Crusade to the Orthodox

      I had the wonderful opportunity the first week of March to once again embark on a crusade for the SeaLife Center: I (and my spiffy boss Nikki) was charged with the task of spreading the glorious knowledge of aquatic life to rural peoples of Alaska who depend on that life for sustenance. So, Nikki and I dawned our crusader's tools (boxes of frozen squid and film canisters full of exotic spices to awe the children with alien innards and oceanic senses) and prepared for the road. We asked for Poseidon's blessing and lamented the lack of his magical Triton as we left town in our untrustworthy steed. Our first challenge in our crusade became quite apparent before we had even ventured past Sewardian city limits: our dying Red Explorer, henceforth known as Tranny Trouble. Tranny T. had a transmission problem, and we could feel its death jerks every time she shifted gears. We pushed Tranny T. onward, determined that the power of our crusade would give her the strength she needed, and promised to keep the air full of the dance beats every Tranny needs.  

 

     We were elated when, 4 hours later and after a short side mission to quench our road weary pallets with a pint and a pizza, we came upon the sight above: Kechemak Bay and Homer city limits! Tranny T. had brought us faithfully, albeit begrudgingly, along the smoothly paved road to our base camp. Our true crusade would begin before dawn the next morning  After thanking Poseidon for the fortunes of our first travels, we slept. 

    Razdolna, a Russian Orthodox fishing village, was our first destination on our crusade map. As we left Homer in the darkness of early morning, We prayed that Tranny T. would muster the fight to press forward on the icy, windy gravel roads before us, despite the lack of musical stardust and dance beats. We felt Tranny T. shutter as we put on the only musical choice we had: a cassette tape that simply said "Linda", full of songs that any granola hippie would spiritually hippie jerk-dance to.  I do enjoy an occasional romp around a free-flowing dance circle, but I believe the melodic flute-inspired beats drum out death to any true tranny's psyche. So as not to offend Tranny T., we kept the volume low and ventured farther into the Russian-inhabited wilderness. We watched a picturesque sunrise over Kachemak Bay, complete with rays of hot pink and bright orange searing the sky above the mountains in such a way that each peak looked like it had its own wig of hotly colored light. We took that as a blessing for our Tranny, and she did seem to be driving a little smoother. As we left the sunrise and headed down the driveway to the school, we felt Tranny T. shudder nervously. We passed a few children walking to school, all of them wearing traditional Russian Orthodox clothing: the girls wearing floor-length homemade silk dresses in beautiful colors (and with nothing underneath to help keep them warm in the 20 degree weather) and the boys wearing silk shirts with brightly colored flowers embroidered on the collars. The beauty was astounding. As Nikki and I stepped out of the car to join the children, their mouths all dropped and I heard a few muffled snickers. Crusade tip #1: DO NOT wear jeans or nose piercings to religious fishing villages. Although your head and heart may be in the right place, and Poseidon himself blessed your trip, the meaning of your words may be lost in this 'other world' attire. To effectively send a message, a skirt is preferable, although nice slacks may be acceptable, and all viewable body piercings should be promptly removed so as to avoid a general barbaric impression. 

     

     We ventured into the small school and began the true crusade work. Razdolna is very small (it is actually constructed out of 2 double-wide trailers hammered together), and the school has only 48 students in all K-12 grade levels. The older students were quite uninterested in our message of Awesome Science, and by the time we reached the youngest students, it was apparent they knew little English. Crusade Challenge #2: the Russian language. Consequently, rather than spreading the amazing knowledge about how salmon find their way home from the open ocean, we resorted to an English lesson.

"What color is this?" I ask, pointing at a picture of salmon eggs. 

"Red!" came the reply. The end. Crusade mission failed.  

     We dejectedly headed back to base camp, ready to refill our crusade passion in the sea-side city of Homer.  

