunately it comes to the bears), I didn't see any of this wildlife.

 The reason for the weekend in Russian Mission was a religious retreat. I'm not the most religious person out there, but I didn't think it was a bad thing to say a few prayers. There was a preacher that gave several sermons during the weekend, but I only went to one--with good reason. I felt like I was watching a bad movie with an agenda against organized religion. The preacher was judgmental, rambling, and very, very boring. He kept bragging about a record deal he just got with some mom and pop recording studio in Oklahoma. He went on and on about having humility when he wasn't bragging about his blossoming music career. He said with an absolute straight face, "Bet none of you have been in the same room with a recording artist." He was 100% serious. This was not a joke. I cracked a smile and looked around the room for someone to share this moment with. I made eye contact with a girl who was trying to stop herself from laughing.

I have nothing against preachers, but I don't care for people who are too pushy with their agenda. I heard the word heathens for the first time in a discussion. It made me check out. I've had an open mind since I arrived here and I was curious why he couldn't do the same. I decided I was going to spend my time hunting and hiking instead. Several of the teachers from other villages joined me. We went beaver hunting on Friday night and hiked to the top of a mountain on Saturday. I stayed in a cabin and built a fire. I'm becoming more of an outdoorsman up here. And it's out of necessity. I used to go camping, but being out in the middle of nowhere in Alaska is different than the I'm-camping-but-if-I-really-need-something-I-can-get-in-the-car-and-drive-to-Walmart type of camping that I'm used to.

The final word: I survived another weekend of roughing it in Alaska. I'm taking one day at a time and trying not to judge. Amen.

The Crew

One of the most pleasant surprises that I've had while up in Alaska is the camaraderie and support of a group of fellow new teachers. When I arrived in Bethel on the first day of August, I looked around the tiny airport at a group of twenty-something-year-olds. I could tell, strictly by the looks on their faces, that they were new teachers. I'm sure I had that same befuddled look at that moment, waiting and wondering to myself, "What the hell did I get myself into?" Little did I know at the time, that I would quickly become friends with several of these new teachers, and they would make the transition of being in a new place (all alone) a little bit easier.

After being ushered out of the airport, the new teachers were transported in big, dusty vans to a college dormitory. I was placed in a cramped dorm with three other guys and our mountains of luggage. It wasn't the most comfortable situation, but no one who cares that much about comfort moves to rural Alaska. Over the next couple of days I got to know this group of new teachers. We all could relate--we were young, we wanted an adventure, and we didn't fully know what to expect.

I've been back and forth from Tunt to Bethel several times for new teacher in-services. It's always a good time, because of the group of teachers that I've gotten to know. We've actually formed a pretty tight-knit crew. I believe we bring the most interesting Friday nights Bethel has seen in a while when we're all in town. Do I know why we mix so well? A lot of it has to do with the fact that we're all in the same situation. It also has to do with the fact that we bring a good mix of personalities together. No one takes themselves too seriously. Everyone has a role in the group.

Our crew of new teachers is actually planning a trip to Anchorage for Thanksgiving. We can't go home to our families in various parts of the country, so we're going to let loose over the long weekend together. 

Thanksgiving is still pretty far away, but I'm excited for the trip. I can't wait to get back to a city for a few days. 

I'm into my third month of teaching in Alaska. The days and weeks are flying by. I wouldn't say I'm thriving, but overall things are going well. I like my job. I've made mistakes, but I keep adjusting. Everything is trial and error. I feel like a real teacher for the first time. I've made progress in the two-plus weeks since my last post (I need to post more often). One of the things that really helps is the fact that I'm not alone in this process. I now have friends that are going through the same grind everyday. I know I can mention something that's going on in my classroom or in the village, and they'll immediately understand. Even if these people aren't in the same village, I know they're out there. That's a good feeling. 

Next Stop, Disillusionment

This has been my most challenging week BY FAR. I feel like things are not quite spiraling, but slipping a bit. I've had more behavior problems this week than the entire school year combined. I've had a few kids swear at me in Yupik (I think). And I've been losing my temper way too often. Overall, I've just felt kinda crappy lately. 

