Our Emerald Isle - Sir Snapper

The De'Vere family crest

 Sir Snapper

Given information about the inheritance of the Irish Pup in Devere and the Sir business, I started to check out such just to insure that Brian was not full of blarney. While Bev busied herself packing for our upcoming trip to the Emerald Isle I spent my time on the computer

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Charles McAnally came to America via kidnapped by sailors that were looking for an additional crew member.  We know he came from Glasgow, Scotland but not being of the nobility no records are available as to who his parents were.  Charles had several sons one of which was named Huge.  Huge ended up marrying a lady named Elizabeth De’Vere.  There was a lot of information about Elizabeth. 

Her father was the fourth son of Robert De’Vere the 18^th Earl of Oxford who was sent to Ireland to manage the family holdings because his three older brothers had either had inherited the title, gone into the Church of England priesthood or joined the army and there was nothing left for him to do in England.  Apparently Elizabeth’s father was not a very good estate manager, for the De’Vere’s holdings in Ireland went bankrupt and the De’Veres moved to America leaving Elizabeth’s older brother, Albert, in Ireland in a small house in a much smaller Irish cross road village.  Elizabeth eventually met and married Huge in Ameria. 

Albert was apparently much more adept in business than his father because he started a little business selling Irish cakes and pies to passer bys.  This eventually grew into an Inn and Pub.  The locals started calling the Pub and Inn De’Vere’s and the establishment was handed down from one son to another until there were not sons left to run the place which apparently happened several years ago.  The Pup and Inn had seen better days and remained vacant for a very long time but the village had been named De’Vere.  The Village council decided to demolish the long time Pub because it was in ruin anyway but a member of the De’Vere Historical Society stepped in and raised such a fuss that the Council relented if the Society could find the rightful owners and restore the place and re name the pub becasue they did not think it proper for a pub to be named after the town.  The search began. 

While searching though some old records the Society found Albert’s will which stated that if for some reason no son of the De’Vere line was living in De’Vere that the Pub and Inn should be given to the oldest living children in equal shares to the direct decedents of his beloved sister Elizabeth.  That ended up being Brian, Traci and me as best anyone could tell and such was certified by the Royal Irish Inheritance Act of 1754.  That is how we became owners of the Pub and Inn which the De’Vere Historical Society still had no name for.

The Sir Snapper comment in Brian’s telegram was based on the fact that we are decedents of English Royalty and the Earl’s of Oxford are part of our blood line which can be traced back to 280 AD.  That is staggering.  I don’t know if a Sir is appropriate given the fact that I have never been knighted and have thought about sending Queen Elizabeth II a note just in case it was overlooked.

Next week I make my final rounds visiting my students and bid them and Alaska good by, at least for awhile.

Our Emerald Isle - The Telegram

 The Telegram

As of last Monday there were only two weeks of school left.  Bev and I had to make a decision.  I had been offered contracts for the upcoming school year from the District and University for more money than I had ever made before in my life and given the fact that my expenses are very minimal the amount of discretionary income available stagers a boy from Fairmount.  We have been able to save a little money this year but not a tremendous sum because of the initial cost of relocating, but we aren’t in the hole either.  If we come back next year we would be set for life, well not to the degree some would like but sufficient for us along with social security and my army pension.  However money has never been a motivating influence for Bev or me.  But then again given the fact I had nothing better to do, at least at the time I was reading my contract, I had no real reason not to return.  We could visit the kids this summer, spend a month or so at our place in Tucson, and return to the wilds and mysteries of Alaska in early September.  I was just about ready to sign the contract when I received the telegram.

Big Bear showed up around noon the other day decked in his Western Union outfit.  The telegram was from my brother Brian and sister Traci.

“Dear Sir Snapper,” the telegram began, “Stop Sorry we have not kept in touch more frequently Stop We have exciting news and opportunity but need your help Stop Don’t make any plans for this summer or next year before you talk to me Stop Will call you this evening with details Stop Love Brian and Traci Stop”

Well Brian was always coming up with some sort of scheme and my first reaction was to send back a telegram reminding him of the last time he sent such a message.  That message ended up costing me a few dollars and a lot of grief.

