… living the braided life.

I asked the iconic McKinley River to consider one reader’s question: “Given the naturally untamed, raw look of my life’s many fast threads, how would I KNOW if I were unstable?  And how can I avoid that?  Can you give us “Braided” types some tips?”

Over half of you “What Stream Type Am I?” quiz-takers have turned out to be Braided Rivers – Stream Type D.* And over half of you braided folk have asked some form of this question! Clearly it’s a concern.

McKinley – that glorious mainstay of Denali National Park — graciously agreed to comment on these five main aspects of your mutual life experience:

1. Our Main Asset:

We braided rivers can DEAL — I’m talking huge, almost unlimited, amounts of sediment. Of course, sediment of any size – boulders, cobble, gravel, gravel, sand, or very fine material like clay – is every river’s load. (That’s an actual technical term the hydrologists use.) And MOVING its sediment load is every river’s work (another technical term!). So, yeah — we D-types function in high-load circumstances that would overwhelm any other stream type. How do we do it? By operating in a lot of pathways at the same time — often at a pretty rapid rate – across a huge, fairly level, playing field.

2. The Trade-off:

Yeah, we are rather unrefined, sprawling, ever-changing affairs. Our boundaries are always shifting across our big wide valleys – not clearly defined. So what?

3. When We’re Vulnerable:

The thing is, we DEPEND on that big wide valley – our floodplain – not just to provide the space we need for all our shifting channels but also to absorb excess flow when life gets crazy and the floods come.  And they always come: the annual snow melt, possibly some big rainstorm… and if it rains ON snow, then forget about it:

If anything messes with our overflow area, we got trouble.

The typical snafu comes from people deciding to fill ANY part of what they consider “empty excess space” around us. They want to build berms to contain our wildness or elevated bases so their roads can cross our paths without getting wet. Ha. These “developments” just narrow our options during our peaks. Our increased power will be forced to cut – down into our own foundations – rather than allowed to spread out harmlessly and nourish the whole open valley. This down-cutting triggers erosion that dominoes both upstream and down.

4. The Red Flags:

Yeah we always look fairly “raw,” but we can tell our floodplain has been encroached upon because we begin to see – or more importantly FEEL:

  •  walls of any kind and/or
  • abnormally steep, fast periods (“head-cuts”). OR for that matter, any oddly still, flat sections. Our many paths may have variable speeds, but we don’t normally have obvious “steps and pools” like those A-types – not that there’s anything wrong with that:)

 5. Tips for Success:

  • Identify YOUR “floodplain.” Notice how much wide-open, level space you have around you. Where can you overflow? What feels “even” and allows you to spread out and slow down when the going gets intense? I don’t know what this is for humans like you: Is it your quiet time at home? Evenings out with friends? There may be several things — hobbies, pets, secret get-aways — or one big sacred something.
  • Allow no fill on your floodplain. No walls. No narrowing. No “improved” external access ways with built-up pads  ostensibly “high, dry and safe” from your peak flow.

Remember, we need this big supporting space, but too, this overflowing nature of ours benefits that floodplain — it gets watered by our energy; fed and built-up by the nutrients and sediment we leave behind. So keep ALL your openness. Then and only then can you and your entire untamed, beloved ecosystem stay wild and healthy.

— McKinley R., Alaska

PS Dear Readers, I’d love to know what you think of YOUR floodplain. What is it? Is it ever threatened? How do you protect it? Judging by the number of you and your questions to me, I think braided living is a very important phenomenon in our busy modern world. FOr that reason, I’m eager to hear your thoughts on this matter.

All my best,

Betsy

* If you’d like to take the quiz, click here.

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… The Quiz has arrived!

What Stream Type Are You?

Natural Channel Hydrologists classify streams into eight basic types. There are powerful, dramatic waterfalls and cascades; resilient rapid-dominated streams; classic and hard-working rivers with riffles, pools, and point-bars;m braided rivers; incredibly lush and stable anastomosed channels; sinuous meandering streams; deep and inspirational rivers; and steep, transitioning streams.

Each type has strengths, vulnerabilities, and a few tips for how to live your best life.

To take the quiz and receive a copy of the profile and photo of YOUR stream type, click here.

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… compelled

Like a river, you are pulled by an unseen force even when you don’t know what it is (or aren’t sure it exists). I find the best way to discern the SPECIFICS of anything’s true passion/purpose/wild nature is with Bev Barnes’ quintessential question:

“What can’t it NOT do?”

What’s a river (or you) compelled to do/know/embody even when not trying, when doing something else at the same time, when not paid or thanked, when no one knows, when discouraged, when asked not to, when time and money are not an issue, when free to do anything in the world?

All rivers flow downhill toward a sea.

