Our river runs from its headwaters in Idaho smack through the heart of our city in Washington, about 30 miles from the lake where it begins. Just past City Hall, it tumbles over Spokane Falls into the mellow curve of Peaceful Valley. During this time of year, when the 5,000-foot peak of Mt. Spokane is still snow-capped, but losing its pack steadily each day to melt, the river does more than tumble over the falls, it flat out thunders.
Yes, soft sounds on one of end of the city park that is built on either side of the river, with more than a dozen bridges connecting the south and north shores, and thunder on the other end. There are miles and miles of the river along which to walk, hike, cycle, longboard, kayak, paddle board, fish, boat, even disc golf, each stretch majestic in it's own fashion. But the downtown section, in its contrasts, is tantalizing.I walk the river close to five days a week, to and from work or at lunch, and each time my imagination ignites with different thoughts of days before the Europeans moved into the area. Did teenagers from the Spokane tribe sit on the rock we now call Inspiration Point and watch the sunset while holding hands? Where were the best spots for catching salmon? Did native peoples live on one side or the other of the river, rarely crossing?
Some days I feel utterly tormented by progress. The concrete, asphalt, and brick of the city obscure my ability to intuit what the river felt like when it shores were touched only by the natural. Yet, this piece of the Spokane is so very natural compared to rivers in other industrialized cities of the U.S. The contrasts are both teasing and exciting.
And that's the heart of it, no matter what life in the Northwest felt like centuries ago, today, for me, this river is life, I am alive with wonder, it feels awe-some.
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