Goodbye, Mountains

I promised myself that I would post this rather silly moment of realization before I left, and so here I am, sharing another story about garbage. Do you recall, diligent reader, when I found that syllabic graffiti? Here is a photo to remind you.

Wow, I said. Cool! But it's probably something not very nice, because, often, graffiti isn't very nice!

Well, in the perfect crow-eating remember-not-to-assume-the-worst moment, when I was on a little walk the other day, I rounded the side of that curious little graffiti-ed structure and found this written on the other side:

Sometimes, people just want to write what a thing is and, because they live in a place where Inuktitut is spoken widely and syllabics are broadly understood, they figure, heck, this should be written in both Inuktitut and English. Sometimes, garbage-collectors need to indicate where garbage can be deposited so that it can be taken up to the dump.

A box for garbage, readers. That's what I was snapping photos of. It was something plain and innocuous and practical, but I missed the forest for the trees. Well, the garbage bin for the syllabics.

That interesting self-reflective moment is one of the things I will miss most about being in Pond Inlet, but it's something I will certainly be seeking wherever I end up next. Seeing all of the invisible things I often take for granted, with English as my first language and because I'm white and able-bodied and cisgender and all of those other privileges I try to think about but still sometimes miss, is incredible. Trying to see and dismantle privilege is at the heart of what I hope to do in the classroom and in my life.

As the light fades today, I know that this is my last evening here in Pond Inlet as part of this trip. Tomorrow, we need to be at the airport for 7am, so we're all packed and ready to head out.

It's hard to believe that I won't get to wake up and look at this vista again.

Goodbye, mountains. Goodbye, Bylot.

Goodbye, dogs singing in the distance. Goodbye, clouds across the mountains. Goodbye, sea ice. Goodbye, snowmobiles and qamutiks. Goodbye, glaciers. Goodbye, iceberg.

Goodbye, Pond Inlet, and thank you. 

Qujannamiik. ᖁᔭᓐᓇᒦᒃ.

Sunset over the iceberg on April 2nd.

Ayurnamat: Bleakness and Bold Colour

Today marks my last day at Nasivvik, as I'm staying at our host house tomorrow to pack and get all the necessary things in order for leaving Pond Inlet. While the weather looks like it should clear on all stops along the way (and it hasn't been great at either end, that's for sure!), I'm cautious about hoping for that clear shot through to Halifax I've booked. Things are unpredictable here, flights often delayed or cancelled due to myriad complications. But that's the way here: we take things as they come and adjust as necessary. There's no point worrying about that which can't be changed.

Yesterday's activity for the local youth had a good turn-out and there were some phenomenal cardboard chairs and foil boats built and tested. We're hopeful for the turnout for today's event as well. And this has been a really nice way to wrap up our time here, by spending time with engaged and interested teens. They are, after all, why we do this whole teaching thing in the first place -- and what a treat it is, to laugh and listen to hip-hop and make juice with junior high students who are just happy to visit and work away at the little activities we've schemed up.

A few photographs from the trip up the hill Brooke and I took the other day to visit the graveyard. The day was much like today: warmer, but overcast.

A qamutik, a cabin, and the sea ice. The sliding hill is down in that direction.

The graveyard was a place both solemn and beautiful: so many of the markers, often bearing syllabics and wreathed in bright plastic flowers that were in stark contrast to the bleak landscape around them, were for the young. They were carefully tended sites, sad and remarkable all at once. The view from the site is phenomenal and I wonder if there is some comfort in the vastness of the landscape for those who visit the sites of their lost loved ones. Sometimes, feeling small and humbled by the sky and mountains can help; other times, it doesn't help at all. And I imagine the feeling depends entirely on the visitors and those whom they have lost.

Our way back down from the cemetery was marked by spectacular views of the hamlet below us and the change in perspective made the mountains look as new and remarkable as always and, perhaps, all the more solemn for the grey day and the place we had just left.

Shrouded watchers in the distance on Bylot Island, haloed by light.

