We Belong to Rivers
“What happens to nationalism, to political boundaries, when allegiance lies with winds and waters that know no boundaries, that cannot be bought or sold?”
In July Dwayne, Neo, and I traveled up to Canada. Originally, I considered this first leg of our year long US journey a vacation before the actual trip. After all, we were traveling in Canada, not the US and we were only visiting National Parks—Banff, Kootenay, and Jasper. I hadn’t seen Canada as connected to our larger search for belonging in the US. How wrong I was.
Rivers connect us.
The first photo Dwayne and I took together. On the Angel's Rest hike in the Columbia Gorge
In Portland, where Dwayne and I are from, the mighty Columbia travels from the Columbia Gorge past Portland to finally pour into the Pacific Ocean in far northwestern Oregon. I’d always considered the Columbia an Oregon thing. After all, the Columbia Sportswear Company bears its name. Columbia Valley wine is famous. But that Columbia Valley stretches more into Washington than Oregon. And as I was to discover, it is the source for many more communities than my own.
I always knew that the Columbia, as awe inspiring as it is now, was much wider and fiercer before the dams. Fourteen main stem dams are on the Columbia as well many more reservoirs and hydroelectric projects on its myriad tributaries. Yet it is still quite a sight. Our our trip north, we seemed to follow the river as we made our way across Washington in Leavenworth, Twisp and then into Canada where we learned that nature does not heed national boundaries.
Okanagan Valley
Just across the border is Canada’s Okanagan Valley in British Columbia. The name of this providence, British Columbia, came from the name of the Columbia Rediviva, a Boston fur trader named Robert Gray’s ship. Gray named the Columbia River after his ship and later the wider region of British Columbia. When you enter Okanagan Valley, two things are known immediately: this area has ample orchards and vineyards. Ubiquitous billboards point you to try their famous apples and to visit vineyards to taste the “best wines” in Canada. In fact 86% of British Columbia’s grapes are grown in that area, 35% of Canada's apples and the majority of the soft fruit production. All of this is made possible by irrigation with water from, you probably guessed it, the Columbia River. This river is as important to that region and to Canada as it is to Oregonians below.
The little Columbia river behind our campsite
Near the entrance to Canada’s premier national park, Banff, we stayed at a campsite near the Fairmont Hot Springs. Behind our campground was a small knee-deep stream that we were able to walk across and parents sat their chairs in a circle to drink beer and chat while their children played on floaties. When we drove to the nearby hot springs we crossed over a small river that had a sign Columbia River. Curious, Dwayne got out google maps, and sure enough, that tiny stream behind our trailer was our dear Columbia River.
If the Columbia is that small here, the source of the river must be close, we reasoned. And after a little detective work we discovered that only twenty minutes away, in a place called Canal Flats, the Columbia River springs from the large marshlands of this area. The next day, before leaving for Banff, we took a short trip to the source, walked the half-mile trail to the place where the marshlands gather enough water to build into something that could be called a runoff, but eventually becomes a river.
The Source of the Columbia River
I loved seeing the source. It felt sacred. Even though surrounded by developments it felt like fairy land. From this quiet wet lands rises a river that provides more than 40% of total U.S. hydroelectric generation and a significant amount for Canada too. It was mind boggling to imagine such power coming from such a humble place. We put the story of the Columbia to rest and travelled into Banff.
Once in Canada’s resplendent Banff National Park, Dwayne and I decided to take a guided tour to the base of the Athabasca Glacier. There we discovered the sobering fact that the glacier is melting at an alarming rate. Dwayne writes about this in detail in his blog entry. But what we learned was that we had not finished with Columbia’s source story. For the glacier we stood at the base of, the Athabasca Glacier, feeds the Kootenai River, which feeds the underground wetlands that eventually form the Columbia. In an indirect way, this glacier was the source.
Our Guide showing the rate of glacial melt
“This is not a political issue,” our guide tells us. “In 35 years this glacier is gone. When that glacier is gone, we won’t have vineyards. I don’t want to live a country without wine.” It’s a joke. People laugh. But I’ve been thinking about what he said.
If the Columbia is unable to form, what of all the life below? Not just the vineyards of Canada, but Washington and Oregon too. The river is life to all of this land. To preserve their cultural heritage, native tribes and both Canada and the US retain salmon fishing rights to this day. Agriculture, wildlife, transportation, energy—so much depends on the health of this river. Climate change is changing it all. We are interconnected in ways unknown until the rivers dry up.
As Robin Wall Kimmerer writes in Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants, “I love my country too, and its hopes for freedom and justice. But the boundaries of what I honor are bigger than the republic. Let us pledge reciprocity with the living world.” To me that reciprocity is intimately connected to belonging: we belong to these rivers and now these rivers belong to us.
