While Wading a River, Step With Ease

Growing up on a river, you learn a lot of things. But to grow up on a beautiful, living, river you learn even more.

When you are a child, the river seems gigantic, like a challenge you must overcome. You learn that, while crossing a river, step with ease. You never know whose habitat you’re invading or whether your next step might send you thrashing around in water up to your neck.

You learn that little turtles are best just left alone. And they’ll tell you this by latching on to your finger and not letting go. (Caution, this may leave you with tiny turtle bite marks on the middle finger of your right hand, not that I would know for sure.)

As a child, you also learn that other people want to use “your” river too. They’re the ones swimming, fishing or canoeing next to you. This comes as a shock. You never thought anyone else realized just how much fun a private, personal river could be, but now you are jealous. You wonder why they can’t go find their own river, somewhere else. But gradually you learn that sharing can be a good thing. That possibly, if you scoot downstream just a bit, everyone will be able to fish at the same time. But you make sure to let everybody else know that “. . . this is my river. And I get first dibs of the best fishing holes. Nobody messes with my trout.”

Of course, even as a child, you learn that trout and fishing are things of beauty; not anything to be taken lightly. You learn never to kill a trout that’s undersize. And if you do kill, let it only be one. And let it only be for food. (But, since mom’s got a whole cabinet full of perfectly good cheese puffs and ding-dongs inside, you’re able to throw that trout back and not have to worry about where your next meal will come from.) Problem solved, lesson learned.

You learn that the river is also your greatest source of fun: things such as swimming and fishing, canoeing and Marco Polo pass the summer away quickly. And, even though it drives you nuts to miss an episode of Thunder Cats or Saved by the Bell, you realize that TV isn’t interactive. You can’t actually feel the water splashing your legs when you’re sitting on the couch. And so you continue your day in the sun, dreading the nearing time when mom whistles her blood curdling, ear pounding whistle that seems to say, “get out of the river now, or die.” So you get out, knowing that tomorrow there will be more fun to be had.

As the years pass, friends and activities change. Schools change too as you enter middle school. These times are filled with great wonderment and new things. You learn that not everyone enjoys the river the way you do. Sometimes, your friends won’t jump at the chance to go swimming with you. And this hurts. But then, you learn that a river can be fun even without your friends. It is possible to swim by yourself. And it’s even easier to fish by yourself; you don’t have anyone nagging you.

You learn that sometimes, there will be people that want to hurt the river, maybe by taking too many of its fish or polluting its water. This is very hard to comprehend. You don’t understand why anyone would want to do such a thing. Don’t they realize what the river has to offer? What did the river ever do to them? Very simply, the answer is nothing. But such is life. Many times there will be no reason for another person’s actions. So you move on, slightly confused about other people’s actions, but enjoying yourself just the same.

As you learn about other rivers, you also learn more about your own. There are bigger rivers that stretch for miles and have motor boats on them that carry cars. And you’re impressed with this. You think, “Gosh, it would be kind of cool to jet ski. My friends would have fun doing that. And to live on a river that everybody knows about . . . wow. There might be lots of new people there that I could become friends with. But then you realize how foolish it is to have these thoughts. Who could wish for a better river than yours? Yours is perfect. And if it were deep enough to jet ski in, mom probably won’t let you swim in it. That would be no fun. And if there were hordes of people there, that would mean less space, and less fish, and less peacefulness. Yikes, what ever caused you to even think about another river, anyway? You know your river is the best one that has ever been. No need to alter greatness.

A couple of more years pass and you enter high school. This is a world filled with even more unanswered questions and decisions about colleges, majors and minors. And, by this time, you can’t trust any of your friends to truly keep your secrets. You know very well that they would tell their friends and pretty soon, your whole life would be circulating like wildfire around the school. So, you once again turn to the thing that has always been constant in your life; the one thing that has never let you down.

The river listens intently, just as it always has. You can be guaranteed that it will not share its secrets. You have a bond with the river. And you know it won’t ever betray you. A little more time passes and things are going good. You have finally found something to confide in and you’re completely at ease with its knowing all. No need to listen for rumors around you. Your grades could be better, but you’ll work extra hard next marking period to bring that G.P.A. back up. And then the heartbreak comes. The one thing that has been your constant, your support, threatens you. Why this heartbreak? Why this betrayal? Very simply, the answer is: this is nature.

The water has been coming down for days and the river has risen up over your dock. The rain was expected to subside, but it hasn’t and you can tell that everybody is beginning to worry. And you’re scared. You expected to always be able to trust the river. You never thought it would hurt you. The water continues to rise and by morning, you are told to pack a few of your most precious things. So you do, tears of anger streaming down your face, and wondering how something you trusted so much could go against you. Running downstairs, precious things in tow, you notice the army of trucks filled with sand and people streaming into your drive. This is strange and mom tells you, “They’re here to sandbag for us. If the dam breaks, they’re hoping that the bags will hold the water low enough to save the house.”

That night, you stay up on your porch. You wrap yourself in nothing more than an old raggedy Michigan State blanket and pray for the best. Hopefully, with a little prayer and a lot of luck, the fates will decide that your house and your family and your entire life, all that you’ve ever known, will be worth saving.

So night passes and morning comes. You wake up, still on the porch, toes frozen. But a quick look at the river tells you that your night of vigil has been worthwhile. For the water has subsided. You can finally see the wood planks of your dock. And that dock has never before looked so beautiful.

And the river has taught you another lesson. No matter how much you want to, you can never trust something completely. Sometimes, things will turn against you no matter how much love and respect you show for them. It’s a simple fact of life.

But you forgive. You can do nothing else. To not forgive would be yanking a major factor of your happiness from your own life. And that is an impossible action. So, you can continue with the hope that the worst times have passed and that you can resume your life of love and happiness with the river.

As to what happens beyond the teenage years, I am still unsure. I have yet to live these times. I expect that they are once again, filled with wonder and amazement and even a little heartbreak. But you will learn to accept the inevitable. The river has taught you that really there are no certainties in life and that to continue on living is all that we can hope to do. Adjusting our lives with the ripples. RWOL

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