The Roar of the Falls: My Journey with Kaya

We hurry upstream from the falls to a small plain. I see a large hut covered with straw mats. Kaya calls it a lodge. Huge fires are burning outside, filled with beds of rosy, shimmering coals, the heat washing over my face even from a distance. Slabs of deep pink salmon are staked over the coals. Kaya says we’re in time to help them serve the food.

We duck through the flaps of the lodge and I see this isn’t like an ordinary meal. There’s a large crowd. Rows of mats have been spread down the center of the lodge. Men and boys are standing on one side, and women and girls standing in line on the other. We join the row of women and face the men.

Kaya’s grandfather, Pi-lah-ka, leads them in prayer as men beat drums. I find my throat swelling with emotion as he prays and I look around at the bowed heads.

This community has worked together for the food, and now they’re sharing it together. I think of my garden group. This is the point of our project—to provide food for those who need it. If we can work together, we can celebrate it, too.

With the other women and girls, Kaya and I place bowls filled with roots and berries on the mats. We watch the men and boys place roasted meat on the mats, too. Several women bring out wooden bowls of salmon. I can tell they are honored to do this job. It reminds me of Thanksgiving at my house when family comes over and we all crowd into the dining room and ooh and aah as Dad carves the turkey. This meal seems just as important as Thanksgiving dinner.

After the food has been served, we sit down to begin eating, my stomach growling louder than I’d like to admit. Kaya offers me something that looks like a sweet potato called camas root. I take a tentative bite. There’s no butter or salt or spices, like modern food, but it’s surprisingly sweet, like a pear, and warm from the coals.

An old woman offers me salmon, and I know I can’t refuse. Even though I’m not a fan of seafood at home, I know how hard the men worked to catch the fish and how much time women spent preparing it. I take a tiny bite, expecting it to be slimy. But it’s not bad. It has a smoky flavor from the fires, and it doesn’t taste like what I’m used to. The texture is firmer than any salmon I’ve had before, and I chew slowly, working up the courage to swallow.

When someone passes me a bowl of huckleberries, I know what these are. I scoop them into my mouth, grateful for their tart, familiar sweetness.

After we eat, I follow Kaya outside where everyone is talking and laughing, the night air finally cool against my skin after the heat of the fires. Kaya points out a horse race is starting. I see a long, flat spot in the distance and I see riders lining up, their horses shifting and stamping with excitement.

A burst of laughter makes me turn around, and I see a group of girls talking excitedly showing off different items. I spot a bag, a doll, a white bone bead, and even a puppy. They’re trading. I can’t help but grin, wishing I had something of my own to offer. Kaya asks me whether I want to trade like the girls, or go watch the race.