Photo courtesy Flickr
On the few occasions I’ve driven past Wanapum, I’ve been sweltering, dehydrated, and with tender Puget Sound eyes in shock from hours of sunlight. It turns out that Wanapum of the barren hills fed its tribe richly on game, salmon, and roots.
I can’t think of a clearer example of how a European-American frame of reference obliterates the subtle abundance of indigenous resources. I can understand how someone can grab a love-crazed salmon out of the Columbia, but I still can’t figure out how to take a deer if there aren’t any trees to hide behind.
-30- More after the jump.