Shaginoff family - Chickaloon Wild: end of an Athabascan familys way of life

CHICKALOON WILD

END OF AN ATHABASCAN FAMILYS
WAY OF LIFE

BY INGRID SHAGINOFF

PO Box 221974 Anchorage, Alaska 99522-1974

ISBN 978-1-59433-743-7

eISBN: 978-1-59433-744-4

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2017951735

Copyright 2017 Ingrid Shaginoff

First Edition

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in any form, or by any mechanical or electronic means including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, in whole or in part in any form, and in any case not without the written permission of the author and publisher.

Cover painting by June Pardue

Manufactured in the United States of America

Chapter 1

The Big Decision

M ary was in the yard, bent over the wash tub scrubbing small, faded jeans on the scrub board, when the family dog, Jug, started to bark and charged down the trail. It was not a bark of alarm, but rather a joyous bark, signaling the return of Johnny, her Athabascan Indian husband. Mary placed her hand on the small of her back, pressing into the muscles sore from bending over the wash tub all afternoon, while shading her eyes with her other hand as she looked down the trail and into the sun.

The day was cool and smelled of early spring. The trees and bushes, backlit by the late afternoon sun, shone lime green with the tiny buds just beginning to burst forth from their brown cocoons. So, handsome, she thought as her heartbeat quickened at the sight of her tall, dark husband moving toward her with long fast strides. Im sure glad I didnt listen to my sisters. She chuckled to herself remembering how they tried to dissuade her from seeing the Indian from Cenacet Na (Knik), a village along Cook Inlet near the town of Wasilla. Johnny had a reputation as a ladies man, and her family had been concerned that he might break her heart.

Johnny took in the homey sight with a glance, noting the fire off to the side of the yard where Mary had kettles of water heating to do the wash. He saw clothes swaying on the clothes line and the small cabin in a clearing on the banks of the Chickaloon River with a curl of gray smoke rising from the chimney. But it was on Mary that his eyes rested. She was standing in the golden sunlight, her dress fluttering in the gentle spring breeze. Wisps of raven black hair that had escaped her bun were wet with perspiration and framed her mahogany face that was lit up with a smile, happy to see him. How did I get so lucky? he asked himself again just as he had many other times over the past ten years.

Mary was his life, his entire world. He loved her completely and without reserve, and she him. From the first day he met her at her home village at Old Man Lake he knew this was the woman for him. He teased her and called her his Mary Girl to which she would retort, I am Mary Nickolie. Both became pet names that had stuck and he now pulled her against him in a tender hug inhaling the scent of her. She smelled like wind, and smoke, and soap. His heart swelled with love as he stood holding her.

I missed you, Johnny Shaginoff, she murmured against his denim shirt. You made the trip to Palmer fast.

Stepping away and holding her at arm length, Mary felt a twinge of fear at the sudden change in her husband. He came home to her with bad news. This she knew. What has happened? she cried in alarm. Is it Paul? Mary lived in constant fear that her first born son, now quarantined in the Native Hospital in Anchorage with polio, had worsened.

No. No, Mary, Its not Paul. In fact, I brought a letter for you from Paul. I picked it up at the Roadhouse on the way here. He thrust his hand into his pack and pulled out a rumpled envelope. Johnny handed it to her and waited as she quickly ripped it open then handed it back to him to be read. He hurriedly scanned the words, and then visibly relaxed. He read it again out loud for Mary. He saw her smiling from time to time at something her teen son from her first marriage had written. Mary had an especially close bond with Paul as he had been very young when his father died in an accident. She was happy that Johnny had accepted Paul and treated him well.

Oh Johnny, I wish I could go see him. When will they let me see him? she lamented.

I dont know, Mary Girl, he said pulling her back into his arms. Polio is so contagious. We must wait until it is safe so the others, he nodded his head toward the cabin, dont get sick. Where are the boys? By now they are usually all standing around to see what I brought them, he smiled.

They are out gathering more wood for the fire, she grinned.

Oh, you wanted a little peace and quiet, huh? he chuckled as he glanced at the wood piled by the cabin.

Johnny, what happened in town? Mary asked suddenly remembering her earlier concern. The town she referred to was Palmer, a city recently formed when the President of the United States came up with a plan called The New Deal to send families from the Midwest, struggling to live during the Great Depression, to Alaska to start farms that would supply food to the military bases near Anchorage. The families were referred to as colonists.

Johnnys expression was serious once more as he told her of the recent deaths of four children belonging to the colonists. Polio continued to crop up here and there, along with several other diseases brought to Alaska with the influx of the white settlers. Im not sure what to do to keep the boys safe. It is so different in town. I dont know how long I can keep them away from the changes that are happening in the world. Just a few years ago this whole area was wilderness. Now there are farms all the way to Wasilla. Mary, less than thirty miles away is a city. There is a store and restaurant. There is a movie theater and a school. The buildings are getting hooked up to electricity where you just click a switch on the wall and a light that is fastened to the ceiling comes on. The more he tried to explain what was going on right outside their world the more frustrated he became. We cant keep the kids away from this other world forever. They need to go to school. They need to learn how to get along in the white mans world.

No! demanded Mary. She rarely raised her voice, but now spoke with conviction and determination. No. she repeated, How can you say that being called a dirty heathen, a savage, or stinking Indian is going to be good for our boys? How, she continued while pacing back and forth in front of him, do you plan on explaining the signs posted on the buildings: No dogs and no Indians allowed? How will you tell them that they cant go into a restaurant because they are Native? I dont want them ever to know how it feels to be treated like dirt. To be treated like they are not even human.

Mary, not all the white people are like that. Some are friendly to the Natives. The others are ignorant. There are new laws that will make them take those signs down. We cant stay in the wilderness and hide just because we dont want our feelings hurt, he added in a softer tone. But Mary, this is not what concerns me today. We do not want to take the boys to town now with the white man diseases causing deaths. In fact, Im thinking just the opposite. My thinking is that we should go farther away for the summer. Go up to Puritan Creek and away from contact with others for a couple of months to let the disease go away. Then we will decide what to do about school for the boys and maybe start taking them to town.

Mary was eager to do anything that would prolong the need to introduce the boys to this new world, this world of the white man with all their diseases, prejudices, and changes. Lets do it. Lets leave right away.