running the river

Along the south boundary of our old farm we are met with the muddy banks of the Lamoille River. Situated in the north of the Mt Mansfield region, all towns, burgs and villages along this winding waterway are collectively known as the Lamoille Valley. It's a rugged, beautiful, historic place. The river eddies right at my pasture's edge as it makes a switchback at the base of the old rail road trestle bridge. In this place, it is very deep with a strong twirl for anyone who gets caught in it. Through the years, we have paddled this river in canoes, kayaks, and lap-strake guide boats. It's a very slow river in most places with more switch backs per mile than any other river in VT. It's perfect for beginners if not terribly dull for anyone seeking challenge of white water and hydraulics, until it rains. This summer, we have had endless rain, sometimes pounding rain. As our river is located at the base of the big mountain, 4300' of granite, all that rain must come down hill to the Lamoille via the Brewster river. In a matter of hours, the placid riverbed becomes a furious torrent and the "river beaters" venture out in their high tech kayaks. They mean to pound that river into submission. They can have it. As I've lived in this old house for twenty years now, I've come to an agreement with nature; I no longer wish to dominate it. It's not my quest to force its submission to my will. Not that it ever worked out that way, but most of my youth and good health was wasted in that futile pursuit. I am a devoted observer now; and there is more than enough to observe. My favorite subjects on the river are the flatlanders. (a generalization for anyone not born of these green mountains; it should include the suburbanites of chittenden county as well but that's another story). We have three river boating tour groups in town. They do a thriving business for tourists who wish to tame the river. Canoes and kayaks litter the banks, the landings and the river-way on any clear day. I enjoy watching them go by. Many are focused on the perfect stroke, committed to the precise execution of the craft. It's entertaining to hear the people bark out orders, panic at a shoreline critter, elate over a busy beaver. I ponder at their motivation to be there, on the river. I've taken a habit of piloting the river in an inner tube. I like hanging my butt and feet in the swirling waters. I like that the river picks the route of least resistance. I like the very mellow pace letting me see everything there is to see. It is a chance to step away from time and expectations that demand compliance. Huck Finn would delight in this passionate waste of time. I sometimes imagine offering it as a trek for tourists, but I don't want to spoil my idle outings. A selfish indulgence. When I'm drifting down the river, saturated in its ethology; it strikes me how much it reflects what life would like to be, if only we allowed it. When it comes to the river, some people want to tame it, harness it, defeat it. The slayers (they are in the kayaks). Some people want to organize it, master its purposeful current, unity with paddles, negotiated compliance with its forces. (they are in the canoes) Then there are those who are the spectators from the banks, intimidated by its size, breadth, unpredictability. They are the ones with cameras, standing at a respectful distance, more comfortable watching than doing. Then on a very perfect day; you might spot me. Big hat for shade, little tube with my cooler of water and fruit in tow, blue jeans, feet in the water, just drifting where ever the river wants to take me. Effortless, carefree, worrying for nothing, feeling everything. When I can meet life on these terms, its a perfect day. It's not complicated, once you know how. . .this one's for you Huck.

luv and peace ~ el