10 Things

I finished teaching on Thursday and, because most of the staff is away at professional improvement sessions hither and yon, I am left largely with little that Needs to Happen Immediately, save my own professional development program which involves reading Thomas King (and you don't really need to twist my arm to convince me to read his work) -- and even that is not of great urgency, although it is of great interest.

We've had an overcast few days here in Pond Inlet but the weather promises to be sunny for our Thursday morning departure. I've finished my marking and tidying; Brooke and I are running two more extra-curricular sessions for students who may wish to do fun things like build chairs out of cardboard and boats out of tin foil or make artist trading cards to swap with each other. Beyond that, though, this time here is a curious little buffer between being done with student teaching (forever!) and diving into the job search proper and staring with the for-real teaching.

Still, there is always something worth photographing and, as I inundated you with text sans accompanying photos yesterday, here are some photos sans accompanying paragraphs. Of course, I have concluded the post with a veritable wall of text (in list form!), because it isn't one of my blog entries unless I try to force you to read a million words.

The snowmobile I flipped, which I have named Unexpectedly Speedy.

The splintery wood I to which I added some extra splinters. See that yellow bit? I did that, with the help of Unexpectedly Speedy.

Caribou skin, which I am fairly sure Mother Dog and Puppy were nibbling and/or sleeping on.

A grey day for a delicious brunch, with mountains lit up in the distance.

The best things in life: raw char, an ulu, and lunch break.

Things I am going to miss about Pond Inlet:

1) Unexpectedly Speedy (the snowmobile): Although we had an uneven start, I will miss driving this mechanical workhorse across the frozen sea ice. I wish we had more time together.

2) Bylot Island: Staring at those mountains has become something I do every morning and throughout the day. I am transfixed by them, by the way the light illuminates new shapes and carves out new shadows, by their ever-changing faces.

3) The Sunlight: Once we passed through the blindingly white and chilly sunlight and into warm and yellow and lovely sunlight, the sun, always fascinating, became a source of gorgeous light and warmth. Watching it move through the sky and across the horizon, seeing it gobble up darkness as we progress toward summer, has been magical.

4) Nasivvik High School: I love this place. The staff members are incredible. The students are wonderful. My cooperating teacher is fabulous. The paper room makes me want to weep tears of joy. I've felt so welcomed into this school community and leaving will be (has been!) difficult.

5) Bannock Wednesdays: I don't know how I will be able to make it through another Wednesday morning without Regilee's bannock. My own paltry attempt does not even approach her magical bannock.

6) The Community: The community events, heading down to the Co-Op or the Northern and seeing familiar and friendly faces, developing a sense of the rhythm of the town, saying hello to my students as they drive by on ATVs or snowmobiles or visit the weekend market... I've missed living in a small town and this small town does the sense of community right.

7) The Pragmatism: People here are sensible. Clothes and coats are not for fashion; they're to deal with the weather. Heading out somewhere? Take what you need. Be smart. Be safe. Things can, at first, appear casual -- teachers wearing jeans to school! sweatshirts! heavens! -- but it's all to a point. There is no need to be fancy, to fuss over things that don't matter. The focus on what really matters is, well, beautiful.

8) The Generosity: This may be linked to the pragmatism that abounds here in Pond Inlet, but people are giving and kind. There is a sense that we must, first and foremost, take care of each other. You don't knock on doors here; you enter households because there is no sense in staying out in the cold, not when it's warm and light inside and there's plenty to share.

9) Iceberg Water: How will I ever go back to drinking regular old tap water? I DON'T KNOW!

10) The Students: The students I taught and interacted with have been truly inspiring. They came into class with voices that, although they sometimes needed coaxing out, were well-developed and engaged, especially on issues facing Nunavut and young Inuit today. My students showed up ready to learn, ready to tackle whatever challenges they faced in day-to-day life and to triumph, to be better, to strive for more. I leave inspired by their passion and their capabilities; I leave hopeful for their futures; and I leave so much richer for having known them. Young Nunavummiut make me excited for Nunavut's future!

