I was born near the village of Holy Cross, Alaska at our families summer fish camp. My mother said I was delivered by the local midwife, Francis Demientieff, who lived to be over 100 years old and was
responsible for the delivery of countless babies. I don't remember much about the whole affair, but I am glad it happened and that everything came out OK. It was a windy rainy Tuesday when I finally
entered this world.
Our fish camp house was made of scrap lumber with corrugated tin roof, some parts were covered with tree bark. The building itself was of two rooms, the front room with the kitchen, small table and bed
for my parents and a cooking stove, the larger back room was lined with bunk beds and mosquito nets. There was a large circular stove from a gas drum cut in half sitting on the dirt in the corner. Not the
fancy sportsman's lodge but it was and still is my home.
Nothing could compare to the first salmon caught and baked with onions and rice and sitting on the river bank watching the world drift by. Sometimes bears would appear across the river, undoubtedly
drawn by the smell of drying fish. But they didn't dare wander too close for my father was a crack shot with his WWII 30-06. Many a morning we would wake to the sound of him chasing away a bear or
other animals.
Holy Cross was founded in the late 1800's by a group of Catholics'. It sits in a small alcove on the banks of the Yukon River in southwestern Alaska.
I have lived for many years away from my origins, but the memories will travel with me forever.
I remember the cold winters of high snow drifts, the sledding and walking to visit my rabbit trap lines.
The first time my father let me carry the .22 rifle on my trips was after I told him I saw wolf tracks in the snow. He gave me a few bullets and said don't waste them. I fired a couple rounds to know that I could
shoot and the rifle would shoot.
I was twelve.
There wasn't a telephone in the village, just a radio at the mission. I did not see a television until we moved to Anchorage .
Today there are satellite dishes sprouting like dandelions throughout the village and everywhere in the 'bush'.
I also became a pilot, raised five children, have six grandchildren with more on the way, performed two weddings, rode a motorcycle from Alaska to Kentucky in six days, once lived on a package of hot
dogs for a week, slept outside in -25degree weather, ate fermented seal flippers with the Aleuts and muktuk with the Innuit.
It was a good life and sometimes miss it very much.
So, how did I become and ivory carver?
I guess the easiest explanation is that I was hungry and needed a way to eat. I had been selling my drawings and stuff everywhere in Anchorage and even camped in Denali Park for a summer, supporting
myself with my artwork.
Fortunately, I did have a knack for carving and ivory was relatively easy to carve.
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