Wuwáyonoktom Sewí- Power along the Feather River
- Crystal Brown
- 4 hours ago
- 4 min read
Feather River Advocacy Project (FRAP) participants enjoy the scenic view of the Feather River from the banks.
The sand and river stones shifted beneath our feet as we followed a narrow path along the Middle Fork of the Feather River. Cool air rose from the water, mixing with a warm breeze, carrying the sweet fragrance of mint and willow. Beside us, the river sang through a corridor of deep green sedges, willow thickets, mugwort, lupine, goldenrod, and countless other plant relatives leaning gently into her current. Every bend in the trail revealed another glimpse of a river that still moves freely.
Pausing there, it was impossible not to feel a swelling of joy and relief to be in River's presence like this.
One of our Maidu language teachers, Steven Young, taught us this place is called Wuwáyonoktom Sewí, loosely translated to the river that throws into piles.
Our language often offers teachings, and the name given to this part of the river is no exception. It was born from generations of observation. Our ancestors watched this river gather boulders, gravel, fallen trees, and rich sediment as she carved her way through mountains, meadows, and canyons. They named her only after understanding her behavior and temperament.
Middle Fork of the Feather River from Graeagle, CA on the Lost Sierra Retreat Center.
Wuwáyonoktom Sewí is one of the last remaining stretches along the Middle Fork of the Feather River protected under the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, a section of the river that breathes. Here, she’s not possessed by concrete or diverted through tunnels.
As Maidu people, that feeling is familiar. Like this section of the river, there is something inside us that is undammed. A part that continues to remember our responsibilities, our languages, songs, our stories, and our relationship with these waters. It calls to us, like a stellar jay echoing across the mountains, reminding us to remember who we are and what we have been entrusted to care for.
This weekend, the Feather River Advocacy Project cohort gathered at the Lost Sierra Retreat Center in Graeagle, CA to answer that call.
Redbud examines the systems that shape decisions about those waters, recognizing where inequities exist, and creating opportunities for Indigenous communities to reclaim their voices in shaping the future.
Together, we explored one simple yet profound question: Where does the power lie?
Along the Feather River, power exists in many forms:
It’s the force of water that has sustained life since the beginning of time.
FRAP participants Shane Noel, Matthew Hatcher., Zoey Pagal, Lethi Watson,
and Mike Thompson presenting on power-holders of the Feather River watershed.
It’s hydropower that lights cities hundreds of miles away.
It’s the political power that determines where water flows and who benefits from it.
And it is the collective power that emerges when people come together in service of a place they love.
As our cohort gathered beneath the towering pines on a cool summer morning, the wind stirred through the treetops, carrying a quiet song across the forest. It was there, surrounded by relatives, that we began exploring the many forces that influence the Feather River today.
We examined the diverse voices that shape decisions about our waterways: Farmers, ranchers, commercial and recreational fishers, utility providers, environmental organizations, water agencies, Tribal Nations, and local communities. As we untangled the web of competing interests, priorities, and responsibilities, it became very clear that decisions about the Feather River are rarely simple. They are the product of many intersecting systems, histories, and perspectives.
As our understanding of that complexity deepened, so did a more important question:
Where does our power sit as Tribal citizens and as Maidu people?
For the remainder of the morning and into the early afternoon, we worked together to uncover where Tribal citizens hold power, within formal systems of governance, and through our relationships, our voices, our knowledge, and our responsibilities. We explored the many ways we can influence decisions: through government-to-government relationships, public comment, cultural stewardship, education, partnerships, and community organizing.
As our conversations unfolded, something began to shift. The question was no longer Do we have power? but rather, How will we choose to use it?
With that understanding, we began to envision what our collective power could accomplish. We identified shared priorities and laid the foundation for four cohort-led initiatives that will guide our work over the coming months.
Rather than waiting for change, we began designing it.
Having spent the morning exploring how power flows through institutions, policies, and people, we turned our attention back to the river that has been teaching us for generations.
The rest of the day invited us to slow down and be present. To set aside maps, frameworks, and strategy, and simply be in relationship with River. Some folks fished. Others surrendered to the cold water, laughing as they swam and searched for crawdads beneath slippery river stones. Busy hands gathered, wove baskets, and bundled medicine in the shade. A few found quiet places beneath the trees to rest. Others sat along the river's edge and lifted ancient songs of gratitude, offering their voices back to the waters that have nourished life since the beginning of life itself.
Trina Cunningham and Teresa Noel show their newly made medicine bundles down by the river.
FRAP program facilitators Taylor Pennewell and Crystal Brown enjoy a float in the Feather River.
The Noel family enjoy the river and time spent together.
In those moments, we were reminded that advocacy begins long before a public comment is spoken or a policy is changed. It begins by knowing a place long enough to fall in love. By listening. By observing and being. By building a relationship rooted in reciprocity rather than extraction.
As the sun crept over us, we left Wuwáyonoktom Sewí carrying a renewed sense of purpose, a deeper understanding of where our power lies and a shared commitment to step into it with humility, courage, and responsibility.
Perhaps that is the greatest lesson the river offered us. Power is not something to possess. It is something inherent. Something that can be overextracted and abused. Something to respect.
Like the river, it is something that moves. She gathers, she shapes, and she rests. She pushes power forward with an unwavering understanding that shared power benefits all.
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