Take care to balance conservation, building

I am standing on the shore of the river, downstream from the State Line Bridge, near the two wide supports of the old bridge that once spanned the river. The gray concrete obelisks remind me of Easter Island statuary or the ruins of a medieval castle.

Various bushes and small pines have grown up around them and they are marked with the indecipherable graffiti of a younger generation. One message, however, conveys a perennial theme: “I ? U Tom.” The bridge that once stood here connected the north bank to a post office and gas station on the south side, a wide spot in the road known as Spokane Bridge, Wash. It is the place of birth listed on my mother’s birth certificate. My grandfather ran a gas station there in the 1930s.

A bald eagle suddenly passes low overhead, scanning the river’s surface for prey, ignoring me as it glides westward. As always, I am in awe of its wingspan and the snow white head and tail.

For the past 20 years I have hiked the dirt trail that follows this strip of land on the north side of the Spokane River. I usually start at what we call “The Cove” and proceed upstream to this flat area, which I have named “The Meadow.”

After my wife and I first moved to Otis Orchards, I discovered to my surprise that this land is part of the Riverside State Park system. In years of heavy snowfall, much of it floods when the Spokane River overruns its banks during the spring runoff. Part of the ritual of my walkabouts has been to report to my wife the creatures I have seen. There are the common mallards, Canada geese, quail, pheasant, and red-tailed hawks, but I’ve also seen blue herons, kingfishers, and great horned owls. Earthbound species have included coyotes, deer, turtles, beavers, rabbits, skunks, raccoons, squirrels, and an otter, to name a few.

I once levitated high enough to dunk a basketball when I stepped on a coiled bull snake hidden in the grass, soaking up sunshine. I have adopted the osprey as my totem animal. My tongue-in-cheek rationale is that an animal which spends spring and summer fishing in this beautiful part of the country and then flies to Mexico for the winter deserves my homage. I also admire its beauty, strength and grace.

What did this land look like before white explorers and settlers appeared? It’s a question I often ask when I walk this trail. Looking at the multicolored rocks and gravel at my feet, I travel even further back in time. What did the last great Ice Age flood that deposited these rocks actually look and sound like? I think of the hundreds of generations of indigenous peoples who hunted, fished, camped, and celebrated here. Some of the earliest ones may even have seen that cataclysmic event and lived to tell about it.

There is a reminder of more recent native history here. Across the river from the parking area at Murray Road is the monument commemorating Colonel George Wright’s 1858 slaughter of 800 or more Indian horses. Like all places, this one has joy and suffering associated with it, and the memories of many generations.

Walking this land and imagining its history has helped me understand a people’s attachment to place. Though I am a latecomer, I share this much with the first peoples: I’ve grown to love this sanctuary and to feel protective of it. Partly because it is near my mother’s birthplace and partly because I now have my own history here, this has become for me a sacred place. The river has been witness to prayers offered for family and friends; it has provided comfort after the death of loved ones; and it has offered healing to my spirit while coping with my own health challenges. I want to preserve it while I live and to have my ashes scattered here when I die.

When I hear of plans to build two hotels at the east end of this land, and of other plans to put in shopping and dense housing along the north shore west of Harvard Road, I am concerned that it will damage life along the river.

There is talk that the city of Liberty Lake covets the water of Otis Orchards and desires to someday annex us. I wonder if those who are eager for development have ever taken walks along the river and observed its life. Have they returned to it often enough to become friends with it, to love it and want to protect it?

I know growth is inevitable, as we human beings seem intent on overpopulating the earth, but I hope developers will take pains to preserve what makes this area special. We need to remember our place in this interconnected ecosystem. We must be good stewards or face unpleasant consequences. As an old TV commercial used to put it, “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature.” Eventually she takes back what was originally hers.

I wander around the bridge abutment and a lone coyote appears above me on the overgrown road that once brought cars to the bridge. We stare warily at each other for a moment. It seems to be asking, “What are you doing here? I have reclaimed this turf.” Despite my uneasiness, I feel a connection to the animal. We are both attached to this land and must find a way to share it. Finally, it turns and trots out of sight and I begin my walk back downstream to the Cove.

I will tell my wife I was rewarded by close encounters with an eagle and a coyote on this walk. Seeing them against the backdrop of the freeway and the Cabela’s store gives me some hope. Perhaps if we are careful we can find a balance between development and conservation in this sacred place.