A grand spectacle! The sheer magnitude of these living waters, pummeling in their forever song of change.
Post Card, Near The Dalles, 1917
Writing a new story
Monthly Archives: January 2020
Tumbleweed Dreaming
To the East, the mountains lose their teeth to rolling hills and grassy prairie. The smell of sweetgrass and manure wrestle through the 
tumble weed winds, swift and warm. There is a calm here in the big sky horizons, where reluctant life forges ahead through the harsh winters and dry summers. The lonely sacredness of dreams tied up in old stories that still live in Post Office conversations. I admire the Stoic vastness of the Prairie, stretched as far as the eye can see. I visit when I can, and get lost in the hushed whispers of time.
Cold North Wind
“A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
Horizons | © H a v e n
Chinook – Coyote Builds Willamette Falls and the Magic Fish Trap
Coyote came to a place near Oregon City and found the people there very hungry. The river was full of salmon, but they had no way to spear them in the deep water. Coyote decided he would build a big waterfall, so that the salmon would come to the surface for spearing. Then he would build a fish trap there too. First he tried at the mouth of Pudding River, but it was no good, and all he made was a gravel bar there. So he went on down the river to Rock Island, and it was better, but after making the rapids there he gave up again and went farther down still. Where the Willamette Falls are now, he found just the right place, and he made the Falls high and wide.
All the Indians came and began to fish. Now Coyote made his magic fish trap. He made it so it would speak, and say Noseepsk! when it was full. Because he was pretty hungry, Coyote decided to try it first himself. He set the trap by the Falls, and then ran back up the shore to prepare to make a cooking fire. But he had only begun when the trap called out, “Noseepsk!”
He hurried back; indeed the trap was full of salmon. Running back with them, he started his fire again, but again the fish trap cried “Noseepsk! Noseepsk!” He went again and found the trap full of salmon. Again he ran to the shore with them; again he had hardly gotten to his fire when the trap called out, “Noseepsk! Noseepsk!” It happened again, and again; the fifth time Coyote became angry and said to the trap, “What, can’t you wait with your fish catching until I’ve built a fire?” The trap was very offended by Coyote’s impatience and stopped working right then. So after that the people had to spear their salmon as best they could.
Chinook Creation Story
A Creation Story
“Long, long ago, when old Man South Wind was traveling North, he met an Old Woman, who was a giant.
“Will you give me some food?” asked South Wind. “I am very hungry.”
“I have no food,” answered the giantress, “but here is a net. You can catch some fish for yourself if you wish.”
George Catlin. 1850
But the old giantress cried out, “Do not cut it with a knife, and do not cut it crossways. Take a sharp knife and split it down the back.”
But South Wind did not take to heart what the old woman was saying. He cut the fish crossways and began to take off some blubber. He was startled to see the fish change into a huge bird. It was so big that when it flew into the air, it hid the sun, and the noise of its wings shook the earth. It was Thunderbird.
Thunderbird flew to the north and lit on the top of Saddleback Mountain, near the mouth of the Columbia River. There it laid a nest full of eggs. The old
Saddle Mountain, Oregon
The old giantress broke some other eggs and then threw them down the mountainside. They too became Indians. Each of Thunderbird’s eggs became an Indian.
When Thunderbird came back and found its eggs gone. it went to South Wind. Together they tried to find the old giantess, to get revenge on her. but they never found her, although they traveled north together every year.
That is how the Chinook were created. And that is why Indians never cut the first salmon across the back. They know that if they should cut the fish the wrong way, the salmon would cease to run.
Always even to this day, they slit the first salmon down the back, lengthwise….
My heart lives here
My heart lives here, amongst the rivers and restless winds. The hills and snowy peaks, wild flower and ancient tree. My bones rest here, in stone, and mud, and stories yet told.
Family at Celilo, 189?
“My generation is now the door to memory. That is why I am remembering.” Joy Harjo
Many of us River People speak about still hearing those waters fall. Like a longing at the doors of our dreams. Or a remembering that we know in the beating of our hearts. Each pump a drum of longing to be home, amongst the joyful jumping of Salmon. A familiar smoke drifting from shacks holding old stories. The repeating patterns of metaphor, and the sound of Echoes of Water Against Rocks.
Watch the documentary, Echoes of Water Against Rocks, here:
hastiness of clouds.
The Cedars stand still to the brief blue sky hovering above the cliffs. The gray clouds at bay to the west. There is a quietness you learn to appreciate in the Gorge.
Sunset on Columbia River from Bridge of the Gods. 193?
the Wink of Americana
The air is familiar: coffee, small talk, country music and 24 hour pancakes. The land is dry like the toast of my BLT, served by a waitress
Somewhere in Oregon.
I am in the heart of a big country. Where old lava flows have made ghosts of forests and the snow peaks perk their dormant rage. I am about to find Obsidian, a mirror to protect and Knap into tools we have forgotten to use. I will be gathering in a chariot running off of dinosaurs bones. The modern age plays Willie Nelson across the diner skies.. I am from here, but know no one.. we all share the wink of Americana.