In short, I'm going to miss a lot of things about Pond. There will be some things that I won't miss (these include primarily the internet speed, waiting-between-water-deliveries water-conservation mode, and also the fact that my wife is not up here with me, very much not in that order! I'd have to put wifelessness first on the list of things I will be glad to put an end to!). On the whole, however, this experience has been so remarkable that I'm not quite sure I can put it into words. It feels like something I'm hesitant to share, something I want to try to keep to myself -- which, of course, this blogging thing has made very much Not Possible (and that's for the best as Rebekah-in-5-Years will enjoy re-reading these very much, I imagine).

I'm going to miss this place and, because I'm leaving so soon and because my teaching has wrapped up, I'm already feeling the missing, even though I'm still here.

But I'll be back at some point to this incredible territory, this time with Kerstin in tow. After all, there are still a significant number of meats to try and I take my list of Arctic Meats to Eat very seriously indeed.

Decolonizing Education

So our internet has taken a turn for the extremely slow tonight, so I'm going to spare you any photographs of mountains and the neat-o picture I took of a caribou pelt and the snapshot I got of the snowmobile that I flipped yesterday and the wooden platform I splintered.

Instead, reader, you have me. Just me and my words.

And I'm afraid I don't even have a great deal to say! Today we headed on up the hill to have brunch with Abbas and Sherry, Dave and Pat's son and daughter-in-law. We came back. I wandered over to look at the leavings of that hunter's work on the ice (this time, having learned from how smelly I made my glove when I poked the seal fat last time and having just gotten said smell out, I used my toe to push it around). I headed back in, watched the weather go by, and thought about what I'm going to do with myself over the next few days.

Tomorrow, it's my continuing self-directed professional improvement programming and some fun events for students who are now on spring break (whether any show up is really the question at hand!). I've been reading Thomas King's The Inconvenient Indian: A Curious Account of Native People in North America. I was fortunate enough to hear Thomas King speak while at St. Thomas University and have been a fan of his work since. And, after happening on an excellent article about decolonizing the education system (thanks, Emily!), I've been on a little personal and professional quest to really do my homework on colonization, education, hegemony, and First Nations, Métis, and Inuit peoples in Canada.

I've been fortunate enough, in my own education, to have been exposed to the parts of history that often get skipped in public school classrooms (the horrors of the residential schools, the way First Nations soldiers were treated during wartime in Canada, blatantly racist and systemically oppressive government policies, the High Arctic Exiles, among other events that characterize the government of Canada's historically problematic relationship with Aboriginal peoples) and later, in university, post-colonial theory and its place in Canada, Eurocentrism and hegemony, and the politics of social justice and how that framework can play out in the classroom.

And so I've launched my own little study program, building on the foundation I have cultivated throughout my own education. Teaching in Nunavut has helped cement my commitment to examining the politics that are implicit in the education system and that, of course, involves making sure that I've done my research and have solicited and listened to Indigenous voices and perspectives.

In saying that, I'll give today's final word to "Decolonizing Education: Not an Indian Problem" (ie., an summary of a talk given by Dr. Battiste, whose book I will be picking up very shortly):

Dr. Battiste outlined how her work focuses on helping Canadian citizens and pre-service teachers to understand the social context into which Indigenous peoples have been forced, and how this Eurocentric framework found within our educational institutions has created inequities and disparities amongst students and communities, even though out educational system prides itself on being an equitable one. The context within which Aboriginal people endure the educational system is an example of how the Eurocentric framework ensure the myth of superiority of one race at the expense of the well-being of another by creating false concepts of differences, deficiencies, and dependency in comparison to the 'white' defined 'norm.' 

... 

Decolonizing education, significantly not "decolonizing Aboriginal education," points to the fact that we need to reframe our current education system as a whole. It also implies that there is a significant problem with the education system, and it isn't an Indian problem. The Eurocentric framework of education will continue to be problematic: we will not solve inequities, nor injustices, by those means that are currently in practice in our institutions and educational systems.

