Kayak Piece

The Baranov Museum Hosted a Historical Writing Workshop in the fall of 2010. This is a version of what I wrote as a teacher / participant in the class.

When we study kayaks of Alaska, we often see them through the eyes of early Russian explorers. Baidarka is the Russian name for kayak, and it is not only the Russian language that filters our insight into this miraculously living boat. We construct an image of the kayak through the written words of awe-inspired and baffled Russian sailors, Naval Officers, and Missionaries. The kayak was “so light that a seven year old child could easily carry” one, noted Veniaminov, or St. Innocent of Alaska, a missionary who learned several Alaska Native languages and travelled by dog sled and reindeer around the North he loved. Lisyansky, famous or infamous depending on who you’re speaking with for his defeat of key Tlingit clans during the battle of Sitka, addressed the kayak in more practical terms: “At first I disliked these leathern canoes, on account of their bending elasticity in the water, arising from their being slenderly built; but when accustomed to them, I thought it rather pleasant than otherwise.” We gain insight and even awe about the kayak from these observations, but we have to dig through them like a midden pile to find salvageable truth about these man-made sea creatures that could approach even 10 knots of speed. Today’s kayak can go 5 knots at the fastest.

Veniaminov noted the kayak’s elasticity in water, and attributed it to their slender size. If we allow ourselves to approach the kayak with that same elasticity of imagination spiced with the ancestral memories and stories of Alaska Native peoples, we find ourselves awash with the elegance of nature. The elasticity emerges from dozens of joints constructed from animal bones; driftwood collected patiently over a period of years, each grain lovingly noted; female sea lion and sea otter skins oiled until their transparency reflected the ocean waves; thorough sinew stitching completed with the meticulous prayers of survival. The kayak was never complete and like any living creature required grooming, new skins, new oil on old skins, and patched punctures. The delicate creature-in-becoming offered the privilege of stepping into another world, an animal world, that of seal or salmon or whale. One Alutiiq elder from Old Harbor described her grandfather’s story of sitting in his kayak, holding his paddle between his teeth as the other end vibrated in the water, responding to waves and sea creatures. That was his sonar, his livelihood.

The Alutiiq kayak features a unique bifurcated bow that one can explain in many practical ways; the “bulb” effect in which waves are broken by a protrusion, and hull flexibility, a theory that is not particularly backed by any scientific evidence. Local children in the Baranov Museum consistently catch another, deeper meaning when examining the Kayak on exhibit. That looks like a salmon! Or That is definitely a Humpy or That is like a breaching whale! I smile at the immediate wisdom of the young. A sailor named Sauer integrated the practical and animal explanation in 1802, stating that “the head of the boat is double to the lower part, sharp, and the upper part flat, resembling the open mouth of a fish, but contrived thus to keep the head from sinking too deep in the water.” An unknown and unnamed Russian noted that “the entire stempost represents the head of an otter with its mouth open.”

It is perhaps too easy for me to create a gaping gulf between Alaska Native boat-builders and early Russian explorers in my desire to understand the kayak of yesterday. One Alutiiq elder I encountered in a language class seamlessly resolved this tension with her simple statement we have many Russian words – that’s now a part of our language. The grace of her acceptance of another language and culture despite the devastating changes amongst her people reminded me of a kayak dancing with the waves.

Discovering Kodiak through the Census

Kodiak village in 1910. Kodiak Historical Society, P-4.

Last Monday, the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) released the 1940 census to the public. This is cause enough for celebration for historians and genealogists, but when the website received millions of hits on the first day, we were given another reason to rejoice (“Look! Look! People are gobbling up history!”).

I used the 1940 release as an impetus to do Kodiak census research. Through SLED (Statewide Library Electronic Doorway), all Alaskan residents have free access to Heritage Quest, a genealogy database that contains Alaska census records. I’ve had a hard time accessing the records from 1930, but I spent the last few days cropping, saving and printing the Kodiak census returns from 1910 and 1920. This is the slog work of history, but the payoff is well worth it.

"Babushka" Parascovia Gregorioff of
Afognak Village. Kodiak Historical Society.

