On the River

In the early morning three small boats lay anchored in the shadow of the New Hope-Lambertville Bridge. Shad are migrating upriver from their saltwater habitat to spawn, and in a few weeks Lambertville will hold its annual Shad Festival.

In the distance the plaintiff voice of a coxswain can be heard calling out instructions to rowers in their scull. As they reach my vantage point, I clearly see their paddles moving in and out of the water in unison. They are the essence of teamwork; there are no stars on a crew team.

For its part, the river doesn’t think about where it’s going – it just flows. Its movement and purpose are organic. It doesn’t struggle against itself, as we humans are prone to doing. Maybe that is one of the things that saps our energy and our vision. Instead, we ought to become partners with the river and with life, feeling the energy and grace, no longer struggling against ourselves.

I remember being on this river years ago, some miles north of here in the mountains, with my son Chris. It was during the tumultuous teenage years when we always seemed to be at odds. I thought canoeing together would give us a chance to share time and the river with each other, feel the river’s quiet strength and, while it didn’t think about it at the time, stop struggling against ourselves.

There is a point where the Delaware flows through the Water Gap. The mountains rise sharply from the banks on both sides of the river. It is a place of primordial majesty and peace, my son and I and the kestrels soaring overhead the only interlopers.

As we entered the Gap, Chris took his paddle out of the water, turned and said, “Stop paddling Dad.” I lifted my paddle from the water and for several minutes we let the river carry us where it may.

That day, nature in her infinite grace held my son and I in the palm of her hand. For several minutes, all of the turmoil and contention that existed between us dissipated in the mountain air. Chris and I had given ourselves over to the river. We were one with it, and the peace that enfolded us was a blessing put in motion by a simple action – removing our paddles from the water.

Years later I realized that all of the contention and turmoil notwithstanding, my son had displayed wisdom and a sense of the Universe. He knew intuitively that there was a moment when we could give ourselves over to the river, become one with it, and experience the Divine. I’m glad I listened when he said, “Stop paddling Dad.”