Intrepid Adventurer, Questionable Driver

Today was fabulous: a sunny and nearly windless day in the mid -20s (which, here, is pretty comfortable). In the morning, I spotted, yet again, Mother Dog and Puppy, eagerly eyeballing an animal that a hunter was butchering out on the ice for his dogs. Luckily, they were able to pick up some scraps and the man who was preparing the animal kindly welcomed Mother Dog and made sure she got something to take away with her.

Keen watchers, whose diligence was later rewarded.

The best picture of the two I've managed. They're good looking dogs, if somewhat scruffy.

After I took the obligatory photographs so that you can continue to learn about these two entrancing canines (ha! you're welcome), Brooke and I got bundled up for a little adventure. We headed out in a little convoy of two snowmobiles and a qamutik (please note the corrected spelling) with Dave, two of his children and a daughter-in-law, and three grandchildren, along with me, your intrepid writer, and Kuukuluk.

A cozy little family box on a qamutik. It got toasty in there!

We drove down to a sledding hill by Salmon Creek, where two families were already sledding with many, many children and a deliriously happy and friendly puppy. The hill was incredible -- smooth, with steps chiselled up the face. As I rode down, snow sprayed up on my face and melted against my skin, wetting my face as thoroughly as if I'd washed my face. And despite the fact that it was -25C, I was warm and happy and safe. Incredible to think that I could spend an afternoon in that kind of temperature with soaked skin and feel nary a concern, only a half-delirious contentment!

Up the hill.

Kuukuluk, climbing with sled in hand.

The watcher of all the action, who happily participated in many a slide down the hill.

I had so many cuddles with this little guy -- so fluffy, so sweet. I wanted to scoop him up and fly him home with me!

Happy sledders!

After a great time sliding, we decided to head back around the town to Janes Creek, where Dave's son and daughter-in-law have a cabin. Brooke and I rode with two of the children in the qamutik and then arrived to drink hot chocolate, eat bannock (I made a second bannock, which I called redemption bannock as I omitted the doubled-salt that I included in the first... it was delicious and also, as a bonus, edible), and have some Noodles-in-a-Cup. As we climbed up the hill to the cabin, Abbas noted some tracks.

BEAR TRACKS.

Well, we saw those bad boys, which Abbas pronounced were fresh, and Dave unslung the rifle from around his shoulder and got it ready to go, should we spot the fellow who made those tracks.

Thankfully, we didn't. That's about as close to a polar bear as I ever want to be.

After stopping in the cabin and warming up, we decided to head back home, and Anisa asked me if I'd like to drive her snowmobile on the way back. Of course, readers, I knew that I had to -- I couldn't come back and write a blog about how I said no. For one thing, Kerstin would never let me back in the house. For another thing, I like driving fast things. I like it a lot. We trundled back down the hill and onto the sea ice.

That's some nice sea ice. Icey indeed.

I got a quick little lesson in driving a snowmobile and we set off. Readers, the sun was warm and glorious, the wind light and hardly noticeable. The snowmobile rumbled on underneath of me, the tendons in my arms and hands tense as I directed the machine in the tracks of Abbas's, which cut a path back toward Pond Inlet proper. A stupid smile spread across my face under my balaclava. This was incredible: zipping along on a snowmobile, Anisa behind me and congratulating me on my excellent driving, zooming over the frozen sea ice as mountains watched on either side. I knew, suddenly, that I needed a snowmobile.

Chuffed at how well I was doing, I zipped us all the way back to the house, hopped us over some bumps in the sea ice -- which, admittedly, I took a little fast because I was afraid of getting stuck (turns out that I didn't need to do this, but the air we caught was pretty exciting).

That would be yours truly, the intrepid adventurer, through the window. Thanks, Pat!

Onwards and up to the house we went, where we rounded the corner and --

Well, okay. Let me explain this first.

One handle has a thing you squeeze to go.

The other handle has a thing you squeeze to not go, called a brake.

So I squeezed the go, squeezed it all the way to A Little Too Fast, and squeezed again to stop -- only we didn't because I squeezed the go instead of the not go (whoops!) and I maybe drove us into the abandoned Arctic Research Station's wooden heater platform, thereby flipping the snowmobile on its side.