The funny thing is, I just had a new teacher training in Bethel, which was all about classroom management and the benefits of positive reinforcement. We were shown a lengthy powerpoint presentation on the merits of staying positive and providing expectations for our students. One slide that stuck with me was a chart that chronicled the psychological phases of a first year teacher. The typical first year teacher starts out at the stage of anticipation, then moves onto survival, followed by the lowest stage of disillusionment. After hitting rock bottom, a typical teacher experiences a stage of rejuvenation, then reflection, and finally anticipation again. I am most definitely in survival mode right now. I work long hours. I attempt to get the most out of my students. I try to be innovative. But's it's tough. I feel like I'm heading in the wrong direction. In the land of no distractions, my mind is elsewhere. 

I came here at the end of July with wide (but not entirely dry) eyes after saying goodbye to family and friends. I was reassured by the fact that I could make a difference as a teacher. I wasn't just leaving for a job, I was leaving for a purpose. I'm into my second month of working and I'm frustrated with my lack of results. 

I remember coming into school on that first day and giving the kids an admittedly bad, rambling speech of the rah, rah variety. I realize it probably fell on deaf ears and why shouldn't it have? Some new teacher (an outsider) coming into their village and telling them all the great things that they can accomplish. It's probably not the first time they heard that from someone, only to see them not deliver and disappear the following year. It's a cliche, but talk is cheap. I want to back up my talk. And when I don't see myself doing so, it pisses me off, for lack of better words.

So, as I sit here typing this, I realize I haven't hit the bottom. I am fully aware that I'm going to feel worse. There's certain things in life you just can't control. I'm just doing my best to manage the things that I can. Oh, and after I get the bad stuff out of the way, it's all good from there. Rejuvenation sounds nice right about now. 

The Paradox

I finally got a brand new Smart Board installed in my room after weeks of walking past it everyday in its gigantic box. It was put up on Tuesday and I spent the rest of the week using it in class and messing around with it after class. I love having it! It gives me so much flexibility with the types of lessons I can teach and the things I can do. I'm a big proponent of incorporating technology in the classroom. Don't get me wrong, teaching on an old-fashioned chalkboard is something that will never go out of style, but if you've got the technology at your disposal, why not use it?

I was sitting in my classroom after school looking around at the plethora of teaching gadgets I've been given and I couldn't help but notice that I'm living in an absolute paradox. I now have a Smartboard, an iPad, speakers, and Macbooks for all my students--the same students who have no running water or flushing toilets at home.  People primarily wash themselves in steam baths (which is another post waiting to happen) and they go to the bathroom in honey buckets, which are essentially empty five pound buckets that they dump outside afterwards. This tiny village, lacking essential things like running water, has better technology in its school than rich schools in the lower 48. I don't really know what to think of it all. What I do know is the fact that no amount of technology can replace good teaching. I'm going to bring that to this school, technology or not. 

Wild Moose Chase

The village I'm living in is considered a coastal village. Tunt is relatively close to the Kuskokwim River, which flows directly into the Bering Sea. The natives in this region have always relied upon the riches of the sea for their survival. Whales, seals, and walruses are plentiful during certain times of the year. I wanted to know what it was like to take that journey south down the Kuskowim--the same journey that Eskimos having have been taking for thousands of years. I decided to ask a Yupik man that works at my school, named Mark, if I could observe him hunting seal.

Now when I say observe I put extra emphasis on that word, because literally it's all I can do. Seal hunting is only permitted when the hunter is a subsistence hunter. The subsistence hunter does so for survival. There is no waste. The entire animal serves a purpose. Hunting is not a game here, it's a means of living. I, myself, am only allowed to watch. It's illegal for me to steer the boat or even touch the motor from what I've been told. 

When I asked Mark after school about tagging along he simply said, "4:15. The river near the school." Mark is a man of few words, but he is a man of many jobs. He handles "maintenance" at the school, which means he is responsible for all kinds of odd jobs around the school from electronics to plumbing. He is also an excellent fisher and hunter when he's not fixing something at school. I told him I'd be there, but did not really know what to expect.

I met up with Mark down by the river. He picked me up on his boat with his 8-year-old son. I wore shin length rubber boots, waterproof pants, a NorthFace raincoat, and a winter stocking hat. I was still cold. Mark was wearing a bubble jacket and a tan fedora. I noticed a rifle and a harpoon lying on the boat with several empty cans of Diet Dr. Pepper. He flipped me a life-jacket and we were off. We traveled south down the Kuskowim river for about an hour. There was no sign of any seals. I imagined the place we were going to be some frosty coastline abundant with seals lying out waiting to be picked off. On the way Mark mentioned that there was only a 10% probability that we would see a seal. Hunting takes more patience than I thought. 

