American Legion Adult Dance

Last Friday night, two of the new-ish Forest Service seasonals – Maria and Adam – rallied a bunch of people to partake in the American Legion Adult Dance, an event that was going on during Garnet Festival. Their rallying was quite successful as a bunch of us ended up getting spiffy and showing off our dance moves at the American Legion.

Here are some images from the evening, both pre-Adult Dance and during.


Top row: Kevin (who has been my loyal golf buddy), Adam (who has helped me out during my last two radio shows), Vena, Reme. Second row: Phil (who sometimes hits balls with me and who will hopefully be my new roomate if we can find a place), me, Matt, Maria. Bottom row: Paul


Kev and I apparently thought something was very funny.


The American Legion bar was selling cans of beer.


Notice the Legion decor for the evening. Maria and Adam rocked it on the dance floor.


So much so, they won the dance award of the evening: a lunch at Zak's.

Blessing Of The Fleet (And Me)

I awoke on Sunday morning and remembered something I had to do for the paper that afternoon – I had to go get a picture of the Blessing of the Fleet that was taking place on Reliance Dock at 2 p.m.

I went not knowing what to expect. My co-worker had only said it was an annual occurrence where they bless the boats that are docked near Reliance and remember those who have died at sea. When I arrived, there weren’t too many people gathered yet but they trickled in slowly and surely. A microphone was set up as well as an electric keyboard. By Wrangell standards it was a nice day – there was no rain or mist. But it was as grey as any day could be.

I moved to this island aware that fishing was a large part of life here, but it’s beyond a part of life – it’s a part of who they are. And it'll be impossible for me to ever fully comprehend how much this town is tied to the water, but Sunday was another layer of understanding for me. People rely on the water for their livelihood, whether it’s fishing or charter boating, and for their pleasure.

Before the ceremony started I was chatting with Lurine McGee, a senior citizen in the community who I’ve talked with many times now, both through interview and small talk. Lately, I find that talking to older members of the community makes me endlessly content. I know they actually have something to say.

While Lurine was telling me about tornadoes in the mid-west, we were interrupted twice by people who wanted to make sure that if Lurine wanted to sit, there were some chairs set up. Lurine is more than capable of standing for a while, but when the ceremony started she went to sit down to appease everyone else. She had said earlier that when she was younger, she watched out for the elders in Wrangell, and now as an elder herself, she is being watched over. It’s obvious to see she appreciates all these gestures, as anyone would.

Leaders from different Christian faiths around town led the ceremony and they had made a Blessing of the Fleet program. Everyone who is close to me knows that I am not a religious person. And I can honestly not remember the last time I was at a church service. I really cannot and that scares me a bit as my memory is not my strongest feature these days.

The program had scripted passages, spoken in turns. I guess there is an official Blessing of the Fleet that gets read at ceremonies all around – I am not sure. And while it was wholly religious with prayers and praises and even a hymn, the message and goal of it was towards things very practical and concrete – fishing and boats. The ceremony had all the trappings of religion but I could see exactly who and what it was affecting right before me. I could see the boats in the water. I would see fisherman standing in the crowd.

Like I said, I cannot recall the last time I sat through a church service, and perhaps my soul was a bit starved for it, but in any case, I got pretty emotional and even cried a bit (which, as you all know, isn’t such a stretch). I am in no way a born again Christian but some of the passages really got to me. It’s hard to explain. They got to me because I could see how much the people of Wrangell need these prayers and blessings for their boats. Any additional help those at sea can receive is gladly welcome, whether it’s in the form of a tide book or a higher being.

I don’t mean to go too far into this but I just wanted to include some passages from the program to illustrate what I mean:

Protect all who work upon the water during this fishing and summer season and grant them bountiful catches and a prosperous season. Protect all who are upon the waters as they earn a living.

God-speed the boats in fair weather and foul, in success and disappointment, in rain and in fog, in storm and in sunshine, God-speed the boats.

During a prayer: Save us form the temptation to take fair winds, good weather, bountiful catches, and abundant tourists and passengers for granted.

