Why Speaking Yup'ik is Hard.

I'd like to learn some Yup'ik words but they confound my English-trained tongue.  Here's an example:

The new hospital being built is called the Calricaraq Project.  Instinctively, I know this should be pronounced "Kal-rik-a-rak" - don't say it like that, you will be scorned. It is pronounced "Jala-gay-jahak" or "jalgeejagak" meaning "to come together". The "c" sounds like "j" and the "r" is..., well the "r" is a throaty "khy" sound that could be "g", "k", or "y" to my Western ears; there's no easy equivalent in the Latin alphabet. To hear them speak, native Yupiks use a great deal of this gutteral sound in their conversations, lots of hard "k" & "g", almost clicking their tonsils together - hard, but not harsh. "Kayak" is one of their easier words. Their conversation is melodic, like a mash-up of Sioux, Russian, & Chinese, with a lilting rythm that carries over into their pronunciation of English, if they speak it.  I could listen to it all day.  I just despair of ever actually learning it.

The Elasticity of Alaskan Easter.

 There are at least 11 churches in Bethel representing Roman Catholic, Moravian, Russian Orthodox, Church of God, Covenant, Baptist, Church of Latter Day Saints, Seventh Day Adventist, Assembly of God, Pentecostal, and (because why not, in bush Alaska) the Korean church.  Christianity is a big part of modern Yupik culture, since first contact with "Western" culture was by Russian Orthodox missionaries followed by the legendary Presbyterian missionary Sheldon Jackson.

Sheldon Jackson: a controversial, proselytizing dynamo.

  This cemented in the native mind an inseperable connection between the benefits of Western conveniences and belief in Jesus.  They still hold on to some ancient beliefs (10,000 years of history is a lot to give up in 150 years) considered animistic: they believe the land is alive, aware of everyone living on it, and rewards good actions with good harvests & vice-versa.
 There was an intersting event last year that provides a good example:  2017 was the worst king salmon harvest in their collective history.  In July, a whale swam 30 miles up the Kuskokwim river (remarkable because it's not normally a fresh water mammal) and was killed with great ceremony and joy by the villagers just downstream from Bethel (which is about 40 miles up stream from the Bering).

Relieved Napaskiak villagers harvest a sacrificial gray whale.

There was no question in their minds that it had sacrificed itself for them due to the poor salmon run.  In a perfect example of the tension between modern culture stamped over ancient tradition, the villagers got in trouble with U.S. Fish & Game because these inland villages don't have whale hunting rights - that's reserved for the more northern, coastal tribes.  By law, they should have gone hungry.
There's a limit - perhaps measured by the level of the larder - to how far the natives will carry the yoke of  Christ and turn the other cheek. In that, I think they're not so different from most.
So there's plenty of churches here to celebrate Easter with; nearly everyone will attend and enjoy the social & emotional refreshment it provides. But in the harsh reality of their every-day survival they will always thank the caribou, moose, bear, salmon, fox, rabbit, or whale for giving themselves up, and offer some of their catch back to the earth in gratitude. They grudgingly render unto Caesar what Caesar forces them to, and willingly render unto God what is God's.  But which God depends on their perception of who met their most fundamental needs: Father God, or Mother Goddess.

Native communion of sorts - but with which deity?