After fruitlessly scoping out all the seal hotspots, Mark turned my attention to some enormous round tracks in the mud. "Moose tracks," he said slowing the boat down and leaning over to examine the large prints. "Fresh moose tracks," he repeated confidently. All of a sudden we were on a different chase when we saw several more sets of tracks along the water, evidence of a thirsty moose. Mark tapped me on the shoulder when he saw kept seeing more tracks. "We will probably see a moose," he remarked. With his attention turned to moose, Mark gave the steering wheel of the boat to his son who maneuvered through the extremely narrow twists and turns of a tributary nearby. While I was watching in astonishment at the precision of an 8-year-old driving a boat, Mark was busy surveying the surrounding land with his binoculars. I turned my attention to Mark, whose sharp eyes were deliberately scanning the area. If there was a moose to be found, I knew he would find it.

After searching for a while, Mark grabbed my shoulder, and simply said, "Look!" I turned to see a moose on the edge of the water staring at us. We couldn't shoot it because it's not moose season yet, (it starts in September) but Mark wanted to see where the moose would be so he can come back to this spot later. It was my first time seeing a moose in person, and it's just a bizarre animal to me. It's like a cow on stilts that effortlessly steps through the brush with powerful strides. I was able to snap a few pictures before the moose decided to turn back into the seclusion of trees behind it. 

Zombieland Rule #32: Enjoy the Little Things

Today during school, I thought of all the little things I appreciate with greater awareness now that I'm living up in rural Alaska. I thought I'd make a Zombieland themed post about all the little things I have been enjoying, including some of the stuff that's going on in my classes.

In case you haven't seen the movie, there's a set of rules that the lead character, Columbus, follows to stay alive in a zombie apocalypse. One of those rules is, "enjoy the little things." Check out the movie if you haven't seen it! But here goes my list:

Little Things I Enjoy

• Having my own apartment
• Getting mail- it really makes my day
• Being able to walk to my house and grab a Pop Tart and a Diet Coke during lunch
• Daylight till midnight (at least for now)
• Not having to carry a wallet - I never thought I would carry a flashlight and a pocketknife more than a wallet, but now I do 
• Driving a four-wheeler as fast as I possibly can down the boardwalk
• Having time to read- Even if it's reading the stuff that I'm going to teach the next day. But in addition to reading "teaching stuff" I've actually done a ton of leisure reading since I've been here.
• I get NESN on satellite TV, which means I get Red Sox games
• Art class- The last two classes of my day are art classes and they've been great so far! Didn't think I was gonna enjoy them as much as I do. We've been creating oil pastel drawings while listening to The Beatles. 
• Seeing a teeny, tiny bit of progress in my writing classes!
• Having technology from the school (this may be considered a big thing) - I have been given a Macbook Pro, an iPad, and I have a Smartboard coming soon. And I have access to Macbooks for all my students to use
• Freedom that I wouldn't have at a regular school- If I want, I can take any one of my classes outside. I've done this for an art class and it's just nice to be able to feel like there's not so many restrictions on me.
• Peace and quiet
• Not being able to spend money- definitely a good way to save
• Becoming more independent everyday
• Not having to wear a tie to work- it's actually pretty casual
• People saying hi to me when I walk by
• Playing a lot of basketball
• Being able to watch the progress these kids make throughout the year

Everything isn't great, but I figured people would rather read a list of positive things than a list of complaints. The good thing is that my list of "Little Things I Enjoy" seems to grow everyday. 

My New Wheels

There are no roads in Tunt. Therefore, no cars are to be found. It rains so much, the ground has the consistency of Jell-O pudding. As I've written before, there are wooden boardwalks connecting everything. In the summer, the three modes of transportation are walking, bike-riding, and ATV four-wheelers. I've done a lot of walking because the weather's been fairly nice (for Alaska), but I'm fortunate enough to have access to a four-wheeler while I'm here. I learned how to ride it last week and I've been driving it all over the village. It's actually pretty fun. Oh, and when it starts snowing, I get to bust out the snow-mobile. Here's a picture of my new wheels.

The Dump

My trash was piling up and I asked what to do with it. My principal said to drop it off at the side of the school on designated days. From there, he said it is driven to the dump on a four-wheeler. "You don't want to go to the dump," he said cracking a smile. Lately, when people have been telling me to do something, I have done the opposite. That day I set off to explore the dump. 

