Perfect Morsels
My tummy is bursting with happiness.
During an interveiw once I was asked why it was so important to the Inupiaq People that we continue to rely on the arctic to provide for most of our food. I stumbled and mumbled something I'm sure, but I do remember saying it is a connection with our ancestors.
I have just finished cleaning the table off after dinner. We literally had no non-Native foods on the menu. For dinner we ate ; boiled caribou meat, soft and seasoned with nothing but salt and pepper, muktuk dug out from the depths of our freezer, a chunk that was soft and buttery smooth, Seal oil that we ourselves harvested and prepared from the spring, it tasted sweet and not at all fishy, the epitome of love in a jar, and dried caribou meat that we dried this summer, clean and crunchy, in an addictive manner.
A connection with ancestor, in the midst of gorging, I took my ulu and swiflty cut the boiled meat into small bit sized pieces, ready for dipping in the salted seal oil. Memories flooded my mind, memories of warmth and safety, of love. I remember seeing a similiar hand doing a similiar thing.
My addictive manner. The table was laden with goodies. And I thank every Diety that ever existed for making me Inupiaq. I thanked the table and sky, the walls and the cat, the color pink and my beautiful hunting partner. I thanked everything for making me Inupiaq in this world, for how else would I be able to enjoy a meal so pure. SO GOOD. A meal that we ourselves have seen from begining to end?
Her hands were almost exactly like mine, short and strong, nothing fancy. Me and my brother would peer above the table in our child height, watching her graceful movements as she expertly sliced and diced meat into the perfect sized chunks, every piece the right shape, the perfect temperature, we waited.
Begining to end, I have been lucky to have the opportunity to eat expensive foods before, in expensive restaraunts, with silk on the table and proper postures everywhere. And yet nothing compares to the food that was at my table tonight. In one single simple meal the connection with my anscestors was reborn and exhalted, it was celebrated.
We waited, and like little birds we opened our mouths and waited, and Mother would carefully plop the perfect morsels in our mouths, and we would all smile, with every bite, we would smile. She never let us handle the seal oil ourselves, because we always, always, got it everywhere.
Celebrated, celebrated in strengthening the bond between me and my hunting partner, as we enjoyed the fruits of our labor and love. Celebrated in the opportunity to share our wealth with our loved ones and family.
Everywhere. You cannot connect with your ancestors everywhere. Only in the memories and actions repeated can we rejoice and love those that came before us. And I know that the memory of my mother at the dinner table, and the celebration of all the tiny spider web like ties that are born everytime I repeat those memories and create new ones of my own...
I am connected with my ancestors.