Wind

Unalakleet in the winter

Bering Sea

Rolling over and around the house like the waves on the Bering Sea, it sounds like we'll surely sink. The house shudders with the onslaught of a sudden blast. I curl up tighter and tighter in my blanket on my feather pillow-topped bed, snuggled in my striped flannel sheets, drawing my pillow down with me, listening to my dog breathe heavily on her bed by the door. The wind is a natural sound to her and she is not to be bothered. Somewhere deep in her genetics, it's familiar and comforting.

The whistling. I'm not sure where it comes from, but it's there. An occasional rattle from the window. The sound is louder upstairs in the bedroom than downstairs on the couch, but I like my bed, and the couch gets cold because it sits right under two east-facing windows, which is the direction from which the wind usually comes.

Other than the wind, all is silent. Silence picks up as the sun goes down, which is later and later this time of year. There is no rumble of planes landing or taking off. No one is out on their 4-wheeler or snow machine, not on these 50mph nights.

Bering Sea frozen near the coast

A student told me this week about a couple of men from a neighboring village who went missing on their snow machines last weekend. They were found, lost and out of gas, but they were found. Many are not so lucky.

It sounds more like the ocean beating against the house than anything I've ever experienced. There are no trees to slow it down. It rushes down out of the snowy Kaltag and Whaleback Mountains, sweeps across the tundra, and rolls through our seaside village like a reverse-tsunami heading out to sea.

Unalakleet wind turbines

The truth? I love the wind. It is constant and steady. It can be relied upon. Somehow, it makes me feel safe and protected as it swirls around outside and I curl up with a hot cup of tea inside, wearing my wool socks, softest hoodie, and yoga pants - all shades of grey, much like the colors outside my window.

The wind reminds me of how small I am, while at the same time causing me to bear up against it, resist it, go through it, beat it, survive it. After all, Unalakleet is a Yupik word meaning "place where the east wind blows."

Unalakleet sits between the "Alaska" label and Nome. This is a satellite picture taken during a winter storm.