Read Online In the Empire of Ice by Gretel Ehrlich - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gretel Ehrlich
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qasig were evil. But when I was young, I went anyway. There was nothing that made me afraid.”
Except hunger. Reindeer were introduced to alleviate famine. Everyone had famine stories. Between 1881 and 1883, the people along the coast from Wales to Point Hope had very little game or fish, and many people starved. The famine was said to have been caused by shamans fighting among themselves. People from the regions around Noatak River, Kotzebue Sound, and especially Kivalina were hard-hit. The caribou stayed away. The seals did not haul out. The fish did not spawn in the rivers. Geese and swans went elsewhere. One villager said half the population of these areas died and the survivors moved to Barrow, Unalakleet, and the central Kobuk.
The crew of the ship Corwin found dead people “scattered about the banks of a stream near Cape Thompson.” An epidemic of flu followed soon after, brought by the whites. The autonomous nation of the Kivallinigmiut, northeast of Wales, ceased to exist altogether.
Islands were particularly susceptible to hunger. If the seals and walruses and bowheads didn’t come by, and the ice was bad, there was nothing islanders could do. When hunger struck one village, its people packed up and moved to a village on the other side. Food was always shared, even if it meant eventual starvation for everyone.
James Aningayou of St. Lawrence Island remembers hunger: “We had short of meat, and poor year, poor spring. We had a little meat from the spring hunting, so we had used up during the summer. Then in the fall we have nothing to eat while waiting for the ice to appear. My stepfather had two dogs, I think. He kill one, is very fat. Then he boil the muscle of the hind legs and front legs. That was good.”
A villager said: “The best hunting was when the ice first got here. When it started coming, everybody would go to the top of the mountain, they were so glad to see the ice coming in. They had been eating old meat for a while, some families were out of meat, they had been along the beach all the time looking for seaweed so they would have something fresh to eat. Everybody wanted the ice. It meant they would have food.”
COMING DOWN FROM the hill at the far end of Wales, we pass a man on a side hill in front of his house. His snow machine is in pieces on the snow. He’d tried to get to Shishmaref but ran out of gas. “Walked home. Pretty cold with that wind. Now I’m trying to get this old snow-go going.” He offers to sell Joe a carving. He needs the money to buy gas. It’s a fossilized piece of mammoth ivory etched with images of ice age animals. Joe turns it over and over carefully. “You’re not asking enough for this. You should sell it in town, in Anchorage. You’d get a lot for it.”
The man protests. “Anchorage is a long way away,” he says. Joe gives him a hundred dollars in cash but refuses to take the carving. We slide down a steep hill in deep snow to the high school. It’s a modern building with central heating and flush toilets. The classrooms are equipped with computers; moviemaking equipment; art rooms for painting, carving, and woodworking; and a biology lab. Two enthusiastic high school girls ask if they can film Joe and me at the end of the day. “Are you doing oral histories in your community?” I ask. They shrug.
Between classes the halls fill with students of all ages. The mood is high-spirited and friendly, with students, teachers, janitors, and administrators intermingling easily. Ray’s son Clifford, who works as a school janitor and unofficial counselor, waves. He’s busy showing a young boy how to hold a carving tool. Joe looks in and nods approvingly.
I’m snagged by a teacher to say hi to her first graders. No rows of desks for these kids. The class dynamics are free-form and enthusiastic. The kids fire hundreds of questions, and two older girls interview us using a new video camera on a tripod.
“But no one speaks Inupiat, our language,” Joe
Except hunger. Reindeer were introduced to alleviate famine. Everyone had famine stories. Between 1881 and 1883, the people along the coast from Wales to Point Hope had very little game or fish, and many people starved. The famine was said to have been caused by shamans fighting among themselves. People from the regions around Noatak River, Kotzebue Sound, and especially Kivalina were hard-hit. The caribou stayed away. The seals did not haul out. The fish did not spawn in the rivers. Geese and swans went elsewhere. One villager said half the population of these areas died and the survivors moved to Barrow, Unalakleet, and the central Kobuk.
The crew of the ship Corwin found dead people “scattered about the banks of a stream near Cape Thompson.” An epidemic of flu followed soon after, brought by the whites. The autonomous nation of the Kivallinigmiut, northeast of Wales, ceased to exist altogether.
Islands were particularly susceptible to hunger. If the seals and walruses and bowheads didn’t come by, and the ice was bad, there was nothing islanders could do. When hunger struck one village, its people packed up and moved to a village on the other side. Food was always shared, even if it meant eventual starvation for everyone.
James Aningayou of St. Lawrence Island remembers hunger: “We had short of meat, and poor year, poor spring. We had a little meat from the spring hunting, so we had used up during the summer. Then in the fall we have nothing to eat while waiting for the ice to appear. My stepfather had two dogs, I think. He kill one, is very fat. Then he boil the muscle of the hind legs and front legs. That was good.”
A villager said: “The best hunting was when the ice first got here. When it started coming, everybody would go to the top of the mountain, they were so glad to see the ice coming in. They had been eating old meat for a while, some families were out of meat, they had been along the beach all the time looking for seaweed so they would have something fresh to eat. Everybody wanted the ice. It meant they would have food.”
COMING DOWN FROM the hill at the far end of Wales, we pass a man on a side hill in front of his house. His snow machine is in pieces on the snow. He’d tried to get to Shishmaref but ran out of gas. “Walked home. Pretty cold with that wind. Now I’m trying to get this old snow-go going.” He offers to sell Joe a carving. He needs the money to buy gas. It’s a fossilized piece of mammoth ivory etched with images of ice age animals. Joe turns it over and over carefully. “You’re not asking enough for this. You should sell it in town, in Anchorage. You’d get a lot for it.”
The man protests. “Anchorage is a long way away,” he says. Joe gives him a hundred dollars in cash but refuses to take the carving. We slide down a steep hill in deep snow to the high school. It’s a modern building with central heating and flush toilets. The classrooms are equipped with computers; moviemaking equipment; art rooms for painting, carving, and woodworking; and a biology lab. Two enthusiastic high school girls ask if they can film Joe and me at the end of the day. “Are you doing oral histories in your community?” I ask. They shrug.
Between classes the halls fill with students of all ages. The mood is high-spirited and friendly, with students, teachers, janitors, and administrators intermingling easily. Ray’s son Clifford, who works as a school janitor and unofficial counselor, waves. He’s busy showing a young boy how to hold a carving tool. Joe looks in and nods approvingly.
I’m snagged by a teacher to say hi to her first graders. No rows of desks for these kids. The class dynamics are free-form and enthusiastic. The kids fire hundreds of questions, and two older girls interview us using a new video camera on a tripod.
“But no one speaks Inupiat, our language,” Joe
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