A Door to Memory.

Posted on January 27, 2020 by Haven under Blog, Musings

This photo really sums up in an image what this project is about to me. I can imagine what it would feel like to be Great Grandmother, watching the old ways die underneath the feet of something new. The very landscape has been rearranged and so has our Story. This photo is of the Cascades and Cascade Locks, Oregon prior to bonneville dams construction in the early 30′s.

A photo taken just before the Cascades were silenced. 193?, photo author unknown.

Read more about Bonneville Dam’s impact on my ancestors here

rain drenched phoenix

Posted on January 27, 2020 by Haven under Blog, Musings

The hills drift in and out of vision as the rain slicked ground filters the deluge. In waves upon waves, it heaves and breaths.

‘rain drenched Phoenix’ | © H a v e n

Exposed skeletons of Earth, chilled and mangled, stand citadel, and observe in quiet, the awaking of Thunderbird. A rain drenched Phoenix, ascending to the arms of a cloud clothed sky.

remember who you are

Posted on January 23, 2020 by Haven under Blog

The sun peeks its morning head over the hedges. Summoning the morning glories to rise and open their light to the world. Sometimes, I feel like a tight bulb, curled in on its self, not wanting to expose myself to the world, or

‘you put a spell on me. ‘exquisite corpse drawing bernard dumaine marc gosselin

the sun. Yet, hope seems to beckon me awake, vulnerable and still. I wonder if plants are haunted by dreams, and bad decisions. Do they regret where their roots have been planted? Do they wish they lived else where, or were never born at all? In my observation, they do all they can to reach for the light.. even if it means moving concrete and time. To thrive is their birth right.

Writing a new story

Posted on January 22, 2020 by Haven under Blog, Musings

A grand spectacle! The sheer magnitude of these living waters, pummeling in their forever song of change.

Post Card, Near The Dalles, 1917

The stories are spoken in the songs heard in between the spaces – when we close our eyes and listen. For millennia, this teller of tales has inspired and washed us in awe. Taken back, we are asked to remember its tales. Whether we like it, or not, it is up to us to write the new stories, and to pass them on… and time is speeding up in its forever song of change.

Tumbleweed Dreaming

Posted on January 21, 2020 by Haven under Blog

To the East, the mountains lose their teeth to rolling hills and grassy prairie. The smell of sweetgrass and manure wrestle through the Amercana 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

Posted on January 20, 2020 by Haven under Blog, Musings

“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

I have been feeling this wind, and listening. Beads of rain move sideways, and when the calm comes, the birds softly sing. Affixed to the sky, they dream just as I, and a common ground is found in this. The stumped altar glued to mud, indebted to old roots, telling the tale of cycles.. a Phoenix remembering its name and the awakening of Dragons. Fantasy is thin in my misty home, and ushers in ghosts in my imaginations.

My heart lives here

Posted on January 15, 2020 by Haven under Blog, Folklore, Musings

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?

I wander here in dream, and re-live the lore of old, and wake to it’s ghost, slowly fading into the calm waters of a once wild stream.

“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.

Posted on January 14, 2020 by Haven under Blog, Musings

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?

When the wind stops long enough to gather your breath. The sun dances its rays across my fish skin. Look to the Sky and take it in! For those clouds, at bay to the west, travel this Rivers path at a hasty pace.

the Wink of Americana

Posted on January 8, 2020 by Haven under Blog

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.

that has that distinct drall. A bit stoned from lunch break, she smiles with tobacco stained teeth and giggles at a joke she remembered from last night.

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.

Whistling of ghosts

Posted on October 23, 2019 by Haven under Blog

“The whistling of a ghost is like no other sound in a fistful of universes, because it is woven of all the whistles

“Old NP Railway”

the ghost has ever heard, and so it usually includes train moans, lunch whistles, fire alarms, and the affronted-virgin screaming of tea kettles.”
― Peter S. Beagle, A Fine and Private Place

Gathering the Stories

of place.

Tag Archives: Musings