laureli ivanoff

UNALAKLEET — “Do people think you’re crazy?” I asked him. After 45 minutes of getting to know this man, it felt safe to ask and get an honest answer. “Generally everybody,” he said in his classic French accent. We both smiled and I nodded my head, yes, with understanding. Except I don’t think he’s crazy.…

UNALAKLEET — He remembered a time she and I picked out music together. I imagine we were in front of her big, black stereo, weeding through her CDs. She had a lot of them. A song we picked was “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and he thought that was cool. “You and your mom were such good friends,”…

August 19 was my brother’s birthday. He’s older and wiser and I couldn’t stand him growing up. He’s the top middle one in the photo, holding Ryder’s shoulders. The day of his birthday I woke up grateful. Later that night we celebrated with chili, pie, blueberry cream puffs and akuutaq. I love you, Fred Jay. Thank you for…

He was a quiet man. Dignified. While his sinew was strong, his skin was wrinkled and soft. Dark. Smelled old somehow. His bones were bird-like, but solid and heavy to the ground. And he had the coolest middle name. Windsor. Aside from the fact that it’s a type of whiskey, the name fit him well.…

 UNALAKLEET — I was 13 years old and beginning to think rubber boots were ugly. Maybe I should wear sneakers down the coast instead. When she was 13 years old, she quit school to raise four younger siblings. She thought about what to feed her brothers and sisters, and lighting the fire in the stove…

UNALAKLEET — Auntie Maggie was at the table, cutting meat that would later hang to dry. Larry was at the stove, cooking ugruk ribs, blubber and qiaq. “How are you folks?” I asked. “Hungry,” Maggie said sternly. Knowing her tone was a joke, we all replied with laughter. “I can’t cook the meat fast enough,” her husband…