How cooking, eating and harvesting beach greens ties a family together

An Inupiaq writer remembers her family roots through a favorite dish.


The seasons of Uŋalaqłiq” is a column by Laureli Ivanoff, an Inupiaq writer and journalist, exploring the seasonality of living in direct relationship with the land, water, plants and animals in and around Uŋalaqłiq (Unalakleet), on the west coast of what’s now called Alaska.

We chopped. And chopped. And chopped.

We were chopping the skinny stalks of beach greens with my Gram’s ulus at her table in Unalakleet, Alaska. Summer sunlight streamed through the window above the clean kitchen sink of her small HUD home, The Price Is Right playing on TV. The greens were a foot long and had leaves the size of a fingernail, which felt rubbery, like they’d squeak if I stroked them with just the right pressure. The stalks gave a good crunch when the ulu blade sliced through. We didn’t say much. 

Gram had picked the greens that morning from the beach just a short walk from her house, greens with an English name so literal — beach greens — I like to think they must have been named by a Native. My kids were with their dad, so I had all day to chop if I needed it. And it felt like I would: No matter how quickly I worked, the mountain of unchopped greens didn’t seem to shrink. It felt like making a kale salad for a huge vegan wedding reception where only one dish would be served — kale salad. Araa, this is going to take forever, I remember thinking.

I wish I could go back and tell myself to relax my belly. Enjoy. This is precious. There is no rush. Ask Gram questions. Or don’t. Savor it. Soon, you’ll miss days like this.

The Chukchi Sea from Shishmaref, Alaska.

Now and then, Gram would take the bowl of chopped greens and grab a bundle with her hand to place in a pot of boiling water. As soon as the greens brightened, shocked by the heat, she transferred them to a one-gallon glass jar with metal tongs. When we finally cut the last of the greens, the container was full. Gram added some hot water until the greens were submerged, then topped the jar with a red and yellow cotton towel, tied in place with white cotton string. 

The jar went into her dark backdoor entryway, where it sat for a month, undisturbed and fermenting. Once the greens gave off a hint of a sour smell, maybe a month later, they were done. She packed them into quart-sized Ziploc bags to freeze. Later, she would thaw a bag when she was ready to make achaaqhluk, a mixture of the fermented greens, blueberries and sugar: the perfect dessert to serve after a heavy meal of dryfish, dried ugruk meat, potatoes, carrots, herring eggs and seal oil. 

SHE MUST HAVE MADE achaaqhluk with her mom, who died when she was only 13 years old. Her parents died within six months of one another. After that, she heard her aunties talk about sending her and her three siblings to a children’s home in Holy Cross. The eldest daughter and suddenly an orphan, Gram cried to her aunties, begging them to let her stay in Unalakleet to raise the others. 

Accounts I’ve read about the Holy Cross Mission Orphanage are typical of Jesuit boarding schools and orphanages throughout Canada and the U.S.: Sexual assault by the clergy, beatings from the nuns, severe hunger. Gram had a cousin who went to Holy Cross. “She never came back,” Gram said, with wonder and sadness in her voice that I felt in my throat. 

As an adult, she laughed when she talked about crying to her aunties. Like she got away with something. Even though on that day, a kid herself, she became the parent to three children.

ACHAAQHLUK KIND OF TASTES like a fresh and tangy yogurt, without the heaviness of dairy. I don’t want to tell you what it looks like, because what it looks like is canned spinach mixed with frozen blueberries, an offensive comparison. In my mind, canned spinach and achaaqhluk are on polar opposites of the tastiness spectrum, and I am team achaaqhluk all the way. But if I had to equate this delight to any inferior Western food, that’s what it resembles. 

When I was 4 years old, after one of the many suppers we regularly ate at Gram’s, we heard her breaking up frozen greens with a steak knife in a big Pyrex bowl in the kitchen. Shortly after the achaaqhluk was on the table, and my parents gave me a small melamine bowl filled with it, I finished the bowl and asked for more. They gave me more. I finished that bowl and asked for more. They gave me more. I finished that bowl and asked for more. They filled it halfway, and said I had enough.

Fermenting greens for achaaqhluk creates small amounts of alcohol. Maybe I was just tired and needed a nap, or maybe I passed out from the alcohol in the achaaqhluk I overate, but either way, after I overindulged, I was out for the night. From then on, my family called achaaqhluk “knockout.”

My mom never made knockout, probably because she had the luxury of just going to her mom’s to eat it. But as an adult, with my own two kids, living in another town and my own mother dead, I wanted to know how to make one of my favorite foods. The process was mysterious to me, as if Gram had some sort of magic ability to turn a green plant into a tasty dessert. So, during one spring visit home, I asked her to show me how to make it. And like all Inupiaq instruction, there was little talking. The teaching was by doing. 

