"How do we learn to listen to the wishes of the water? And how do we alter our own ways of life to accommodate what we hear?"
I've been really thinking about your questions, Tiya. Recently, I spent a day listening to the wishes of water. I was camped near the headwaters of a tributary to the Snake River in northeastern Oregon. The sound of the cascade was constant — or so I thought. But as the day warmed, I noticed the pitch of the water getting lower and louder. I heard a deep rumbling and occasional thunks, like the distant closing of car doors.
I walked over to the river bank and really paid attention. The water level had risen with the melting snow from the peaks upstream. With the increase in flow, the water was able to roll rocks the size of my head. In the heat of afternoon, this river really worked at moving mountains! I’d read about the erosive force of water but I don't remember ever hearing it at work before.
Which led me to your next question, "how do we alter our own ways of life to accommodate what we hear?" Downstream from this rumbling river are four dams on the Lower Snake that are primarily used for power generation. There's a lot of discussion right now about whether we should remove these dams to save the endangered salmon runs of the huge Snake River drainage. The day I listened to the river tearing down the mountains, there were a few wild Chinook salmon swimming up that river to spawn. These powerful fish go from sea level to 5,000-feet-elevation in a matter of weeks! The rivers bring the salmon to the mountains and the mountains to the sea. Who are we to get in the way of this ancient exchange? Advocating for the breaching of those four dams on the Lower Snake has become a high priority for me — that, and being frugal in my use of electricity. Thanks for challenging us into action, Tiya.
"How do we learn to listen to the wishes of the water? And how do we alter our own ways of life to accommodate what we hear?"
I've been really thinking about your questions, Tiya. Recently, I spent a day listening to the wishes of water. I was camped near the headwaters of a tributary to the Snake River in northeastern Oregon. The sound of the cascade was constant — or so I thought. But as the day warmed, I noticed the pitch of the water getting lower and louder. I heard a deep rumbling and occasional thunks, like the distant closing of car doors.
I walked over to the river bank and really paid attention. The water level had risen with the melting snow from the peaks upstream. With the increase in flow, the water was able to roll rocks the size of my head. In the heat of afternoon, this river really worked at moving mountains! I’d read about the erosive force of water but I don't remember ever hearing it at work before.
Which led me to your next question, "how do we alter our own ways of life to accommodate what we hear?" Downstream from this rumbling river are four dams on the Lower Snake that are primarily used for power generation. There's a lot of discussion right now about whether we should remove these dams to save the endangered salmon runs of the huge Snake River drainage. The day I listened to the river tearing down the mountains, there were a few wild Chinook salmon swimming up that river to spawn. These powerful fish go from sea level to 5,000-feet-elevation in a matter of weeks! The rivers bring the salmon to the mountains and the mountains to the sea. Who are we to get in the way of this ancient exchange? Advocating for the breaching of those four dams on the Lower Snake has become a high priority for me — that, and being frugal in my use of electricity. Thanks for challenging us into action, Tiya.