Homestead Girl: The View From Here
By Chantelle Pence; Copper River Press; $15; 106 pages
What it's about: "Homestead Girl" is a collection of poetic essays about Alaska as seen through the eyes of the author, who came of age on one of the last homesteads in America. Each story is written from a perspective unique to a rural Alaska upbringing, but the spirit in the writing applies to everyone.
Excerpt: I stand along the edge of the Tok Cutoff Highway. There are no moving vehicles in sight. It is May, the air is warm, and I can feel the sun's strength. There have been eagles overhead, circling round and round, high in the sky, but I don't know if they are there now because I am looking at the ground. I hone in on a white pebble and hold it in my focus for as long as I can. I am 14 years old, small for my age, but not small enough. I wish I could disappear.
"This is a CRNA van, not CRWA …" The older girls were taunting me. They were about 18, and seemed much larger than me. I said nothing as they continued to berate me for having the audacity to ride on the van that was owned by the regional Native service provider. N is for native. W is for white. "That's enough," an elder finally said. I was relieved but also humiliated. Apparently I had been humiliated "enough," the proper amount.
What is the proper amount of degradation? What exactly is enough? It was obvious that I deserved some of it, because others stood and watched the scene unfold for a while, before it was stopped. I didn't know how to answer the broad accusations, or what exactly I had done wrong. I only knew that there was an understanding amongst the group that I wasn't right. Maybe it was just the wrong place at the wrong time, but one thing was made clear to me. I was not seen as a human being, I was something different. Though what, I hadn't discovered yet.
I was participating in an event called the Peace and Dignity Journeys, a long-distance run intended to unite the indigenous people of North and South America. The journey was like a way to reclaim the Native spirit of the continent. A group of runners started in Alaska and went south across the United States, into Mexico and Panama, where they met with indigenous South Americans. I had been invited to travel in the van with a group from our area, and we took turns running and carrying a ceremonial staff across the land. It felt good to be outside, to move my body, and to be with others involved in a fun and meaningful activity.