Hand-drawn posters for “The Farm’s” annual Thanksgiving dinner went up just before Halloween. The buzz around town was, this is not an event to be missed. I called the number on the poster and R.S.V. P-ed to Donna, the owner of Tideland Fish and Tackle. As everyone in this town wears many hats, Donna is also the pianist/accompanist that will play for my Hoonah recital in February.
“The Farm” is also known as “Game Creek.” The community was founded in the 70’s by Christians who were preparing for the end of the world. At its peak, there were about 150 families living a hard, but dedicated, isolated life; hunting, gathering, building and making ends meet, with minimal resources. Over the years the numbers have dwindled to just two extended families. Until the late 90’s, entry to “Game Creek” was only possible via boat and limited to high tide. In 1997, Sealaska began logging the surrounding area and built a road from the “Game Creek” to Hoonah. This opened up many new options for the families on both ends of the road. With the isolation dissolved, the “Game Creek” community started reaching out to the town of Hoonah. As this relationship grew, “The Farm’s” annual Thanksgiving dinner became a local tradition.
Stephanie, my voice student, and her family, daughter, Jordon and husband, Ben picked Andrew and me up at noon. Dinner was set for 1 pm. While “The Farm” is only eight miles away, it is a bumpy, swi
tch-back path, with a hike-in of about a half-a-mile. The weather was great…meaning, it wasn’t raining, yet still the path had areas that my sturdy Alaskan tennis shoes sunk two feet. We passed through a section of previously logged land, now covered with five foot saplings, into a thick Hemlock and Pine forest. The small creek below the walk was frozen over and along the path the tips of all the leaves and pine needles were outlined in icy white.
We hiked in with four other members of the folk band. They were packing mandolins, violins, banjos and guitars on their backs. I lagged behind to take a few pictures and then quickly caught up with Stephanie, to probe her for her take on bears. She has lived in Hoonah for 15 years, is an avid outdoors person and as never had any negative run-ins with our furry friends. She did add though, that a bear in the city is dangerous, because it is only a desperate bear that chooses to mix with humans in a foreign environment. She thought that carrying bear spray at night is a good idea.
There is no grand entrance to “The Farm,” in fact, aside from the path; an abandon house is the first sign of human impact. Soon, dense forest turns to large pasture. It is a picture perfect day…wooden-wire fence, frosty grass, bare trees lining the back drop, branches stretching into the misty sky, and a dirt road worn on both side form a tractor. So perfect, I forgot to capture it. Soon a large green house appears accompanied by an impressive investment of farm equipment. More dwelling places came into view, this time smoke rising from steel pipes on the roofs. It wasn’t long that our noses picked up the smell of home cooking. The delicious aroma was coming from a cracked window in the main building. Before entering though, Andrew and I did some exploring.
The clues of semi self-sufficiency were everywhere; boats, lumber machines, bicycles, a slew of propane cans, cattle sauntering in for the evening and even a ladies outhouse, with the inside lined with pink curtains and lit by a generator. The structures reflect a trial-by-error type assembly. The people that founded this land were not builders or farmers; they were accountants, musicians, nurses and lawyers. After a good gander the smell of fresh bread drew us inside.
Our boots were off and jackets were hung. Inside, we were warmly greeted by Donna, her husband Dave (who is also our piano teacher) and a handful of kids from Andrew’s class. From a convincing circle of toothy smiles and nodding heads ….Andrew’s boots and jacket were back on and outside he dashed with his friends. I slowly crisscrossed the room, trying to look interested in the crafty center piec
es on the large wooden tables and saying polite hellos to faces I barely knew. I put my camera down at a remote place-setting and decided to make myself useful. I apprehensively squinted in the direction of the kitchen…I knew no one was going to ask me to chop wood, so I put on a smile and headed in…I had stepped into a foreign country. There were eleven women hard at task in the oversized, industrial kitchen. Each working with such precision and ease is was unnerving. They all wore sweet faces, with smooth skin and pleasant smiles…not one of them broke a sweat. With the same apprehension that I felt when trying to safely cross the streets in Rome, I gathered myself in and briskly got my ready hands to the mashed potato section of the brigade. There, I scooped huge measuring containers full of perfectly whipped, buttery potatoes into a gigantic serving bowl. They labeled them “pure”, “spicy” (tainted with garlic and chives) and “undecided” (which was mixture of both). It was clear they didn’t need my culinary help, so giving one good look at my brimming potatoes bowl; I proudly exited the kitchen to join my camera.
