A couple years back I steered a kayak over the stone remnants believed to be of that dammed weir and felt the tears of Southwind and his grandmother that broke the spell of ice and separation. In a moment I felt that wheel turning me, releasing the grief over my own people, still a mystery to me from centuries of migrations, of imperial assimilation, erased by the cold wind of empire and science and the myriad attempts to dam up the natural world with standardized time, supply chains, and rows and rows and rows of repeatable little boxes we stuff our brains and bodies into.