     We refilled quite well, although Tranny T. showed obvious signs of weakness. Our doubts grew that she would survive this grueling adventure. We found a very unique used book store, above pictured, made from an old log cabin. I thought much about the loved ones I had left behind in order to venture on this crusade, and found a small token to take home to my beloved Tyler, a book entitled "Bucktails and Hoochies", a 1970s fishing how-to book. 

     Our crusade started anew early the next morning. The next Russian Orthodox village: Nikolaevsk. This school was quite impressive, and was an actual school building rather than two double-wide trailers. The younger children spoke English, as well! Thank you Poseidon, we shall truly deliver your message now! The children enjoyed us, and we brought messages of Oceanic Amazingness to all. As we finished with the elementary students, we started talking about the animals we have at the ASLC. 

Nikki asked: "Does everyone know what a sea lion is? Do you know how the sea lion got its name? What sound does a lion make?"

A little girl raised her hand to reply: "Well, sea lions got their name because they have curly tails and are blue." At least she liked sea lions...our message was not lost. Crusade win #1!

     We went next to the middle school classroom, and pulled upon our powerful crusade tools to pique the interest in the group: Box o' Squid! All participants were quite excited, and our SeaLife message was easy to read amid the alien entrails before each student. The children didn't want us to leave, and began asking any question, or telling any story, that popped in their head. 

Student #1: "This reminds me of this one time when my uncle made me take chickens, and I had to, you know *slight finger gesture upward* in their butts--"

Nikki: "Oh! I don't need to hear that story!" A look of shock and horror passed across her face. Crusade Challenge #3: children's stories of animal abuse. 

Student #2: "What if I found a baby walrus? I think I would keep it and raise it for its white ivory tusks." 

Nikki and I: "Do you know how much effort it takes to raise walruses?"

Student #2: "I could do it! I will raise my own walrus and make money off its tusks."

Crusade Challenge #4: A belief that non-Alaskan-natives can kill marine mammals. 

     Despite the slight challenges, our crusade mission at Nikolaevsk was a success! We sheathed our crusader's swords (or rather, put the unabused squid back in the cooler) and headed to our final school: McNeil Canyon. 

     McNeil Canyon was actually an elementary school on the outskirts of Homer, and we mistakenly thought they were a Russian Orthodox fishing village, so consequently offered our free programs in our crusade to bring knowledge to the isolated fisherman's children. We believed, however, we should still deliver our message of Oceanic Awesomeness. Little did we know, this would become the downfall of our Crusade. It ended in an ultimate failure to deliver our message to the 148 students they plopped upon us. The final battle scene included me shouting at school children "Smell your spices! Smell your spices!" while white paper confetti shot down from the sky and children battled and clawed each others faces. It was an ugly failure. 

     We hurriedly packed into our car after that episode of abuse, and began our journey homeward. The weather had warmed slightly, so our trek home became immensely treacherous. Tranny T. became quickly covered in ice and frozen mud, a very unflattering look. We thankfully were able to offer her proper tunes once again, but the toll of ugly roads and conservative environments was beginning to threaten the Tranny's life. 

     I tried, vainly, to remember all that my husband had taught me about car repair. No matter how I wracked my brain or silently prayed to Poseidon for tranny luck on our crusade, I could not remember where the transmission fluid was! Above, I'm checking the oil and looking for leaks anywhere I could think to. I lubed Tranny T. up with the most love I could muster and we began our 4 hour drive home in weather brought on by an angry Poseidon: We had lost too many battles on our crusade!     This is an actual picture taken of that afternoon. The roads were sheets of black ice, and more ice and snow were falling from the sky, blanketing Tranny T. loathsomely in that frozen ice mud. We could feel her shudder and loose all power whenever we had to shift gears, or go up a hill...her inner tranny was slowly and painfully dying. We pushed on, coaxing her up each hill, unable to go faster than 30 mph, afraid Tranny T. would abandon us with nothing but a half-case of Miller High Life to keep us warm. Tranny plugged on, and ever so slowly, our crusade reached its close back in Seward. We thanked Poseidon for allowing us home, and I promised to religiously listen to ABBA in order to thank the world of the Tranny.