Letters from Alaska

My mom is back from the hospital, after 25 days, surgery, shingles, pneumonia, and depression. As she lies only 98 pounds in the bed, covers pulled up, curtains blocking out the world, I worry about her will to live. I look into her past so I can help her envision a future. I can't help her if I don't understand her.

I pull out her letters from Alaska, and I start entering them into the computer. Maybe hearing her own voice from the past will help rekindle her spirit of survival.


Nancy Hudock
From a letter dated August 13, 1989
P. H. S. Native Hospital
Kotzebue, Alaksa

The trip out was long and lonesome. I wanted so much to comment on things and had no one to hear me. The flights were essentially dull until we crossed the Canadian border into Alaksa. The whole plane woke up…people climbing over each other to see out the windows and exclaim over the unbelievable mountains and the glaciers--flows of ice that looked like super highways in the wilderness. Then, we had to bump down into Anchorage, and I mean BUMP! The pilot got an ovation upon landing.

I spent the night in a hotel in Anchorage that was located on a landing lagoon for hundreds of small seaplanes. I sat in the bar and had my last drink before going into the DRY Northwest Artic. While contemplating the concept of no more Bloody Marys, I watched the planes land and take off. Met a lot of nice people, each with their own story of Alaska. The lobby boasted an extremely large stuffed grizzly bear. Made me think!

I sent to sleep at 11 pm Anchorage time. It was daylight, but I was going on 23 hours without sleep since it was 3 am east coast time. Left for Kotzebue at 10:30 am, and you would have loved the plan. Had to walk out on the runway and up the steps to enter a 20 seat cabin; the front of the place was cargo. There were thee adult Native Alaskans and three Native children but the rest of the passengers were white men going up to work the Red Dog Mine, which is about 100 miles north of Kotzebue. We flew in over the green rolling tundra with puddles and ponds everywhere. I almost died when I saw the runway in Kotzebue. It looked like a two lane highway totally surrounded by water. If we blew a tire, I would have found out if those seats are really flotation devices.

The Native American Health service provides me with an apartment in the hospital compound. My apartment is nice and the furniture is “Early Mixed Attic.” Some of my stuff was here, but a large portion was somewhere in the depths of our US Postal Service. I have spent the last three days getting settled and exploring. After only this short time, I am aware that cabin fever is possibly a real and dangerous disease. I don’t have it yet; just plain old homesickness. Three days essentially alone here has already become an experience. All boxes no being here is a pain. No music, no TV, no can opener—what can I say? Not knowing anyone is a bit scary in the sense that I have not one to even talk or walk with. So going into a bar alone in NJ would be no big deal now because I go everywhere alone. This may sound like self-pity, but it’s not! I was just not ready to begin building character so soon.

Last night, I went to a lecture at the national Park Reserve Center here is Kotz. Several of the hospital personnel were there. No one mentioned it to me; I had heard the announcement on the radio and found the building the day before. I promised myself that when anyone else new comes in here in the future, I will check on them and invite them to do some things, even just walk the strees so they can get their bearings.

Have you ever been lost in a corn field? Well, it is like that; one would not think that was possible but the corn is so high and the land so flat that you can’t see which way to go. It’s like that here. The house look so much alike and the streets are so poorly marked. We are surrounded on three sides by water, and the sun is neither east nor west but sort of circles! Anyway, you get the point.

There are streets here in the town, but they are dirt with potholes that would make Route 80 near Denville seem smooth as silk. I have walked around potholes that you could teach a kid to swim in. There are not roads that lead away from town. All travel outside of Kotz is by plane or, in the winter, by snow machine. The housing is poor; made of anything lying around, and the yards are full of junk being saved just in case anyone needs it. There are sled dogs everywhere and fortunately tied—because Inupiats do not keep dogs as pets. The dogs are working animals and would as soon take my hand off than look at me. So, I give them plenty of space.

There is a beauty here that many would not appreciate. Most people like to be overwhelmed by scenery. This is beautiful in a very uncomfortable way. The wind blowing, the air clear but cold, frequently foggy or cloudy, and for the past three days, rainy. The warmest it’s been so far is 55, and the wind always blows. It is very flat right in Kotz and surrounded by tundra which is like rolling low hills covered in green. I imagine it will turn many colors in the fall. The tundra is deceiving as it is not smooth but made of wet bogs and large tuffs of grass called tussocks. If you step off the tussocks, you can sing to your knees in wet moss and water. Hiking on the tundra is tedious and slow work, but it is covered with low bushes and berries this time of year.

I went berry picking, and I looked out for miles. Occasionally, I saw Natives picking berries to store for the winter, but otherwise, I was alone. The berries are on little bushes only 3-5 inches off the ground. The picking is back breaking work, and I am glad I don’t have to pick my winter supply like the Natives. I spent a couple of hours picking and merely made blueberry muffins, so you can see what I mean. The Native women work hard at it.

Despite of it all being so different, it is beginning to grow on me. The snow capped mountains rising out of the tundra in the distance take my breath away, as do the sunsets at 11:30 pm. I missed by two days seeing the sun set twice in one day. The sun set at 12:05 am and on the same day, it set again at 11:56. How’s that! We are only having about four hours of darkness now.

I’ve got to end this sometime, so I’ll write again soon.