Obviously, it was a pretty disgusting place. It's located over a mile outside of the village pretty much in the middle of nowhere. It was a clear sky that day, so you could see flat tundra for miles and miles. As I approached, I started to smell the unpleasant scent of burning garbage. There's an incinerator in the middle of the dump that had smoke rings rising up from it. Large ravens and crows hovered above the massive pile of trash. I couldn't bear to be there long, threw my bag among the heap, and left.

Why the heck did I go to the dump? I can't really say I wanted to go. I do, however, want to experience every aspect of this village, including the parts that are ugly. In order to have the full experience, I feel like I need to see and do everything. I can check the dump off that list. 

First Week of School

My first day of school was Monday, and here I am Thursday night to talk about it all. I've been a little behind on the postings and it's partially do to the fact that I've been so busy with the new job. I'm a high school English teacher by trade, but teaching in bush Alaska is not exactly like teaching at a high school in the lower 48. In fact, that is a major understatement.

First of all, there's one school in Tunt that services all children kindergarten through grade 12. There's about 140 students in the entire school. I had twice that number in my graduating class of high school alone. Out of the 140 students in the school there are a little over 30 high school students. There are only two high school teachers, including me. The entire high school education for these students is provided by two teachers. And, yes, that means I am teaching more than just English literature.

I have eight classes in all. Seven of them require different preparation work, which means I'll be very, very busy this year. I'm teaching Pre-Algebra, Literature I, Literature II, Writing I, Writing II, Alaska Studies, and two art classes. I'm not too excited about the math (at least it's only Pre-Algebra) and I'm unsure about the Alaska Studies (after all I've only been here a few weeks). It may be the toughest job I ever have, but it will only make me a better teacher in the end.

My classroom was a narrow, windowless room, void of anything when I arrived. It remains narrow and windowless, but I did my best to brighten it up before the first day. I went scrounging around in the attic for supplies and posters. There wasn't much of anything so I had to make a few things from scratch. I drew pictures of famous authors and put their quotes and faces on my wall (sorry if this sounds cliche, but I like it). I'm not the best artist, and I think my Charles Dickens face look a bit like Saddam Hussein when they found him in the spider hole, but I'm leaving him up anyways. The other problem was the fact that it had only three walls and no door. There was just a wide open hallway in place of the fourth wall. I fixed this problem by taking three book shelfs and converting them into a makeshift wall.

My students are friendly, but for the most part introverted. They have been respectful so far. They call me Patrick, not Mr. Merrigan, or not even "Mista," like the kids in Pawtucket called me. Calling a teacher by their first name is customary here. It is not a sign of disrespect and most teachers do not have a problem with it. I'm comfortable being on first name basis with my students, especially considering I'm an outsider coming into their community.

I spent Monday passing out syllabi and going over the expectations I have for the year. We have eight 45 minute periods, but there is no bell that sounds when students are to switch classes. I simply say, "Okay, time to switch." Sometimes that means two or three kids switching rooms and the rest staying. It's pretty hard to mess up your schedule when you should be in one of two rooms. Overall, it's been a pretty smooth four days. I'm a little overwhelmed by the amount of work and by the fact that for some of these students, I am the teacher for 80% of their high school year. It's a large responsibility that I take very seriously.

One of my goals here is to emphasize higher education. I found out that the percentage of students that go to college from this school is 1%. Strictly from a statistically perspective, it is unlikely that anyone of my students will go to college. I'm hoping I have a few outliers, or perhaps I can help some get started in that direction. I hope to share my teaching successes and failures on this blog all year. It's a way I can document this part of my life and hopefully look back on it someday with pride.

Getting the room ready. Fueled by Mountain Dew and Cheez-Its.

My desk.

Morning of first day

My artificial wall of books.

My doorway is a gap between a bookshelf and a filing cabinet.

My poor Dickens drawing.

The sunlight/darkness question

One question that people asked me frequently in Rhode Island was just how many hours of daylight and darkness would I be getting in my part of Alaska. A lot of people assume that the whole state of Alaska gets six months of light and six months of darkness. The reality is that different parts of the state get different amounts of sunlight. I can only give reports of what it's like in the southwest part of Alaska.

So when friends kept asking me this question, I wasn't quite sure what to say, but I told them I could answer them with my own observations when I got here. Now that I'm here, I have some clarification. I can only comment on what the summer is like so far. In the winter things will get considerably different. I've been in Anchorage, Bethel, and Tunt. In each one of these places the sun has gone down around midnight. On my second night in Anchorage, I walked around downtown thinking it was still early because it was bright out. It was 11 PM. I watched the sun set in Bethel after midnight while hanging out with a group of new teachers. The sun sets late and rises early.  I woke up at 4 AM in Anchorage (I was still functioning on east coast time) and it was bright out.

