**The River of Ghosts** 

 

A long time ago, in a land where the forests whispered secrets and the rivers roared with stories, a small boy named Little Feather stood beside his grandfather on a rocky cliff. Below them, the great river rushed forward, its waters shimmering like silver snakes. 

 

Little Feather had always heard tales of the *River of Ghosts*—a place where the spirits of ancestors danced on the waves, whispering wisdom to those who listened. Tonight was special. The elders had gathered, their feathered headdresses swaying in the wind, their eyes fixed on the swirling water. 

 

"Grandfather," Little Feather asked, "do the spirits really live in the river?" 

 

His grandfather, Tall Elk, smiled and pointed. "Watch closely, Little Feather. The river carries memories. When the moonlight touches the waves just right, you will see them." 

 

Little Feather watched in wonder. The water churned, and for a moment, he thought he saw shimmering figures gliding above the rapids—warriors, hunters, and wise elders from long ago. They danced and moved with the river, their voices carried in the wind. 

 

The youngest elder, Running Fox, stepped forward and raised his arms. "Our ancestors guide us still. They remind us to respect the land, the water, and the sky. As long as we listen, we will never be lost." 

 

Little Feather held his breath. He understood now. The *River of Ghosts* wasn’t a place to fear—it was a place of wisdom, where the past and present met. 

 

That night, as they left the riverbank, Little Feather whispered, "Thank you," to the spirits. And in the rustling of the trees and the rush of the water, he thought he heard a whisper back: 

 

*"Remember." 

 

Raven and the Mountain That Blocked the River

Long ago, the River People lived in harmony with the land. Every year, the red salmon returned, filling the river with life and feeding the people through the long winters. But one year, the salmon did not come.

The people waited. They sang their songs, made offerings to the river, and prayed to Raven, the wise one who had always brought the salmon to them. But the water remained empty.

Some whispered that Coyote was angry.

Coyote, the trickster, had seen the world change. A new kind of man had come to the land, men who did not listen to the wind, did not thank the water, and did not walk with care. They built without asking and took without giving.

Coyote growled deep in his belly, and the earth began to shake. The mountains rumbled, and a great cliff broke loose, tumbling down into the river. The rocks crashed like thunder, piling high until the water could no longer flow. The river was blocked, and the salmon could not return.

The River People cried out in hunger.

High above, Raven watched. His black robe shimmered in the sun, for it was not just feathers—it was made from the skins of the red salmon, each one shining among the darkness like tiny flames.

He heard the cries of his people and felt their pain.

“I must help them,” Raven cawed.

With his mighty wings, he soared over the fallen mountain. The rocks were tall, but Raven was strong. He climbed to the very top and looked down at the river, where the salmon were trapped on the other side, desperate to return home.

Raven spread his wings wide and shook his robe.

WHOOSH!

Like falling stars, the salmon skins flew from his feathers and tumbled down into the river. As they touched the water, they became real salmon once more, their bodies twisting and turning as they swam past the blockade, free at last.

The river filled with shimmering red, and the people rejoiced!

But Raven kept one salmon for himself, tucking it into his feathers. "This one will remind me," he said, "that I must always watch over the River People."

And so, to this day, when you see a Raven by the river, know that he is watching, listening—waiting to help, should the salmon ever be lost again.

The End.

 

 

The Salmon Bride of Shonitkwu, otherwise known as Kettle Falls

Long ago, in the heart of the land where the great Grandfather River roared over the mighty falls of Shonitkwu, there lived a young girl named Wíyaka, which means "Feather" in her people’s language. She was as free as the wind, her laughter as bright as the sun.

Every summer, her family would travel to Shonitkwu, where tribes from all over gathered to fish, trade, and celebrate the bounty of the river. It was a place of stories, of friendships, and sometimes, of love.

One day, as Wíyaka wandered along the cliffs, she saw a young fisherman casting his spear into the rushing waters. His name was Čháŋwíyape, meaning "Fish Hunter," and his arms were strong like the cedar trees. Their eyes met, and in that moment, the river itself seemed to slow its mighty current.

Wíyaka and Čháŋwíyape spent their days together, laughing as they ran along the rocky shores, sharing stories of their people, and watching the fish leap through the misty spray of the falls. But as the summer waned, Wíyaka’s heart grew heavy—soon, she would have to leave with her family, and she did not know if she would ever see him again.

On the last evening before her departure, she stood upon the cliffs, looking down at Čháŋwíyape fishing below. She wanted to call out to him, to tell him she would return, but as she stepped forward, the rock beneath her feet crumbled. With a cry, she tumbled into the churning waters of Grandfather River.

