Memories of a River

When one grows up on the Mighty Missouri, I wonder if some of that murky water gets into one’s blood? I recall days on the lazy river, the sun penetrating my skin, the smell of the breeze off of the water. As I recently walked into a convenience store, the smell of nightcrawlers being sold piqued my consciousness. Anyone who has been there knows the smell; styrofoam and organic soil, whisking me away once again to the waters of yesterday. Whether from shore or water, the river was so much a part of my growing up years. Hours spent building sand castles, drifting lazily on the current in a tube to the nearest sand bar to pass the time skipping rocks, burying one another in the sand, or just running along in the surf, waiting for the boat to drift in and pick us up as Dad sought the origin of our night’s meal. Or what about the awe and wonder of one so young looking out on the black waters to see the lights of town and dam reflected when the fish were biting so ravenously after dark and into the night?

I now reside on the prairie that I have also come to love. I now have the wind in my being, the sun and the sky are in my blood. When summer, spring and fall are ushered in and I hear of my family’s time on the river or see the boats dotting the glassy surface as I cross the bridge, I long to experience it all over again. My hearts stirs the memories that transport me to a time maybe not so long ago.

I recently returned there. In the fall with all of its brilliance of gold and crimson. The wind dazzled the colors and set the frail leaves of the giant cottonwoods to drift down to blankets of gold covering the emerald of the grass. The brisk smell of the water stung the nostrils and the wind rolled the surf to meet the shore. I found a joy that day, sharing that experience that is so near and dear to my heart with my children, who, despite the cold and wind, found joy in it as well.

I cannot help but think how our surroundings, especially those of the past, shape who we are today, who we become. How what we choose to remember affects ones’ character in the future. The river isn’t who I am, didn’t make me who I am, but I can see the impact it made on the life of a young girl.