Yes, I know. I may be an intrepid adventurer, but I am, at this point in my snowmobiling history, a questionable driver.

As it turns out, everything is okay. I got clipped a little above my left eye by the handlebar and so have a little lump there, but Anisa was fine and also in fine spirits, the snowmobile is fine, the Arctic Research Station is abandoned and so doesn't care (it's also fine), and, although my pride may be a little less fine, I, too, am fine.

I scrambled up, a long string of very rude words exiting my mouth (like darn! and drat! and other more colourful choices), interspersed with ample apologies once Anisa and I determined we were both okay. It was then that two little heads popped over the roof: two young boys, asking if we needed help, little faces furrowed with concern. Nope, Anisa assured them, we're okay. She headed inside after we tried to right the snowmobile and failed and so had to wait for other grown-ups. I stood there, looking at the snowmobile rather blankly. Dang, I thought, way to go, Rebekah.

The boys looked down again, heads peeking over the edge of the roof. "Are you sure you don't need help?" they asked skeptically, slow smiles spreading across their rosy-cheeked faces.

I looked up, grinned and shrugged. "It's alright," I said. "I am pretty embarrassed, but other than that, I'm fine." Ten-year-old kids, checking in on me, hoping they could help. They chuckled and headed off and, with that, I went inside. The snowmobile was righted, tested, and my lumpy eyebrow iced, while we had a good chuckle over my squeeze-to-stop impulse that equalled, in that moment, the very opposite of stop.

Here is something I have noticed about the North: the generosity and compassion of people here. Anisa wasn't worried for a second about her snowmobile; she found the whole thing quite funny, once she was sure that I was okay, and was quick to wave away my profuse apologies and share the rich and storied history of snowmobile-flipping. As it turns out, this whole thing is a bit of a rite of passage and my little incident led to an enjoyable little stint of storytelling. But it isn't just that: offers of clothing, beautiful sealskin mitts and kamiks, folks stopping on a trip on the land to make sure I'm comfortable and content, students inquiring after how I'm finding Pond Inlet, another student who gave me the mini kamiks off her purse because she knew I was after a pair... People here are generous, the community warm and open and inviting. I feel, here, welcome, protected, looked after. And that's a wonderful feeling indeed.

All in all, an incredible day, even if I did make sure we had an, uh, exciting ending. Oh, Rebekah... Ha!

Dogs: Here, There, Everywhere

Mother dog and pup seem to live around our host house. I've seen them nearly every day, hanging around, curled up and sleeping, or, once, stealing an Arctic Char and running like hell back down the beach for some delicious fish and away from frustrated people. These canines are thieves, friends, but their cleverness is endearing.

First, I was playing with the miniature settings on my camera because I thought it would be cool if our iceberg looked itty-bitty. Here are the fruits of my labour (not exactly what I was aiming for; alas!).

Does it sort of look little? Not really. Oh well. I tried.

Teeny-tiny puppy.

Then, on our walk yesterday, we came right by one of the boats that the pooches like to huddle underneath.

Cuddles against the cold.

And, this morning, when I opened up the blinds to get a look at the day, the dogs were right underneath our front window. Our working hypothesis is that they like to sleep under a shed next door. They aren't exactly friendly -- watchful, wary of any rocks that might come hurtling their way -- but they aren't aggressive either. And part of me wants to go out and sneak them pieces of ham, but it's better that they cultivate their fish-finding habits and self-sufficiency, as I'm not going to be around to feed them. Southerners who live in Pond Inlet very often end up with stray dogs and it's no wonder. We're soft-hearted. If we're up here, we're usually making plenty of money and we have enough food security that we can afford to spend time thinking about our dogs' stomachs rather than our own or our childrens'. One of the teachers with whom I worked during my practicum has a husky mix named Oscar because he found puppy-Oscar in a garbage can (get it? Oscar from a garbage can).

