A few weeks ago we popped out for the steelhead closer on the Salmon River. It was my first time steelheading — what fabulous, powerful fish! A very early memory of mine, from my fishing education that began in Manitoba when I was a little girl, was wanting to eat the fish I caught because I wanted their wild and crazy fight to be part of me. I actually remember thinking that to myself when I caught pike and walleye from shore or from a canoe. I wanted to consume that fish energy and have it mingle with my own. I still feel that when I catch fish or watch elk or bear or pronghorn. I should clarify, I don’t want everything to die so I can eat it, but something about seeing game stirs my blood, I want to add that wild energy to my body on a cellular, molecular level. It’s hard to explain this to people who don’t hunt or fish. I feel the same way about my radish patch in the garden, or the raspberries growing like jewels on the cane, or the ears of corn filling out and plumping up. I want that energy and that power to be added to my own, to strengthen my strength, to feed my marrow, to help my hair and fingernails grow, to help my eyes to see.

I’ve stopped thinking about life and death for now it seems there is only life and life, always growing and morphing and changing and falling away to rise back up again.

I caught my first steelhead. We watched the moonrise. We ate leftovers beside a warm fire. We slept well.