BACK TO THE RIVER: AN ESSAY BY TOM KELLEHER

I grew up fifteen miles south of where I live now, in Kirkwood, NY. When I was a child, the Susquehanna River was my playground, my safe place to go, to be away from some of the craziness and dysfunction of home. Once I stepped over that riverbank, down fifteen feet or so of embankment, I was in another world: a safe world, a fun world; joyous, beautiful, quiet. And I was at peace.

I would spend summer day after summer day, hour after hour, all day long on the riverbank or in the river. My friends and I would spend countless hours turning over rocks, seeing the secrets that lie underneath, finding creatures of all kinds living there. Hour after hour, day after day. It actually turned into one of my first entrepreneurial experiences, as I opened a bait shop when still a young child. We would go fishing there, all summer long- catching bass, walleye, pickerel, rock bass, carp and chubs. From early morning to late night, cast after cast, fish after fish, we would discover the beauty of the fish that lie just under the surface of the water. Heck, some days we would camp out, right there on the rocks, fishing all night next to a campfire until sleep overcame us. We would awake at sunrise, stoke up the fire and cook our fresh fish right there on the banks.

When we were not on the bank, foraging under the rocks in the shallows, or fishing, we would most certainly be swimming in the cool waters to beat the heat of hot sunny summer days. At times, we would walk up the river a half mile or so, wade out into the deep waters, and let the current take us down river. Floating, treading water; the currents took us where they wished, at the speed they wished, until they brought us back to where we had started.

The days were long, longer than anyone could ever imagine a day being. And we would watch the sun getting lower and lower in the sky, ’til it lit up with incredible colors of sunset: orange, purple, pink, red, yellow.

The sun dipped behind the hills on the other side of the river, and it would turn dusk, the sound of crickets almost deafening- a quiet deafening. Then we would hear our moms calling us home- the voice of the call so far away- above the banks, as if it were coming from another world. And it was coming from another world. We would pack our things, climb the steep banks, and back again into the “real” world. Leaving behind us our favorite place, we would turn and take one last look at the flowing waters, the softness, the beauty.

On a recent warm, sunny day, I put a sign on my door: “Gone fishing.” Off I went, down to Kirkwood. I parked my car and walked to the river’s edge. Standing at the top of the banks, I surveyed what was once my playground and escape. It was quiet, soft. The river meandering. A peace came over me like nothing I had felt in a long time. I began making my way down the embankment.

After disappearing over the edge, I entered another world: the world of houses, cars, people, problems, anxieties, issues, all left behind as I made my way to waters edge. I stopped, enjoyed the quiet. Once again I surveyed the waters, the bank, the woods on the other side, the constant flow of the water.

I began putting together my fishing gear in the newfound silence. I realized then that I had left my bait in the car. I was not going to leave this space so soon, go back to the “real” world, and interrupt this wonderful moment. So I did what I always did when there as a kid: entered the shallows, foraged under rocks, marveled at the life there, and found my own bait to fish with.

Cast after cast, watching the river flowing by, taking my line down stream, reeling it back in, casting once again… A feeling of peace came over me.

It was then that I had what I call a “visitation.” Each time I am at the river, I am visited by wild life, and this day was no different. I looked up and across the water, slightly downstream, and saw a huge blue-grey heron flying up the river. He was silently and slowly flapping his heavy wings. When he got closer, he stopped flapping and silently glided, coasted, floated and let out a loud cry, as to make certain he had my attention. He most certainly did. And he coasted on by, traveling a hundred yards without moving his wings before he flapped them once again, flying over the tree tops to land in a pond on the other side of the river.

I then heard another “squawk,” and looked up to see a kingfisher, a bird I have never seen in my life outside this space by the river. They are huge- twice as big as a blue jay. He flew out over the river, twisting, turning, flapping- I have seen them doing this to look for food in the river, but never before to this degree. Then another one came out of the trees on the other side of the river; they flew towards each other, then stopped, twisted, turned, flapped and squawked, dancing over the water.

I then decided it was time. I took off my clothes and walked a bit more than a quarter mile upstream. I stood by the water’s edge, then waded in. It was calm near the shore, nature’s beauty all around me. I took another step, then another and another. The current was pulling at me, but I held fast. The water now up to my ribs and pulling more strongly, I took another step, another, and yet another. Then it happened: my feet could no longer hold me in place; the flow of water pushed me downward and I let go. I stopped trying to hold my ground and simply let go… I floated and the river began taking me downstream. Up to my neck, treading water, I giggled out loud, laughed, dunked my head in the cool water, and surfaced. I was moving fast, but the water around me felt still, as I was moving with it. I floated, I drifted… I let the water take me where it wanted. It was freeing, and, in some way, empowering, being able to let go and float, and I giggled some more.

A half mile later, the flowing river returned me to where I had begun, back to my clothes and fishing pole. I swam towards the shore; the river slowed and I drifted to the shallows, turned over, and laid on my back in the water, looking at the blue sky and sun. Laying on the rocks, half of me under the water, I had not felt so alive in such a very long time. I was one with nature, one with myself.

It was time to go- time to leave this safe and beautiful haven. It was as if I could hear the voices I heard as a child, calling out to me to come back. I climbed the bank, over the top, and entered another world. One of people, houses, cars… but inside me I was in another place, a peaceful place, and a very happy one. The experience changed me- I’ll never be the same again. I took a piece of that place home with me once again that day, just as I had day after day, year after year when I was a child. I’ll never, ever forget it, for as long as I live.