Rivers don’t TRY to flow downhill — they can’t help it. They’re pulled by gravity, and every river wonder comes directly from that fundamental part of their nature: the billowing spray of Niagara Falls, the sculpted layers of the Grand Canyon, the grassy meanders of a mountain creek.

What can’t YOU not do? Maybe you know the answer right away. Sometimes, though, you can’t see your greatest power because it’s so innate that you don’t think it “counts.” Ask your friends what they see. Or look at your whole life — all eras and aspects — and compare yourself to a river using these questions:

  • When do people turn to me for help? Throughout history, when folks have wanted to move cross-country easily, they’ve hopped onto canoes, inner tubes, or barges and let the downstream current carry them.

Sara’s friends always call her when they want to create the most fun, most affordable travel adventure — she knows the latest booking secrets, the quirkiest destinations and their signature activities, plus every organizational trick invented (because she invented some of them).*

  • What have people tried to stop me from doing? Humans often try to stop rivers from flowing downhill (or make them do so with less speed or in a narrower channel or on a more indirect path). It never works forever – the stream always and eventually finds a way to keep doing what it can’t not do.

I sometimes try to keep my busy, professional husband, Freyr, from planting things. This may sound mean and downright anti-nature, but he’s built raised-beds of perennials outside government housing we occupied for less than a year, rooted cuttings (in our drinking glasses) and avocado pits (usually in tin cans for some reason) on every flat kitchen surface, sowed wildflowers on the neighboring golf course property (hello PoHo… you don’t read my blog do you?), and planted trees on adjacent road right-of-ways, private pastures, and state land.

  • What aspects of me do people harness for profit? One reason we humans dam water is so that we can use its natural downstream movement to generate power – electricity for lights and machines — and enjoy the resulting opportunities and cash flow. When have bosses, loved ones, or frenemies pulled you in on a project to benefit from your particular style?

Mark may be the owner of a software company, but he’s still the person that every employee calls to invent an as-yet-to-be-identified new product, get rid of a persistent and undiscovered bug, or calm flaring personalities (whether they be the visiting UPS guy or the CFO). Normal daily functions and easily-solved problems are of no interest to him.

  • What am I happy to do for others at anytime and for free because I like it or it feels like no trouble? It doesn’t trouble the river if a kayaker rides a rapid or even a waterwheel grinds grain or generates electrical current (if it’s built right — but that’s another blog post!).

Jessica will always put together the perfect playlist for any particular person and occasion. She can do it in a flash because of her vast knowledge of all kinds of music and her intuitive understanding of people’s needs and personalities. And she loves it. Truth is she’d be messing around with iTunes anyway!

  • What activities feels like they “come through me” — like I make very little effort and still get amazing results? Water channels gravity; it doesn’t make it up.

Michelangelo said “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”  Katie feels the same way when she starts writing or talking about food – like something wants to be said. Her task is to stay clear and willing enough to let it arrive. She’s often surprised to go back and read what she’s written, and I know her descriptions of a “lovely asparagus” with a “delicate” something-or-other always inspire me to eat and cook better.

  • What am I like when I give up and go with the flow? How could I act all day long, every day if given the chance? What DO I do, right now, all the time? Rivers aren’t aiming to be something they can’t. Nor do they ever cease their flowing.
    • Your passion may be a particular subject (travel adventure, plants, computers, food).
    • Or it could transcend subject and be a unique set of skills. Sara and Jessica remember things, match them up with the right person, and/or organize them — whether those things are airline tickets, songs, ideas, closets, or other people. Freyr can start and heal most anything. Mark’s a solver of any super thorny problem and an innovator. Katie can apply adjectives to any topic in a way that makes my mouth water and my heart feel glad.
    • Or perhaps you’re like Jamie, who can and has done almost any activity with regard to almost every aspect of one place – “where the mountains meet the prairie” in beautiful Sheridan County, Wyoming.
    • Or like Claire, whose defining trait is her character – her warmth. People pay just to be in the same room with her no matter what she’s up to. What are you known for? Your bravery? Calm? Laughter?

Your true wild nature is always there within you — whether or not you know it – shaping you and your world. Naming and understanding it is not essential, but it’s fun. And you can’t help but be ever more glorious (and happy and highly productive and properly compensated!)  when you let your innate power pull you, like a river does.

*Note to my friends/family/clients: I changed your names. And maybe your gender. Or maybe this is not really you? Either way, your secrets are safe with (and deeply beloved by) me.

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[pausing for NaNoWriMo!]

National Novel Writing Month — Wish me luck!

PS — Rabbit rabbit.

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… mourning

Maybe you can tell me how rivers grieve?Taescach

Beloved Taescach,

How is any being — even a river — to bear the death of a soul mate? I so wanted to ponder this for you and with you, but first I had only more questions… does a river ever face loss?

Who might the river mourn?

Luckily, I have you to fall back on. Sometime before we needed it, you penned the answer to these questions:

“A soul mate is someone who expands your soul’s capacity to love.”

