Tele Aadsen

writer - fisherman - listener

Today is Alas­ka Day, and, I have to admit, I have mixed feelings.

On Octo­ber 18, 1867, Rus­sia for­mal­ly trans­ferred con­trol of the Ter­ri­to­ry of Alas­ka to the U.S. Com­mem­o­rat­ed as a  statewide hol­i­day, Alas­ka Day is a real­ly big deal in Sit­ka, where the actu­al trans­fer took place.  Fes­tiv­i­ties begin in ear­ly Octo­ber, all build­ing up to this day. Schools close. Peo­ple get gussied up. The Luther­an Church hosts a pie sale like you would­n’t believe. And a giant parade rolls through down­town, kicked off when the Coast Guard Jay­hawk heli­copters buzz Lin­coln Street. Sitkans love an excuse for a parade.

Imme­di­ate­ly fol­low­ing the parade, folks climb the stone steps up Cas­tle Hill for a re-enact­ment of the trans­fer.  Peo­ple in peri­od cos­tumes low­er the Russ­ian flag and raise the Stars & Stripes. The 9th Army Band pro­vides accom­pa­ny­ing music. It’s all very ceremonial.

Re-enact­ments of all kinds make me uneasy. I won­der about the groups not rep­re­sent­ed, the sto­ries that aren’t includ­ed in the re-telling.  Those silences echo through this cer­e­mo­ny. Orig­i­nal­ly known as Noow Tlein, the land hon­ored for its tran­si­tion from Russ­ian own­er­ship to Amer­i­can is the same ground where, after the Bat­tle of 1804, Tlin­git peo­ple ced­ed their home.

(This sum­mer, I asked a Tlin­git elder about this. “Alas­ka Day must not be much of a cel­e­bra­tion for you.”

No,” she replied flat­ly. “But I’d rather be Amer­i­can than Russian.”)

I don’t have answers for these con­flict­ed feel­ings, and I’m not in Sit­ka to expe­ri­ence Alas­ka Day first-hand this year.  Instead, I’m watch­ing the Belling­ham sun slow­ly creep up out­side my writ­ing win­dow, Stel­lar’s Jays and squir­rels rush­ing up to say good morn­ing and ask where the peanuts are today.

With­out any heli­copter escorts or brass bands, I’ll mark Alas­ka Day in my own qui­eter way, recall­ing one of the last sun­ris­es of our fish­ing sea­son — a sun­rise so spec­tac­u­lar that Bear the Boat Cat had to be on wheel watch, while Cap’n J and I were both fix­at­ed on cap­tur­ing the moment. (No obscen­i­ty-laced whale inter­ac­tion here, friends — this one’s safe for all viewers.)

There have been times when we’ve cho­sen to sim­ply enjoy some­thing beau­ti­ful, paus­ing to be present with our­selves and our sur­round­ings, rather than dis­tanc­ing our­selves with the flur­ry of doc­u­men­ta­tion. Prob­a­bly not as many of those times as would be good for us.  But I’m glad this one made it onto film, so you can enjoy it, too.  What­ev­er sto­ries you car­ry, may your Alas­ka Day include moments of beauty.