Manokota 'Nunaniq' School

Manokotak "Nunaniq" School

That's my house. The school is just about 200 meters away to the west.


Nunaniq (noon-an-ik) means beautiful in Yup'ik and this school really lives up to its name. It is situated in the eastern part of the village up about four miles from where the majority of the population lives and at the base of some 1,200 ft rolling hills. Kids get to school by school bus, four-wheeler or "snow machine" in the winter.

I get asked, "how are the kids?" often. To be honest, in my experience, kids seem to be kids anywhere you go. They seem to need the same things: love, care, expectation, positivity and to know that you believe in them. The truth is, the kids are great, my school is wonderful, it's just different from anything I've ever known, culturally, geographically and situationally. I think I most appreciate the forced change within myself, the learning and the adjustments that must take place for me (communication, tone of voice, way of life and so many other things) -- more on all that later.

On the weekends many kids help their parents fish and with daylight lasting until about 11:30pm now, kids play until dark. School isn't the priority for all as hunting and fishing are relied on for subsistence and livelihood. I have two students who I have not yet met because they are in Anchorage at the state fair selling fish. Such is life.

Manokotak has a population of 400 and Manokotak "Nunaniq" School (K-12) has 120 kids. The school day is a long one. I have my 12 4th and 5th graders (I know, I know ridiculously small class) from 8:50 - 3:12 straight. I teach everything, from literacy to physical education. I even eat lunch with the kids which entitles me to a free lunch. Square meals around here are hard to come by, not to mention expensive to import. We don't have a grocery store of any kind here either, so it's worth lunch duty.

Life is beautiful here and I am very happy. I also have a fantastic view of the tundra from my classroom windows, complete with winding rivers and a faint view of the ocean in the distance. It's a ridiculous view really. I am fortunate to be here and to be doing what I love.

Thanks for reading and for the notes and emails!

Smells Like Salmon

Beautiful, huh?

This was the net the first time we pulled the net in. I was in awe.

Cleaning one of the many fish


Today I went fishing. Not pole fishing, subsistence fishing. We threw the net out last night, and this morning we pulled in ten silvers, each 2 - 3 feet long and weighing about four pounds. Fishing was an all day event. Getting them out of the net was tough enough. They swim themselves in and get all tangled and wound up in it. Though at first I was a bit squeamish and careful removing the fish, I got over it quickly. Next I was given a quick lesson on how to clean them. Cutting them, skinning them and finally vacuum packing them took all day. It was fantastic.

Four hours later, we checked our net again and we had another four salmon. When it was all said and done, my roommate and I walked away with 30 pounds of cleaned salmon. We're thinking of going once more to last us the winter. I was told that ice fishing is pretty great too, so I can look forward to some trout later.

Anyway, I feel very self-sufficient, but can't get rid of the smell of salmon. I'll get over it, I've got dinner for months. Berries are our next endeavour.

Home Sweet Home

My Big Backyard



The Bush Plane



A view of the cockpit


After a month and a half of living out of a suitcase, I’m finally home. My stomach turned yesterday afternoon as we left Dillingham, knowing full well that it would be the last time I would be able to get the necessities of life with little consequence.

We were shuttled to the airport in a big blue van that pulled directly up to the plane. No security, no tickets, no checkpoints, nothing. It was a $60.00 per person “taxi” ride, which we paid upon arrival into Manokotak. No tip expected or even accepted. I asked.

Bouter, our pilot, and "the best pilot around" (only gone down once) met us on the runway. He was all business...wearing old tennis shoes, sweat pants that hung a quarter of the way down his full moon, and a dirty t-shirt. He hurried us into the plane calling out orders while unloading each item from our box of food into the front compartment of the plane. I didn’t ask questions as he ranted about the “idiots” at the grocery store who put the food into a box that was too big. Cans of tomatoes, noodles and dried milk were all flung into the small compartment. Once we were loaded (or overloaded), all six of us, including Bouter piled in. As we speed down the runway, Bouter yelled back, “Everybody know the safety procedure?” “No,” I yelled from behind. “Follow me!” he cackled. And we were out.

Sockeye Salmon

On Saturday, I went with a group of locals to go fishing and have dinner on the beach. We drove out to one of the lakes in Dillingham and got in a flat bottom boat. On our way out to the beach we stopped by one of the creek beds where the sockeye salmon were spawning. I’ve never seen anything like it.


This little one was finished spawning and probably wasn't going to make it much longer

The sockeye salmon live for four years. Before they die, they swim upstream, lay their eggs and protect them from predators for a little while. Then, before their eggs hatch, they let the current take them away and they die. They sacrifice themselves and become the base of the food chain in the lake, becoming food for the flies, which will feed their eventual offspring. While many people are still catching sockeye, their bodies are beginning to rot; the silvers are the fish of choice right now. This was all news to me.


The unique colors, textures and features of the fish are incredible; I could have watched them for hours.

Dillingham, Alaska

Dillingham is surrounded by over twenty different rivers

On August 7th I left Anchorage for Dillingham. Dillingham is considered bush Alaska, because it is isolated and accessible to the rest of the world only by air and for a few months, by water. I flew into Dillingham in a small plane with only 10 passengers. The whole flight my face was plastered to the airplane window like a kid outside a candy store. It was the most beautiful ride I've ever taken. Thursday I will head to Manokotak, my final destination.

Lamenting Ridiculously Convienient Times

Just steps from my apartment in New York. At this 'one stop shop' you can get fruit and buy a new skirt.

Packing is hard. Especially when the closest Target, Walgreen's or anything similar will be 350 miles away. Not exactly convenient. I can adjust to living without my morning street vendor coffee (light with cream and Splenda, ready for me as the clock strikes 6:32), but what about when I run out of dry milk or drop my toothbrush in the toilet? What happens when I need to cook myself dinner and I don't have half the ingredients? For sustenance, should I just resort to Twinkies and Mac n' Cheese to supplement the local fish and walrus? My confusion has been compounded having spent the last two years in New York City, where anything and everything is available anytime, giving me no recent practice with modern household needs, particularly cooking needs. I've got some brown rice, dried beans, green curry and some granola with me. Self inflicted tough love?