 He at one time wanted to open up a Greek Bar and Grill near his home in Chicago.  He was very well connected with the Greek community via his marriage to a nice Greek lady and just knew such a business would be a real money maker.  He had it all planned out.  Greek food, Greek music, Greek dancers, Greek décor, and waiters and waitresses that spoke nothing but Greek.  He said that the place would even be blessed by the local Greek Orthodox Priest.  He just needed a little more start up money.  Our father had died not to long before and left us a little life insurance.  He knew I still had money available.  I really didn’t need the money so I figured why not.

 He did open the place but then a few things happened that sort of put a crinkle in things.  He failed to tell me that he was running a high stakes poker game in the back room that the IRS didn’t appreciate, the INS didn’t condone the manner in which he conscripted the cooks, waiters and waitresses, and Ouzo became his drink of choice.  What little profits there were sort of vanished between the poker games, the anise flavored beverage, a divorce, and attorneys.

 Bev tried to take care of the situation by placing a few strategic cryptic phone calls to her friends that she thought still remained in Chicago only to find out that most of them were no longer available having either having died, left town suddenly, moved to Joliet as guest of the government or, through her contact with the Federal District Attorney’s Office, had moved on to places known only to the folks who ran the witness protection program. 

Well needless to say the Greek Bar and Grill went belly up.  The only good thing that happened was that Brian and I had no legal repercussions after all was said and done, and to his credit after liquidation of all assets my investment was salvaged and returned.

 I looked upon his telegram with some skepticism to say the least.  The only reason I did not immediately send off the contracts for the next school year was the fact that Traci seemed to be involved and she always had a level head and would not be part or parcel to any of Brian’s shenanigans.  Besides he is my brother, I would hear him out. 

Sure enough that evening I received a conference call from Brian and Traci.  I won’t try to transcribe the exact conversation but the jest of the call was this:  Brian and Trace were living in Ireland in the County of O’Malley in a little village called Devere just a days train ride from Shannon.  Apparently we three had inherited a Pub, the only Pub in Devere.  He and Traci had flown to Ireland to check the inheritance out after Traci had insured that the inheritance was real.  The Irish solicitor could not find me and neither Brian or Traci wished to contact me until they had checked things out given my last foray into that Greek Bar and Grill business.  Sure enough the inheritance was real, the place was quaint, it only needed a little work to get it up to snuff and the best part was that no money was needed on my part. 

They knew that I would be off during the summer, they could use the help, and that Bev had experience running such establishments.  They wanted us to come over and help really get the place off the ground.  Their first two months of operation had been successful and would be even better with our input but they realized that a third and fourth person was desperately needed to lesson the work load and save their sanity.  Would we please come over as equal partners.  To top things off he would buy the airline tickets out of his share of the profits already made..

  It did not take me very long to decide what to do and as I was about to discuss the matter with Bev I discovered she was already packing.

I only had two question for Brian and Traci:  What was the Sir Snapper business and who the hell would leave us an Irish Pub?  I was soon to find out.

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North in Alaska -29, The Great Debate

  North in Alaska – 29, The Great Debate

Big Bear stopped by as he usually did on Monday morning. While we were eating a fresh batch of biscuits left over from St. Patrick’s Day which consisted of shreds of cabbage stuffed with lime jell (Bev called these Irish Cream Puffs) and drinking green herbal tea, I thought it would be the appropriate time to ask him how the tribal debate went and what it was all about. Bev does not care much for what she considers amateur politics having lived in Chicago for thirty years were politics are pure and unencumbered with trivia such as the presidency. Chicago mayors are much more important she says. She there by excused herself and went to dig a whole for the septic tank that was due to arrive anytime.

"We hold the debates every four years," Big Bear said, "to see who we will support for president after the Republican primary. It can be a very lively affair and this year it was no exception."

"What was the outcome? Who will the tribe support this year," I quarried.

"Well as usual," he responded, "We came to no solid conclusion and our endorsement has to wait till we talk to the candidates personally."

He said this in such a matter of fact way between bites and sips of puffs and tea that I found so amusing that a chuckle could not help escaping my lips. Like the four candidates of the republican party and the president himself would take their time and money to come to our little area of the world.

"No, seriously, he said, "In each presidential campaign all candidates are grilled by a select committee of tribal elders. This year will be a little different however because this is the first time we will hold the debate via internet using skype. In fact it will be held tonight if you wish to come. You can’t ask any questions of course but you are more than welcome to attend." This I could not pass up.

