Issue Nine : Winter 2018

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Hand-tinted postcard showing Iowa-Illinois Memorial Bridge over the Mississippi between Bettendorf, Iowa and Moline, Illinois circa 1930-45.

In Quad Cities, Reconnection to the Riverfront Is Well Into Its Fourth Decade

In January 2018, residents of the Quad Cities (Moline and Rock Island, Illinois; Davenport and Bettendorf, Iowa) attended an open house exploring possibilities for “new” riverfront land left vacant by the realignment of the I-74 bridge over the Mississippi. Bridge replacements happen all the time, of course, but this meeting signaled two things: first, the continued significance of this particular stretch of the Mississippi as a transportation crossroads, and second, the ongoing vitality of the regional riverfront redevelopment programs, begun out of industrial economic crises over three decades ago.

First snow at Triple Divide Peak. Image courtesy of Daniel Lombardi.

Where the Water Flows: Understanding Glacier’s Triple Divide Peak

Imagine pouring out a glass of water. Where does the water go?

After soaking your computer or floor, it would eventually flow to join a greater body of water and become part of a larger drainage system. Where I grew up, outside of Milwaukee, my water would join with Lake Michigan. In the Twin Cities, where I went to university, it would flow into the Mississippi River. From Jackson, Wyoming, where I’m writing now, it would combine with the Snake River and flow into the Pacific Ocean. But Glacier National Park, where I worked in the summer of 2017, has a unique little point called Triple Divide Peak.

Field work in the Minnesota basin differed from that of the St. Croix. The rivers were murkier and often lined by agricultural land. Image courtesy of Mark Hove.

Mosquitoes, Muck, and Mussels: A Look Into Scientific Research

The aspiring young undergraduate scientists envision fieldwork as a romantic escape from the office cubicle, classroom desk, and seemingly endless pile of homework. Working alongside experts in their field, they anticipate working in the wildest regions of the world: dense tropical forests, remote mountain ranges, and distant glacial rivers. They see themselves on the forefront of groundbreaking discoveries: truly shattering the scientific community with a cure for Malaria, discovery of a new species, or theory of planetary evolution.

A 'Water Bar' in North Carolina. Patrons are at the bar having a discussion with the Bartenders, and four jugs of water are visible on the table.

Introduction to Issue Nine

Welcome to Issue 9 of Open Rivers, which begins our third year of publication!  Our tagline, “Rethinking Water, Place & Community,” speaks to our sense that there is a conversation taking place in diverse professional sectors and academic disciplines about the relationships between our human communities and our water communities, and that there is an audience for this conversation, both on campus and in the broader water-oriented professional community.

Historic Fort Snelling from Round Tower. Image courtesy of the author.

The Story Behind a Nassau Bottle Excavated at Historic Fort Snelling

For millennia, Native American people traveled and traded on the Mississippi River. When colonial powers moved into North America, they quickly saw the importance of controlling transportation and the movement of goods on the river. In 1820, The United States government established Fort Snelling at the confluence of the Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers to protect American fur trade interests in the region and to gain a foothold in the western territory that would become Minnesota.

Morning swim at Shreve's Bar. From the Atchafalaya Rivergator Expedition of 2015. Image courtesy of David Hanson.

Free-Flowing Waters: A Vision for a Lower Mississippi River Wilderness

Wilderness is a feeling. It is more than that, of course—wilderness is the wind and the water, the turtles and coyotes, all that exists beyond and around and within our human selves. But when we speak of wilderness, we’re so often speaking about a feeling: that feeling of smallness, strangely comforting, or of connection, or of wonder at how much there is in the world.

A Water Bar pop-up for Land-O-Lakes employees at their headquarters.

Water Bar: Water is All We Have

When I’m asked to speak about the work I do as an artist, a cultural organizer, and Collaborative Director of Water Bar & Public Studio, I often struggle with two important points of departure: How do I introduce myself when I have so many different roles in my artistic and organizing life? And where do I begin telling the story of this complex, evolving project—which I did not imagine or develop on my own, and which is more of ecosystem that I tend with others than it is a definable creative project?