We went to where a river is born. We try to go every year, in the dead of winter, at least once. It’s one of my favorite Idaho places. Not everyone has seen the birth of a river. It’s magical and majestic. We often think that rivers are born under the squinting smile of early spring when the sun begins to wear at the snow and ten million rivulets combine like silken threads to make tiny ropes of water that twine together into great knots and swell into a mighty torrent; wild rivers eating away at the land, swollen and devouring as they drop away from the continental divide, and eventually rush to sea. However, some rivers, like Warm River, are born as full rivers from the very beginning and only become more full as they cross the land and collect smaller streams. Some rivers, like Warm River, burst forth from the face of stone in a mad rush of white water, cascade and trout spawn. They call such a thing a spring — and again, we think of springs as tiny, clear and dainty but they can be savage and tumultuous things, wiping clean the black slate of the earth. There are countless springs in Idaho. Water. Bursting forth from stone. On the surface, this state is dry as bone, true desert in some areas, but beneath the sage studded, crusty skin of the land there is water running wildly in every direction. It’s amazing to stop and ponder on all the things that remain just out of sight, the Earth processes that do not always make themselves apparent in broad daylight, or beneath the uncharted expanse of an evening sky.
I am reminded of the Old Testament story involving Moses who, when he loses his temper just before leading the Israelites into the promised land, angrily strikes a stone with his staff and out of that stone gushes a stream of water. I reckon it’s supposed to be regarded as a supernatural phenomenon, the water pouring forth from the rock, but it seems the most natural thing in the world to me, a girl who resides in Idaho, where water pours forth from the faces of stones quite regularly. This isn’t to say that a spring isn’t a magical thing — on the contrary, a spring is mysterious and magical. It is. Miraculous. An apt definition of conception, beginning, impetus, genesis. A curiosity in the most grand sense of the word.
At Warm Spring, I see the birth of the river, I see it rush forward, kinetic and spinning, it is born into rhythm and it cries out at the surprise of the light of day. The steam rises off the water as it meets winter air. The banks are lined in willows and douglas fir, tranquil with hoar frost. Down river, on the first bend, a family of geese is paddling in place. They beep and honk at each other, dunk their heads, waggle their bloomers in the pale gleam of a dawning day. Everything I see as I look downriver depends on the genesis of this river, the loosing of water from rock, the opening wide of the clutching hands of stone, the momentum of gravity, the overflowing of aquifers, the rise of gleaming batholiths, the melting of glaciers, isostatic uplift, general tectonics. I try to imagine this tiny river valley without a river and the very life force of what I see is cut in half, and then cut in half again, reduced in its visible bounty. In my imagination, it is different.
I think of the robust ecosystem Warm River feeds on its way to the Snake River: entire forests, an abundance of wildlife. It is drawn on to water the crops on cultivated lands, fruit trees, livestock. It is a responsible river. Its burden is, very simply, to be itself, to flow where it must. It must go to where it is needed, where it is called. Its waters are for all the wild things and for the tame things too. We drink the river, the sky carries it upward in contemplative streams of evaporation and makes rain, sleet and snowstorms with it. We seek it for its beauty and peacefulness, we swim in the deep bends under summer sun. The mosquitoes lay their eggs in musty backwaters and the trout leap for joy after a delicious caddis fly dinner. The moose sink their roman noses beneath the surface and tear the water plants up by the roots. The list of responsibility is endless. A river has work to do, simply by being, by flowing, by existing, by being born in the first place.
A favorite place of mine is Lower Cedar in Mackay. An easy hike to a most beautiful flow of water that bursts out of the mountain. In particularly heavy water years it bursts forth in two places. Such a beautiful area ~ you should check it out some time (:
We love Mackay!
I’ll try to get over there sometime this spring, before we leave the state for the summer months.
wonderfully beautifully life-giving and hope-springing waters….
thank you for the renewal of spirit this post brings to my soul.
It strikes me that you are often afforded such breathtaking vistas in your constant adventurings! That, and you have the ‘eye’ to see it so beautifully and share it with us.. I love these images/words that capture such raw majestic beauty – thank you! Those Living waters flow right out of your heart and refresh many a dry soul, Plumey.
xx
mel
needle and nest design
Wow, your blog continues to amaze and inspire me. I live in the suburbs of NYC so don’t feel like I have anything close to what you describe around me LOL. I’m longing to take a trip Upstate to my parents house now………
beautiful photos, thank you so much for sharing.
Those frost photos are spectacular!
And Tater is growing up to be quite the handsome man, isn’t he?! So regal.
Your words ring for me- the interconnectedness, interdependentness, and incredible cooperation that is an ecosystem. If the river didn’t do his job- neither could the mosquito, nor the trout, nor the human fisherman. Thank goodness that river was born!
Thank you for sharing.
B
Ps- I’m nearly through with “A Wrinkle In Time.” How fantastic! I can’t believe I missed that one as a kid. I was, and still am, quite voracious. Thanks for bringing it up!
HOW COULD YOU MISS WRINKLE??
Don’t stop there.
All the books she wrote for *young adults* or *kids* are wonderful and I read them time and time again, even as a grown-up.
XX
Quite picturesque! Beautiful shots. Warm River Cabin is such a little beauty!
I have also seen a river born! It was in the Canadian Rockies. It was one of those crystallizing experiences: a moment so serendipitous that it freezes into memory almost instantly. Imagine our luck — all afternoon we had clambered up the dry riverbed, over boulders and driftwood. And then suddenly, we were there, watching the water spring from the rock. We stood on the bank and watched it grow, and within minutes it was a full-grown river. What are the chances we’d arrive just in time?
