From the Editor, Rivers

In the time I’ve spent among Quakers, I’ve noticed many Friends share in a conviction: That we are one collective being. That we are all impacted by what happens to any individual. This is a concept that I’ve struggled to connect with. When listening to other peoples’ experiences, I become deeply aware of the differences between us. The more I know of the thoughts of those around me, the more I feel the singularity of my subjective experience. Yet it is in my experience of water and the fact that we not only contain water, but that it moves through us on a consistent basis, that I find the literal manifestation of this abstract concept. The majority of our bodies are animated by water. Water is a force that belongs to no one and yet moves through everyone. I can only understand the collective as one when I think of the collective as a river.

My partner’s step father Phil is obsessed with the Grand Canyon. The geology, the history, the Colorado River, the experience of hiking into or floating through the canyon – Phil loves it all. He decided to organize a rafting trip for the family in 2017. We went on the commercially guided trip just after the solstice and the temperatures in the canyon promised to be scorching. Our guides told us that the plan was to sleep out with no tents and that if we got too hot to just hop in the river.

My experience in the Grand Canyon was my initiation to the Southwest. I already had the tall trees and rainy vistas of the Pacific Northwest etched into me. The ancient rock of the canyon walls opened a new chapter of the history with each layer of stone. I felt overwhelmed by the fact that, in spite of the enormity of human history to my perspective, in terms of geologic time we’re barely just arrived. The scale of our importance as a species shrank with each layer of rock our party encountered. Vishnu Shist, the oldest rock layer in the canyon, is one point seven billion years old.

Our party consisted of Phil’s sister’s family, his grown children from his first marriage, and my partner’s mom and sister. In retrospect I see that this trip was the moment that I became a member of the family. The deeply human experience of sitting together after a day on the rapids, looking at the rocks or the various animals we could see from camp, made me understand that these were my people as well. The shared vein of the family is a love of nature and each person brought their own perspective. Phil’s nephew Joe is geologist who narrated the changes in the rock layers, and who took many of the photos both on the cover and inside this magazine. Two middle school science teachers told us about the fauna we encountered. Our guides told memorized stories of the canyon’s history and personal tales of friends they’d lost to the rapids. At one point a guide decided to pull away from a tricky landing area where the water was rushing around us. “We gotta go, we don’t have time to figure this out… and my ex-wife is just up river.” He gestured, and I turned to see another commercial group rounding the bend.

In this edition of Western Friend, we’ll meet Quakers on the rivers that they love. Rivers are places of both solace and connection, excitement and danger. Kelsey Ringling, a young adult Friend and freshwater scientist in Colorado, graciously allowed me to interview her about her connection to rivers. In our conversation she shared the idea that perhaps the inner light is aqueous. Rick Seifert offers reflections on the power of the rivers in the Pacific Northwest, the joy of a childhood river in Illinois, and the flowing energy of love over time. Erica Huber takes us to the same river trail over time where she connects with her family, the friends she meets hiking, and the spirit of her eldest son. Love and human connection are timeless on the river; when you worship there, I am with you.