Going to Water

 

How Low It Is!

                                                                       

Lack of rain has the river as low as I've ever seen it. The sandy bottom is actually exposed on the downstream side of some of the big rocks.

No fall color yet either--the mountainsides are dusty and tarnished looking.

Still, this isn't unusual for this time of year--last year on October 11, I was writing about how low the river was and telling the tale of how John Goingsnake escaped the Trail of Tears. HERE.

John Goingsnake Crosses the River

 

The river is much lower than usual, and I stopped to take a picture of these rocks. We were told of a great drought long ago during which a man could cross the river here dry foot. 

 

And this place was in my mind when I wrote a scene in The Day of Small Things--the story Birdie's grandmother tells her of John Goingsnake escaping the troops that were marching the Cherokee people to Oklahoma--The Trail of Tears.

 

“Did John Goingsnake cry?” I ask though I know the answer. I am about to cry to think of the poor Injuns.

“No, he did not, though he had loved his Nancy better than ary thing. He sat there with one hand on Nancy’s cooling face, holding his sleeping baby and looking out across the river that was shining silver in the moonlight. It was the fall of the year -- a dreadful dry season. He could see the rocks of the river just a-sticking up, looking most like stepping stones all the way across the water. And that gave him an idea.

“’Nancy,’ says he, speaking low to her spirit which he knows is still about, ‘I mean to stay here in the mountains with you but to do that I’ll have to leave you to be buried by these others. If I get away, I vow I’ll come back when it’s safe and sing over your grave.’

“And with that, he picked up the babe and strapped her to his back. She stirred and whimpered but didn’t wake, just drooped her head down heavy on John Goingsnake’s shoulder. All round, folks was sleeping hard, wore out with the walking they’d done.  Even the soldiers who was meant to be keeping guard was setting down, dozing by their campfires.  Then, quiet as a hunting cat, John Goingsnake creeps to the water’s edge and steps out onto a rock. The moon is making a path for him across the water and he hears a singing in his head as he steps to the second rock and then the third.”

“Well now, John Goingsnake, he stood there in the middle of that broad river, wondering what to do. He could see rocks like stepping stones to the other side but betwixt him and the next rock there was a stretch of deep rushing water. He studied the distance and knew it was too far to make a leap for. ‘No telling,’’ thinks he, how deep the water is here in the middle where it runs all the year. Strong as it’s raging through this narrow channel, I fear was I to try to cross, the child and me would likely be swept away. Though,’ says John Goingsnake to hisself, ‘if me and the babe was took by the river, why then we’d be with Nancy. Could be that’s the best thing for us.’

“On his back, the baby stirred and made a little sound like she was a-feared, a little whining sound, and John Goingsnake stood there thinking on the meaning of that sound. A cloud passed over the moon and a hoot owl called and he studied on the meaning of them things too.”

Granny looked over at me, real solemn. “That’s how Injuns do; they look fer meaning in everything they see or smell, everwhat they touch or taste or hear. And being as John Goingsnake was a Cherokee wise man, he was uncommon good at knowing what the world around him was saying. But just then, standing there in the middle of the river on that long ago night, John Goingsnake was plumb bumfuzzled.

“And then the moon come out and he looked down at that stretch of water at his feet and he was dumbstruck –for right there in front of him, where a minute before hadn’t been nothing but fast-moving water, there was a great flat rock with the water curling around it. Without stopping to think, John Goingsnake stepped onto the rock. And then a quare thing happened – the rock begun to move."

                                                 

Josie Is So Excited

On Wednesday it was warm and sunny and Meema said we could go down to the park at the river. Can we take a picnic? I said and Meema said Yes! So we packed an apple and a banana and six almonds and some leftover pancakes and some little tomatoes and some grapes.

Then I had to pack my rainbow bag.  I put in Hamsie and Blue Elephant and my binoculars and my piano book and my book called The Phantom Tollbooth.  Meema said I probably didn't need ALL of that but I told her I probably did.