The meeting was held at the Octagon that night. There were about 50 people in attendance not counting the four elders who would do the questioning. The master of ceremonies, who wouldn’t you know it just happened to be Big Bear, addressed the audience and informed them of the rules that were to be followed. Each candidate would only be asked one question because of time constraints. Each candidate would be asked a different question and after the debate no candidate would be given an opportunity to respond because it had been discovered it just caused confusion.

I was not sure how all 50 people and five candidates would be able to see via computer screen nor how the skype camera would be able to see all the questionnaires. In fact I realized that this was not going to be a debate in the conventional since if only one question of each was to be asked and no rebuttal was allowed.

However the audience sat as close to each other as they could behind the one computer and the four elders chosen to ask the questions lined up single file behind the skype camera. In no time at all the four republican contenders were on the screen with President Obama inserted in a little square sitting in the Oval Office at the top left of the screen.

Questionnaire #1 - Governor Romney, would you support improving the Iditarod trail if you were President?

Governor Romney: The Iditarod is an important event in Alaska. I have always followed the race very close, in fact I know several of the sponsors of the race. They are personal friends of mine. I even owned a sled and had a dog when I was younger. Yes I would make sure that the road was improved by asking all my friends to buy bill boards along the way advertising their company and use those proceeds to develop the trail given the local needs as determined by a committee made up of people and corporations whose land the trail run through.

Questionnaire #2 – Senator Santorum, how would you insure that each student in our tribe gets a good education.

Senator Santorum: That is a great question. I would ensure that each student be encouraged at home to get the best possible education he could. I would ask each member his family and tribe to pray for him or her thereby ensuring academic success. I would make sure that each student had a computer and engage in home schooling and not depend on the public education system that has failed them in the past.

Questionnaire #3 – Speaker Gingrich, mining is a big part of Alaskan life, what would you do to help the mining industry?

Speaker Gingrich: I am the only one who could possibly debate this issue with Obama successfully. The best way to increase the profits of the mining industry thus ensuring more jobs for this part of the world has to be bold and imaginative. I propose that Alaska, especially this part, be the main area that minerals are stored and distributed from the moon colony I suspect we will have in the next ten years. We would not have to strip away the beautiful land we have here only build a large facility and landing area for ships returning from the moon full of ore and precious minerals.

Questionnaire #4 – Representative Paul, what would you do to increase the availability of medical facilities for this part of Alaska?

Representative Paul: First I would get rid of the Federal Reserve system than make sure that no military personal would be sent overseas. Then I would get the government out of the health field and let each person be in charge of their own health care.

There only remained the President and I wondered who would ask the final question since only four questionnaires were so designated. This question was soon settled when I saw Big Bear take his position in front of the computer. I thought to myself what a wonderful opportunity this was for a common citizen to be able to ask the President of the United States a question directly. What would he ask?

Big Bear: Mr. President, In your opinion who will win the NCAA tournament this year? (there was s stir in the audience)

The President: Well you know it is sort of hard to tell this year. All the teams have a shot and yes I have my own opinion but am really hesitant to say because I don’t want to influence the out come of the contest. I will say this though. I think it is a shame that we don’t have more NBA players recruited from our Alaskan colleges and that more athletes are not recruited from the lower 48 to play on your fine university teams. Of course you have your own NBA up here, the Native Basket Ball Association, but still I would like to see more kids from places like Illinois and Arizona come up here to get a fine education and see what diversity really is. During my next term I will direct the Department of Education to do what it can to rectify that problem. And who knows in a couple of years Alaska will have its own NCAA tournament birth and I will do what I can to make Anchorage the Final Four destination. And who knows after that perhaps you will receive your own National Basket Ball franchise.

The attendees cheered and clapped.

Big Bear: Thank you all for taking the time out of your busy schedule to answer these important questions.

With that the computer was turned off.

"It is time to vote." Big Bear said.

Each name was mentioned, hands were raised and counts were made. As I suspected the audience was pretty evenly split among the five with the President receiving two more votes than the others. I guess it was the power of the incumbency.

North in Alaska - 28, St. Patrick

North in Alaska – 28, St Patrick

It occurred to me that this would be the first year that I would not be attending a
St Patrick’s Day party for two reasons.  One, I was the only Irishman around and secondly, Bev and I were the only ones around.  However knowing the wilds of Alaska like I do I knew that “if you have it, they will come.”  So Bev and I started planning the First Annual St Patrick’s Day Parade and Party in this particular region.  I was sure there would be others to come.

