Just Around the Riverbend

CTY, Session 2

Washington College, Chestertown, MD (residential site)

A few of the veteran teachers know the code to the shed at the boathouse. We turn over the children to their R.A.'s and put on our clothes we don't mind getting wet. At the boathouse, we pull out lifejackets and paddles from the shed and unlock the little kayaks from their rack in the yard. They are yellow, plastic things that somehow always end up making your bottom wet, but move easily with the touch of the paddle to the water.

The water is warm to my toes as I dangle them in the water, waiting for everyone to be in the water. We make our way downriver and into the next inlet. The sun is edging towards the horizon in its lazy summer way, turning the wavelets orange as they lap against my boat. We make our way under S. Cross Street and the sun shone in our faces, blinding us to all but its brilliance and the shadows of the boaters ahead and the tall grasses.

On this side of the bridge, the marsh stream is calm and in its smooth surface, we can see the reflections of the grasses and the clouds. I rest my paddle and watch the water drip. Each drop send out its perfect rings. I drift forward and the ripples are a series of widening, intersecting rings, my water footprints. It is quiet, but there are the sounds of insects and birds and our own voices. We talk of our campers and of the insects. We are all jealous of the Bay Ecology class who get to play in the marshes of the Eastern Shore on a regular basis. The teacher points out to us the birds and the animals and the bugs.

Sometimes the rest of the group is slow, but I want to keep going around each bend to see where we will go next. Because the grasses are so tall, it's impossible to tell what's coming next and it's hard even to say which way we will be turning. The stream winds its way through the maze and slowly gets more narrow and shallow. Around a bend, I spot something blue among the roots of trees as the stream passes by the boundary between marsh and woodland. I pull ahead even farther. Resting lightly among the dead leaves is a feather of a Great Blue Heron. It seems to be both bright blue and dull gray at once. I look for a safe place to keep it on my boat, but there is none. I tuck it into my ponytail instead. I am Heron-girl.

Another riverbend and ahead we spot a live heron, resting in a tree. Drawing closer, we see the nest. She stands tall by her nest, keeping watch. The sun is dipping even lower and the moon is starting to rise behind the heron. The sky is pale pink in the east and glowing orange in the west.

Another bend and another. The sun is on the horizon and the sky is all pink now, the straggling clouds a pale violet. We turn our boats regretfully around. Through the grasses as we come back around a bend, I can see a low wooden building with the moon hanging just above it. It is a picture framed by grasses and branches, but my camera is not with me, so I pause, letting the others pass me and fix the image in my mind.

Another returned bend brings our heron and her nest back into view and now the moon keeps good company with her as she settles down to keep her children warm. But we cannot linger. We paddle harder, our talk ceased as we work our way back at last to the open water of the river. Here the currents pull at us again and suddenly the paddling becomes more difficult as we fight the current and wind to get back to the dock before dark. The light from the sun is a ghostly shadow on the land as we put back our boats, paddles, and lifejackets. Good night, river.