While substitute teaching in Crooked Creek, Alaska this past January, I couldn’t help but notice the weather. Mind you, Crooked Creek (known to locals simply as “Crooked”) is deep in the interior of Alaska, winding along the banks of the Kuskokwim River. So why was it 40 degrees. . .?

The duplex I was staying in was perched on top of a rock pile, such that when I stepped out my front door, there was a steep slope in every direction. The melting had made it wicked slippery; even wearing cleats and moving like an old lady, I managed a few pratfalls. Getting to the school, which was hardly more than a stone’s throw away, took me a good five minutes.

The kids loved the ice. During their gym time they asked to go outside and spent the time sliding down the slope beside the school on the soles of their shoes. Then they crawled back up to try it again, while I stood around and shivered.

The warm weather continued for a full two weeks, during which I fell down a lot.  My contract was for four weeks, but the permanent teacher arrived in Anchorage after I had been there for only two, and I decided to let him go ahead and take over. When I made this decision, he was due to arrive in Crooked the following day, which was Saturday. I made plans to leave the following Monday, and optimistically started packing. At the end of the day on Friday I said goodbye. The little kids hugged me while the big kids acted all cool.  

Once these brilliant plans were made, the temperature dipped and it snowed a foot. This of course grounded the airplanes, so the new teacher didn’t wind up coming until Monday, the same day that I left.

Meanwhile, the temperature hovered around freezing, and the snow piled up. It must have been Friday evening that I sat in my little apartment reading my book, when I heard a weird little noise, like maybe some Ciingssiiget (the Yup’ik Little People; in the singular it kind of sounds like “sing-see”) were tapping on my door. I stopped and listened; the noise stopped, and I continued reading. The noise resumed, and as I was walking to the door to investigate, it got louder and louder and was suddenly followed by a huge sound that can only be transcribed as “ker-FLUMP!”

When I got over my startle and looked out, I could see—and hear—a ledge of snow slowly sliding off the roof; when it reached a certain width it gave way and crashed to the ground. Then a new ledge started to form, and so on until, I have no doubt, the roof was completely clear of snow.

No ciingssiiget this night. Monday morning, I wound up back in the classroom. I said goodbye again, silently praying for the weather to cooperate. And it did.

The maintenance man drove me to the airport to wait for the plane (after three consecutive phone calls in which the airline folks announced that the arrival time was later than originally planned). Eventually, we got the green light and headed out. We stopped to get my suitcases out of the house; we accomplished this by dragging them onto the porch of my apartment and then instigating a controlled slide down the hill to the truck.

When we got to the airport, the grader was still steaming around. As we watched, the driver finished carving out a narrow strip on the runway and dug a hasty opening in the turn-around spot. (It’s a good thing those little planes can turn on a dime.) Then he pulled as far out of the intended traffic pattern as he could. Within five minutes, the plane had landed.

The new teacher got off the plane. I shook his hand and hastily told him they were great kids who loved to do active, hands-on projects, and then without further ado I climbed into the plane, and we took to the sky.

That afternoon the temperature in Crooked started a slide of its own, and within about 24 hours it was 30 below. I guess this lady really does know when to leave.