“You can’t argue with a river – it is going to flow. You can dam it up, put it to useful purposes, you can deflect it, but you can’t argue with it.“
– Dean Acheson
“I couldn’t stand living where you do,” he said.”You are so close to the river. You know, you can never turn off the sound of the water plunging over the falls. It never stops.”
I purchased my condo a year ago, and contrary to my friend’s opinion, I rather like the sound of the water as it rushes on. He was right, though; like a close friend, it’s always there, whispering, giggling, and sharing secrets in the background of every activity in my tiny home. I usually find its constant presence comforting, but on those rare occasions when the white noise seems overwhelming and perhaps a tad annoying, I simply close the window or turn up the radio. Like any bosom buddy, the river never seems to mind.
It may be silly… at my age, I’m entitled to a wee bit of frivolity…but sometimes, as I watch the river from my living room, I imagine that I’m on a cruise ship that is taking me on a grand adventure, and the river never disappoints. I watch the changing seasons from my deck and delight as families of geese and ducks swim past, occasionally stopping to fish and forage among the cattails that line the nearby banks. Herons, turtles, and kingfishers also make an appearance now and then; even tubers and kayakers find their way down the river.
Oh River...My River A dessert as sweet, silky and smooth as butterscotch pudding. A necklace studded with the feathered jewels of geese, goslings, and mallards linked with clasps of giant turtles. Bring me your unbridled delight and self-assured contentment. I will pour them into cut-glass goblets and serve with fresh fruit and honey.
July 2023 arrived accompanied by rain. I watched the raindrops—first one and then another—create patterns of ever-widening circles disturbing the smooth surface. Soon, the solitary droplets were joined by a chorus of staccato drumbeats, leaving pockmarks in their wake. There is something soothing about a gentle rain on a summer day.
Oh, River…My River A stippled dance floor patterned by hoofers who tap in circular heel-toe-rhythm. A gauzy summer dress of pastel Dotted Swiss. Bring me your unquestioning acceptance and continual adaptability to unexpected alterations, unscheduled revisions and unplanned transitions. I will place them gently in a Tiffany box displayed with other treasures.
The rain, however, continued off and on for days. Random periods of blue skies and sunshine belied the approaching danger.
“Be careful coming home,” my daughter warned as my granddaughter and I returned from a weekend trip to Canada. “There are flash flood warnings for this area. Stick to the main roads and don’t take chances.”
We drove cautiously through Upstate New York past swollen rivers, but as we drew near Montpelier, we realized this wasn’t going to be an a-few-roads-washed-out event. Entering town from Exit 8 on the Interstate, we were instantly aware that roads were already impassible. Stores were closed, or closing, and Main Street was being locked down. It was too late to build an ark. The flood was upon us.
Oh, River…My River A locomotive churning, rushing, and unstoppable carrying flotsam, jetsam, hopes and dreams. A water moccasin moving indiscriminately through the valley leaving poison and destruction in its wake. Bring me your indefatigable persistence, your resolute power and singleminded confidence. I will store them in a jar of Delft blue and proffer them sparingly with a wee silver spoon.
Like everyone else downriver from the dam, I watched and waited. Wrightsville Dam, just a few miles north, was within a foot of reaching capacity. Would it contain the water or overtop the barrier created after the Flood of 1927? This was an unprecedented event, and no one knew exactly what would happen in Montpelier if water was released. We watched and waited until the rain slowly subsided and the water level began to drop. Hopefully, this phase was ending.
Oh, River...My River An aging rock star at the end of the final set, exhausted and played out. A barn cat dropping dead mice on my doorstep…a gift, a demand for attention, or just too tired to carry it farther. Bring me your astonishing resilience and incredible adaptability I will keep them in a shaker next to the salt and pepper sprinkling liberally.
When the immediate danger had passed, neighbors, friends, and strangers ventured out to assess the situation and to see firsthand what the river had left in her wake. We stood together on the pedestrian bridge, looking on in astonishment and awe at the power of small drops of water that had decided to work together.
Oh River…My River A contrite and apologetic school boy emerging from detention, yearning to make amends and return to class. A Sunday morning realization that the detritus of Saturday night necessitates hours of clearing away, mopping up, hauling out. Picks up a broom and begins. Bring me your inexhaustible energy, silent resolve, and desire for restitution and restoration. I will burn them as a scented candle of perfume and light.
“I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.”
John O’Donohue
The Winooski River was born nearly ten thousand years ago. It has literally been here for millennia, yet new waters flow within its banks every day. As the Greek philosopher Heraclitus observed in 500 BCE, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river, and he’s not the same man.” The river is a paradox, constant and dependable, yet always evolving and reinventing itself…never quite certain of its identity. The same waters that wreak havoc and destruction also bring life and joy.
Oh, River…My River A complicated, prepubescent friend in search of themselves. A super hero assuming the shape of the vessel or breaking free from the banks and confines of her existence and creating her own path. Bring me your enthusiasm and openness to change…to try-on another’s cloak and experience life from new and unexpected perspectives, I will wear them on a gold chain around my neck.
Much to my delight this afternoon, a lone Merganser was dipping and diving in the river just beyond my deck.
In this piece, I chose to write about the Winooski River but omitted any discussion of the destruction caused by the flood. My poor little state has been devastated. Montpelier is my home, and it is what I know best, but many, many towns were punished by this Flood of ’23.
I’ve been asked if I was affected by the flood. I’m beside the river but high enough above it to have avoided the flood waters. I don’t have a basement, so I’ve nothing to pump out, but here’s how I was affected: Post Office…closed. My bank…closed. My church and nearly all the other churches in town…closed. The bookstore…closed. Hardware store…closed. Both movie theaters and live theater…all closed. Restaurants…closed. Jewelry store…closed. My gas station…closed. Bars, liquor store, and cannabis shop all closed. Candy store…closed. Every store selling clothing…closed. The library…closed. Roads closed, and even City Hall and the police department had to relocate.
Whether or not there was water in your house, if you live in Montpelier, this flood affected and continues to affect you. Walking past growing mountains of debris, the remnants of the homes and lives of friends, neighbors, and strangers, is gut-wrenchingly painful. Conversely, the outpouring of love, kindness, and goodwill is palpable. Strangers working side-by-side to do whatever they can to alleviate the pain and suffering of others is heartwarming, humbling, and encouraging. We are Vermont strong.
Photo: Ryan Holmes via Orbit of Love
You probably can’t muck out a basement, haul out soggy books, or wipe down walls, but you can help if you wish. One place to donate is through Montpelier Alive.
One Wild and Precious Life 