my stretch of the river
I was born and raised in Michigan, in the small town of Ann Arbor. A remarkably ordinary suburban utopia, idyllically shrouded by a beautiful landscape. At the core of this landscape, a precious little river that raised me in its own right. Like an artery delivering blood to every nook and cranny of the body, the Huron river emits an enchantment so overwhelming it seems the whole city and my whole life has been built around this body of water. In the years that have passed, I have met far better water bodies. Rivers and lakes and oceans far cleaner, far prettier, and far far away from a city that has brought me as much pain as happiness. Yet the Huron river maintains a strong hold on me with a power that makes me feel as though I am complete by simply being at its shores. A power that can be felt most strongly on the two and a half mile stretch from Argo to Gallup park.
There are a number of ways to utilize this stretch of water, but perhaps none greater than grabbing a kayak from the local canoe livery. The rental kayaks show the wear of a decade of busy seasons, yet they persevere, taking this year’s excited crowds down the river with the utmost devotion. The minute I push off the Argo docks the small waves and gentle wind lull me into a calm, the afternoon sun beats down and I know nothing but the water, the rocks and the blue of my plastic vessel. No matter the weather or time of day, there are always others on the river. Families trying to corral their young children, middle aged men hoping to reel in a fish or two, out of towners for whom the river is a novelty, and locals, for whom the river is still a novelty. There are a fews smiles and “beautiful day out” exchanged, but there is an understanding that this is a private ordeal.
I break away from the groups and tourists, paddling through each of the nine cascades, allowing the river to dictate my movements. Each cascade brings a unique personality. One is shallower and requires the kayaker to go through it straight on. Another is at an angle, and requires quite a bit of maneuvering to catch its current. Yet another comes so soon you hardly notice you’ve already passed through it. The foolish pretend to command the boat, forcing it here and there, only to find themselves upside down with their carefully water-proofed belongings floating down the river already out of sight. In my periphery I hear a flurry of sounds and imagine what the scene looks like. People in inflatable tubes idly watch as the commotion unfolds and some may even try to help in whatever way they can. I however, couldn’t be bothered by every poor soul that flips their kayak. That too is a lesson one must face on their own.
As I come out of the cascades I am one with the water, and by that of course I mean I am drenched from the bottom down. Suddenly the planets align, the colors get brighter and my senses sharpen. Still riding the momentum from the last drop, I float into the artery and take in every inch of the landscape around. I don’t pretend to know the river like the back of my hand, instead, I enjoy watching it unfold in front of me anew year after year. The low pedestrian bridges are tattooed with ever changing graffiti and there are enough trees to obscure the university buildings but not quite enough to let me forget where I am. The occasional tuber floats past, waving drunkenly, but for the most part my only company is a few ducks swimming in line. By the passing of the second bridge I pick up my paddle and begin to move with purpose, settling into a comfortable rhythm. I feel my arms pulling the water below me that is now ceding to my wishes, accepting me as its own.
The river is always the same. She has seen my youth, my confusion, my effort, and my failure. With every passing year I feel myself changing, but I return to the river and I have somehow always been this person, as if she has known all along and was just waiting for me to figure it out. As I drag the water I am 15 again sitting in a steel hull with eight other girls, trying to prove my worth on this team. We row in perfect harmony sliding up and down the catch with a synchronized “whoosh.” Cutting through the water as we strove to perfect our technique. Here, no stroke is random, no decision spontaneous. Every moment of 15 filled with as much purpose as a single stroke. There is no bigger picture, just us, our sweat, the boat and this moment. Suddenly the oar disappears, leaving me with a mere plastic paddle and I continue down the current leaving the burden of perfection in my past.
The shore on my right changes, receding into an opening used by people on the trails. A young couple on two sides of a picnic basket sit by the water watching the colorful kayaks float past. Soft music comes from a nearby hammock, swaying slightly in the breeze. There are more people along the shore. Those that can surrender to the summer sunshine, sit and enjoy the sound of the water. Those that can’t bear to do nothing, run along the trails or cast fishing lines. I see myself in every person I pass, and see them in me, see the spirit of Ann Arbor that ties us all together. The river’s undeniable magnetism brings them all here. As if in a trance they watch the water running past, hardly speaking, allowing themselves to be taken in by her magic.
I pull off on the left of the fork, where the water is so shallow you have to step out and drag the boat along beside you. My friends and I are 11, going on this trip for the first time without our parents. We are already tired because we had to bike to the starting point but the current gives us energy and we must simply put off the exhaustion for later. The stones on the riverbed hurt our feet and it's hard to maneuver the boats but on the left there is unexplored terrain, so we oblige. The water comes up just past our ankles so we drag our boats off to the side and lie down in the water, watching the clouds drift slowly from between the branches. A man in green sits at the gazebo next to us and paints on a canvas, the river. I paddle past the gazebo reminiscing about a simpler time. It has been years since I took a left at the fork but I know those kids are still over there, watching the clouds for me.
The scenery is changing more rapidly now. The waters get deeper, the shade comes and goes as the river bends around the city, the current is slow but steady, and I am in a trance. This water holds every version of me. The ones that I have left behind and the ones I couldn’t even imagine yet. In many ways this river is more of a home to me than the four walls of my parents’ house. I seek it out for solace and for answers. I come to her for fun, bring my friends and invite them into this world hoping she’ll reveal her wonders to them. Many are unable to understand, unwilling to surrender to her wisdom. But maybe I like it that way. As if she and I share a magical secret of our own.
The river is always the same. In the past 20 years as much as I have changed, as much as the world has changed, the river has always been able to give me exactly what I need. Whether it be clarity, reassurance, temporary weightlessness, or sanctity, she has provided it. There are two bridges left on this trip, or maybe there are three. Busy in the deep reaches of my own thoughts I hardly notice passing under any of them. The kayakers who embarked from the opposite direction are visible now. The families and the tourists and the first timers now litter the river, which has opened up considerably. I take one last look around, breathe in the air of enchantment, bid farewell to the ducks, and pull my trusty blue plastic steed into the Gallup park docks.
All of 20 now, I dream of skyscrapers in big cities, of strangers in foreign hostels speaking unrecognizable tongues. I dream of exotic foods and radical ideologies and failure. Failure because of my inability to stop, to accept that things are the way they are. I dream that the girl born of the little river in her unimpressive town, does everything that she is told is too unrealistic to do. What would they know about realistic? She has known the magic of the river, that is her reality now.
