Berry Berry Good!!!

. . . . . . 1 2 1 1 2 1 1 2 1 1 2 1 1st, let's have a little music, please. To get us in the mood, let's see what would be good? Hitler on the roof. Tukong saukumahui. Ksan koh pao yakh dohui.

Hrnakh pak jai uni hui. Ksan koh pao ngamahui. Ikfaut laryakh dohui. Tukong saukumahui. Translation, if I were a rich man, I'd be a real lazy bastard and have someone pick berries for me. All those certified Alaskans always think subsistence is something we eskimos do for fun. Those sports hunters and fishermen talk about how we really have it made to live off the land. I'd like to take a couple of them out, bear it picking with me. And maybe then they'd understand. For starters, you have to know your upset or berries. Mother Tundra may look plain and lonely, but in her masibusum, she nourishes millions and millions of berries.

Salmon berries, cranberries, blackberries, and genuine blueberries. And when I say genuine, I mean, you haven't tasted a real blueberry until you've picked one off the Tundra. Tiny, though they may be, they're bursting with flavor. Those big ones in the grocery store taste like wax to me. But being so tiny, about the size of a ball bearing in a lazy Susan, it takes a lot of work to collect a winter supply. Many traditional native families spend weeks gathering them, working 14, 15 hours a day. It takes two good pickers, about four hours to fill a five-gallon bucket. And from there, they go into big, ziplock bags and into the freezer. Ah, thank God for modern conveniences.

In the old days, berries were stored in inflated seal skins, woven grass bags or kegs, and then buried in the permafrost to be dug out later in winter. Most families will try to get some of every variety of berries to make akuta, also known as Eskimo ice cream. Every family's got a secret recipe. Today, akuta is a mixture of berries, shortening, and sugar, equipped together. Up in the Yukon, they like to add flakes of whitefish. Some modern Eskimo women like to blend in finely chopped cabbage. My mom even mixes in mashed potatoes. It's more filling that way. Some people like to throw in fish livers, fish eggs, and sea loyal. Mmm, my mouth waters just thinking about it.

Salmon berries are my favorite. They're called akpik in Inupek, a salukbek in Inupek, and of course, kids just call them berries. And you know, they're very, very good for you. One local native health guru tells me that salmon berries are the treasure of Eskimo land. One cup of salmon berries has the vitamin C value of eight oranges. Berries are food for the soul too. On those long trips out to the family berry picking spot, kids pick up a few stories along with the berries. Elders often talk about finding little piles of berries on the tundra, stacked into neat little cones. And there's a good explanation for that. All the luck of the Eskimo, you know, the Irish aren't the only ones who have seen the little people. They wee ones.

There are lots of Eskimo stories about elves and other spirits. Take mosquitoes. There's a story about how one kept buzzing in the ear of a village maiden. The elders told her to ignore the buzzing, and she always answered the buzzing with them. One day, while she was picking berries, a long came a tall, slender stranger with a long nose. And he told her he had come for her. She told him that she wasn't about to go off with him because she didn't know him. The stranger said, yes, you do. A summer long, I buzzed, sweet nothings in your ear. And every time I asked you to marry me, you said, ah, Iki kakwa. Yes, I guess so. So, off she went to Spiritland where there was a mosquito village. Now, if only they had had bugdough back then, then she could have wiped them all out.

And then we could pick berries in peace and sing. And then we could pick berries in peace and sing. And then we could pick berries in peace and sing.