The following passages was during one of those back and forths where in between all the Pastor lines, the People would say, “We thank you Lord for all your gifts”:

Pastor: For the sound of the horn in the fog and for the sight of the harbor lights at night.

Pastor: For the gift of radio communication between boats and with the shore and for all the navigational aids,

Pastor: For the Laden nets and holds that are filled,

Pastor: For honest labor and work, and for the blessing of good crew and friends,

(and this is where I kind of lost it)

Pastor: For the faithful support and love of our families and the stability they represent, and for the comfort and warmth of a place called home,

I think it’s because of the mention of home. What is so beautiful about the people here are the values they display and emit in everyday interactions. They are the values of people who stay in one place, who have lived here their whole lives or who have consciously chosen to make Wrangell their home. And that is what’s been so hard for me to put my finger on. It’s that, what Wrangell is for these people, what I see in them, that intangible thing called home.

Toward the end of the ceremony we said the Lord’s Prayer, “Our Father, who art in heaven…” And I knew it without the program’s assistance. It is something learned in childhood that I’ll never forget, except for the end, which I never had straight. Something about reciting the words. It just got to me. It’s been way too long since I’ve felt anything spiritual, and if there was any moment when memorized phrases could be enough for me to feel so, then that was the moment.

A woman pastor threw a basket of daffodils into the water behind her. “We toss these Flowers upon the sea in remembrance of our family members, friends, and loved ones who have gone out from our harbors never to return. We especially remember Ryan Miller.”

Ryan Miller’s shrimp boat, the MRS, sunk in October. He was 38, survived by his wife and three children.

The event resonated in me. It was cultural. It was beautiful.

In Love With Everyone

Here are some sights from my Juneau adventure a few weekends back. I know I should do a proper blog entry about it, but it was such an experiential thing, I don’t want to bore people with details that in no way will convey the time Mike and I had. Maybe that’s a cop out, but I kind of believe it. I’ll just say it was one of the best weekends of my life. I was saying that as soon as I got back, and now, a couple of weeks later, I still hold firm to that notion.


This plate o’ sushi plus two more huge rolls plus sake plus beer equals $120 spent at Seong’s, the best sushi place in town. Every bite equaled a piece of heaven for my ethnic-food craved taste buds.


Mike and I at the Red Dog Saloon. His parents visited this bar years ago on their trip through Alaska. The bartender there made me the worst drink a bartender has ever made me (pictured, almost done with, to the left of me). It was green and girly.


Bluegrass 101, one of the best bluegrass bands I heard that weekend. I had never really heard live bluegrass previously, and was pretty much blown away. This band in particular had three different vocalists and the whole time they played, they maintained this close-knit setup changing positions as they needed. It created a sense that they indeed needed one another to make their own individual instrument play.

The 32nd Alaska Folk Festival brought all kinds of music – bluegrass, folk, country, guitar, salsa, Celtic, to name some. It seems trite to write that out of all the music festivals I’ve attended I’ve never felt such a unique, free vibe amongst the people there, but that’s what it was. It’s a vibe that cannot be reproduced or replicated – it was the most amazing product of time and place.


Compare this band’s setup to Bluegrass 101. Such a different feel. But they still produced awesome music. This is Western Hemlock Society, a bluegrass band out of Petersburg.

This picture and the one before were taken in Centennial Hall. In this venue, each artist or band got to play a three to four song set. They held a pretty strict schedule with a host introducing each new act. Rows of chairs were set up. People sat. People stood in the back. Constant coming and going. Families and children were prevalent. KTOO, Juneau’s public radio station, was taping the whole time. It was a great showcase for people to actually sit and listen to artists and bands of varying degrees of success and experience. No dancing. Festival paraphernalia as well as CDs were sold in the hallway.


I want to hire this band, Deep North, for my wedding (if I ever have one). They were absolutely phenomenal, especially the blue suited man playing an awesome harmonica who I was kind of in love with.