Now that they are printed, these census records have already proved to be handy. Today a researcher was looking at our collection of travelling icons. One hung in the house of Afognak resident Pariscovia Gregorioff, grandmother of the museum’s first curator, Eunice (Von Scheele) Neseth. I browsed through the 1920 census return and found Mrs. Gregorioff. In 1920 Mrs. Gregorioff was a 68 year old widow who lived alone in a rented home and didn’t speak English. Unlike most of her Afognak neighbors, Mrs. Gregorioff was classified “IN” instead of “MXD”; either she or the enumerator identified her as Native rather than of mixed European/ Native descent. Her occupation was listed the same as that of all the women’s: none.  We know this isn’t true, as Mrs. Gregorioff was a midwife who assisted in birthing dozens of children over the course of her long life. This information, albeit incomplete and containing oversights, helps me as the curator of collections to better understand the significance, use, and value of the small bronze icon that once adorned Mrs. Gregorioff’s rented wall.

As a whole, these census records provide an unparalleled snapshot of Kodiak’s past. Unlike manuscripts, journals, and other printed materials which are usually individual accounts of the past, censuses are the record of the entire community, including those who didn’t leave behind other records. When looking at the records, line by line, patterns emerge that give one a good sense of the character of the archipelago in 1910 and 1920.

Englishman H.P. Cope doubled as the
first postmaster in Kodiak and the census
enumerator in 1910.
Kodiak Historical Society, P 284.

For example, I’ve often heard that Afognak was a more substantial village than Kodiak in the past. The 1920 census shows just this: Afognak definitely had a larger population than “Kodiak village,” but it also had a less diverse economy. In Afognak, a few people are listed as working in the general store (there were several stores in town), at the fish hatchery, “public school,” “ranch” and in mining (both copper mining and one occupation written as “gold”). But the vast majority of men are shown to be working for “sal. cannery.” While the preponderance for “fishing” and “sal. cannery” is also very high for Kodiak village during the same 1920 census, there are more places of employment and occupations listed. Kodiak contained salesmen, cooks, machinists, carpenters, a plumber, fox farmers, and servants, for example. As a result, even though Afognak had a larger population, Kodiak was still the economic hub of the archipelago.

However, as seen in the example of Mrs. Gregorioff’s occupation, census records can be deceiving. Most notably for Kodiak, the 1920 census is smaller than the 1910 census.  This goes against what one would think- that the population of the region would grow in that 10 year lapse. Going through the returns page by page provides several explanations. First, it seems that the 1910 enumerator and town postmaster, H.P.  Cope, took more care in counting. Miners Point at Uganik Bay, the few people living at Long Island, the handful of men on Tugidak Island- all were counted.

A Karluk beach seine gang, ca. 1910. The fishermen hailed
from Scandinavia and Italy, while the cannery workers were
Asian and Latin American. Kodiak Historical Society, P-60.

But, more importantly, the 1910 census was taken after the salmon season had started, while the 1920 census was taken before the cannery crews had been transported north. That is why the largest census return for the region in that year was…. Karluk. H.P. Cope travelled to the salmon canneries at Alitak, Karluk and Larsen Bay and enumerated the fishermen as well as the canning crews. The results show a veritable smorgasbord of ethnicities laboring on the Karluk Spit. Aside from the Alutiiq villagers, there are dozens of individuals from Italy, Norway, the Philippines, Mexico, Hawaii, China, a smattering from Germany, Holland, Korea and Chile, all enumerated (and separated) by bunk house.  While this is not news, what’s exciting are the individuals that emerge, like 27 year old Eulogiro Serinas from the Philippines, the Chilean Ivan Fernandez, and 58 year old Gee Yip from China.

Can you imagine finding your Italian great grandfather listed as living in Karluk in 1910? I’m sure that some family researchers have had that very surprise.

