A River Runs Through It

The Sunday Post

Yesterday, my daughter and my grandson were keen to go to the river while we were out at the farm visiting my parents. Of course, this sounded like a great plan to me!

The weekend had already been a highlight of the year because it started with a Friday night at home where all three of my children and youngest grandson came over. We played a board game and then went out to talk around the campfire, reminiscing and telling stories, keeping my grandson up way too late! My eyes get teary even just now thinking about that kind of quality time with my three adult children.

Anyway, back to the river!

I grew up on that river. Hot summer days like this one, we’d spend the day being farm kids then after lunch (and the required 1 hour after eating before swimming because that was a thing! LOL); we’d almost pass out blowing up various air mattresses and tire tubes. Then we’d all pile into the back of Dad’s truck and drive down to the bridge. Sometimes dad would come with us but as we got older and better swimmers, we’d be on our own and my parents would get a couple of hours of peace from the four of us!

Then we’d float for miles. Well, it felt like it anyway! My dad’s family members own several quarters of land along that river, so we were able to float pretty far. Mom and dad would meet us at the end by my grandparents house. There was a perfect swimming hole, so we’d stay in the river for a while to do some actual swimming.

We were talking the other day about how we remember that Granny would come out of her house to jump in the river. She had a perfect path that took her to a rock at the edge of the deepest part of the swimming hole and she’d jump in and swim for a while to soothe the heat off her skin and ease the ache in her bones. (That’s an observation my 56-year-old self makes, not the 10-year-old me!) She rarely swam with us, just adjacent.

My one sister didn’t love swimming as much as I did and for some reason often ended up with a bloodsucker or two stuck on her skin, so that makes a little sense! I don’t recall that ever happening to me! We loved that river and passed that down to our children.

There is my oldest and then 9 years later, there are eight of them within a couple years of age, so summers we’d all go camping at the farm. Every afternoon we’d go for a float down the river. I have many pictures of my kids and nieces and nephews floating along, finding frogs, paddling canoes, and skipping stones. Now that I’m a grandparent, I understand the joy my parents must have felt sitting on their lawn chairs watching them.

My dad has stories too of growing up on that river. I don’t think that he got to float as much as we did because in those days, there was always so much work to do on the farm in the summer; but they definitely got to cool off when the work was done.

In my 56 years, even that river has changed. Floods have altered its path. My grandparents and their house aren’t there anymore. Roots and trees have carved out banks and made the river slower and wider in parts so that my bum drags on the bottom more often. (It has nothing to do with the fact that my bum is much bigger!) The swimming hole isn’t as deep and is much muddier than it used to be, so we don’t swim in it anymore.

Yesterday I sat in the river, easing the ache from my feet and ankles. My mom and her best friend did some long overdue catching up about a community that has changed a lot since they used to bring their kids down to the river on a hot July day. My daughter was able to turn off the noise of her city life and just be in the quiet. And it was the first time my grandson got to be in that river! That’s now five generations that have been in that same piece of happiness.

Yes. A river runs through it all.

It runs through our family. Time has passed and the river looks different, but it still feels the same. Just like our family. It looks very different from my father’s family but still the same in many ways. Brothers and sisters and cousins and uncles and aunties and grandparents and grandkids. All different kinds of people but still family. Still connecting. Still telling stories.

My dad grew up differently than I did. Hard work and tougher love. My mom too. Together, they raised four who understood what hard work is but also what laughter and lazy summer days look like. In turn, the four of us have raised nine very cool, very amazing adults that are all each very different from us four, but still similar: They are kind. They love going on adventures. They know how to be a friend. They know the stories and love to hear them again. Most of all, they know their grandparents love them.

My grandson listened to some of the stories yesterday and we marveled at his discovery of the river. We laughed at his pale white skin and encouraged him to let the sun see it a little more with more visits to the river this summer and the many summers to come.

Our adult children are starting to return to the river, to the family time that they used to have so much when they were younger. As they create their lives, they’re pretty busy. But as they are getting older, I’ve noticed that they are starting to find that the hectic world is too much sometimes. I think they miss the quiet.

The quiet of floating on the slow river. Watching an osprey swoop along the tree tops. Finding treasures in the little stones that have tumbled here from the mountains. The peace of stories from a slower time. The laughter of misadventures along the river.

I know that it’s not often that I get these hot summer days with my kids and grandkids but I treasure each one. Just as I know my parents do whenever they get the chance. I am so grateful that my kids still want to connect and be together whenever they can. These are blessings that I am sure to count.

Maybe that’s one of the gifts of getting older.

We stop rushing past the ordinary and begin to see it for what it has always been.

Home.

The river simply reminds us.

Until next Sunday, what place feels like home to you, no matter how much time has passed?