At first glance, the recent discovery of a modest flower in the midst of a wet field of invasive grasses at the north end of Kootenay Lake seems to have no connection to the Columbia River Treaty. But in this era filled with first glances, we need to learn to dig deeper, to understand what this one wild camas plant says about restoring natural water cycles.
In her memoir of Indigenous Sinixt lifestyle in the Columbia River landscape, In the Stream, Nancy Wynecoop remembers the words of her grandmother Sepeetza (Able One): “The high water had receded from the banks, and the rich sediment provided a place where camas grew large and shallow along the slough and backwater. …tepees bristled over the land, and women toiled all day, digging the king roots….”
The Columbia, lower Kootenay, Pend d’Oreille, Duncan rivers have long carried snowmelt down from high the mountains, transporting rich minerals such as phosphorus, zinc and copper. Before dams, these nutrients would settle out and nourish the floodplains, just as Nancy Wynecoop described.
While water and nutrients still flow down from the mountains, cement walls hold most of that water and those nutrients back from reaching floodplains. The Columbia River Treaty manages water in the upper watershed not for camas, but to provide annual flood control and abundant hydropower for faraway cities (Portland, OR, for one). Most of those living in these major urban areas are not aware of the trade off.
Gradually, however, cultural perspectives on water and food are shifting. New terms describe the Indigenous relationship to food and plant management not as “gathering” but as a form of “soft agriculture.” This honors the truth of intelligent, millennial practices by women that foster abundance. How can our contemporary culture reconnect to natural rhythms? Does the little blue flower from the upper Columbia stand a chance against giant forces like treaties, dams and irrigation pumps?
The answer is yes.
Under the 2024 Columbia River Treaty Agreement in Principle, Canada proposes liberating about four million acre-feet of stored water from the 1964 Treaty’s rigid structures. British Columbia officials refer to this water generally as “salmon flows,” because the release of cold water from upstream reservoirs will increase the viability of salmon returning from the ocean downstream. But the liberated water may also benefit the upper system in as yet unpredictable ways. Even a small amount of water allowed to flow as desired inches all of us toward restoration of the upper Columbia’s once-rich-and-generous ecological miracle – floods providing nourishment to plants. High water allowed to rise even a little bit, to leave behind a few more blue-violet miracles.
This field of camas in bloom has been carefully restored by the Kalispel Tribe, who have bought out farm leases in the floodplain and replanted them, little by little. Sinixt cultural leader Shelly Boyd shared the recent photo with me, describing it as her vision for the future in Sinixt territory. From one flower to many, anything is possible, especially if natural connections can be restored. One plant at a time.
The camas were abundant in Castlegar this year.
Beautiful writing, Eileen. There is a rhythm and flow to your sentences and I have great joy in reading these (amidst the drama of E. Coast characters). I’m putting together favorite passages from favorite writers from the Central West, along with some photos, and will photocopy all for my grandkids and send one to you. The Sierra and Lake Tahoe (Twain), Carmel-Monterey (Steinbeck) and Hawaii (all writers were able to get there) — all areas with just enough nature remaining with the help of oceans, lakes, rivers.
Please keep observing and writing to save our earth and its natural resources.