And a river does love.

In fact, the river becomes itself through love.

The river accepts every rock, climate, and valley encountered in following its calling to the sea, shaping its course…

… from that earth

… with those given water volumes

… using the lay of those particular lands it must cross.

What nourishes the river’s ability to grow in love like this?

A first I thought of bedrock, as it opens up possibilities for any stream…

… and yet a life’s underlying foundation is not distinct from that life, nor has it the vitality I see characterizing a like-spirit.

Then I remembered that there IS one kind of living companion found alongside every healthy stream and actually imported by river workers to heal wounded streams:  deep-rooted, woody vegetation. (It’s a long name for a soul mate, but try saying it all in one breath, as hydrologists do: a single, sacred word.)

This soul mating is a deeply shared, old development.

A river is capable of behaving like a river only if it has banks. Recent geologic research found that “until the evolution of tree-like plants, some 330 million years ago […] ancient waters flowed wide and shallow over the land.”

Water spread thin and broad moves slowly. A prehistoric “river” was forced to conduct its life journey as an indeterminate slog.

AND the poor soil was inundated all the time – life forms preferring drier conditions definitely did not feel loved by the waters (or even allowed to develop) until:

“… larger plants needing deeper roots stabilized river banks and forced rivers into narrower paths [… between] river banks that provide trees with easy access to water, without the constant risk of flooding.”

In this way, each soul mate increases the other’s capacity to love through their own capacity to love… which is increased by the other’s capacity to love:

tree roots strengthen river banks which nourish tree roots

§

A singular loss

Taescach, you have lost an epic prairie tree from the bank of your river.

As you now know, when a river suffers that kind of loss, it goes fully raw, right on the spot.

Not too long ago, flames engulfed the Cottonwood gallery along Tongue River about 30 miles north of where I live. Many wonderful trees were killed in the firestorm.

Two weeks ago — two weeks ago! — I was called to visit a bend in the stream where one burnt, particularly magnificent, particularly river-connected Cottonwood had fallen. Its mighty root system was ripped out, laid bare, and so intertwined with the stream that a giant chunk of the river’s bank was uprooted along with it. What remained was a huge hole exposing a heretofore private world of soil layers, ant tunnels, and tiny smooth pebbles.

The river bore straight into the vulnerable negative space, eroding itself.

Eventually — with much erosion, deposition, course changing, and slope adjustment — this river would end up stable once more. But only after a long time. And the new channel would be very different indeed.

Luckily, Tongue River, like you, has its soul mate to fall back on.

For even in death, the Cottonwood’s roots will heal the grieving river.

Hydrologists call this restoration technique root-wad revetment: embedding the fallen tree’s trunk and bare root-wad right into the river’s wound.

In beauty, splendor, and glory…

Please know that revetment is not the same as pretending you can plug the hole with some inadequate substitute and move on as if nothing happened. No. There has been a death.

Revetment (originally “re-vestment” from re-vestire) means “to clothe again.” Though something beautiful has been stripped away, the river can clothe itself once more in beauty – a different vestment, to be sure, but one still specific to the two soul mates. Still holy.

Here’s how:

  • Turn the whole thing around and lower the prone tree into the bank with the deepest roots facing outward – into the river it loved so well – and aligned with the river’s original, natural boundary.
    • When raging, the river can rush directly against, in, and through the complex root system. The water’s exploration of the intricate geometry safely absorbs some intense energy, and the bulk of the river’s flow reflects away from the sturdy dressing in a healthier way – back toward the center of the river’s channel.
    • During calmer, low flow, the twisty, turny roots will provide refuge for some of the many other lives the river continues to nurture – little fishes, hatching insects.
  • Be sure the root-wad sits at just the right level within the bank. Its uppermost edge must exactly match the river’s bankfull elevation:
    • high enough to protect its soul mate during the powerful channel-forming flows, just as it did when living, and
    • low enough to blend with the adjoining intact banks plus… be partially submerged in summer when river creatures need the roots’ shady protection.

§

Like a Cottonwood, Jon gave you just what you need to grieve: two capacities for love, both expanded while you and he shared earth. When you feel yours eroding, you can lean on his — for your radiant words, actions, and intentions in this difficult time have let that beloved root system become part of you in a new, still soulful, skillfully appropriate way.

I am sending you love, Taescach, treasuring thoughts of you, thankful for your presence now as always,

Betsy

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… traumatized.

My Dear Readers,

A friend of mine’s family recently went through an ordeal — a human version of when a river “gullies” into a raw chasm.

An extreme example.

I am not saying my friend’s situation is this injurious, but either way – for rivers AND humans – even a “small-scale” trauma is painful.

She fears that neither she nor her beautiful son will ever be the same.

On some level, we never are the same after ANY experience, day, or moment.