Kodiak's Whaling History

The recent spotting of the rare right whale in Uganik Bay, the recent return of a familiar orca pod, and the recent release of the Alaska-flimed, feel-good whale movie, “Big Miracle,” all point to whales receiving wide attention this winter. Add to this the highly rated reality t.v. show, “Whale Wars,” in which activists prowl the waters of the Antarctic for Japanese whaling vessels, risking their own lives in order to halt the hunt, and it’s clear that whales are on the mind, and the conservation of their species receives wide support.

But for centuries, humans did not view whales as sentient creatures worthy of conservation. Rather, whales were floating oil reserves, and the products that came from whales were essential to daily life. Rendered whale blubber and spermaceti from the head of the sperm whale illuminated American and European cities. Whale oil lubricated the gears of the Industrial Revolution (and later, our forays into space, where sperm whale oil continues to be used as a lubricant). Whale oil was used in soap, in cosmetics and cleaners. Ambergris, another sperm whale product, was essential in the making of perfume. Whale meat was turned into fertilizer. Baleen was used where we employ plastic today- not only in outmoded products like corsets, but also in umbrellas and other goods that required a durable and flexible material. In general, consider the wide array of goods made from petroleum now, and there is a good likelihood that if a similar product was around in the 1800s, whale was used instead of petroleum in its manufacture.

Telescope, Kodiak Historical Society, 81-4-1.

The waters of Kodiak were central to this whale oil boom. In 1835, Yankee whalers from Nantucket “discovered” the Kodiak Grounds, also known as the Northwest Coast Right Whaling Grounds. The Kodiak Grounds encompassed more or less the Gulf of Alaska, including the waters that fall north and west of Vancouver Island. Soon after the discovery, hundreds of Nantucket and New Bedford whaling vessels crowded the waters around Kodiak, inaugurating what historians now call the Golden Age of Whaling. During the height of whaling intensity on the Kodiak Grounds, it was our waters that provided 60% of the whale oil that pumped back to East coast home ports, making the towns of Nantucket and New Bedford very wealthy.

However, these American whalers were hunting in Russian waters. Indeed, it was the partially due to the incredible number of American whalers throughout the waters of Russian America that the Russians began to see the sale of Alaska to the U.S. as a sure eventuality. In the meantime, the Russians belatedly tried to profit from commercial whaling, entering the industry in 1851 when the Russian-Finnish Whaling Company launched its first whaling vessel. Several Alutiit from Three Saints Bay even worked as crew on the Turku. However, by the 1850s it was harder and harder to hunt whales in the over-harvested Kodiak Grounds, and soon the Crimean War broke out, meaning that British vessels could seize Russian whalers at any point. The Russians never profited from whaling in the Kodiak Grounds.

This ceremonial bowl from Woody Island continues to ooze
what is likely a mixture of seal and whale oil.
Kodiak Historical Society, 70-167-9.

Whales were not a source of profit for the Russian American Company, but they certainly were a crucial resource in Kodiak. Boiled and pickled whale meat and oil were important food items for RAC employees as well as the Alutiiq, and whale oil provided light, lubricated the grist mill at Mill Bay, was used in making caulking, paint, and a wide variety of other goods.  Alutiiq whalers, or ar’ursulek, surrendered from 1/3-1/2 of a whale for colonial use. According to an 1833 report, the settlements that provided the most whales were Karluk, Afognak, Alitak, Old Harbor, Angiskoe (between Kodiak and Spruce Islands), St. Paul (modern day Kodiak) and Igak (possibly Ugak or Ugat). Alutiiq whalers at Kodiak killed between 150-300 whales a year during this time. At Three Saints Bay, several individuals were employed in butchering and processing whales that floated south from Afognak and St. Paul.

In the early 1830s, Russians hired an American whaler to try to modernize the whale hunt, only to find that the traditional methods were more effective. Alutiiq whale hunting methods were dangerous, secretive, and efficient. Rituals surrounded each aspect of the hunt, from preparation to processing. Whalers seemed to live separately from the rest of their community. Whaling was a hereditary occupation that involved such secretive rituals that even apprentices were not allowed to participate fully. Within caves, whalers kept totemic objects and talismans that helped to insure the success of a hunt. In these caves, whalers sequestered the bodies of recently dead, prominent community members in order to render the fat from the corpses. Sometimes the bodies were turned into mummies. In fact, a whaler reportedly told Aleksandr Baranov that he would try to steal Baranov’s corpse once he died.