The once empty table now, was home to twenty-five hungry diners. I glanced around and took in the room in and counted some seventy-five guests claiming their seats. A young man stood and briefly addressed the chatting crowd, offering a free raffle. It was for those interested in shooting and taking home a turkey that night. Numbers were drawn and given…two gentlemen claimed their opportunity. The chance to take home “supper” would take place after supper.
While final dinner preparations were made, they showed a beautiful slide show of how they spend their time at “Game Creek.” It was a light hearted depiction of the strenuous work they do everyday and a touching look at the close family bonds fostered by life in tight quarters. I must confess…this place is alluring to me. Parts of it make much more sense than living in Hoonah. Here, these people have purpose; family, connection, life or death accountability to each other. The children have real life responsibilities…not a make-shift chore list of things that “should” be done for stars, prizes or hugs from Mommy. “Game Creek” provides authentic learning and living in its purest form. These people are educated, talented and God-fearing and their existence is an anomaly, but not one to be entirely overlooked. It is fascinating in theory, yet as I take all in…even if only for a night…it appears to be working beautifully. There is something about “The Farm” that makes me want to stay.
After gorging my self with “spicy” potatoes, sweet potatoes, and salad it was time to make my real contribution, I was to sing. Introduced by Donna , I approached the piano at the other side of the room…and with a full belly and bundle of nerves, I sang the Lord’s Prayer. I did my best and to my mother’s dismay, when I shared the story on the phone, “No, I did not bow,”….who bows after praying? Dave, the piano teacher, also plays the cello. He and Donna performed two lovely classic pieces. I love how live music embellishes an occasion. After they bowed, the call was made, “dessert time!” Andrew and I truly indulged; pecan pie, fudge-peanut butter cake, orange cinnamon rolls, brownies, lemon cookies. Our plates looked more decadent than a Harry and David dessert sampler…mmmmmmm heavenly.
After dessert, the folk musicians unlocked their cases releasing the vast array of stringed instruments. Arranging themselves in circle, the group picked, strummed and bowed for two and half hours…Grandpa popping in
every now and then, sucking and blowing on one of his seven harmonicas. Andrew danced and hopped around the big room with the other children. It was a vision of a ideal childhood memory; giggling boys and girls, red cheeks and uninhibited movements of joy. Sharing solos, lyrics and chord charts, the tight knit musicians played the gamut of their repertoire. Tables were cleared, dishes were done, and chairs were stacked neatly against the wall. With conversations winding down, I had a chance to visit with Rebecca, a bright-eyed, eighteen year old girl that has grown up on “The Farm.” Transitioning from explaining her online writing class to me, she proceeded to go into great detail about her novel that she started when she was twelve and is still working on today. It is a historical, fiction piece that involves the Romans, Vikings and Wales and tells of a very complicated and brave heroine. Rebecca is almost done with “high school” and plans to go to nursing school in the fall. She was so refreshing to talk to…she, like many women, struggle with choosing a career and the desire to have a family. She too wants it all, and is willing to do the work to make her goals a reality. It seems as if “Game Creek” has served her well.
We said our sleepy-eyed goodbyes and started the hike back to our cars, sporting head lamps and carrying flash lights. Stephanie reassured us that are no recorded bear attacks for groups of three or more…we numbered five. Even without the reassurance, I felt safe. The dark drape of the Alaskan wilderness around me was deeply comforting. The visions of shadow and moon light made my eyes dance and the crisp kneading of Earth beneath my boots grounded me in the eternal. The refined, cool air was like sweet syrup in my lungs. The hush of the night gently soothed my ears. This was truly a thanksgiving dinner…a gift of warmth, joy and hospitality, a place without pretense or ambiguity, a people of kindness and a nature of peace. Again, I am humbled and grateful for my experiences and thank God for the awareness to appreciate the rich gifts that are before me.
Thursday evening the school hosted Family Math Night. Even with a bear lurking in the neighborhood, Andrew and I went (with bear spray in hand) to have fun with math.
