There is Hurt in This World

Only a river can make it right

Boozhoo, indinawemaaganidog! Aaniin! That is to say hello, all of my relatives! Welcome to another edition of An Irritable Métis. Niibin! It is summer! And now, with the release of Becoming Little Shell drawing near I feel my looming schedule like a wall of whitewater on the river that I’m poised to crash into face first and my paddling arms are already weary. It’s going to be a challenge but it’s a great problem to have. I’m ready. I think.

I’m working with Milkweed on a book tour with several dates already secured and more to come. Even so, the overwhelming majority of my time out there will be self-financed¹ so if you’ve been considering a paid subscription, now would be an excellent time to take the leap. My itinerary is filling up and it’s going to get spendy keeping this show on the road. As ever, I am so grateful for your time and attention no matter how you choose to engage here, paid or not. And hopefully I’ll see some of you on the road this summer and fall.

---

Milkweed growing wild just off the bank of the Main Salmon River

As I write I can hear a cricket chanting away outside my window. The ceiling fan is whirring over my head and in the growing darkness my computer screen glows a little too brightly for comfort. My eyes are tired and so is my body. I’m only a couple days removed from crawling out of the Main Salmon River corridor after eighty miles, onto a bus, and back into “real” life. That brought to an end the six days and five nights that comprised the workshop I led on behalf of the Freeflow Institute called “Mino-bimaadiziwin: The Good Life.” It’s still too recent to tell for sure but I think it went okay, as these things go. The weather was perfect (if a little hot) and the setting was magnificent. I slept on the ground with no tent and nothing between me and the Earth but a thin tarp covered by a sleeping bag. The river is one of the best in the world. I can still feel the current moving in my body even as the events themselves start to get fuzzy around the edges. I remember one tremendous laugh, details of several of the campsites, a few quips and jokes, and some meaningful conversations. There were many bighorn sheep and bald eagles and, especially, an abundance of Lewis’s woodpeckers (such a treat and so unexpected!) and magpies and crows. Especially I remember the campsite whose soundscape was dominated by the beautiful flute of the canyon wren. For the most part though, much of the experience is already beginning to seem as much a dream as it was reality and that is bittersweet. It’s a testament to so much immediate busy-ness in the aftermath and that kinda sucks.

“Thank you to all the donors who generously gifted me and three other Indigenous women such an incredible trip on the river. The experience, the water, and the people made it an unforgettable opportunity that I likely wouldn't have been able to attend without your support. For five days, I could relax, write, be present, and find solace on the Main Salmon River, all thanks to you and your donation. I eagerly look forward to the opportunity to pay forward the kindness when I'm able to, just as you have done for me. Thanks again, Helina”

– Helina Alvarez, Freeflow Indigenous Scholar

The Salmon River flows through the heart of the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness. Early in the trip² I got a little hot under the collar over how the discussion of “wilderness” often softens how such places are created at the expense of Indigenous people and I immediately felt a little guilty about it for how it might have been perceived as directed AT our guides³ instead of at the circumstances they have to operate in.⁴ That wasn’t my intention. Rivers and wild places do need protection from things like development and dams and mining and every other possible hellish encroachment we allow gigantic and evil extractive corporations to inflict on the things we all need to survive⁵ more than we need things like Google searches and TikTok and day trading. It is an aspect of colonialism that continues to unfold here and all over the world and I am often at the brink of despair because of it.

This river is about as much “wilderness” as we typically define it as my neighborhood is, though. There was a constant back-and-forth of power boats shuttling people here and there, or just providing them tours. We passed several big lodges servicing the vacation needs of the well-to-do and at least three – THREE! – private airstrips to provide access to them. At one point there was so much circling airplane traffic over our campsite that we had to keep arresting our morning discussion because words could not be heard over their drone. This contrast troubled me deeply and, at times, threatened my overall enjoyment of the experience. Ultimately the beauty of the land and river and the quality of company (and yes, the excellent food) tipped the trip into the favorable-over-all category but still, that level of intrusion by the connected and financially powerful was unexpected and mightily disturbing.

Screenshot grabbed from the website of our outfitter, Wilderness River Outfitters who did an excellent job

---

Idaho is a rough world to emerge into; politically it’s one of the worst in this dumpster fire country.⁶ It’s a world of Trump signs and ignorant flags and “Let’s Go, Brandon!”⁷ and “Don’t Tread On Me!” stupidity and anti-abortion billboard propaganda and every manner of unrepentant alt-right bullshit you can imagine that makes even our Montana political hellscape look moderate. It also made my stomach churn a little bit that, soon as we hit cell service, my immediate surroundings were lit up by the screens of phones in the hands of people nearby. I’m awfully judgmental and recognize it as a deeply “me” problem but man, would I have preferred to wait to see all that. I closed my eyes and did my best to sleep and even managed a little bit.