I consulted Big Bear as to whom he thought I ought to invite and he told me that was simple, “Just invite everyone.”   Well I told him that would be sort of dangerous because I would have no idea on how much food and things to plan for.  “It doesn’t make any difference,” he said, “No one will come anyway, including myself.”

I was shocked of course and when I asked him why he said it was because it was the Regional Clan Tribal Debate that same day and people in these parts had to get ready for the Regional Tribal Debate the following day.  “In fact,” he continued, “On second thought, if you even invite anyone other than the Fink’s of course it could be considered a great insult for not honoring what has become a sacred day by making your neighbors choose between Party and party.”

Ok, I understood that but vowed to find out more about this Tribal Debate thing, but first things first, a St Patrick party and parade weight for no one other than the beer distributor.

I went over to see the Finks to invite them but they declined my invitation because it was a celebration of a saint and they were sort of “non papist.”  I tried to convince them that religion and St Patrick Day celebrations had nothing to do with one another and for them to look upon it as just a get together between friends.  It was then that Mrs. Fink sort of shocked me and said that even though they respected my position and as a human being, they did not associate socially with our kind of people, Bev and I, I assumed.

“I don’t understand!” I protested.

“No offence, but you are Catholic aren’t you, or if not Catholic you are a Mormon of sorts aren’t you?  She very nice and politely said.

“Well no, not really,” I replied.  “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Your home is in Independence, Missouri, a hot bed of the Mormon so called religion, a cult really, and they say you wife is of Sicilian extraction thus an Italian of sorts, thus a Catholic.  So you see God tells us to be kind to everyone but not to associate with anyone not of the true faith because they will be bent on converting you to a falsehood and taking you down a sinful path and not the true road of the true religion.

“And what religion would that be I pray?”

“Why the Church of the Pentecostal Rapture of Jesus Christ, of course.”

One thing I learned a long time ago is not to argue religion or preconceived notions held by others.  To deny being a Mormon or a Catholic or attack her beliefs would only add fuel to the fire and make Mrs. Fink think I was a blasphemer or worse.  No let it pass I thought wondering if she knew that Big Bear was a Shaman.  Oh, well it was back to Bev and we would have the best St. Patrick’s Day parade and party this part of Alaska had ever seen.  That would be pretty easy under the historical circumstances.

We started the morning out by having Green biscuits and green tea after dawning green hats Bev had sewn out of dyed green Caribou hide.  To my surprise she produced a violin and started playing an Irish jig while doing a little jig herself.  I had no idea she had that kind of talent.  After getting over the shock I joined her and we jigged are way though several songs.  When I told her I had no idea she had such talent she said that she had been practicing ever since we got here because there was not much to do while I was gone during the day after the chores were complete and she had found the violin in one of the closets.

She then produced a vat of green beer that she had been brewing in one of the out buildings.  I was again marveled and asked her how she managed to do such a thing and she said it was an old Sicilian Recipe and not to be given to anyone outside the family.  I asked her if I was chopped liver or something.  She then demurred, gave me the recipe and everyone was satisfied.  Of course I cannot reveal the contents of said recipe in such a widely read blog.

After consuming several portions of the green brew she again produced her violin and I a drum I had made from walrus skin and bones stood on the front porch at attention and played and beat out Danny Boy.  With a trickle in me eye and heart filled with woe, yes indeed a true Irishman from that hot bed of Irish thinkers and doers, County Jackson along the banks of the wild and wide Missouri River, we walked are little path to the boat dock singing When Irish Eyes are Smiling.  Oh a bonnie little parade it was.

North in Alaska - 27 - Rush to Judgement

One just never knows what one will find up here, see up here, do up here, or be visited by up here. Unless it is a relative we never get visitors on purpose, save Big Bear. When an accident occurs and some one does stop by it is usually by someone who is running away from some transgression. For instance…

Bev and I were enjoying a nice cup of tea and some biscuits from her latest recipe of sourdough and lima beans. Much better than it sounds. She happened to glance out our picture window that looks out over the lake to the mountain across lake, when she noticed a ski-plane landing and then begin taxing up to our humble cabin in the woods.

The plane docked and a man emerged and came towards the house. Bev and I had already gotten up to meet the stranger to welcome him. I did not recognize him but he did seem friendly enough. He was about my height, a little heavier, balding and wore some sort of hearing aid. Like I said he was friendly but there was a sadness about him that Bev and I noticed immediately.

