Displacement

            In Anchorage, Alaska two members of the Native council, Zachary High Mountain and his son John Swift Feet, were deciding the fate of the village of Atqasuk. The two men had discovered that the land the village of Atqasuk was located on was originally designated as part of a preservation in bill 138, but had not been handed over to the Inupiaq people. Before consulting the government to claim the land as a preservation and as their home they decided to visit the village to see what already existed there.

            High Mountain and Swift Feet's bush plane landed on Atqasuk's tundra airstrip just as the sun was setting. It was nearing the end of summer so this was at 11 pm. The hours of daylight fluctuate greatly this far North so the bush pilot was able to land this late in the night on the bumpy natural airstrip. Leaving the three man plane, High Mountain and Swift Feet took their bags, and with a gesture from the pilot in the right direction, began the mile walk from the landing site to the village.

            Atqasuk wasn't the most prestigious place in Alaska. The population was just under two hundred and the homes were mostly disheveled sheds, log cabins, and the occasional quonset hut. There was a small brick store/church/bar combination at the center of the village with a sign saying “Jack's all purpose” in pealing green paint. By the time High Mountain and Swift Feet arrived at Jack's it was 6 minutes till midnight. Deciding this was probably the best place to inquire about where a hotel might be located, they walked in to the bar end of the building and gazed through the smoky atmosphere towards the round faced bartender.

            “Where might we find a room to rent for the night?” High Mountain asked, coughing a bit on the smoke.

            “Rent? What like a hotel? The hotel’s roof collapsed last winter when we had that huge snow load. You must not be from around here. If I were you I would just start knocking on huts and see if anyone has a cot for you to borrow. I’d let ya stay here but we close soon and no ones allowed in the bar when we close.” Said the round faced bartender as he dragged on a cigarette.

            “Well thank you for the advice… I guess we will just head out then.” High Mountain said before leaving the bartender to his smoke.

            Unsure as to where to start the two men walked to the first hut after the bar. Nearly tripping on a worn out leather boot on the front heap Swift Feet knocked twice at the door. An agitated voice could be heard from the inside of the hut mumbling and grumbling about the hour of the night. A short squat man with a hole in his left sock opened the door and growled in a voice like gravel “who are you and what do you want?”

            “My name is High Mountain and this is my son Swift Feet and we are travelers looking for a place to stay…” *SLAM* The door was shut in their faces.

            The two weary travelers tried two more doors with similar reactions before, nearly asleep and haggard from their travel they came to the end of the road. It had reached the point where High Mountain had decided to take the land from these arrogant people simply out of spite as soon as they got back to Anchorage. Just when they were about to give up Swift Feet saw a tiny sign attached to a spruce tree that said “Baxters” with an arrow pointing down a narrow trail. Following the sign they arrived at the most worn-down log cabin they had ever seen. Knocking once, softly Swift Feet stood on the stoop hoping someone would be home.             

            “Did you hear something Love?” It was a woman’s voice this time that spoke from within the cabin.

            “ME? You know I can’t hear one gosh darn thing! Was it someone at the door?” An elderly man’s voice spoke this time especially loud as if he truly was partially deaf.

            “Yes I think so, let me go check” she said. Several seconds later an elderly woman opened the door to see the two travelers standing on her stoop. “Why who might you be gentlemen? What brings you to my humble home this late at night?”

           “My name is High Mountain and this is my son Swift Feet and we are travelers looking for a place to stay…” He paused at this point expecting to have the door shut on his face but when she continued to stand there he continued. “We are visiting the village and apparently the hotel had been damaged and is closed. Is there any way we could borrow a couple cots and a tent to spend the night?”

            “Why my dears you have nothing to worry about! My name is Lisa and we accept travelers at all hours of the day and night. Come in you must be starving! I’ll get you something hot to drink while my husband Larry goes and sets you up a place in the loft. We have plenty of room if you don’t mind being cosy. Larry! Wake up you silly husband of mine! We have guests!”

            Relived and happy to have a place to stay High Mountain and Swift Feet sat down at the slightly tilted table. Lisa, aghast that her table was broken, took a small book and placed it under the shorter leg before serving the men up some tea.

            “So gentleman! What brings you to a place like this at such a late hour?” Said Larry a bit too loudly.

            “Well,” said High Mountain. “We are here from Anchorage to survey the land to turn it in to a reservation. All of the inhabitants would have to leave if this happened, which searves them right for all of the rudeness we have experienced in the last 2 hours. But after such hospitality you have given us I think my son and I agree that your home will not be included in the report. You are a wonderful couple and I would hate to make you leave this wonderful place you call home.”

            Indeed when High Mountain and Swift Feet returned to Anchorage to claim the land of their ancestors they made sure to leave the home of Larry and Lisa alone.