Firsthand: Reports from the Field
(Page 4 of 5)
October/November 2003
By Deanna Kawatski
Later in the afternoon, we realize that no visit to the valley would be complete without a hike to the Nmgunsaw River. For 13 years it flowed through my dreams, and in summer it lured us out to play. Just beyond the garden we encounter a new stream and cross it on a network of slippery logs. Quickly we become engulfed in wild growth; the acrid smell of cow parsnips and devil's club fills our nostrils. I recognize remnants of the old path beneath my feet. Coming out of the timber, we greet the mountains on the south side of the Ningunsaw. We wind our way through fireweed and cottonwood seedlings to a carpet of fine, black sand. The green glacial water chums past, and I scan it with sober respect, remembering the summer I crossed with a sprained knee and was nearly swept away.
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We wander downstream, eyeing wolf prints. I tense as we encounter bear tracks—a small set traces the lip of the river and a larger set of grizzly tracks meanders towards the jagged peaks, west across the Iskut River. Reluctantly leaving the open flat, we clamber back through the bush. As we approach the house, the hair on the back of my neck prickles at the sight of steaming, pink bear scat dropped near the garden during our walk to the river. We peer around but the visitor is gone.
In the evening Nat and I sip wild mint tea on the front porch—one of my favorite places on Earth. From this vantage point in earlier times, we observed the antics of moose, bears and wolves. Now nature has reclaimed the clear i ng in a wild way, and we stand little chance of spotting anything. The south-facing porch has grown rickety, with spots only a fool would dare stand on—it is a 40-foot drop to the creek.
I find myself "watching" my younger self. I feel the tumbling ahead of my own life even as I watch the small but determined dark-haired woman crouch to weed 200-foot rows (!) of vegetables. Two beautiful, blond children help. A tanned man with a blond beard swings the sickle and cuts golden wheat.
I see the same dark head bowed over a scrub board balanced in a tub at the edge of a creek. Her eyes lift, widen and assess the situation as a fat, black bear raises its snout and stares at her from its resting place on the hillside 8 feet away. She shouts; slowly it rises and ambles on.
Birch and cottonwood leaves now shiver around us. With a rush of emotion I feel only forgiveness and affection for who we were then. With noble intentions, we set out to create our own world and to lead a simple life of self-sufficiency and harmony with nature. And we largely achieved that.
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