Therefore, on average it's been dark for about four hours a day since I got here. I'm enjoying the extra light right now 'cause I know it's going to dwindle in the winter. And when it's light out, I don't mean that the sun is beaming down from above. Usually it's very cloudy and often very rainy. The temperature has been in the 50s and 60s everyday. I don't feel like it's August. In fact, the other night was the first time I've worn a winter hat in the summer. The picture below was taken from my living room window. You can see the sun peaking through the clouds. It was 10:30 PM.

Village Life

I took a long walk on Saturday to explore the village. I walked past a general store, a cemetery, the post office and lots of houses. Essentially everything in Tunt is connected by a series of boardwalks, which makes everything accessible and easy to walk to without stepping through the marshy land.

The one thing I had to watch out for was dogs. Many of the houses I walked by had dogs that growled and barked as I walked past. Fortunately for me, most of these dogs were tied to a pole. From what I've been told, dogs are viewed more as work animals than pets in Tunt. They spend most of their time tied to something sturdy outside. The dogs that weren't tied up followed me along the boardwalk in a close procession growling, howling, and making every type of threatening motion short of biting me. Dogs were one of the last animals I thought I would have to worry about in Alaska, the land of bears, wolves, moose, and wolverines. The parade of dogs left me alone as one of their owners hollered from behind a shed.

My last trip was to the village post office to see if one of my packages arrived. There was a 60 pound box of groceries waiting for me. I needed to lug it about a mile back to my house. I reached about halfway home, fidgeting to find the right position to hold the box, when a young girl pulled up in a four-wheeler. She asked me if I wanted a ride, probably feeling bad for how awkward I looked carrying this massive box. I hopped on the back and off we went. I came to find out that this girl will be one of my students (not surprising in a village of 400). But this is just another example of the hospitality and wholehearted kindness that people are showing to a stranger. I came here as a teacher, but I feel like I will learn just as much as I teach.

There are lots of birds in Tunt. They enjoy the surrounding marshy land. 

One of a few cemeteries in the village

Walking down the boardwalk

This husky was the only dog that I walked by that didn't want to attack me. I had time to snap a picture.

Four-wheelers are the primary mode of transportation when it's not snowing in Tunt.

"Oh you're from Rhode Island, like Family Guy."

That's what one of my future students said to me when I told him I was from Rhode Island. It was not the response I was expecting, but it made me laugh inside. It doesn't completely feel like I'm in the United States but the more and more I talk to kids here, the more I realize they're like typical American kids. They like SpongeBob, Transformers, Hanna Montana, and Adult Swim here too. As an outsider coming in, it's apparent that there's a balance, or perhaps the better word is clash, between tradition and assimilation to U.S. popular culture.

There's definitely a rich tradition here. I've heard many people speak Yupik. I've seen customary Yupik clothes. I've touched Yupik art. I've tasted Yupik food. At the same time, in many villages the Yupik language is no longer taught in school (in Tunt it still is). Teenagers dress like teenagers anywhere else in the country. One of the most popular (and expensive) things to drink is Coca Cola. Things are much different than they were even 20 years ago. I think it's a good thing that, for a community so isolated, people seem to be benefiting from the same products and technology from the lower 48. However, no one wants to see a culture disappear that's been here thousands of years. The people I've talked to agree. They appreciate the fact that Yupik is taught in schools till the third grade--then English becomes the primary language. It's a difficult balance to keep Yupik culture a part of school, but face the same federal standards of anywhere else in the country--in English.

With that being said, the culture here is amazing. I'm awed by the amount of pride people have in their village. Last night I went to a Yupik dance. I thought it would be a good way to meet people. The hospitality shown to me was great. I may have embarrassed myself a bit when I was introduced to the crowd and called up to dance, but it was a good time. When I first sat down the band was playing loudly. A woman leaned over and said to me, "This must be you're first time meeting Eskimos. We're probably not what you expected." I nodded.

Flying to Tunt

I arrived in Tunt on Thursday night around 8 PM Alaska time. I took one of the smallest planes I've ever seen to the village. The airport I had to go to was downright bizarre to me. There was a small, dingy room for passengers to wait for there names to be called. I felt like I was waiting for my car's oil to be changed. The airline "agents" were young girls in jeans and Aeropostale hoodies. There was no TSA agent to be found. No need to worry about how big your tube of toothpaste is here. Have a gun with you? No problem. You can bring that on the plane too.