As we sat down for tea and our LBB (short for Lima Bean Biscuits) I asked him what he was doing all the way up here. He said he was getting away from people and was seriously thinking of staying up here permanently so as not to be around those who hate him. "Why would anyone hate you," I asked puzzled. He looked at me with some astonishment and said, "Don’t you know who I am?" "No, not really, should I?" "Why I am Rush Limbaugh," He said while sitting up straight and puffing out his chest. It seemed an involuntary jester that he must have done so many times that one always came with the other.

"Oh, I have heard of you. What are you doing up here I thought you were a successful talk show host some place in the lower 48, didn’t you use to be in Kansas City though, worked for the Royals then a radio station there." He replied in the affirmative to all and then added, "Haven’t you been listening to the news?"

I then began to tell him we had very poor radio reception up here, no TV, and the internet was not to be used for personal use since the school district provided it. He then went on to tell me his tale or woe:

"It was just a silly little comment. I called this lady a slut and prostitute, well not technically, but it could have been construed that way. It was just a slip of the tongue and done in jest. Some left wing wacos picked up on it and started a campaign to smear my integrity and used other quotes I made in jest against me also. Like calling Obama a Nazi, Hillary a shrieking wife, environmentalist nuts, feminist ugly, you know just stuff like that. It always gets a good laugh from my followers the Ditto Heads I call them. Well after the drive by media heard me make the remark about this left leaning crazy woman who testified before a congressional hearing called by the democrats a media frenzy erupted. One sponsor dropped me, a mattress company oddly enough, I guess because using the term slut and prostitute, then another and when I left town early yesterday 33 sponsors have left me and a couple of radio stations had drooped me. I am just sick and tired of the whole thing. I want to get away and spend my millions in comfort away from the maddening crowd."

"Well this is the place to do it. You could blend in real well," I told him. "But I don’t think you would like that would you? I mean being some place where no one would know you name, know what you stood for, and didn’t really care? Would you really like that. No Mr Limbaugh I think you ought to return to the lower 48. Your sponsors will forgive you and there will be others lining up to give you money and put you on more airwaves. This is the best thing that could happen to you other than democrats getting elected year after year. Those who love you before your slap at women will love you afterwards. After all they have forgiven you your drug use and four wives, this will all pass."

"Well perhaps you are right, perhaps I will go back and let all this pass. By gosh I will." And with that he got up from the table shook my hand bowed to Bev, who had been fondling her hunting knife she kept in her boot and went off to his airplane.

"You know it will be all your fault don’t you. You have turned the monster loose again." Bev chided.

"Well," I said, "That is one way to look at it. The more he talks the more foolish he sounds to those with half a brain."

"There in lays the problem," Bev said.

North in Alasaka - 26

Big Bear came by unannounced one Saturday morning, like he always does, and invited Bev and I to a celebration that was being held near the Octagon.  Having nothing else on the agenda we eagerly accepted. 

When I asked him what was to be celebrated he said it was Raven Day and he new we would enjoy ourselves. 

We arrived at the Octagon just in time for the festivities.  It stated out by a parade that came out of the woods circled the Octagon once and then retreated back into the woods.

Every young Eskimo from the surrounding area seemed to be participating in the parade one way or another.  Some walked, some were pulled in wagons, and some rode in the back of one of the two pick-up trucks that somehow had gotten to the Octagon.  All were waving American flags or Alaska state flags.  The military was represented by members of a local National Guard Detachment that I did not know existed marching at the front of the procession.  The Police Chief of our sector drove a newly acquired ATV equipped with a siren, which he would let wail far too often.

The next thing on the schedule was to be the Salmon Fishing Derby, but it got cancelled at the last minute when everyone realized that the lake was to choppy.

The next item was the berry eating contest, not a berry pie eating contest, but an actual berry eating contest.  The entrants were limited to those over 70 years old and from what I could tell, they were to eat as many berries as they could in a certain time span.  When it was announced that the contest was to begin, three male elders stepped forward and they immediately started arguing with one another as to where each was going to stand behind the table piled with berries.  They finally agreed that the oldest one would have his pick first, but then they got into an argument as to who was the oldest.  The whole matter was finally decided when a very elderly lady inserted herself into the fray and started grabbing one man then another by the ear and led him into position, whether he wanted to be there or not.  It took me a while to figure out that this was all part of the ceremony.  The crowd got into it also, because they would boo and heckle the elders as they got into position.