Alutiiq whalers went out in single hatch kayaks and targeted smaller, humpback and fin whales. Slate whaling lances were smeared with monkshood, a local flower that contains the poison aconite, and human fat. The fat acted as a bonding agent. Aiming at the fins or tail, once the whaler had lodged the lance in the whale, it took several days for the poison to paralyze the targeted region. Around three days later, the whale died and washed ashore. In order to assure that a hunter would claim his whale, the whaler drew a line with human fat across the mouth of the bay in which the whale swam, creating a spiritual border through which the whale could not pass. He also marked his slate spears with personal, identifying marks. During the Russian period, slate lances were sometimes marked with Cyrillic initials, and sometimes contained both symbols as well as initials. Examples of such lances are on exhibit at the Baranov Museum.

Look closely and you will see the Cyrillic initials inscribed on this slate whaling lance. Kodiak Historical Society, 85-24-1.

Alutiiq whaling methods were so effective that the RAC dispatched Alutiiq whalers throughout the region in order to teach other Native groups. Rewards were offered to whalers who successfully apprenticed others. Although Alutiiq whaling persisted into the early 20^th century, many of the sacred rituals were no longer practiced after the 1838 smallpox epidemic ravaged the archipelago. By the 1850s, Alutiiq whaling had seriously declined, a drop that can be attributed to the epidemic as well as the rapid shrinking of the whale population due to the incursion of Yankee whalers in the Kodiak Grounds.

Port Hobron shore whaling station, located on Sitkalidak Island in the Kodiak
archipelago, Kodiak Historical Society P 552-6.

In the 1920s there was resurgence of whaling in Kodiak. It was during this decade that the American Pacific Whaling Company constructed Port Hobron on Sitkalidak Island. From this shore whaling station, three catcher boats were dispatched to hunt the waters around Kodiak. Large, bomb-loaded harpoons were mounted to the bow of the vessels. Once a whale was killed, the catcher vessel would pump it full of air, mark it with a flag, and continue hunting for the rest of the day before tugging the day’s catch to Port Hobron. Once at port, large steam winches drug the carcasses onto flensing platforms, where several of the hundred or so employees went to work butchering the whales. Every part of the whale, including the bones, was rendered into oil that was separated into three grades. The whale oil was sold to Proctor & Gamble, the company that makes Ivory soap. Alaska Steamship Company vessels made weekly stops at Port Hobron to drop off supplies and pick up oil, and tourists and other passengers disembarked and got to witness shore whaling first hand. Port Hobron was even included in travel literature as a destination in the 1930s. After nearly a dozen years of operation, Port Hobron closed due to financial issues.

The Carolyn Frances is photographed whaling near what
appears to be Monashka Bay in the city of Kodiak.
Kodiak Historical Society, P 368-5-34

Also during the 1920s, the Carolyn Frances, the Erskine family charter vessel, whaled around Kodiak. Captained by Louis Lane, the Carolyn Frances was a modern incarnation of the off-shore whaling vessel of a century before. Alongside the boat, whales were butchered and on deck the blubber was rendered into oil. Whenever Captain Lane was in town, the Erskine family would join him on a whaling trip. Ever the photographer, local businessman W.J. Erskine brought along his camera to document the action. Within the Baranov Museum photograph collection are pictures of the vessel whaling off Spruce Cape, including photographs depicting each step in the hunt, from preparing the dories to flinging the blubber into the melting pots. After the Carolyn Frances was sold, Captain Lane returned on other vessels to whale around Kodiak, and even sold whales at $500 a pop to local fox farms, where the whales were converted into fox feed.

Whaling did not end in the waters around Kodiak after international agreements curtailed the practice, beginning in the 1930s. Soviet and Japanese whalers continued to hunt for whales just beyond 3 miles offshore, which were considered international waters. Kodiak fishermen recall watching large, industrial whaling ships as they hunted and processed whales right off Kodiak. In an ironic twist, now it was Russian whalers that were not welcome in American waters, while one hundred years earlier it was American whalers who angered the Russians for whaling the Kodiak Grounds. 