Instead of walking through a terminal, you walk right on the runway. I shook hands with the pilot who told me I'd be riding "shotgun" with him. He dryly muttered there was only one rule for riding shotgun, "don't touch anything." I told him that wouldn't be a problem and hopped in with four other passengers, the max capacity of the plane.

It was raining hard outside and was quite cloudy. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared to board that plane. The ride was a little shaky, but not as bad as people told me it would be. I can now see why some people want to become bush pilots. There's definitely a rush when you're up there in the sky. That rush must be magnified as the pilot.

Home

My home for the next nine months (the little pink bike is not included).

Boat ride in Bethel

On our last night in Bethel there was a boat ride/fishing trip for anyone that wanted to go. It was rainy, windy and an overall nasty night out but I've said yes to every opportunity to do something different so far, and I didn't feel like stopping yet. I went with three other new teachers that I've gotten to know over the past couple of days. We had a great time despite getting completely soaked. It was like riding the luge at Six Flags for a half hour straight. We stopped at a fishing camp on the side of the river where we had hot chocolate and listened to Ross, our guide, tell old Alaska stories. Ross is a big, tall, friendly man with a slightly graying beard known for wearing his hunting gear. Tonight he had on his camouflage rain pants and his size 16 waterproof boots. He told us all kinds of stories involving grizzlies, moose, caribou, and wolves. Ross is the type of person that you can't help but like. It seems like he knows everyone in Alaska and has a story about them. When Ross talks, you listen. 

I've been overwhelmed with the amount of friendly people that I've run into while in Alaska. From Anchorage, to Bethel, to Tunt everyone had been so kind and willing to help. There's a hospitality that exists here that is hard to explain unless you experience it. A guidance counselor named MaryAnn from just outside Anchorage offered to drive me around Anchorage and help me get food and supplies. She DID NOT know me. Veteran teachers offered me rides in Bethel when they saw me walking on the side  of the road. Kids in Tunt helped me carry my stuff to my new place. All of these people have made this huge transition a whole lot easier.

Culture Day

Wednesday was all about Yup'ik culture. Before getting sent to our villages, teachers were provided with a crash course in Yup'ik customs and traditions. Here are a few tidbits:

-Village elders yield considerable power in the village. Elders are never told what to do and seemingly everything must have their approval.

-Villages have places called gasgiqs where people go to steam and wash.

-Names do not denote gender in Yupik society. There are not strictly boy or girl names.

-When a child is born, they are given the name of the person who last died in the village. It is believed that the spiritual essence of the deceased individual is carried within the newborn child. 

-Non-verbal actions are just as important as verbal cues. For instance, raising one's eyebrows means "yes." 

-The three most prominent religions in Yupik villages are Russian Orthodox, Moravian, and Catholic. However there are other religions represented. 

-Subsistence is everything in Yupik culture. It's how these villages have persisted for thousands of years. Subsistence is utilizing everything in your environment to survive. It's a way of sharing are helping others survive with you. We were taught how to cut fish on Wednesday, basic subsistence skills. 

If you think groceries are expensive where you live, don't shop in Bethel, Alaska

Over the past few days I've been in Bethel, Alaska for new teacher training. Bethel is a small town about 400 miles west of Anchorage and approximately 40 miles east of my destination: Tuntutuliak. There are no supermarkets in Tunt. You must get you food delivered by plane. This means you can order it online or bring some of it with you. I did my bulk shopping at Walmart in Anchorage and paid them to ship it to my village (this is one of the most convenient options).

While in Bethel a small group of new teachers and I decided to stock up on a few essentials just in case our groceries hadn't arrived yet in our village. People told me before that the prices are inflated, but I had no idea how inflated they would be. I'm still in sticker shock. Mind you, some of these items are on SALE!

The explanation for these insane prices is quite simple. Alaska is a big place and most of the state is not accessible by the road system. That means items from the lower 48 states need to be transported by air. This makes shipping expensive for stores and in order to make a profit they must charge these exorbitant prices. Heavy items like water and soda are especially impacted in price.

Whale blubber tastes very blubbery

Today I tried whale blubber among other unique foods eaten in the village. It's got an odd taste, unlike anything I've ever had before. It wasn't really for me. It required more chewing than I would have liked. But, before I went out here I said I was going to try new things and be adventurous. I suppose this is a step in that direction. I've included a picture of me trying out the whale blubber.