Below marks my first column for the Capital City Weekly.
This is my first winter back in Alaska after 14 years away for college and the beginning of a career teaching high school in California, so my Alaskanization is in full force.
I now divide my year according to steelhead, salmon and deer seasons. Chopping firewood is a chore, not a novelty summer activity, and my skin is turning the powdery shade it was when I went to high school in Klawock.
What hasn’t changed much is the dinner table. Every summer I came home to stock up on fish (and if I was lucky, venison) for those vicious 45-degree California winters.
I had friends in the Golden State who loved having – but not necessarily eating – fish, as if saving it in the freezer meant it was going to appreciate at an annual rate of 4.5 percent.
Their cooking ignorance ruined plenty of fillets, so after a while I wouldn’t give them any. If they felt like eating salmon, I’d take some over with me and prepare it for them. I’m realizing now that sounds like I was bribing people for friendship, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the case.
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