Two Old Women: An Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival
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Authors: Velma Wallis
T
his book is dedicated to all of the elders whom I have known and who have made an impression in my mind with their wisdom, knowledge and uniqueness.
Mae P. Wallis, Mary Hardy, Dorothy Earls, Sarah Gottschalk, Ida Neyhart, Patricia Peters, Edison Peters, Helen Reed, Moses Peter, Martha Wallis, Louise Paul, Minnie Salmon, Lilly Herbert, David and Sarah Salmon, Samson and Minnie Peter, Herbert and Louise Peter, Stanley and Rosalie Joseph, Margaret John, Paul and Margaret Williams, Leah Roberts, Natalie Erick, Daniel Horace, Titus Peter, Solomon and Martha Flitt, Doris Ward, Amos Kelly, Margaret Kelly, Maggie Beach, Sarah Alexander, Peter and Nina (Ch’idzigyaak) Joseph, Paul and Agnes James, Mariah Collins, David Collins,
Mary Thompson, Sophie Williams, Elijah John, Jemima Fields, Ike Fields Sr., Joe and Margaret Carroll, Myra Francis, Blanche Strom, Arthur and Annie James, Elliot and Lucy Johnson, Elliot and Virginia Johnson II,
Harry and Jessie Carroll, Margaret Cadzow, Henry and Jennie Williams, Issac and Sarah John, Charlotte Douthit, Ruth Martin, Randall Baalam, Harold and Ester Petersen, Vladimer and Nina Petersen, Addie Shewfelt, Stanley and Madeline Jonas, Jonathon and Hannah Solomon, Esau and Delia Williams, Margie Englishoe, Jessie Luke, Julia Peter, Jacob Flitt, Daniel and Nina Flitt, Clara Gundrum, Jessie Williams, Sarah W. John, Mary Simple, Ellen Henry, Silas John, Dan Frank, Maggie Roberts, Nina Roberts, Abraham and Annie Christian, Paul and Julia Tritt, Agnes Peter, Charlie Peter, Neil and Sarah Henry, Mardow Solomon, Ruth Peterson, Phillip and Abbie Peter,
Archie and Louise Juneby, Harry and Bessie David, Margaret Roberts, John Stevens, Steven and Sarah Henry, Abel Tritt, Moses and Jennie
Sam, Mary John, Martha James, Alice Peter, Nathanial and Annie Frank, Fred and Charlotte Thomas, Richard and Eva Carroll, Elsie Pitka, Richard and Helen Martin, Paul Gabrial, Grafton Gabrial, Barbara Solomon, Sabastian McGinty, Simon and Bella Francis, Mary Jane Alexander, and Uncle Lee Henry.
CHAPTER 1
: Hunger and cold take their toll
CHAPTER 2
: “Let us die trying”
CHAPTER 3
: Recalling old skills
CHAPTER 5
: Saving a cache of fish
CHAPTER 6
: Sadness among The People
CHAPTER 7
: The stillness is broken
M
ost artists can say that if it were not for a number of people he or she would not have achieved a certain success. In the case of this story and myself, the list is long and varied and I would like to acknowledge them as follows.
First, thank you to my mother, Mae Wallis. Without you, this story would not be, and I never would have developed a desire to be a storyteller. All those many nights that you spent telling us stories are greatly appreciated.
I would like to thank these people for believing in this story all these years, and for reviving it just when I thought it would sink back into oblivion: Barry Wallis, Marti Ann Wallis, Patricia Stanley, and Carroll Hodge; Judy Erick from Venetie for her flexible assistance with the Gwich’in translations
and Annette Seimens for letting me use her computer.
Last, I would like to thank Marilyn Savage for her generosity and persistent rallying. Thank you to the publishers, Kent Sturgis and Lael Morgan, for sharing the same vision as all of us. Thank you to Virigina Sims for making sure that the story remained the same with your editing, and to James Grant for making the characters come to life with your talented illustrations.
Mahsi Choo
to each and all of you for sharing in this humble story.
E
ach day after cutting wood we would sit and talk in our small tent on the bank at the mouth of the Porcupine River, near where it flows into the Yukon. We would always end with Mom telling me a story. (There I was, long past my youth, and my mother still told me bedtime stories!) One night it was a story I heard for the first time—a story about two old women and their journey through hardship.
What brought the story to mind was a conversation we had earlier while working side by side collecting wood for the winter. Now we sat on our bedrolls and marveled at how Mom in her early fifties still was able to do this kind of hard work while most people of her generation long since had resigned themselves to old age and all of its limitations.
I told her I wanted to be like her when I became an elder.
We began to remember how it once was. My grandmother and all those other elders from the past kept themselves busy until they could no longer move or until they died. Mom felt proud that she was able to overcome some of the obstacles of old age and still could get her own winter wood despite the fact that physically, the work was difficult and sometimes agonizing. During our pondering and reflections, Mom remembered this particular story because it was appropriate to all that we thought and felt at that moment.
Later, at our winter cabin, I wrote the story down. I was impressed with it because it not only taught me a lesson that I could use in my life, but also because it was a story about my people and my past—something about me that I could grasp and call mine. Stories are gifts given by an elder to a younger person. Unfortunately, this gift is not given, nor received, as often today because many of our youth are occupied by television and the fast pace of modern-day living. Maybe tomorrow a few of today’s generation who were sensitive enough to have listened to their elders’ wisdom will have
the traditional word-of-mouth stories living within their memory. Perhaps tomorrow’s generation also will yearn for stories such as this so that they may better understand their past, their people and, hopefully, themselves.
Sometimes, too, stories told about one culture by someone from another way of life are misinterpreted. This is tragic. Once set down on paper, some stories are readily accepted as history, yet they may not be truthful.
This story of the two old women is from a time long before the arrival of the Western culture, and has been handed down from generation to generation, from person to person, to my mother, and then to me. Although I am writing it, using a little of my own creative imagination, this is, in fact, the story I was told and the point of the story remains the way Mom meant for me to hear it.
This story told me that there is no limit to one’s ability—certainly not age—to accomplish in life what one must. Within each individual on this large and complicated world there lives an astounding potential of greatness. Yet it is rare that these hidden gifts are brought to life unless by the chance of fate.
Hunger and cold take their toll
T
he air stretched tight, quiet and cold over the vast land. Tall spruce branches hung heavily laden with snow, awaiting distant spring winds. The frosted willows seemed to tremble in the freezing temperatures.
Far off in this seemingly dismal land were bands of people dressed in furs and animal skins, huddled close to small campfires. Their weather-burnt faces were stricken with looks of hopelessness as they faced starvation, and the future held little promise of better days.
These nomads were The People of the arctic region of Alaska, always on the move in search
of food. Where the caribou and other migrating animals roamed, The People followed. But the deep cold of winter presented special problems. The moose, their favorite source of food, took refuge from the penetrating cold by staying in one place, and were difficult to find. Smaller, more accessible animals such as rabbits and tree squirrels could not sustain a large band such as this one. And during the cold spells, even the smaller animals either disappeared in hiding or were thinned by predators, man and animal alike. So during this unusually bitter chill in the late fall, the land seemed void of life as the cold hovered menacingly.
