#TheYearofBelief | #TYBDance
The Ugruk Dance Pauses —Honoring the Liminal Space
🌿 From the Land: Freezing the Meat and Oil, Honoring the Space Between
Corina calls preparing ugruk dried black meat and rendering seal oil a dance.
Some years, everything aligns: the weather cooperates, the winds keep the flies away, the family is ready, and the meat and oil come together at the perfect moment.
Drying meat each year is a dance with the weather.
But not this year.
This year, the weather was unpredictable: fog, heat, stillness that brought flies, moisture that threatened mold.
And the “weather” within the family was unpredictable, too: medical travel, youth camp prep, work, the exhaustion of a busy season layered on top of the slow rebuilding after last fall’s storm.
So we paused the dance.
Boxes of dried ugruk meat in a box heading home from camp.
In the middle of our drying and rendering and jarring process we stopped. We took down and froze the dried meat. We froze the buckets of rendered oil. We waited for the right moment to do the next step.
We often think of pausing as failure or indecision, but pausing can be an act of respect—for the animal, for ourselves, for the process.
This pause is a liminal space. The spaces in-between what was and what will be. These spaces are spaces of potential, discomfort, and transformation.
Buckets with blubber inside and a big stirring stick. The rendering process takes time and constant attention.
Pausing meat and oil preparation is a liminal space in subsistence:
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Between the hunt and the feast.
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Between the work and the sharing.
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Between “harvested” and “ready.”
Sometimes the weather outside forces the pause.
Sometimes the weather inside us does.
Sometimes we could push forward—but we know it’s not the right time.
This liminal space, this pause, is part of the dance.
It is like the moment in a song when you pause to take a breath or get a sip of water.
It is like the quiet between songs when you decide which one comes next.
These spaces allow us to reflect, regroup, and prepare to continue the dance with intention, care, and clarity.
Because what we do in the pause shapes what comes next.
🏛️ From the Institutions: Liminal Space in Arctic Research and Trust
In research, we often resist the pause.
We push for productivity, for progress, for movement—even when the timing, the weather, or the community is telling us it’s not the right moment.
But Land et al. (2014) in their essay “Learning in the liminal space: a semiotic approach to threshold concepts” remind us that liminal spaces are where transformation happens. These in-between spaces are uncomfortable, uncertain, and rarely reflected in grant reports or tenure files. Yet they are where we learn to align our values with our actions.
Pausing is not stopping. It is not quitting. It is an intentional act of respect. It is embracing the liminal space in Arctic research.
Cana experienced this with her research team when they had to make the hard decision to withdraw a National Science Foundation proposal they had already submitted. The Arctic community they were partnering with faced a significant change in circumstances, needing time to reflect on critical questions that could affect the proposed research.
Instead of taking this as a sign to abandon the project, Cana’s team saw it as a chance to show the community they could be trusted. That the team was willing to align with the community’s pace. That they respected the needs, priorities, and timing of those who would be most impacted by the research.
Sometimes the weather means you need to dry your meat indoors. Luckily Corina and her family have a lot of space in their home. Not everyone is as lucky.
This was a liminal space:
A pause between the proposal and the work.
A space of waiting, of preparation, of listening.
And it was part of the dance.
In research, as in drying meat and rendering oil, sometimes the weather outside is right, but the family isn’t ready; sometimes the family is ready, but the weather isn’t.
Pausing allows us to align conditions—inside ourselves, within our teams, and with our communities—so that when we move, we move well.
It is not an inconvenience or a failure. It is a sign of readiness and respect.
🧭 TYB Framework: This Week’s Practice
This week, we focus on:
Know Who You Are
Where are you in a liminal space right now? What are you learning about your timing and readiness?
Hope Reinforced by Grit
Can you honor the pause, using it to reflect, check in, or prepare rather than push through?
Invest in a Community of Support
Who helps you recognize when it’s time to pause? Who holds that space with you?
✅ This Week’s Challenge: Use the Pause
Identify an area in your research, work, or life where you feel pressure to move forward.
Pause.
Ask yourself:
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Is the timing right, or am I forcing it?
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What does this liminal space have to teach me?
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How can I prepare during this pause to move forward better when the time comes?
Take one small action within the pause:
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Reflect.
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Communicate with a partner.
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Clarify your intention.
If it feels right, share using:
#TheYearofBelief | #TYBDance
“Here’s what I’m learning in this pause.”
Post your ideas for first steps in comments, on our EAR Facebook Group, ARCUS’s Connect the Arctic portal, or simply share with a trusted friend or mentor.
Remembering Forward
Freezing the meat and oil before jarring it is not giving up.
It’s preparing for the moment when the timing, weather, and community align.
It’s honoring the dance, including the quiet between steps.
Jars of seal oil from previous years stuffed with black meat.
Respectful Arctic research is the same.
We cannot always move forward when we want to.
But we can prepare with care in the pause.
The liminal space in Arctic research is where transformation takes root.
It is part of the dance.