This band, and others, played in a building next door to Centennial Hall (don’t actually remember the name. Don’t think I ever knew it). These bands played full sets to a huge dancing audience. It was brilliant. All these people dancing, not caring at all what they looked like. And the thing is, we all looked great. Mike and I danced, a lot. Hours. I haven’t had so much dancing in a long, long time. I contemplated going barefoot. I should’ve. There were water coolers and cups set up in the back of room.


This picture and the next attempt to capture the atmosphere in the hallways of the Alaskan Hotel. We had people jamming right outside our doorway, in various corners throughout the hotel, in people’s room until 6 or 7 am. Again, brilliant. People would retire from the dance hall or from the bars (where there was also live music) around 1 or 2 and go to the Alaskan Hotel. Many of the artists, as well as just festoval goers who played and brought their instruments with them, were staying there and it was their opportunity to play with others for an eager audience, whether it be 20 people crowded around or three.

We bounced from floor to floor, hallway to hallway, following the trails of live music.


The guy in the Miller shirt was in Bluegrass 101.


Mike and I lunched on the balcony of El Sombrero Saturday. It was a gorgeous day. You can see downtown Juneau behind us, beckoning us.

Garnet Festival

It is the 10th Annual Stikine River Garnett Festival this week in Wrangell. Right now I should be on a jet boat going up the Stikine River with a bunch of fourth graders and senior citizens but the annual trip has been cancelled due to bad weather. Southeast is notorious for its bad weather, but this April has been a bit extreme. The email, which said the trip was postponed, came yesterday morning when it was snowing. Yes, snowing. The day peeled away though to reveal a bright sunny afternoon which lasted even when I left water aerobics at 7.

The postponement of the trip means that there will most likely be no hooligan in the river, which are fish the masses of eagles feed on. Here is an except from a short story I wrote on the Garnet Festival:

“What was originally a three-day weekend festival has since turned into an eight-day celebration which is made unique by the largest springtime concentration of American bald eagles in the world. Between 1,500 and 2,000 American bald eagles congregate on the Stikine River delta.

The masses of bald eagles arrive to feed on hooligan traveling up the river’s Middle and North arm. The delta also serves as a major stopover on the Pacific flyway for approximately 200,000 shorebirds, up to 15,000 snow geese, and over 10,000 Sand Hill cranes. From mid-April through early May, around 123 different species of birds are represented annually on the delta. The hooligan, a small (approximately 6 to 10 inches long), smelt-like fish also known as Eulachon, attract large numbers of Steller sea lions and Harbor seals too.

The festival is named after the Stikine River’s garnet ledge, which has been mined by amateurs and professionals for over a century and is located near the mouth of the Stikine, about five miles from Wrangell.”

There is a tradition where all first river goers have to bite off the head of the first hooligan they catch. While I love trying new things, I’m not sure how I’d feel about it once it came down to me staring at the live fish in my hand. So, as it turns out, I’ll probably not have to deal with that at all.

The Garnet Festival extends into this coming weekend. There is as Adult Dance at the American Legion Friday night, which I am contemplating attending just so I can have an excuse to wear a skirt. Under the description of the event it says: “Kick up your heels, a variety of popular music! DJ and some live music. Chinese auction too!”

I have no clue what they mean by Chinese auction. Perhaps, I’ll find out.

Juneau or Bust

Tomorrow morning I am off on a jet to Juneau. Mike from Petersburg and I are finally embarking on a trip we’ve talked about since I moved here in November. Besides the initial excitement of getting away for a long weekend and seeing another part of Alaska, our excitement is tenfold because we will be there for the last weekend of the 32nd Alaska Folk Festival. One love that Mike and I share is of live music. And the fact that it’s free makes us both drool.

It’s my first time off the island (or “off the rock” as some people say) since my trip to San Francisco over Christmas. I have to say, I’m a bit nervous about how I’ll react being in a crowd, in a ‘big’ city. Juneau is the capital of Alaska and a city of over 30,000 people, and it will seem that much more crowded with the folk festival contingent. When I went to San Francisco I had only been in Wrangell for a little over a month, and already I was taken aback by the traffic, the crowded sidewalks, the sight of so many people. I did get used to it quickly though, which was a relief to me.

