The Canyon Cuts Both Ways

The size of the sky in the place you’re from can have much to do with how you view the world, and often how you choose to conduct yourself in that world. Such is the case for people living in Oregon’s North Santiam Canyon, situated amid the raindrops and heavy underbrush of the western foothills of the Cascade Mountains. It’s a place where the trees are tall, the sky is small, and many people see their options as limited…unless they escape. This canyon is a crucible of longing. It packs people together in close proximity, forcing conversations of consequence and collisions of will that forever alter lives. The key characters in these stories are intricately rendered in a nearly visual manner. Their voices are authentic and vivid, and often oddly elegant despite their lack of formal education. When experienced within the context of their respective scenes, these characters come alive, each with their own unique idiosyncrasies. But when considered from a distance—looking at the montage as a whole—they become members of a Greek chorus with a Pacific Northwest vibe; one hailing from a place that has an equal number of church pews and barstools, where the truth of things eventually becomes as clear as the pellucid, snow-fed river water that has been scouring out the North Santiam Canyon since the beginning of time.