The current pulled her deep beneath the surface, and just as she thought she would be lost forever, she heard a deep voice rumbling all around her.

"Wíyaka, child of the wind, your love is true, and true love must not be lost to the depths. I shall grant you a gift—you will become one with my waters, and every four years, you will return to him."

The river shimmered with magic, and when Wíyaka opened her eyes, she found herself swimming, her arms now sleek and strong, her body covered in shining scales. She had become a salmon, her heart still beating with love for Čháŋwíyape.

Each season, the fishermen at Shonitkwu spoke of a great and beautiful salmon that returned every four years, leaping higher than all the others, as if searching for someone. Čháŋwíyape knew in his heart that it was Wíyaka, keeping her promise to return.

And so, every four years, he stood at the river’s edge, waiting, his spirit bound to hers by the endless flow of Grandfather River.

And Grand-daughter, let us hope, if you ever stand at the falls of Shonitkwu, listen closely to the rushing waters—you may hear the whisper of Wíyaka’s song, carried by the current, forever searching for her love.

 

Swims with Salmon and the Warning of Father River

On a crisp autumn morning, as the mist curled over the water like a sleeping spirit, Swift River set off to explore the woods near the river’s edge. He had felt something strange in the air—something different. Moving silently through the trees, he came upon a group of men he had never seen before.

They did not look like his people. Their clothes were heavy, their faces covered with thick hair, and their voices were loud and strange. They stood knee-deep in the icy water, sifting through the riverbed with their hands and wooden pans, searching for something hidden beneath the stones.

Swift River crouched behind the bushes, watching closely. For a long time, they worked without stopping, their hands red from the cold. Then, suddenly, one of the men shouted and leaped from the water, holding something in his fist.

He whooped and danced, holding a bright yellow rock above his head. The others rushed to him, their eyes wide with hunger—not the kind of hunger Swift River knew, the hunger for food to feed one’s family, but another kind. A hunger that never ended.

Uneasy, Swift River slipped away and ran to the place he loved most—the deep pool below the falls where he swam with the salmon. He dove into the cold water, letting it wash away his fear. The salmon swirled around him, moving as one, their bodies strong and swift.

Then, from the depths of the river, a voice rumbled through the water. It was deep and old, a voice that carried the weight of many seasons.

"Swift River," spoke Father River. "This is the beginning of the end for the little ones that swim with you. Those who find the yellow rock will grow to be more in number than there are salmon that swim. They will build great walls across my waters, and the salmon will no longer return. Your people will wait, but the salmon will never come. The river will grow sick and silent."

Swift River felt his heart grow heavy. No salmon? No flashing silver bodies leaping through the falls? No more food for his people? No more days spent gliding through the water, feeling at home with his finned brothers?

"But all is not lost," Father River continued. "One day, the people of the yellow rock will realize what they have done. And when that day comes, Swift River, your spirit must guide them to make things right. The salmon must return. The river must live again."

Swift River clutched the Heart of the River stone in his palm. He did not know how or when, but he knew what he must do. He would remember the warning. He would tell the story. And someday, whether in his own life or in the spirit of those who came after him, he would find a way to bring the salmon home.

As he surfaced, the sun broke through the clouds, its golden light shining on the rushing water. Swift River took a deep breath and whispered, "I will remember."

And the river whispered back, "Good."

 

 

Way Back When: The Cosmic Journey of the Reservation Rocket

Way back when, in the little town of Keller, Washington, nestled along the flowing Sanpoil River, there stood a tavern where stories were told, legends were born, and the annual April rodeo brought everyone together. The rodeo was the heart of the town, and this year, Flipp, otherwise know as Earl, had the Reservation Rocket all tuned up for a trip.

Flip was no ordinary tavern keeper. He and his crew of Walk-Abouts—Broken Feather, otherwise know as cousin Butchy, Sassy Lil, otherwise known as cousin Gracy, and Runs out of Wind, otherwise known as, cousin Phillip, who never wore shoes and Walks a lot, otherwise know as John Tom — all known for their consistent lack of reliability, always looking for a good time. But none were as wild as the one they poured some of Joker's 210 proof Special Cosmic Go Juice in the beloved 1916 Ford Model A, known as the Reservation Rocket.

