We pushed through the prickly salmonberries and crouched on the mossy bank of a tiny, local stream. Skyla and Weston knelt  at waters edge, watching. In front of them, lying in a nearly still pool, a female chum salmon held in the clear water. It seemed miraculous, this big, ocean fish in a stream that seemed too small to hold even trout. And that she’d made it here, deep in the woods, having survived all the perils of the open sea. And now, she’d made her way back to spawn where she was born.

We crouched there for a long time, just watching, until finally, the salmon summoned her strength and pushed upstream leaving a trail of silt in her wake. We felt lucky to have seen her.

A small thing, really, but I’m thankful for it. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!


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