The river is called The French Broad and it runs very fast. Meema said I had to stay away from the very edge and not fall in. It is also very cold, Meema said. 

The park is mainly for grownups--paddlers putting in their rafts and kayaks. There aren't any swings or slides or monkey bars but I found some stuff to climb on.

And I drew in the sand.

Lots of pigeons live around the bridge and we watched them flying.

I wanted to bring a blanket to have our picnic on but Meema said No way because she has trouble getting down on the ground and even more trouble getting back up. So it was a good thing that there was a picnic table for us.

It was a very good adventure.

 

We've Missed You on the Frontier

The plangent notes of the bouzouki filled the air in the smoky tavern. Without thinking, I extended my arms and began the traditional knee-dipping Greek dance. Behind me a man said, "We've missed you on the frontier." 

And as I went into the first low dip, my left leg cramped and I awakened. The next few minutes were spent trying to ease the cramp and wondering where exactly that dream had come from. And where it would have gone... 

And I mused on the word frontier  -- a magical word. We have so few frontiers these days -- these days when condos and expressways proliferate in what were once frontiers.

But what was the frontier referred to in the dream? And why Greek dancing? Alas, my subconscious leads a life of its own -- evidently far more interesting than mine -- and it keeps quiet about it.

I could almost believe that it inadvertently slipped up when it let that dream through and then realized its mistake and shut it down with a cramp before I could learn any more.

(Disclaimer: My only experience with Greek dancing is watching the movie Zorba the Greek -- there's a clip HERE.)

The River Road

After reading in Asheville on Sunday, I returned home along the River Road.

This is the road the drovers would have followed before the coming of the railroad.

When we moved to Madison County in '75, this narrow, winding road was the only way in.

On one side the river, on the other, rocky cliffs...

When the 'new road' was built about twenty-five years ago, the river road was deserted except for cyclists and folks who liked to take their time.

Sunday afternoon around five. The sun was low and the light was lovely.

I must have stopped six or seven times to catch the sparkle of sun on the water.

I even took one picture through a chain link fence that was too high to reach over.

A lonely barn on a hill above the river...

Lovely, long afternoon shadows . . .

Dark trunks against bright water and bright leaves against dark trunks . . .

The beautiful French Broad River like a sheet of beaten silver . . .

And leaves like golden coins.

A perfect day for a Sunday drive. . . 

Blue Skies Again

Yesterday's skies were blue and the air was dry -- though the ground squished beneath my feet as I went out to fill the bird feeder.

A fairy ring of mushrooms had sprung up in the pasture by the road.

And as I crossed the bridge over the French Broad at Barnard (aka Gudger's Stand for those of you who read my books), I saw that the river had overflowed its bounds and was washing into the little park where the paddlers put in.

The river is so high that none of the usual rocks show -- though the white water hints at their presence just below the surface.

Some kayakers were in the park, getting ready to set out. They'll have a mighty quick trip down to Hot Springs on the wild waters.

For those who emailed me to ask how Ethan and Aileen are doing in their new home near Atlanta where there's been so much flooding, the young uns are fine. Their house is on high ground -- but it took them an hour to get to work rather than the much shorter usual drive. Two bridges were closed and they had to go the long way round.

What an introduction to the joys of home-owning!

The River

Though we don't see the river from our house, it's an abiding presence in our lives. To get, well, almost anywhere, we have to cross the river. I love the sight of it and it always shows up somewhere in my books.

from Signs in the Blood -- Little Sylvie at the river:

I looked at the river, runnin there so fast beneath the bridge. Teacher had showed us on a great map how a flatboat could go down this same river into Tennessee, on to Alabama, back to Tennessee and Kentucky all the way to the Ohio River and from there to the mighty Mississippi and right smack down to New Orleans. And in New Orleans, she told us, you can get on a ship that can take you right around this world.

It seemed a marvel to me that his same water I was lookin at would travel so far while I stayed put. I thought how I would like to go on one of them boats and see all them places . . .