Yesterday was a great day.
After the harrowing experience at the Malamute Saloon I was ready for the mundane task of being a teacher again. I headed out early Monday morning and before Wednesday noon I had visited all my students and even had enough time to stop by and see the Finks. Everyone had done their lessons, even Jimmy Green, and the Finks were just as nice and pleasant as always.
The Twins were beside themselves with anticipation and made me promise I would be at the tribal feast so I could see them dance.
The map made of an animal hide that Uncle Frank had given me, via the Twins of course, was easy to follow. The only thing that threw me off a little was the scale. The place where the feast was to be held ended up being a lot closer than I had anticipated. It only took an hour to get to the Octagon.
The Octagon as you might suspect is an eight sided wooden structure where, I gathered, tribal ceremonies of any note were held. Although I had arrived early the place was packed and food already set up inside on wooden tables just as rustic looking as the building itself.
The feast was not a whole lot different than any Thanksgiving celebration in the lower 48 except for the notable exceptions that there was not turkey. There were however plenty of ducks, geese, a swan, otters, caribou, moose, and shell fish. Each was prepared in numerous sorts of ways, no two of which were the same. Some how there were vegetable casseroles prepared with corn and green beans being the item of choice, but they also were all prepared differently. The only notable difference was that there was a mound of frozen fish piled in one nook of the Octagon which I thought a little strange because I saw no stove or fire that could cook them.
After everyone, or almost everyone, was settled and a prayer given the line formed with the teenagers or so it seemed, in the front of the line. I thought this sort of rude given the fact that the elders kept their seats. The kids piled a little bit of everything on a plate even the the frozen fish. They immediately took the plates to the elders seated as a sign of respect. The frozen fish thing still puzzled me till I realized that it was the Athabaskan's equivalent of sushi and their traditional meal.
Bev and I were asked to go next behind the teenagers and we also filled our plate but tried to avoid the frozen fish pile but with no luck. Jimmy Green took it upon himself to find us the biggest two fish in the pile. The rest of the crowd lined up and went through the line eagerly.
While trying to figure out how to eat around the fish and perhaps give it away to a more deserving person I noticed that some of the younger adults sat hot sauce on the table and sprinkled it on the fish before they chomped down.
Everything was delicious and the Italian meatballs Bev had prepared were a big hit.
I finally came to the last bite of a piece of moose, I think, when I realized that I could not put this fish business off any longer. I did not want to insult my hosts but I really had no desire to eat a raw fish, hot sauce or not. I looked over towards Bev and she had already begun eating her fish. She told me to eat up, it wasn't bad at all. I sprinkled hot sauce over the fish, found some salt and pepper, reached across the table for some cocktail sauce and applied all liberally. The moment of truth had come. I tentatively took a lick, then a small nibble and then a bigger bite. Now at this point in any story one would suspect that the narrator would say that to his surprise that it tasted far better than he thought. Not so. It was terrible. I managed to down about half the fish and figured that would suffice. To my shock it did. No one seemed to notice or care if I finished it or not.
After the plates were taken away drummers came out and started beating out rhythms and singing songs in their native language. After a few minutes several people came out and danced for awhile and then after they were through another bunch came out. Eventually it was the Twins turn and I have to say in my opinion they were the best of all.
It took me awhile to figure out that each dancing group was from a family and each dance told a story of some sort. I could not tell you what all the stories were but they defenately were a story and were choreographed in such a way that everyone else in the Octagon knew what the dancers were doing. They would even laugh at certain parts of the routine. It reminded me of going to the Opera and trying to follow the story and watching the true lovers of the art transfixed on the conduct of the performers and the foreign words of the performance.
There was the normal visiting between those present and everyone was introduced to us either by Big Bear or Jimmy Green. For some reason Jimmy seemed to be one of the special hosts.
Along towards evening we left. It was a most enjoyable time. Probably one of the better Thanksgivings that I have ever had, even though there was not a Turkey present.
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