But now it’s been close to five months since I’ve moved here, and over three months since I’ve left Wrangell. In general, I cannot remember the last time I was in one town for over three months in a row. One town. I’m just really curious to see how I feel, how I adjust my mindset for the three days.

This will be one of those tests. The first time I realized Hong Kong was home to me was when I flew back into the airport from a trip away and felt such a sense of relief and calm. We’ll see how I feel when I fly back to Wrangell from Juneau on Sunday. Then again, a weekend might be too short of a time away to show anything.

Mike and I will be staying in downtown Juneau at the Alaskan Hotel which has been called both a ‘hell hole’ and ‘a blast.’ It’ll certainly be an interesting time. We’re looking forward to the live music, the bars, shopping, and the range of ethnic cuisines offered in Juneau (sushi, Thai, Mexican) that we’ve been craving forever.

I’m so excited.

Fishbowl

While I’ve written about some of it, the past month and a half has been filled with a lot of pure, genuine fun. I’ve been establishing deeper friendships (or as deep as they can be after living in a place for four months), hanging out way too much, getting out on the water, golfing (my newest hobby), and looking forward to learning how to fish and going up the mighty Stikine River (so I can finally know what everyone means when they say ‘up the river’ in such a way that denotes a little piece of heaven).

But with that, I've also been thinking about what I'm doing with my life, what this fun actually amounts to, and where I could possibly go after this. I hate how I think about that every day. This is the first time in my life where there hasn’t been an ingrained end date (like graduation, or my maximum two year contract at Lingnan) and I’m having troubles finding that for myself, figuring it out. I know I don’t have to know now, but I wish I could just tell myself I’ll be here until ---- (blank) and be done with it so I can just enjoy as completely as I can the time I am here. The not knowing is what gets me the most. Or perhaps it’s the freedom I have on this matter, total control, that absolutely terrifies me.

Small town life is so much more intense than I thought it would be. I suppose one can make it whatever one wants, but I do want to be 'part' of it as much as I can, involved, as opposed to being more inward, reclusive. There’s no such thing as anonymity here, no layers of protection or supposition, which makes every day occurrences so potent. It’s like everything you do is being examined whether it's grocery shopping or checking mail or taking a walk. Everything gets put on display as opposed to everything being private, unknown, like how they are when you live in a bigger town or city.

In Hong Kong I could spend whole days doing things without anyone really knowing – people would be there to witness it but they wouldn’t care or remember or care to remember. In Hong Kong, I could get breakfast, take the west rail and mtr to the city, go to volunteering, walk around for hours shopping, perusing, travel back home, go to bed, and despite the fact that I was surrounded the whole day by a countless number of people, no one would ever know what I was doing unless I informed them of it. Having a mobile there was essential because if you didn’t have it to stay connected to someone or a few people, most likely through texting, you’d feel so cut off.

I’m not lying when I recount all the good times I had in Hong Kong or how much I loved, love, it. But on many levels, it’s one of the loneliest cities in the world, probably because of all the unfamiliar, unknown faces brushing by you, bumping into you. With the (sometimes) added component of a language barrier, it’s not hard to feel completely estranged.

Living in a small town is comforting in a way that's difficult to describe in words because it's wholly a feeling – a feeling of contentment and ease and family. It’s this awareness of a shared appreciation, of understanding what it's like to live on an island in southeast Alaska. It’s the most unique feeling I’ve ever felt. With the fishbowl syndrome comes also a sense that someone is watching over you, looking out for your best interests.

Life is more different here than I could have ever imagined. Or perhaps it's just me. I’m more different than I could've ever imagined.

In a lot of ways, it scares me how much I’ve adapted. I fear the security I feel living here, and at the same time feel this pull to escape, to travel, to return to the unknown which is a lot more familiar to me than this.