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RIVER (Specifically, the Youghiegheny River)
By CarolynCHolland(9,556)
I maneuvered through the fast flowing river, sandle-clad feet gingerly stepping from rock to rock , feet barely maintaining their hold on the silt- covering blanketing the stones. I concentrated on not falling as I sought the perfect rock I’d found on past explorations.
It’s flat surface, perfect as a seat, would jut slightly above the river surface, providing a dry surface for sitting as I delved into a quiet, calming, spiritual break in my hectic lifestyle. Its gentle slope on the downstream side acted as a footstool to rest my weary legs, allowed the rapid river flow to wash over them. Its other sides juttied into the flowing waters at a ninety degree angle providing freedom to do water resistant exercises, a desirable replacement to walking in the intolerable summer heat.
I first discovered the Youghiogheny River the August Monte and I moved to Connellsville. Sweltering 95 plus degree heat and an inhumane humidity level had wilted me to total limpness and uselessness since July 4 that 1995 summer.
The river was the first positive surprise Connellsville shared for me. It asked nothing of me. What I asked of it was to cool me down. On that day of discovery it took two hours of submersion into the continually cool water before my overheated body became relieved. My emotional and physical exhaustion precluded any alertness in observing the river that day.
“My” rock existed. But this wasn’t the same river I discovered and explored two years before. The water level was different, not quite as low. River bottom sand and rocks had been shifted about by constant water currents, dismantling any plan to form a regular path to “my” rock.
Although other rocks would be shifted by the river flow, “mine” was too large, too embedded in the river bottom to have the river accomplish anything shape a gradual erosion on it.
While inching my way along I slipped on a couple of small pebbles. Catching myself with a hand barely able to grasp a larger adjacent slimy stone. I cautiously stepped over a rusty can some negligent person left behind.
This sign of irresponsible waterway usage irritated me. Why can humankind not leave nature rubbish free? Why must we leave obnoxious evidence of our presence everywhere we go?
Glancing up, I watched a young boy excitedly pull a fish out of the river. I paused to watch his father cheer him on. To hold onto that level of joy, pride and excitement their faces expressed!
Across the river, three ducks floated along, unaware of human presence.
Still paused, I studied the river, not wanting, not daring, to venture out too far. There were undetectable drop-offs into deep, fast-flowing waters. I had no desire to be caught unexpectedly beyond my limits.
The rock over there in the shade would do. Not perfect. Not “my” rock. But adequate. I settled down, careful not to get too wet too soon, relishing the coolness flowing over my legs. I bent over to splash water on my arms and face.
Little fish appeared in the quiet water pools created by the rock formations. I watched them swim about. What were they? I’m no expert---I had no idea. Really, I didn’t even care. They provided a simple enjoyment for me.
Just downstream at the boat dock a truck drove up. It carried four canoes.
A vanload of intergenerational people followed the truck. Men unloaded canoes, fixed seats, set oars. White-water rafters gathered about an instructor, then climbed into the canoes. One by one, boats entered the water, heading downstream.
A canoe overturned three quarters of the way across the river. Three people flailed about. I gave silent thanks they all wore life preservers!
The instructors dove into the water. One swam to the overturned canoe floating lazily down the river, uncaring of its isolation. He reached the canoe, grabbed it and uprighted it, took control of the inanimate object.
The other instructor powerfully swam towards the flailing passengers. Reaching them, he lent a calming aura that instilled their confidence, enabling them to start their journey anew.
Meanwhile a canoe backtracked to the scene. A boater used his oar to rescue a blue thermos jug floating downstream and returned it to the restored boaters. All continued their journey, moving beyond my visible horizon.
I turned my attention to the fish. Gently, I moved my legs against the powerful flow of the water, relaxing in the water resistance that greeted my leg muscles. The fish scattered.
Slowly, I sank deeper into the water, so cooling and refreshing in the summer heat. I leaned my head back, soothing sore back muscles.
A whistle announced a coming train. I turned my attention to the bright colors passing by the bridge pilons. The power of trains never ceases to enthuse me. The placid dull colors of many of the cars, filled with coal or trash, blended into the green leafed trees.
Pulling myself back up onto the rock, elbows resting on my knees, I gave in to my need for emotional release, allowing some of my tension to ride on with the train.
A white feather drifted by. White foam captured about outcrops of rocks and created by fast flowing water pushed captured my attention. Twigs and leaves bounced to the rhythm of the river surface.
I glanced downstream. When had the sky turned so vividly orange, red and pink? Hues reflecting off the river surface provided an awesome backdrop for the old railroad bridge. I relaxed into the scene.
Reluctantly, I sank into the water one last time, allowing its coolness to flow over my now relaxed nerve endings. I pulled myself up, slowly made my way shoreward. Dusk began obliterating my view of the treacherous rocks. I had to get to shore before it became too dangerous. The trek out was quicker than my journey in.
On shore, I turned back in admiration of the power of the river that flowed quickly toward a destination with intent, purpose and sureness. Along its way it offered relief and hope to the world’s poor in spirit.
It has been said one never stands in the same river twice.
Isn’t it strange. We think we do. And so I will seek out “my rock” in the Youghiogheny River at a future time. Because as long as I live in Connellsville its flow, its fish and ducks, its rafters, its sunsets, its setting with trains and train trestles, will always be different, and will always provide me a hope and release. Thank you for visiting www.ProBlogs.CarolynCHolland. I invite you to return to read new posts in the future---Ocean and Pond.
To read other thoughtful writings about place click on the titles below:
HOMETOWN Part 1 of 4 Parts & HOMETOWN Part 2 of 5 Parts & HOMETOWN Part 3 of 5 Parts & HOMETOWN Part 4 of 5 Parts & HOMETOWN Part 5 of 5 Parts
And Laurel Ridge Ordinary 1795 Part I Laurel Ridge Ordinary 1795 Part II & Laurel Ridge Ordinary 1795 Part III
Laurel Ridge Ordinary 1795 Part IV
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Posted to ProBlogs.com on Monday, January 01, 2007
View other posts by CarolynCHolland
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