An Evening in the Village

Sometimes you just have to ask yourself: “How in the world did I get here?”

I fly old airplanes in Alaska. We take people and goods from Fairbanks to remote parts of northern Alaska. I meet a lot of interesting people.

A few years ago, I flew a couple of people out to the village of Venetie to do a few hours work.

For those not familiar, Venetie is located on the Chandalar River, just south of the Brooks Range, surrounded by mountains and arctic forest. It’s about 30 miles north of the Arctic Circle. The residents are mostly native Athabascans.

Venetie is isolated. No roads go there. It’s about an hour's flight from Fairbanks. The nearest town is Fort Yukon, about a day’s travel away by river. There’s a regular daily mail flight from Fairbanks to get people and goods in and out.

It's a small village. Population is somewhere between 100 and 200 people. They have a village office, a tribal office, and a school. I think they have a clinic.

But back to the story.

The flight out is lovely. It's late October, with chilly, pleasant weather. We fly low for most of the trip, enjoying a close look at the landscape: hills, valleys, rivers, ponds and lakes. We land in the early afternoon. It’s Friday. Light snow covers the ground.

My passengers go off to do their work while I secure the airplane, then I walk around for a bit, and chat with some local folks at the airstrip.

A couple of hours later, my people return. We load the airplane and get ready to leave. I start the first engine, no problem. Then I push the starter switch for the second engine, and get nothing. Not even a click from the starter. Well, dang!

Then I push the starter switch for the second engine, and get nothing. Not even a click from the starter. Well, dang!

So I apologize to my guests and try everything I know to troubleshoot the problem.

No luck.

Now we’re in a bit of a pickle. We can’t take off with just one engine running. I have four people who need to get back to Fairbanks, our nearest airplane mechanic is 150 miles away, my phone doesn’t work here, and it’s starting to get dark and cold.

Hmm . . .

And then, a bit of good luck.

While I’m puzzling over my next move, the daily mail flight lands. I walk across the ramp, and introduce myself to the mail pilot. He has room for my people and their gear, and he’s headed back to Fairbanks now. So I send my guests with him. Nobody worries about who’s paying for it.

Now all I need is get my airplane fixed. On a Friday night. In a tiny village. 150 miles from base. I’m dressed warm, but I really don’t want to spend the night outdoors.

I guess I need some help.

The village center is a mile away, so I start walking.

The village office is a small building, warm and pleasant, with two people inside.

They welcome me in. I explain my situation and borrow their phone to call home base. The connection is scratchy, but I ask whether they can send a mechanic to repair the airplane starter.

Well, no, not tonight. It’s late on Friday and there are no pilots available to bring the mechanic out. Am I prepared to spend the night?

Oookay . . . “We’ll figure out something”, I tell them, and sign off.

And now the village office is about to close. Where can I go? Is there anywhere warm and sheltered that I can spend the night?

Well of course there’s no hotel, or B&B in town. But they do have a suggestion. “Talk to Terry. She’s the Principal at the school. There may be space available in the school building.”

“Talk to Terry. She’s the Principal at the school. There may be space available in the school building.”

“You’ll find her at the school tonight. Tonight is the annual Halloween festival.”

So I get directions and walk to the school. I pause outside the door, nervous.

The lights are on, and it sounds like a party inside. Now I don’t know these people. This is a small, tightly-knit community. How will they act when a stranger walks into their party?

Well I don’t have much choice, so I take a deep breath, open the door and walk in.

It’s an active scene. Most of the town must be here. Kids of all ages in Halloween costumes, parents, grandparents, and teachers.

The center of the festival is the Gymnasium. They have a dozen or so carnival games set up, with decorations and food and snacks. Kids go from one thing to another, and in and out randomly, talking and joking; little kids with parents, teenagers acting like teenagers, boys being boys and girls being girls. Every kid is in costume. Most of them are simple, but some of the vampires are extremely well done and effective.

I stop someone, and ask where to find Terry the Principal. Well, they don’t know, but she’s around somewhere. Just keep looking.

Several questions later, someone points her out to me. A pleasant middle-aged woman, who never stops moving. She answers a question here, gives a suggestion there, listens to an upset child, handles one problem after another, with a gentle caring attitude.

I chase her for some time before I get her attention. When I do, I explain my predicament, and ask for help. She says “Sure, I think we have a cot you can use, and we’ll find you a quiet place to spend the night. And we can probably find you some food.”

Thank goodness!

And she says “Now I need something from you. We’re short on volunteers. We need someone to run the Bubble Gum Challenge. Can you do that for me?”

I don’t know. Never done it before. But I’ll give it a try. So I stand behind a table for an hour or so, offering bubble gum to all the kids who come by. Any kid who can blow a decent bubble gets to choose a prize from the grab bag. The kids come and go, and they treat me like any other grownup. I’m surrounded by people I’ve never met before, yet I feel accepted and welcomed. I never expected this.

And then, just before the Festival ends, I get a message. My boss called. They found a pilot to fly out with a mechanic tonight. They’ll be here in about an hour. So as the festival ends, I thank Terry for her hospitality, and head back to the airport ramp.

The mechanic arrives. Within minutes he has the starter fixed, and we’re on our way back to Fairbanks and home. As happy as I am to get home tonight, I’m also sorry to see it end.

As happy as I am to get home tonight, I’m also sorry to see it end.

And I’ll never forget what Terry said to me as I left. I thanked her for all her offers of help, and she said “You know, we’re a very small town. A tiny group of people. We’re surrounded by wilderness, and we live far from anyone else. What better do we have to do, than to take care of each other?”

This story won the 2025 Alaska.org Story Contest prize for the category of "Acts of Northern Kindness"