My husband grew up downstream from Hoover dam, in a house close enough to the river so it might be swept away if the dam burst.

When Irv was a boy, there was no Hoover dam.  There was only the vista of the mighty Columbia River.  Below his house were little inlets from the river, and on these he learned to kayak like the Indians.

Indians fished on the river.  Kayaking was quintessential to Irv, and one of the first things he did when we were engaged was to build by hand a kayak for two, in which we often floated in various estuaries

of the great Pacific Northwest.  We were water people at heart, even though my arms were weak and it was hard for me to paddle, but he paddled for both of us.  And often he took the kayak on top of our car to church meetings, if they were held near water, which was often the case, since in the Northwest there are many lakes and inlets.  We even camped at a place in British Columbia where the only

access was by boat.  (his daughter now lives on an organic farm, with her Messianic husband, inland in British Columbia).

Irv was never interested in Indian religion or ceremony, but you may remember my post of how, the night before Irv died, there was drumming and chanting in his hospital room all night (no visible sign of anyone doing it).  The nurses asked, where is that drumming coming from?  My son went outside to try to find the source, in the almost empty snow-laden parking lot.  I asked all sorts of pastors and teachers what this meant, even a native American pastor who teaches on God's Learning Channel, Pastor Bigpond.  (how appropriate was Pastor Bigpond's name, in association with Irv's love of water, and mine).  Pastor Bigpond, although a Bible believing Christian, thought that the drumming and chanting, which went on from dusk to dawn, was an honor. 

Now that I think back on it again, after four years since Irv's death January 6, 2009, I now see his connection to Indians, from his childhood on the great Columbia.

So, if the dam breaks, as some have dreamed, his childhood home will be really under water, I expect, although I don't know how high the water would rise.  

Today that stretch of the Columbia is a windsurfing venue, and many people come there from Portland to play, and a windsurf board factory is based in Hood River, nearby.

All mortal things are passing, everything we loved.  But we who follow the Great Spirit have hope, and blessed Comfort for now.