If I was here for any length of time, I'd no doubt end up with a dog. For now, however, I steel my heart and watch these two, Mother Dog and Puppy, scurry around together. And, as I've said, these dogs aren't unhappy. This climate, this lifestyle, is bred deep into their genes; theirs is a traditional lifestyle, the relationship with their owners one spooled out over hundreds and hundreds of years of working relationships. Even when I get it intellectually, though, I guess I'm just a soft-hearted qallunaat right down to the core.

I am working on developing that thicker skin. I need it. But I still want to make sure the mushy inside bit is there, only a little more protected.

Right outside our window.

Many nights, I hear the sounds of dogs yipping and howling out on the ice -- maybe getting an evening meal, perhaps watching a bear wander by in the distance. Sometimes, as Brooke and I walk down the hill toward home after school, we'll look down and see the dogs, no bigger than grains of rice scattered across the ice, and their voices carry all the way up to us, eerie in the quiet under the mountains.

And tonight we were treated to the sight of a team of dogs hustling by the iceberg, their legs flashing quickly underneath them.

Hurry, pups.

There's ground still to tread.

Running dogs and dogs I kind of want to cuddle make me, of course, think of my own dog. It's been a long time since you've seen a picture of Jensen, dear readers, and no doubt you've been waiting patiently for this handsome mug again!

Cuddles with Kerstin. Apparently this is actually his I'm going to throw up in about 10 minutes face. Dog ownership, folks. Very glamourous.

I'll be arriving on Jensen's birthday -- the Big #3! -- and rumour has it that he's pretty thrilled. Apparently, when Kerstin pulled on one of my sweatshirts the other day, Jensen sniffed it forever and got really waggy and excited (only to find that I didn't materialize), so I'm sure our reunion will be one for the memory books. And I'm pretty excited to see my own dog again, who also used to run and run and run and who now sleeps and sleeps and sleeps and cuddles plenty as well.

The cats, though. The cats are indifferent, as always. Perpetually indifferent. Continually indifferent.

One of the profound and personal discoveries I've made here in Pond Inlet, land of mountains and sky and snow? I am well and truly a dog person.

Gray-Skied Conclusion

Well, today was the day. I've finished teaching at Nasivvik High School; I've finished practice teaching entirely. It's a feeling that has been a long time coming but will remain difficult to process. But today was a good day, a good goodbye. Still, even when the days are good, endings are tricky things.

But life moves on here in Pond Inlet. We had another overcast day, which meant that the temperature was mild -- comfortable, even, so Brooke and I walked home from the school, taking in the sights of the mountains cloaked in clouds, the stark black of the rock exposed after hours of sunlight. After a pause at our host house, we headed up the hill to visit one of the town's graveyards (photographs and thoughts to follow). As it happens, the graveyard was at the top of a surprisingly long and steep hill but, once we clamboured all the way up, the view was spectacular. I've included a few sample snaps from the walk back from school and then up the hill, as well as a shot of an interesting ice formation. A proper catalogue replete with too many pictures of mountains is to follow! You're welcome.

None of these have been edited except for resizing (dang, friends, these upload speeds!). I wanted to preserve the effect of the light in the sky, the cloud like a filter dampening everything to gray except for those moments when the sun broke through and lit up distant mountains.

Walking back after school.

Down the Very Steep and Very Up hill to Pat and Dave's, iceberg visible in the distance.

Our neighbourhood (that would be Mittamatalik -- the old Pond), huddled by the edge of the water, embraced by sea ice and watched by distant mountains.

Small things, big things.

A spray of ice, a broken sculpture.

And things continue to await me here in Pond Inlet before I head back to Nova Scotia! I've an amauti braid to finish (Workshop Part 2 was very useful and Geela was, as usual, preeminently patient), professional development to... develop, and activities to run for students who now could use a few things to occupy their days.

Also, pictures of mountains and things to share. So many mountains, so much ice, and a fair amount of dog pee in the background (that would be why, faithful readers, that last photo isn't edited; the yellow in the snow becomes far too obvious and detracts from the general feelings of... majesty and awe that I wanted to capture).