For years uncounted, the salmon of the Northwest have been born, grown strong, gone to the ocean, then found their way back home to spawn and die. They leave their bodies behind to give new life to the place where they began. For untold generations, the North American aboriginal people of these same areas have harvested the salmon to sustain their own lives, treating the pristine streams and rivers with a sacred respect that allowed both salmon and human to live in balance. We all know what happened next. Rivers were dammed to control the flow of water for cropland and generators, mountain sides were shorn like the wool on sheep to supply timber and paper for a burgeoning population, eroded soils and livestock fouled streams that fed the rivers that were home to the salmon, and acid rain and chemical pollutants killed the tiny water beings upon whom the baby salmon depend for their own food. Then, perhaps most devastating of all, giant ships scooped whole generations of salmon from the sea to fill the insatiable tastes of those who saw the bounty as an endless feast. All things come to pass, and the salmon began to disappear. But, through compassionate intervention, they are returning. In the Spring of 2006, I stood on the beach below my Whidbey Island, Washington home and watched a seemingly endless stream of a new generation of salmon headed out to sea. They are following the footsteps of their Grandmothers home, they are going where they must go, then following Grandmother home again to keep their tribe alive. Hoka hey, salmon brothers and sisters!

The original painting is sold. A giclee print is available for $150