This is the story of my drive from Circle to Fairbanks today, told in third person, which was a style of at least one Gwich'in storyteller from the past. Thought I would have fun trying it out. Evon Choo is what my family calls me, because I used to have a round stomach as a baby, 'choo' meaning 'big', in reference to my belly. The beginning is in our language, Gwich'in, but the bulk of the scary drive is in English.
Evon Choo vagwandak. Tanan zhat niinzhii Danzhit Hanlaii gwats'an. "Jaghaii dzaa chiitaii ahtsin shree nanh ch'anjaa?" Evon Choo ahnyaa. "Dulee vit'eegwaahchyaa yak'ahaanjii," yaagha' ninjich'adhat. As he drove on this rainy January from Circle to Fairbanks, the roads were glare ice and the wind was high. He barely made it to the top of the summit, fishtailing his truck up the winding mountain pass. When he reached flat ground he stopped, but the wind began to carry his truck backwards across the ice toward the edge of a steep drop. He was ready to step on the gas and pray to catch enough traction to keep from sliding off if he had to, but the truck slowed to a stop. Lucky, he brought a pair of tire cleats to put on the rear tires. But when he stepped out of the truck, the high winds grabbed him, threw him to the ground with a good hit to the elbow against the truck door, and began carrying his body toward the drop off. He reached for his rear tire with his good arm, as he slid by on the ice. His grip was solid, so his body rounded the back end of the truck and came to a stop. He realized that if he let go of the truck he would be blown away, first time he ever experienced that kind of sheer ice and high winds. He carefully put on the tire cleats and slowly made his way, through the rain and across the ice back to Fairbanks. Was another eventful day in the life of Evon Choo.