The Kodiak Grounds are no longer the domain of whalers, but whales continue as an important local resource. Rather than being a source of oil and food, they are a source of tourism and scientific dollars. Kodiak has a complex relationship with whales and whaling, a relationship which is explored in the new temporary exhibit at the Baranov Museum, Whaling the Kodiak Grounds. Please stop by to learn more about this fascinating story.

Kodiak's Russian New Year Celebration

Masqueraders in Afognak Village in the 1930s went to serious lengths
to disguise their identities, including wearing gloves as to not be
identified by their hands. Kodiak Historical Society P 639-8n.

Masquerading for Russian New Year continues as a Kodiak tradition, with the 2012 event earlier this month drawing an animated crowd, thanks to sponsorship efforts from the Sun’aq Tribe and the Native Village of Afognak. Up until around the 1940s or so, masqueraders donned fantastical homemade costumes and went en mass from door to door, disguising even their voices as to protect their identities. They would wear borrowed clothes and change their posture and stride to confuse onlookers. Once a masquerader’s identity was discovered they were out of the game, but not for long! Many people would have several costumes in waiting so that they could continue the masquerading rounds.

Eli Metrokin wore this mask
for Kodiak's Russian New
Years in the 1930s.

In her book Faraway Island: Childhood in Kodiak, Carolyn Erskine Andrews recalled a particularly memorable Russian New Years for the Erskine family. Her mother, Nellie, and Nellie’s friend Mrs. Finnegan decided to go as a monkey and an organ grinder. Nellie pieced together a costume that bore a passing resemblance to a monkey, but her efforts were in vain. Most Kodiak villagers had never seen a monkey before and had no idea what an organ grinder was. Add to this the fact that Nellie squatted and acted like a monkey for the entirety of the evening’s festivities, and you can understand that the villagers were likely left perplexed as to Mrs. Erskine’s behavior. Apparently, Nellie’s muscles were sore for days due to her monkey-like charades.

Recently, Mary and Joseph Jensen donated a masquerader’s mask, which was worn by Mary’s father, Eli Metrokin, in the 1930s. The wire mesh mask still has the colored outlines of eyes, nose, and mouth drawn in faded tones. Mary described how villagers would tie cheesecloth around their face and then put on the wire masks as to distort their features. She recalls that it was a special thing, to have a wire mask. Other old-timers recall that masquerading costumes and masks were for sale at Kraft’s and Erskine’s stores.

This photograph from Afognak Village helps us to see how the mask above
was fashioned into a costume. Kodiak Historical Society P 639-7n.

Within the museum I recently came across a wonderful collection of photographs from Afognak Village, taken in the 1930s. A schoolteacher captured masqueraders as they were entertained in a village home. Compare Mr. Metrokin’s mask with those in the photograph to the right, and you get a sense as to how the disguises were fashioned. It appears likely that the wire masks sold in Kodiak were also sold in Afognak Village stores during the same period.

Do you have masquerading photographs and objects from Kodiak’s past?  In your next foray into the attic, see what turns up. Who knows, perhaps Nellie’s monkey costume is just waiting to be discovered.

The Baranov Museum's Literary Past, Revealed and Revived

The building that currently holds the Baranov Museum has quite the storied history: from fur warehouse to boardinghouse, it has played many roles in its two-hundred-plus years of existence – including home and social hub, when it was owned by the Erskine family from 1911 to 1948.

W.J. Erskine, an ambitious businessman, worked for (and later purchased the Kodiak holdings of) the Alaska Commercial Company; Nellie, his cousin, was a San Francisco debutante with an ebullient spirit and a thirst for adventure. They married in 1909 and moved to Kodiak in 1911, where, as their daughter Carolyn wrote in her memoir Faraway Island: Childhood in Kodiak, “Between them, they established a home unlike any other in that part of the world.”



