Field Notes from the Nooksack — On Dreams, Rivers, and Remembering

Photo: Aaron Straight | Soulcraft Allstars

The last weekend in April 2026 a group of Western Washington University students came to our family’s farm on the Nooksack River to prepare to work with the children of our community on the Lummi Nation. The event, Common Waters: Delta, brings tribal members together with farmers and civic leaders on the river to build relationships with each other and the river that gives us all life. 

In a world of glowing, all-knowing phones,
of stress and speed and constant noise,
childhood dreams, dreams of our ancestors

and dreams from our non-human relatives 

rivers, mountains, oceans, and trees

can disappear fast—
like a thief in the night on rollerblades.

(Clearly I grew up in the 90s)

But what sparks the light—in me—
is witnessing the courage in others
to remember.

And
despite fear,
despite doubt,
despite distraction—
they move toward something beautiful.

Last weekend, I watched dreams stacked on dreams.

Young people—mostly in their early 20s—
surrounded by even younger ones,
bringing their ideas, their questions, their energy
to the banks of the Nooksack River.

They met there with our Water Wars (how to avoid) team,
with Nooksack storytellers,
local farmers,
college professors—

all of us working together,
not in theory,
but in the dirt,
by the water,
in the known universe of getting something real done.

We began simply:

By listening.

First to the river.
Then to each other.

And from that place,
we started building something—
a plan for May 2.

Not a program.
Not a panel.

A living experience.

The idea is simple, and not simple at all:

Create space
for one generation
to teach the next.

And in doing so—
realize that even the youngest among us
have something essential to teach back.

Mostly about play.
About presence.
About seeing something
as if for the first time.

Because beneath all of this
is a very real question:

How do we live in right relationship with this river
in a way that protects farms, fish, and future generations?

Humans have done this before—
for tens of thousands of years.

So it’s not impossible.

But it does require remembering.

And it requires dreaming.

We build relationships
before we build systems.

We listen
before we decide.

We show up to the river
before we try to manage it.

So that we might become—
once again—
in right relationship:

With the land.
With the water.
With those who came before us.
And those who will come after.

It’s ambitious work.

Terrifying, honestly.

But it is the work in front of us.

The work our generation will be remembered for—
by future ancestors
who will look back and ask:

What did they do
when it was their turn?

So we step out of the boardroom.
Out of the spreadsheets.
Out of the digital echo chamber.

And we step into something older.
Something slower.
Something more real.

From behind my camera this weekend,
I watched it unfold.

I watched Connor Harron
guide his students toward big, brave ideas—
creating space for a kind of learning
they won’t forget.

I watched Jeff Bos
masterfully teach connection—
to nature,
to young people,
and to the bridge between them.

I watched Christopher Remmers
invite students to wander alone in the woods,
to listen,
to gather artifacts—with permission—
and return with something to share.

I watched Ethan Smith
translate all of it into time, place, structure—
turning vision into something that can actually happen on May 2.

We were joined by Nooksack Tribe storyteller Angela Letoi and her sister Melody—
who reminded us, through story and laughter,
that healing doesn’t always arrive quietly.

Sometimes it shows up smiling.

Gavin Willis, from the Ag Water Board,
stepped in with honesty—
sharing his own story,
playing pickup soccer,
listening to Nooksack stories by the fire.

And Chris Elder—
who has paddled this river nearly every week, all year—
brought the steady presence of someone
who knows a river not as an idea,
but as a relationship.

It was, simply,
a gathering of dreams.

And in those moments—
watching young people breathe oxygen into possibility—
I was reminded:

This is what the work is about.

So we look ahead
to May 2
at Lummi Nation.

Where generations will gather.
Where stories will be shared.
Where food from the Nooksack watershed
will bring us to the same table.

And where, at sunset,
we might celebrate—
not solutions, not yet—

but something just as important:

Connection.
Friendship.
A shared love for this river.

All in service of something bigger than us:

Making the dreams
of our future ancestors
come true.