While chopping the succulent stalks, I thought about how a food processor would really speed things up. Gram would be so grateful. Once back at my house in Nome, I found a Hamilton Beach food processor and had it shipped to her post office box in Unalakleet.

Like all Inupiaq instruction, there was little talking. The teaching was by doing. 

When she died nine years later, we found the food processor in her backdoor entryway, still wrapped in the original plastic. I laughed. Gram preferred chopping with her ulu as she had done her entire life, as her mother had done her entire life, and as her grandmother had done her entire life, too. 

NOW I LIVE IN UNALAKLEET again, and this month my husband, Timm, our son and I will drive our four-wheeler up the coast toward Blueberry Hill, where thousand-foot cliffs meet a rocky, boulder-strewn beach, north from town. We’ll pack a charcuterie of dried salmon, dried seal meat, dried apricots, cut-up apples and a bit of dark chocolate. At some point, I’ll spot small clusters of beach greens growing just above the tidewater line, green amongst the black, smooth rocks and bleached cottonwood and spruce driftwood, and I’ll tap Timm’s arm so he stops the four-wheeler. We’ll pull clumps of greens — with the plants rooted in sand, it isn’t difficult — and shake the grit from their roots. Henning, our son, will grab a stick or two, pretending to fight dragons or hunt a black bear.

Later, we’ll drive home, our bags full, and begin chopping with our ulus. I’ll probably never take to a food processor, either. I’ll notice how my belly, usually tense from the day’s demands, is soft, my breathing easy. I’ll remember my gram and her gram and hers, and how they chopped and boiled and blanched greens just like this.

Then I’ll think of how Gram’s tears to her aunties were one of our family’s greatest blessings. How her tears did not come from weakness, but from strength. I’ll smile and think of her kitchen table, my smile stretching wider as I hear Bob Barker’s voice in my head. And I’ll feel hot, grateful tears of my own begin to fall, happy to be home. 

Laureli Ivanoff, Inupiaq writer and journalist, makes seal oil, dried fish and strong coffee in Unalakleet, Alaska.

High Country News Classifieds
    California Coalition for Rural Housing (CCRH) seeks a strategic and visionary Executive Director: View all job details here-
    The new novel by Ray Ring, retired HCN senior editor, tackles racism in the wild, a story told by a rural White horsewoman and a...
    Title: Digital Engagement Specialist Location: Salt Lake City Reports to: Communications Director Status, Salary & Benefits: Full-time, Non-Exempt. Salary & Benefits information below. Submission Deadline:...
    Title: Conservation Field Organizer Reports to: Advocacy and Stewardship Director Location: Southwest Colorado Compensation: $45,000 - $50,000 DOE FLSA: Non-Exempt, salaried, termed 24-month Wyss Fellow...
    Who We Are: The Nature Conservancy's mission is to protect the lands and waters upon which all life depends. As a science-based organization, we create...
    Apply by Oct 18. Seeking collaborative, hands-on ED to advance our work building community through fresh produce.
    High Country News is hiring an Indigenous Affairs Editor to help guide the magazine's journalism and produce stories that are important to Indigenous communities and...
    Staff Attorney The role of the Staff Attorney is to bring litigation on behalf of Western Watersheds Project, and at times our allies, in the...
    Northern Michigan University seeks an outstanding leader to serve as its next Assistant Vice President for Diversity and Inclusion. With new NMU President Dr. Brock...
    The Clark Fork Coalition seeks an exceptional leader to serve as its Executive Director. This position provides strategic vision and operational management while leading a...
    Help uphold a groundbreaking legal agreement between a powerful mining corporation and the local communities impacted by the platinum and palladium mine in their backyard....
    The Feather River Land Trust (FRLT) is seeking a strategic and dynamic leader to advance our mission to "conserve the lands and waters of the...
    COLORADO DIRECTOR Western Watersheds Project seeks a Colorado Director to continue and expand WWP's campaign to protect and restore public lands and wildlife in Colorado,...
    Whitman College seeks applicants for a tenure-track position in Indigenous Histories of the North American West, beginning August 2024, at the rank of Assistant Professor....
    Dave and Me, by international racontuer and children's books author Rusty Austin, is a funny, profane and intense collection of short stories, essays, and poems...
    Rural Community Assistance Corporation is looking to hire a CFO. For more more information visit:
    The Absaroka Beartooth Wilderness Foundation (ABWF) seeks a new Executive Director. Founded in 2008, the ABWF is a respected nonprofit whose mission is to support...
    Field seminars for adults in natural and human history of the northern Colorado Plateau, with lodge and base camp options. Small groups, guest experts.
    Popular vacation house, everything furnished. Two bedroom, one bath, large enclosed yards. Dog-friendly. Contact Lee at [email protected] or 520-791-9246.
    We characterize contaminated sites, identify buried drums, tanks, debris and also locate groundwater.