Posted by
emjayne on Tuesday, April 01, 2008 8:28:48 PM
My first memory of the river was the summer before my fifth birthday. The picture that remains is of my mother and father paddling our canoe in the rain up to the shore behind our house, returning from a camping trip upriver. Our dog sat in the middle of the canoe, mostly covered with a tarp, just her head peeking up over the edge of the canoe. I remember racing down to welcome them back.
We moved shortly after that so the river didn't play a part in my life for a few years, but then I learned to swim. All the kids I knew went down to the river to swim off the bridge over the main road through town, so, as soon as I was allowed, I joined them.
Then my father bought another canoe and mounted it on a small two-wheel trailer that he could hitch to the back of the car when he and a friend wanted to go fishing. It sat in the back yard the rest of the time except when we took it to the river for a family trip, sometimes to visit friends a few miles upriver.
One time when I was home alone I decided to take the canoe to the river by myself. I put a book and a lunch and a towel in the canoe and towed it the half mile down to the river. (I have often thought, as I got older, how it must have looked to any neighbors along the way...a little five-foot girl dragging a canoe down the street). I slid it into the water and paddled my way upriver. I don't remember how far I went but I was gone most of the morning. When I got back to the dock I managed to get the canoe out of the water and back onto the trailer. It was harder getting it on than getting it off!
Then I started home and realized that the reason it had been so easy getting to the river was that it was either level or downhill...which meant it was uphill going back! I made it, but the next time I thought of taking another solo trip, I remembered how hard it was getting home!
The time we (the kids, that is) waited for was winter when the river froze. The small ponds froze first, of course, and we skated on all of them, but there was constant testing of the river to see if the ice was strong enough to skate on. The sides froze first, and then the ice would gradually cover the current and eventually the whole river would be frozen solid. Near the bridge was a wide section and if there was snow we would scrape it to make a rink-sized area where everyone would gather. When there was no snow we would skate upriver and back.
(I keep saying "upriver" because on the other side of the bridge was a dam with falls and fast-moving water. We never went that way!)
The best time was at night. The boys would start a fire, burning wood and tires and the heat from the fire could be felt for quite a space around it. We usually stuck close but when we went off into the darkness it was quiet except for the occasional cracking of the ice. The smell of the fire carried out onto the river and when you turned around you could see where the crowd was, some skating, others sitting on logs near the fire. Sometimes a couple would skate off together for a while into the darkness and the layers of thick warm clothing kept romance simple and pure.
No one ever wanted to leave, but most of us had curfews so we reluctantly took off skates, put on cold boots, and headed off for home.