Our takeout was near the town of Riggins, and from there we headed north on Hwy-95 to the town of Grangeville (where we procured a spare battery for the bus because it seemed like it might be necessary due to alternator problems⁸) and from there to a lovely cutoff on Hwy-13 to connect with Hwy-12 and the final stretch up and over the pass to Lolo and our waiting vehicles. This highway runs alongside the mighty Lochsa River and, with several such traverses behind me, I can say is easily one of the prettiest drives I’ve ever made. All told this shuttle exceeded six hours. We even had to wait for a tree that had fallen across the highway to be dealt with. A number of us pitched in to drag pieces aside to clear our lane of travel!

Photo by Amanda Zamora, which I stole from our accumulation of shared images

I loved the week on the river but I’m struggling, as always, to reintegrate with day-to-day life. Turning on the cell phone and facing the deluge of communications after a week away from it was sobering.⁹ But it wasn’t unexpected and I am doing my best to manage. While these workshops don’t go as hard as immersion in a Zen center does, I recommended folks read this piece, “Reclaiming Ceremony for Myself,” as a way to help reintegrate. I don’t know if anyone did but I did and maybe it helped.

One of the attendees asked me during our initial long bus ride from Lolo to Cabin Creek if such trips were a kind of vacation for me, given all the stuff I do. They are not. That isn’t a bad thing, it’s just that this is work too, every bit of it, except for those times we are waving plastic paddles in the face of big-ass rapids, or when I am awake in my nest in the wee hours just listening to the world around me. That is primal and exhilerating and I love it. I love meeting new people too, and having conversations and shared experiences, but it’s still a little awkward and work-like. It continues to be worth it though and as soon as it isn’t, I’ll stop.

---

Once more chi-miigwech – BIG THANK YOU! – to those folks among you who donated to the fundraising effort to send a few Indigenous folks along with us. Their perspectives and input made the trip for me, and for everyone else, I suspect. What a gift you gave us all!

---

And Finally….

This lovely offering from Heiltsuk poet Jess Housty, from one of my favorite reads in recent memory, Crushed Wild Mint¹⁰:

---

Miigwech as ever for reading, my friends. Here’s to a glorious summer for everyone on the northern half of this magnificent world, and glorious winter to the rest of you!

1. As book tours are for just about every author.

2. As in, our first “official” gathering when we arrived at Corn Creek, where we would put-in the next morning.

3. Who were absolutely wonderful, each and every one one of them, and if any one of them claimed to be more than 25 years old I’d have demanded proof via ID.

4. Honestly, I felt more off-balance and disconnected from the others this trip than I ever have for any trip I’ve ever done, which speaks more of my current state of mind I think than anything else. As has been the case for several workshops straight now not a single male-identifying person signed up and sometimes that is awkward and also a little frustrating because I don’t understand why.

5. We had a vigorous discussion about dams when we reached the confluence with the South Fork of the Salmon, particularly as related to three dams on the Snake and how they influence salmon populations. That led to a discussion of hydro power and etc. and one of the first things I read on returning to my desk is this excellent piece from Jonathan Thompson roughly about how renewable energy production is being used more to serve new power needs, not replace existing oil/gas electricity production and it makes me insane. TL/DR: Fuck AI and everyone who thinks it’s a good idea.

6. During our discussion of best “Leave No Trace” practices and how we couldn’t get even allow natural toothpastes or soaps and/or etc. in the river (we had to take care of such business above the high water line)(and if you are wondering about other “business” out in the wilderness you need to know what a “groover” is), I quipped that if wolves lived in rivers we likely would have been issued machine guns by the state. Flippant, yes, but not so far from the truth either.

7. Old and tired and stupid as this “joke” has been from the get-go, it’s not that I don’t vigorously support this “celebration” of our addled president, if only for different reasons. God, what a nightmare we’re in when the ruling class are murderous stooges for insatiable oligarchs.

8. It wasn’t.

9. A couple people sent a series of texts of increasing breathlessness because their needs were apparently immediate. Note to such folks: I don’t know how it is for other people, but texts are more for my convenience in day-to-day interactions, not for coordinating “work” stuff. If you need something for work, email me and you will see an out-of-office reply in such circumstances. If there is a way to set such things for text messages I don’t know how and probably won’t ever bother to learn.

10. The title of this newsletter is also Housty’s work, from a line in a poem from the same book titled, “Wá”, which means “river” in Heiltsuk.