Nellie on her first trip to Alaska in 1908

 An important facet of that home was their extensive library. When W.J. and Nellie moved to Kodiak, they brought their love of reading with them. Nellie, in particular, excelled at combining literary and social interests. On Wednesday evenings, she would have local children over so she could read aloud to them from the classics. ("...she would read a chapter out of The History of Mankind or some boring, boring book like that and then she would read a chapter from The Wizard of Oz," reminisced Thelma Johnson in A Legacy Built To Last, also deeming Nellie "just a lovely person, very lovely.")

But children weren’t the only ones who benefited from Nellie’s literary enthusiasm. One of her social endeavors was the formation of the Kodiak Library Club. She and other Kodiak women established the club in 1922, decades before the A. Holmes Johnson Public Library was founded. The club involved fortnightly meetings, each devoted to the discussion of a specific book. Each meeting had a designated discussion leader and hostess, and the Erskine home was often the location. The Library Club quickly expanded into the Kodiak Women’s Club, devoted to numerous types of social and public service, but it always retained its literary roots.

Nellie's literary passion was news to me when I happened across the mention of her weekly classics readings in one of the museum's albums. It was an idea that captivated me right away, since I've been devouring books my whole life. (I have it on good authority from my mother that I used to try to eat mine back before I figured out how to read them.) Getting acquainted with literary classics in college, I was struck time and time again by the way these great, lasting works encapsulate just how much has changed about society -- and, even more resonantly, just how little has changed about humankind -- since the time they were written.



The bookplate designed by W.J. Erskine
for his family's personal collection

 History and literature have always gone hand in hand, and the idea that this magnificent old house has a literary past is a thrilling one to me. The stars seemed to align after my interest had been piqued by these long-lost Wednesday readings: Anjuli, our curator, discovered a Kodiak Women's Club yearbook from the 1920s soon afterward, which introduced us to the existence of what had once been the Kodiak Library Club. Then came another fantastic find: a complete inventory list of the Erskines' family library, taken in 1937.

The list is full of titles both familiar and long forgotten -- although a great deal of Googling has proven that few things are lost to absolute obscurity in the internet age. Drawing from the authors featured in the Erskine Library Inventory, we at the museum have decided to revive the building's history as a meeting-place for literature lovers by starting the Baranov Museum Literary Club. One Sunday afternoon each month will be devoted to discussing and exploring a work by one of the authors on the Erskines' list.

The Literary Club will kick off on Sunday, January 15 from 2:00 to 3:30 with Oscar Wilde's very funny play The Importance of Being Earnest -- a fun one to read aloud, not to mention that it poses some big questions about the institution of marriage, the nature of fiction, and whether cake or bread-and-butter is the truly stylish snack. Do join us, and bring your loftiest British accent! The play can be read online or downloaded in various E-reader formats for free, courtesy of Project Gutenberg. Please email marie@baranovmuseum.org to RSVP if you'd like to participate.


Sources
Faraway Island: Childhood in Kodiak by Carolyn Erskine Andrews
A Legacy Built to Last: Kodiak's Russian American Magazin by Susan M. Jeffrey

What Stories are Woven into a Basket?

Anfesia Shapsnikoff, at right, instructs a basket weaving class
at the museum in the early 1970s. Kodiak Historical Society.

Have you been to the museum to see our temporary exhibit, “What Stories are Woven into a Basket”?   Baskets have been on display in the museum for decades, but this exhibit is a new look at an old topic. In this exhibit, baskets are not just beautiful artifacts, but objects that speak to stories of loss, revitalization, adaptation, and fascination. In the exhibit, visitors learn how the tradition of Aleutian-style grass basket weaving became endangered in part due to the Aleutian campaign during WWII. Anfesia Shapsnikoff, a Unangan weaver in the Attu tradition, worked to revitalize Aleutian-style grass basket weaving. Starting in the 1950s, Anfesia taught a series of workshops at the museum and trained a new generation of weavers. 



One of the first objects in the museum's
collection, this coil of cured Attu grass
was donated to the museum by Anfesia

Shapsnikoff. It is currently on exhibit.