Have you read any of Rachel Carson’s work? “Silent Spring” is the obvious one, but I’ve recently been reading “Lost Woods”. I think you’d like it.
I haven’t! I’m going to go check up on these titles now. Thank you!
I live in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains, just several miles from the headwaters of the Susquehanna River. And this beautiful hillside that I grew up on is dotted with hundreds of springs. But instead of gushing forth from stone, it’s pushes up from fertile fields of goldenrod & milkweed, apple trees & blue spruce pines.
Water truly is the universal solvent, isn’t it?
Love what you wrote today!
We have some springs that are seepers like that as well…just as beautiful… 🙂
That fifth picture is about the most beautiful image I’ve ever seen. Truly… wow.
Such a beautiful pictures!
This was a gift to me today. Especially the photo of the frost on the evergreen needles, the photo of your dog by the window, and your magnificent writing.
Beautiful frost, snow, water and cabin.
Beautiful family.
Beautiful thoughts – especially, for me, the last sentence.
Thank you!
xx
Envisioning the birth of the river you visited for your readers is just inspiring. I love this post!!
Up until now, I took for granted the “responsible” river. All that it brings and your prose pouring out because of it.
I was wondering when I’d see you on your skis again. All that snow! You’re a happy camper now, aren’t you? x
I surely am!
XX
Sigh. Thank you for a another beautiful piece of writing. I truly needed this on this grumpy morning.
I hope you had a wonderful time!
Love ya.
Just this morning, while still curled up under my cozy duvet, I finished reading ‘The Snow Child’ by Eowyn Ivey and then the very next thing I read (after dropping the kids at school) was your beautiful words. Ahhh, Jillian, you always inspire. XX
I loved The Snow Child.
Me too! Finished reading it last month!
It’s a sweet one!!!
A friend gave me a copy last year…
Love it.
Beautiful place, I would love to go there. What is that lead you have Tater on – do you clip it to your belt or what? I’d like something like that when I ski with my dog! Thanks for sharing!
It’s actually a skijoring harness. So, a dog sledding harness with a long line coming off the back of it that gets clipped into a waist belt with a quick release buckle on it. It’s specifically for skiing with a dog….or a caribou or horse…
*soul work*
i love how your eyes, ears, and heart are always keen to your surroundings
and enable you to spin your yarns and weave them into whole cloth for the
rest of us to experience.
it is important.
xx
Aya ya…beautiful scenery and matching thoughts…when I lived in the mountains I frequently thought of all the beauty that was there whether I was there or not…free, unasked, meek. I am glad you make this a regular annual trip. It is essential. xx
oh goodness Jillian! Stunning imagery and images.
It all comes so powerfully alive beneath your pen- I always feel as if I’ve been there myself or experienced it in a dream.
Thank you! tooodaloooo xoxo
This is the first time a photograph has brought me to tears. And I mean literal tears, because many photos have brought me to heart tears, gentle emotional tugs that feel like the emotion of crying. But these – and let me explain that I look at ALL your wonderful photos with admiration – these photos made me shed little rivers of my own. I won’t delve into it – I just am satisfied that an image moved me in that way.
A background (just because I am a woman of stories) …. I am really quite a gypsy at heart. I have lived all over the place, all over this country at least with travels to many others. I plant myself, grow shallow roots (an annual I am) and then dig myself up and plant again in hopes of blooming elsewhere. Such was my life until the cliche, but wonderful, moment of marriage and children came to me. And I married a stone, a mountain – grounded in a family history and place so firmly, it attracted me in. So I live on this grounded mountain in a land I am learning to love. But my mind is always the wandering nomad. Lately I have been dreaming of island life. Warm sun, that ocean air tangled in your hair, the smell of roti cooking, the sound of human and non-human chattering away, the quick drenching rainstorms that graciously leaves by mid afternnon so that one more ride on my surfboard can be had. Then….these pictures came around today, and I remembered the beauty of cold and snow and the quiet it brings. The roaring rivers marked against still snow. The inward of cold. The birth of a river you tell of – like Buddha perhaps. Like the spontaneous eruption of our selves that travels and gathers and ever changes until we reach the collective ocean. enlightened perhaps? Thanks for reminding me of the beauty of all that.
I’m not sorry I made you cry! Sounds like you needed it. 🙂 Thanks for being so tender of heart. That’s a beautiful thing. XX
This is just wonderful, I never really gave much thought to where a river starts its journey, and if I did wonder about it, I NEVER thought it could be as beautiful as this! The dreamy-ness is out of this world, thanks for sharing this bit of earthy beauty, it’s like some dreamy wonderland from a far away land…well, it IS a far away land for me!
you refresh my “soul page” over & over & over again…
I am blessed to have found you!
XO
Have you given Bjork’s most recent album, ‘Biophilia’, a listen? You might like it. “Earth processes” reminded me. -Izy
I am a biophiliac!!!
Have it.
LOVE IT.
🙂 I’m so glad.
And what about that final paragraph? Well beyond wonderful. Make me wonder if we ever do the same – doing, providing, just by being.
🙂
Something to ponder on!
Everything about this is pure magic. Ah! So lovely.
Gorgeous pictures and words! I long for a weekend in nature.
Thank you ALL for these tremendously lovely comments — I appreciate it so much when you take the time to share your thoughts.
Thank you for being here.
XX
Thank you for sharing your winter with me! It’s amazing!