No Place Like Home: Notes from a Western Life

Stalking Coffee in Sitka

Stalking Coffee in Sitka This remains my most vivid memory of Sitka, Alaska: at 7:00 a.m. in a coffee shop, I overheard two women talking about Caroline’s wedding. ok, I eavesdropped. Conversations, letters read upside down on desks, things we see—it’s material to a writer. Listening, I was suddenly more than a bleary-eyed stranger with jet lag; I was part of the neighborhood. I’d been on Sitka for only twelve hours, and I not only knew Caroline, but she’d invited me to her wedding. Smugly , I sipped my coffee and wrapped myself in nostalgic thoughts. my visit to the most populous spot on Baranoff Island was at the invitation of the Island Institute, a private nonprofit organization that provides a framework for discussions about various aspects of community life, and how best to inhabit the places where we live. I visited Sitka only for the few days of the conference, temporarily attached to that specific group of visitors. Yet I found myself identifying with the permanent residents because I kept feeling as if I’d come home. Even years later, reading the scribbled notes in my Sitka journal brings to mind animated memories of the conference, faces of people, their voices . Our words, arising from diverse experiences, wove us into a colony intensely concerned with how people live together. The conference community connected, interacted, and separated in a few days, a brief whirlpool within the older Sitka community. The idea of community in Sitka is very old indeed. Anthropologists say the site was first occupied by Tlingit Indians shortly after the last ice age. 90 Nn no p la c e li ke h ome Maybe they didn’t chat over coffee, but I’ll bet our group would recognize some of the conversations. Emerging from the plane, I had noticed immediately that I might blend into the scene; we were all dressed in worn, comfortable, sturdy clothes and shoes. No high heels in sight; no successful little suits. Shortly after the meetings began, however, I realized that I had packed too lightly for June in Alaska. Martha, an Alutiiq whose father was Russian and Alutiiq and whose mother was Scots-Irish, noticed my pitiful shivering . She had once lived in Sitka, and promised to lead me to the “white elephant ,” as she called the secondhand store. Over lunch, she talked about a federal study costing millions in which scientists tried to count killer whales—orcas—by sitting on the beach waiting for them to surface. When the experts finally asked the old people of her community, the elders pointed out that since orcas are so powerful they can come up under ice and break it, they don’t spend very much time near the beach. Reminds me of South Dakota, I told her, where we spend money for white researchers to learn what the native Lakota people have known for generations. Experts may read and revere statements allegedly made to white conquerors by Native Americans, but rarely ask the opinions of the living natives. We grinned at each other. I imagine I also told her my theory that hunting-and-gathering peoples were happy partly because the less you carry, literally and figuratively, the more you can gather. Thus, most of my “dress-up clothes” for conferences are secondhand, so if I decide to buy heavy souvenirs—several friends had hinted for frozen salmon—I could eliminate clothing to make room in my luggage. The theory works even better with mental baggage: I try to allow space my preconceived notions at home to leave room for new information. Martha warned me, from experience, to leave my purse in my room, put my money in my pants pocket, and keep my hand on it. So, in the crowded store, when a strange hand slid into my pocket, I turned and smiled sweetly at the young Native man standing so close I could dig my elbow into his ribs, and kept a firm grip on my money until his hand stopped caressing mine and went elsewhere. He shrugged and smiled back. Then I bought a sweater, a sweatshirt dress, a flat cap, and a pair of wool socks for a total of four dollars. Wearing some of the community’s castoff clothes, I felt very much at home. Stalking Coffee in Sitka Nn 91 Later, walking, I reflected how pleasant it...