The crowd gathered at the rodeo, expecting to see bronco busting and barrel racing. But low and behold, they watched in awe as the Reservation Rocket rumbled, sputtered, and with a crackling flash of a shorted out headlight, lifted off the ground, soaring into the great beyond. As the rodeo grounds disappeared behind, they could hear the rodeo announcer stutter and exclaim, "Safe trip boys, Ya'all come back now ya hear?"

A Stop at the Moon

As the Reservation Starship zipped past the clouds, the crew whooped and hollered, tipping their hats to the Earth below. The Moon soon came into view, "I thought the moon was where The Great Spirit, had his tipi? You see any tipis?

“Yep, behind that mountain of cheese that looks like a nose” Sassy Lil , otherwise known as Gracy. pointing to the horizon.

Flip. otherwise know as Earl, nodded, and they gently landed in what felt like mud but was a combination of cottage cheese and pie dough. To their amazement, they weren’t alone. There were moon-cows—large, slow-floating creatures that mooed in long, drawn-out tones, some right side up and some upside down. Broken Feather tried to lasso one, but in the Moon’s light gravity, he was the one who floated away instead! The crew laughed as they wrangled him back into the Reservation Rocket, cracking open a few cold pops in celebration. "Cow Pies, made of cheese? Who knew?", Ha, Ha, Ha, everyone got a chuckle out of that.

They slogged through the cheesy cow pies to the Tee Pee and read the flashing neon sign above the entrance that said, "Closed for eternity, the Pow Wow has been permanently moved to Heaven and sometimes Mars."  "Well that answers that," said Sassy, "Granny was right, be good or you can't go to the Pow Wow."

A Martian Pow Wow

Leaving the Moon behind, they pressed onward, the engine poppin' and sparks flying out of the tail pipe, heading straight for Mars. The red planet glowed in the distance.  As they landed, they were surrounded by herds of tiny green buffalo that stretched off to the horizon.  "So that's where all the buffalo got to," said Comes With the Wind.

Mars is covered with lots of canals for the canoes the Martians use to get around. At a crossroads they saw Little Green Men wearing bonnets of pink turkey feathers pounding drums and blowing whistles, making a racket that would scare the dickens out of any booger men around.  "Sounds like a Pow Wow to me, hollered Runs out of Wind, "Let us see if they have any Stick Games going on."

“Welcome, Cuz!” said a Martian wearing a bustle made of recycled Copenhagen chewing tobacco cans hanging from his bottom. “Y’all made it just in time for the Whoop Up Circle Dance!”

The crew wasted no time in joining the festivities. They stomped, spun, and clapped in a Martian-style dance, kicking up red dust and jumping 100 feet into the thin air as the Martians pounded on what look liked hub caps from a 1962 Lincoln Contenental. Flip, otherwise known as Earl, came back from the Stick Games having lost his shoes in his last bet, "Those guys cheat, I lost my moccasins to a 3 toed Martian, my feet are getting cold. We might as well head back before the Sanpoil Rodeo is over." So they all shook hands with the little green cousins and piled back into the Reservation Rocket, cranked up the engine waving Good-bye and yelling "High d Hi and Howdy Ho, to all their new cousins.

Back to the Sanpoil

Flip tipped his hat and said, “That was fun, I sure liked dancin' with that cute little three toed Martian gal. She invited me for a drink but I said I couldn't because I was the designated driver.  The interplanetary joy ride took half the time because they didn’t stop at the moon to get any moon pies.

As they landed with a thud and a couple wheels falling off in the middle of the rodeo arena, where a cowboy was being bucked off by a Brahma bull, the crowd gasped. Flip and his crew fell out of the Reservation Rocket covered in space dust with pop cans scattering out of the back seat just in time to catch the cowboy flying through the air.

"Hooray shouted the crowd!"

“Good catch! How was the trip?” the announcer asked.

Flip grinned. “We found our cuzzins where the buffalo all ended up. It was out of this world!”

Runs out of Wind, tipped his hat. “Next Pow Wow's in Heaven.” To which everybody at the rodeo scratched their heads but clapped anyway.

From that day forward, folks in Keller spoke of the time when Flip, otherwise known as Earl and his Merry Walk-abouts, rode the Reservation Rocket to Mars and back. To this day everyone smiles at the little green buffalo that live upside down under the tables at the Keller Tavern.  Oh, yeah.  And a picture of a cow jumping over the moon hanging behind the bar.

"Looks like somebody forgot to empty their pockets when we we came back from the Pow-Wow on Mars." Said Flip, otherwise know as Earl.

The End (for now)

 

 

 

 

Sleeping Salmon Studio

www.greggcaudell.com