*This is part of the Life Lessons Series*

When I was a young girl, I lived in a  village in the northern region of Alaska. For more information on the living conditions and cultural aspects of this village, see “Surviving and Thriving in Alaska’s Bering Strait Village.”

This village was small, with a population of approximately 160, and was situated on a peninsula that extended into the Bering Strait. The Village was a close-knit community, and gaining acceptance was rather difficult if I am being honest. Looking back at my time there with adult eyes, I can now see the effort my parents and other popular teachers at the time put into being accepted. They were under constant scrutiny to see if they would learn and follow the unspoken rules of the village, help support the community, and contribute in a positive way to maintain the cultural expectations. 

My brother and I were somewhat shielded from the scrutiny by virtue of being children. My brother, at the time of our arrival in the village, was 18 months old. I was about four years old. Both very young and very impressionable, with excitement about the novel experiences we were getting. We had spent a lot of time around our grandparents and older relatives and had ingrained within us an inherent respect for the elders, which also went very far to protect my brother and me from intense scrutiny and endear us to the prominent figures of the community, who would vouch for our interest in learning, a necessity for survival in the remote land. 

The tundra lands were part of the village and the way of life there. The people relied on the bounty of the ocean and the tundra for food and other resources. Berry picking was common and the tundra hosted many berries to include blueberries, salmon berries, and cranberries. 

During one of our early days in the village we were at a funeral at the top of the hill. The funeral had finished and elders and women of the village had pulled out buckets and began harvesting berries from the surrounding area. It was my first time seeing berries being picked and I was intrigued so we watched them. One of the elder women, Nuse, invited us to join her group and gave me a small bucket that used to hold jam but had been cleaned for use in this way. I was so very excited to be part of the group harvesting the berries.

I ran around that tundra picking berries and bringing them to the elders to ask what kind of berries I had. And once I had tasted a berry, I could not stop eating them!

It looked something like this: 

Five berries in the bucket. Ten berries in my mouth. Two berries in the bucket. Eight berries in my mouth. Three berries in the bucket. Five berries in my mouth. Oh look, there are berries in the bucket. Now they are all in my mouth. 

The tiny bucket that should have been easy to fill with berries was empty by the end of the day and my little tummy was very full. My hands were stained purple from the blueberries as was my mouth and from that day on I was addicted to fresh blueberries off the tundra. 

I would often be found sitting in patches of berries munching, coming home with my dinner ruined because I had gorged myself on what I had found on the land. More than one item of clothing was ruined by my love of berries, the most memorable being a white pair of pants I maintain my mother had forced me to wear that didn’t survive a single day of use. 

My family was fortunate. My father and mother had the right mindset coming to the village to gain acceptance, though it was limited and there was no question that if it came down to a choice between a less liked member of the community and our family, the community member would win hands down. But we earned our place in the Village and with earning our place we earned names given to us by the elders of the village. 

Mine was Achuk (Can also be spelled Atsaq) which means berries in Yupik. That was all Nuse called me the entire time we lived there. I think, but don’t know 100%, that it was her that picked the name for me after that day. But it was my name used by her and others at times, but mostly her. 

I still like berries, and I still have a hard time eating store bought blueberries. Nothing quite compares to the tang of fresh ones picked right off the land. 

I learned a lot from picking berries on the tundra. 

I learned that blueberry stains don’t come out of clothes. 

I learned that blueberries are better when they are fresh from tundra. 

And I learned that you never know what actions are going to lead to a name that sticks in your memory for life. 

-Dare