Baskets have been a core component to the museum’s identity since the founding of the Kodiak Historical Society in 1954. In fact, during the first meeting of the new society, Anfesia donated a coil of Attu grass that was cured by a weaver in 1912, becoming one of the first objects in the museum’s collection.  

But baskets have an even longer association with the museum. After Alaska was sold to the US in 1867, the Russian American Company magazin (the building in which the museum is housed) was sold to the Alaska Commercial Company. The ACC operated a store from the magazin, and within the store sold grass baskets from Woody Island. Archaeological excavations on the museum property in 2008 unearthed a large spruce root basket left in a trash midden outside the perimeter of the building sometime before the 1912 eruption at Katmai.  The basket had evidence of being patched before it was discarded, indicating that local baskets were utilitarian objects of value in 19^th century life in the magazin as well.  

This photograph was taken inside the magazin, then the

Erskine family home, likely in the 1930s or 1940s. Note

the large basket on the floor. The family had a large basket

collection of their own. Kodiak Historical Society.



In the beginning of the 20^th century, the ACC manager for Alaska, W.J. Erskine, decided to open his own business and purchased ACC’s Kodiak holdings. This included the magazin, which W.J. turned into his family’s home. The Erskines were avid collectors of books and artifacts. Baskets were included in their collection, including some that are on display in the current exhibit. Recently while digging around in the archive I found an image that likely highlights baskets within the Erskine family collection. Published within the Kodiak Woman’s Club section of the Alaska Federation of Women’s Clubs’ souvenir publication from 1924-1926, the photographed baskets include some that are very similar to the Erskine’s Makah baskets. Nellie Erskine was vice president of the Kodiak Woman’s Club during this time, caring for the club’s library within her home. 



This picture from around 1926

highlights baskets that were in Kodiak

at the time and likely within the

Erskine family collection.



Baskets apparently have been on display in the magazin for well over one hundred years. However, after January our exceptional collection will return to museum storage, as the baskets have earned a well-deserved rest. Come by and see them on exhibit while you can!

Filipinos on Kodiak: Celebration and Inquiry

For the last 100 years, Kodiak's story is very much an immigrant story. The most current US census data lists Kodiak as 7% Latino and 20% people of Asian descent, and those numbers only reflect Kodiak residents, not seasonal workers temporarily living on the island. Fulbright Scholar Joefe Santarita spoke at the Baranov Museum on Filipino Kodiakans, and jokingly emphasized the question of why people from the tropics immigrate to Alaska by quoting an article on King Crab fishing that states "Alaska has cold, frigid, eat-into-your-soul weather." On a more serious note, Mr. Santarita spoke about a variety of socio-economic reasons that Filipinos have immigrated to this island. His talk helped inspire Baranov Museum staff to launch both a celebration and inquiry into Filipino culture on Kodiak.

Our first celebratory event was a Family Fun Night hosted with the Filipino American Association of Kodiak (www.filamkodiak.org/). Members of FilAm Kodiak prepared a veritable feast of foods ranging from bibinka to lumpia, and highlights included dressing up in traditional Filipino garb and learning how to dance. FilAm Kodiak President Mary Guilas-Hawver took the lead to engage the variety of participating community members in Filipino culture, and fun was had by all.

FilAm Kodiak's support of the Baranov Museum did not end with family fun night; they are now our partner in a project called Kodiak's Filipino Community Stories (KFCS) that received $8,500 of funding from the Alaska Humanities Forum. The Baranov Museum, FilAm Kodiak, and Media Action (www.mediactionproject.org) planned KFCS to engage high-school students in ethnography and digital storytelling about the history of Filipino Americans on Kodiak, culminating in an exhibit featuring these digital stories during October 2012, National Filipino American History Month.

While we will keep you posted about how the KFCS project unfolds, we hope that you consider the family photographs and family objects in your life that shed light on Kodiak's Filipino history and consider sharing them with the museum and this project. Even the most seemingly trivial items can contain a world of stories; an old, tattered pair of extra tuffs your grandpa wore in a cannery, a western union receipt documenting money sent home, a recipe handed down through the generations.