But this family is dealing with something acute and damaging, so my friend’s specific fear is that they each will be changed for the worse — messed up.

It can be tempting — especially when you are not the one involved in a crisis — to assert that no event is inherently bad or damaging but rather part of life in ways we can’t understand and that we must adjust our thinking about the event.

In river work, it is certainly true that healthy, natural processes always involve change and sometimes look decidedly not-pretty to a cultivated aesthetic. For example when a river bumps up against a high terrace, an exposed, vertical bank is to be expected. This is not problematic.

But such a default assessment negates the very real experience of trauma – to rivers AND to people.

Hydrologists know that rivers can indeed be harmed:

And hydrologists define a destructive event as one that destabilizes the river.

Stability and instability:

A stable river is one that maintains function — transporting its water and sediment load — without changing its basic form and type.

A stable river does change and move. You can see how the Pecatonica River [a classic E-type stream] migrates back and forth across its valley over time in a gradual manner. But the old channels show that the stream maintains the same pattern (curve shapes), profile (slope), and dimensions (width and depth) everywhere it travels:

[Image credit: Louis J. Maher, Jr. photo 156-07.]

Alas, ugly events can destabilize any river, altering its form and function in ways that most typically include degradation. The stream is scoured down through its very foundation in the affected spot. Layers of earth are exposed in an entrenched, narrow space.

That’s trauma.

The Great News:

Even the most significantly damaged river will heal. Always.

How quickly a stream recovers its stability will depend on what happens after the initial damage — it’s possible to speed the process along – but, even without assistance, the stream will mend over time.

How a gullied stream heals itself:

1. A recovering gully first evens out its slope. Ironically, this natural accommodation actually causes MORE erosion in the short run as the channel “head-cuts” through its bed.

The first and crucial step in healing human trauma is also to smooth out the jagged edges — that panic gouged into the body by a cocktail of stress hormones designed to make us fight, flee, OR freeze. As Belleruth Naprostek describes it: “These biochemicals in the bloodstream don’t dissipate quickly, but instead they swing back and forth like a pendulum, between releasing alarm and sedation neurohormones, in an automatic recalibration to get the body back into balance. People can be furious or terrified one minute – that’s the alarm biochemicals – and numb and disconnected the next – that’s the natural opioids.”

In the first 72 hours following a trauma, it’s super helpful if the person who experienced trauma can clean out those hormones and the associated residual biochemical gunk: move a LOT, rest a LOT, and relate the story of what happened. Perhaps many times.

2. Once its profile regains a uniform average slope, the stream will begin widening its gully to provide room for meanders and a flood plain. It craves spaciousness. The stream achieves this breathing room through the benign-sounding process of lateral migration; however, once again, the short-term reality of the healing process actually causes more erosion since the stream must cut into its side walls. It carves bigger boundaries.

As I do more research into healing human trauma, I hope for a clearer idea of the human parallel – of how we broaden our lives after a trauma and how that more expansive life allows us to meander through different explorations and to build places where our lives can safely overflow in future times of flood. I want to learn how we can support one another in such restoration. I will keep you posted.

For now, I am content to know that healing is inevitable. And that traumatized rivers end up functional once more, fully restoring themselves albeit at a much deeper level. Literally. Which is why they are so gorge-ous and beloved by us all, even while they are still in the midst of restoring themselves… like the [F-type]  river pictured below and some of my very favorite people:

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… expressive.

“How impressive!

– My personal mantra the other day

I spent the other day surrounded by some very impressive folks.

Yeah, I felt some pressure.

At 7:35, the pressure was situated in my brain, perhaps because I was formulating a pretty DAMN impressive To Do List for the following day — a list designed to further an even more impressive 5-YEAR PLAN that I devised while watching the others multi-dazzle with freshness before the coffee was even served. By 7:45, I felt like those Roman shipwreck salvagers at 380-ft below sea level. The pressure was all around me:

Not a pretty picture.

I was focusing my energy in on ME. No wonder I felt the “in-pressiveness.” AND — what’s worse — you can see how I was sucking away at the world. So much for the virtues of meekness.

Then I noticed that those folks I was admiring actually had a very different look. In fact, they were the opposite of impressive:

No internal pressure here. Expressive people extend out, giving to the rest of us.

These are the people we like to stand next to.

We want to bask in whatever they’re putting out.

Champagne Falls

River water too can experience very low internal pressure. When it does, something miraculous develops — actual inner space. Bubbles!

If you live like water, there are two ways to lower your internal pressure:

1. Movement — You might remember how awhile back I thrilled to discover that rivers pick up enough speed to bubble when they leap into space.

People who live as straightforwardly as waterfalls have no time to im-press.

They are going all out.

2. Temperature – Heat up your life with passion and you can’t help but share it. Watch your life expand.

And let me thank you in advance on behalf of the world…

… we need your expressiveness.

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