Each man was brought a bowl of berries.  Each elder received one kind of berry only.  There were Blackberries, Blueberries, and Salmonberries.  Dark blue, light blue, and red.  The woman who had grabbed the men by the ears yelled something that apparently was the signal to commence.  The elders started cramming their mouths full as quickly as possible.  But when the bowls were empty other bowls did not appear.  The men just stood there with dark blue, light blue, and red coloring all over their respective faces.  Then the ear lady yelled something else and the crowd I was standing in quickly dispersed.  To my horror the men started running towards Bev and me.  I stood there petrified as they ran past and started grabbing any female they could get their hands on, including Bev and pressed stained face against the face of the captured women.  There was shrieking and laughing for several minutes when the ear lady yelled something again.  The men went back to their places and women started lining up behind them based on how much and what kind of coloring they had on their faces.  The blackberry guy won by one women but only because it was judged that Bev had equal amounts of coloring on her face and the ear lady disqualified her.

North in Alaska - 25

North in Alaska – 25

When I visited all my students this week they all insisted on calling me Professor.  The trouble is I don’t really feel like one if in fact a professor feels a certain way.  The only difference I see is that when I get one check from the School District I get another one from the university system.  I always thought Professors got paid too much for to little work and now I am certain.  I think it is a travesty but not enough of one for me to return the check.

I have a few minutes before I take off on my rounds so I thought perhaps I would address a subject that here to forth has only be implied and not topically written about.  That being, the role Bev has played during all my great adventures in the frozen north.

Men forge the trails of exploration and discovery but women it seems are the ones who bring order and civilization to the wilds.  If it were not for the organizational skills and practical abilities Bev has our tenure in the wilderness would not be as nearly rewarding or palatable.  Lets take an average day in the life of Bev.

She wakes up early each morning and starts the fire in the wood burning stove.  Puts on a fresh pot of tea and every once in awhile coffee.  She them whips up some biscuits and as not to be hum drum makes a different kind of biscuit every morning.  We have had biscuits laced with fruit, vegetable, meats, cheese and other concoctions that as of yet have been mouth watering and very tasty, except for the ones she made from otter meat.  We both decided that there was no need to try them again. 

She then goes to the fish line chops a hole in the ice and gathers the over night catch and cleans them immediately.  She then hauls water from the lake puts it on the stove to boil and fills the bathtub letting it cool down just enough so when she wakes me I can immediately have my morning bath.  We eat breakfast together and I head out to conquer the day.  Depending on what needs to be done she hops to it.  Sometime she makes small repairs to the cabin, sews things, chops wood, and  prepares for the evening meal by skinning and butchering any wild thing that may have been delivered by Big Bear the previous day.  If no animal was available she would scan the cupboard to see if any canned products were suitable and if not take her sudoko puzzles out on the porch along with a .22 rifle and wait for a squirrel or rabbit to scurry by.  You would be surprised at how many different ways you can prepared squirrel and rabbits, musk ox, moose, caribou, and the ubiquitous fish from the lake.  There is only one meal a week which she refuses to go native and that is Sunday.  She insists on having pasta and gravy (the rest of the world call it tomato sauce.)  It is a tradition she say that has been in her family and one of the customs that were brought from Sicily and there was no need to change regardless of where she lived.  In fact she has started a little cottage industry selling the “gravy” to the occasional visitor and trapper that stumble by now and then.  I have suggested she open up a restaurant for Sunday meals and we could advertise it via the rounds in the community made by Big Bear, but as of yet she has declined to be a restaurateur.

She irons by a heated iron from the stove, bought a book on how to repair the generator, fixes anything else that may need it or she thinks needs it, and keeps the cabin clean and organized.  When I come home in the evening there is always hot tea, biscuits and a bottle of home made wine she makes from the berries that she trades for her sauce and or a glass of beer she seems to brew up out of no where.  She refuses to sell or give away the alcohol because alcohol and most natives do not mix.  “Besides,” she said one day, “Our family has not been bootleggers since Uncle Al died.”  She is a little vague as to who Uncle Al was and I fear to ask.

She does a lot more but it can all be summed by stating that she is truly a renaissance woman of the first degree.  If it were not for her, life would be a little less rewarding in our little cabin in the snowy woods of central Alaska.  Salute.