The River, Part 3

From the days of Huck and Tom, rivers, for many, have symbolized escape and freedom. This has been the case for me, I realized. Yet this morning, as I began my walk, things were different. On Saturdays I start a little later and go a little farther. Normally, the third of a mile through our little town which takes me to the Maury River is what must be endured to gain the vistas and beauty and escape found at the river's edge.

But for some reason, this morning that all changed. It was a bit lighter outside, and people already stirred about. Rather than silence and slumber-born stillness, I heard the sounds of small town life. A hammer struck somewhat rhythmically as a part time renovator got an early start on what promised to be a long day. I heard dogs inside, insisting to groggy families that it was, indeed, time to get up and get moving. I heard the symphony of crickets and morning birds and the bass of traffic simply added to the melodious mix of the morning. Intermittent lawn mowers provided an opaque percussion to the morning's harmonies. Even the basso profundo of an occasional semi-truck just brought depth to the heady mix.

And then, just as I was beginning to notice and hear and really listen, I was engulfed by the wondrous aroma of bacon and eggs cooking. Who knows from which home it was emanating- it just filled the neighborhood and spoke of home and love and sacrifice and good old time family breakfasts. I realized that this beautiful little town was not one which gave cause for escape. The sights and sounds and smells of this morning brought me home again and helped me feel peace.

As I did get to the river, I was still struck by its beauty. The river takes several gentle, graceful curves as it glides by our town, almost as if it's saying, "Wait a second....this is nice....let's slow down and enjoy this a bit." It snuggles up against us and cradles us into small town Americana. It does move on to the larger James, heading off to Richmond as so many of our young sons and daughters do, but first it relaxes and enjoys the moment it has here in this peaceful haven.

As I scanned the river and pondered my small epiphany, I met an older gentleman, walking a brand new puppy on a much stronger than needed leash. He urged and taught and spoke to the puppy as if it were his newborn child, in a constant stream of niggling encouragements and corrections. He broke from his canine counseling to look up with pride in his eyes and say, "Good morning, partner." I had never met this man before in my life, but this morning, I was his partner. I gave him the biggest smile I could muster, looking with admiration at his companion and back to his eyes, and replied, "Good morning, sir." I hope that in my glance and smile he felt my sharing of his pride.

I continued along the long slow curve of the river, and saw another form approaching. He too, was clearly enjoying the sights of the morning, but as he jogged closer, I realized he was my good, good, friend. "Hello, Scott!" "Hi Joe!" and he jogged past. Yes, he's as jogger- I'm a walker, but we're still friends! Yet with these two people, one a close friend, and one a new friend, I shared a brief bond which made the morning walk so much more pleasant.

I did my river loop and re-entered the town, pacing past businesses about to open. I realized that I knew just about every owner of every business- some quite well and some not so well. But we knew each other. We shared the gift of this small town and the magic that makes us wave to everyone we see and not feel the need not lock our doors- car or home.

As I prepared for the climb up the hill which acts as the capstone to my walk, I noticed the churches- 27 at last count- in a town of 6,000. That's a whole lot of religion going on! Perhaps that's what makes us even more quintessential of small town life- the good, good people who choose to live there. I also saw another friend loading a lawn mower into his car after having already mowed an elderly lady's yard. I'm sure he was unpaid, but I know he was very appreciated.

At the base of the hill I saw a flurry of activity. Sure enough- a yard sale and the deal bandits were already out- making the scores of the day and already preparing their war stories. "Well- she was asking $3.00 but I got her down to $2.25!" A family was loading the camper for a weekend trip- with a good deal of tension- "Get that stuff in here Nay-oh-wuh!!" (Yes, in some places in the South, the word "now" is polysyllabic.) Personally, I thought the trip did not bode well for the family, but good on them for trying. I hope it turns out beautifully. Finally I headed up the steep hill, and as I lumbered up it, I heard a voice call out words of encouragement. There she was- a good friend and former athlete I'd coached - urging me on from her balcony. We laughed and I moved on- a bit more quickly, with a bit more lightness to my step. I do love small town life.

Yes this small, serpentine river we have is gorgeous and mystical, but it is not an escape. It enriches and enhances the beautiful little town which it softly caresses as it wanders through the Shenandoah Valley. I love that river, and I love this town.