I had heard stories about Jerry and the oyster farm. I had learned about the fiesty Jo.
I was eager to meet them to put a face with the names I had heard.
Once again, as with anything Alaskan, the actual exceeded the predetermined image I had in my head.
My first visit to Kahli Cove Oyster Farm aka "The Village" was before my daughter, Katie's arrival to Alaska. My son, Lee had picked me up from the airport in Klawock earlier that day. We were on our way to unload my baggage, our groceries, and get settled in at the float lodge when we decided to make a pit stop. Lee told me everyone had been eager to meet me and he would be in trouble if we didn't stop by real quick.
There is no such thing as a real quick visit to the village.
It is the picture of the phrase, "chill out."
I learned during my time visiting, that living off the land is taken seriously and work ethics are top notched as a result of that dependency.
Leisure time is savored and enjoyed in a manner that those in the lower 48 states have lost total track of today. There was no television, radio, or cellphones to distract us. There were no traffic jams or waiting in lines to irritate. Without restaurants or shopping malls on every corner, a person must resort to their entertainment being conversation.
How primitively wonderful!
As we rounded the bend to Kahli Cove, there before me lay a colorful mirage of cabins afloat on rafts made of huge logs. Some were lashed together and my son pointed out one lone green building that was next to the shore. This had been his cabin when he first came to Alaska to work for Jerry. As we pulled up our boat next to the dock, we were greeted by six men, one woman, and a dog. They all looked happy to see us as visitor's are not a common affair. Heck, seeing any people in this remote collection of islands in SE Alaska, is not a common affair!
As colorful as the buildings were, I soon found out the those residing here were just as colorful. I mean this in the most affectionate and complimentary way. Jerry is a native Hoosier who migrated to Alaska and established along with his brother and sister in law an oyster farm.
Nestled near the Prince of Wales Island, commonly referred to as POW, he told Lee that those who love it here become Prisoners of Wales.
I can believe it.
Admittedly, there was a mixture of delight and a bit of fear in meeting Jerry.
I came bearing gifts. I had it on good authority that Jerry loved his cigars. When you first meet him, you notice right away that he wears a miner's flashlight on the top of his hat. I can still hear his rustic laughter and excited voice rambling on in response to carefully instigated topics of conversation that involve politics or any article of clothing without a tag that read "made in the USA."
This is a man's man, who I have been told walks out of his cabin every morning, pounds on his chest and lifts his arms heavenward and proclaims his thanks for living in such a wonderful place.
I wonder if he realized the cigars were my little thank you for the influence he has bestowed on my son.
Joanna, or "Jo", came to Kahli Cove on the work away project. Work away is basically an opportunity to work for room and board in various places all over the world for short terms. She returned a few months after her work away term ended to marry Jerry. The ceremony was held on White Cliff Island at a simply picturesque point.
She is from Australia, and right off her lovely accent and infectious smile captivates you.
She mentioned more than once how happy she was to have me there as she misses female companionship. Despite the rustic surroundings, she is able to pull off an aura of feminine flair. She shared Aussie wine and we shared a bottle of Indiana wine with her.
She makes a mean venison stew as well.
I smile every time I read a message from her now, as she closes with "ciao, ciao!"
Jo's younger brother, Dave , three young men on a work away were also there along with a neighboring oyster farmer.
And Brick.
Brick is a Karelian Bear dog who melted my heart and on my last visit I snuck him smoked salmon and a rawhide chew.
A tour of the village presented the main cabin that hosts a great greenhouse-like porch. Inside this porch is a big harvest table where we enjoyed a couple of great meals and conversation. Behind the main cabin is a small shack that is the outhouse. No electricity, meaning no light or heat. A bucket of water seemed self explanatory to make the flush work.
After our venison stew and homemade bread supper, it was decided to move the green cabin.
With expert maneuvering, everyone jumped in different boats and the cabin was moved away from land and apart from the floats.
There was a reason for the move. It had mice.
Traps were set and there was no means of escape for the rodents. Ridding the cabin of the unwanted guests came with a price; the only way to the cabin now was by boat. A couple of days later the report was in and the number of deceased mice was in the double digits. I shuddered at this report when comparing the cabin size to this toll.
At the close of my first visit to the Village, hugs were exchanged with these new friends, who I felt at home with only after an hour with them. Promises were made to return this week and as we discussed the probability of a cook out the dreaded question was asked. "Do you like oysters?"
I've never been a good liar, so with regret, I answered. " I've never actually tried them before. "
Exclamations of disbelief were proclaimed and before I knew what was happening, some walked to the edge of the float, hauled up a basket of oysters, had one cracked open and wide eyed, I found myself staring at an oyster before my face.
Now, I'm not sure peer pressure would be a good description of what happened next, and an onlooker might wrongly think it appeared bullying. Neither is true of course, but as my eyes spanned the group now closed around me in a circle, I glanced up at my son for a word of advice. My mind was racing with thoughts: what do I do? I don't want to hurt their feelings and decline. I don't want to gag. Or worse, I most certainly don't want to puke!
I saw a splash of sauce hit the gray slimy delicacy. Delicacy?
Seeking my son again for guidance, he calmly said, "bite it twice and swallow. "
Alrighty then.
So, I did it. Someone tipped the shell and I followed the instructions to a tee. Chomp, chomp, gulp.
Cheers went up on the deck! Brick barked in his approval and Lee smiled.
Other visits to Kahli Cove were less stressful for me. We had a great steak grill out one afternoon. Once again it felt like family as we sat around the table and talked and teased one another. We had a few private jokes going by now: walking the long line challenges, the ringing of the bell, and the shooting up of a hat and broken television.
When I think back at my visits here, I see that these people understand how the world should be. They work together and live together. Both. There is no escaping their closeness. Closeness of proximity and closeness as friends.
It takes a village. There is a village.
