The River

The river was a magical place.  To passersby, it may have looked muddy, weedy, uninviting.  But to young teenage souls it was adventure and independence.

On foot or by pedal, all summer long we'd turn off the road at Mr. Alderson's farm and follow the dirt road past barns and through fields until we reached the sand and gravel bar.  Tall river grasses waved along the dirt road, and slippery mud caked the embankment down to the water's edge.  A thin strip of silty sand was our beach, but it was as grand as Malibu as we basked in the sunshine and responsibility of being our own lifeguards and chaperones.

Although we all knew how to swim, our parents had warned us sternly about the dangers of currents, undertows and snags.  Swimming in the river was dangerous, and we had better exercise the utmost care and caution or it could be our lives!  Oh, the thrill!

So of course we soon found a way to swim not just near the shore, but across the river.  We trekked upstream a quarter mile or so, began our crossing, and carried gently by the current, landed safely on the rocky shore opposite our lovely beach.  If we didn't start out high enough, or swim fast enough, the river would sweep us past the comfortable exiting spot and we'd be forced to beach amidst blackberry brambles further downstream.

Besides the glory and pride of merely crossing the river, a rope swing dangled tantalizingly from a tree overhanging the opposite shore.  Those strong and brave enough to cross were rewarded with the thrill of a whoosh, splash and the jealous admiration of those left standing on the other side.

Besides the thrill of adventure, the river was also a bulletin board for teenage hearts too shy to say what they desperately wanted to tell.  "I like Jamie."  "MJ+TS"  I'll never forget the tingle of seeing my name in a heart in the sand.  Or how it felt to see the initials I adored linked with another's.

I wandered back to that childhood playground years later.  It was a chilly day, and the ground was muddy and damp, the river grumpy and brown.  Reeds obscured the footpath, and there was no rope swing.  There were no hearts or initials in the sand.  It was just a river bar.

The magic that had been there wasn't actually tied to the land or the river itself -- it was the laughter and horseplay we had brought with us.  It was the smiles and the love, the never-gonna-end friendships, the belief that we would be young and happy forever that gave the river its charm.  

I suppose it could have been a forest.  For some, maybe it was a park.  A fort.  A hiding place.  A ball field where anything could happen and dreams came true.  For one summer, mine was an enchanted river.