Cmarie Fuhrman

4 weeks ago | terrain.org | Cmarie Fuhrman |Chaun Ballard

You might come here on a Tuesday. To the trail, to this bench, to this place where the willows and sand and gravel meet the edge of history. Yours. The rivers. At this bend. Excerpted from Salmon Weather: Writing from the Land of No Return, by CMarie Fuhrman,  published by Columbus State University Press. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission. In the heart of Idaho’s Salmon River Mountains, a woman unknowingly begins what becomes a journey of understanding.

Nov 14, 2024 | inlander.com | Cmarie Fuhrman

click to enlarge CMarie Fuhrman photo There is a sliver of light on the eastern horizon. Today will break cold. Today will break clear. Last night was the coldest of the season so far, but there are colder to come. The first heavy snow has fallen. I hope the bear who stood on our deck two nights ago looking into our empty house has found safety for the season.

Sep 23, 2024 | altaonline.com | Cmarie Fuhrman

There are so many landscapes that have been stolen from Native people. They are on maps and in academia, leadership roles, publishing, and politics. This poem explores the ways in which Native people must continually crawl beneath fences, slip past gatekeepers, and constantly remind non-Natives of our present and Native youth of their potential.•This poem appears in Issue 29 of Alta Journal.

Sep 12, 2024 | inlander.com | Cmarie Fuhrman

click to enlarge Wildfires keep coming too close to home across the West, like the 2020 El Dorado fire in California. It was during the time when our new neighbors were clearing the forest beneath their second home, and I was lamenting the loss of habitat for Dark-eyed juncos and chipmunk and hiding places for newborn fawns, that the first call came. The thought of displacement, of losing one's sanctuary, weighed heavily on my mind. Level two evacuation order.

Jul 18, 2024 | inlander.com | Cmarie Fuhrman

click to enlarge Hells Canyon is deeper even than the Grand Canyon. It's a warm, dry June afternoon as 13 students, a biologist and I stand on the edge of the deepest river gorge in North America, Hells Canyon, and stare in. The students are silent. Awestruck. The canyon is a surprise to them. All week we have been on the Zumwalt Prairie — acres and acres of rolling hills. Vast open land that seemed only to end when it met the Seven Devils to the East.