We took the kids out for root beer whips last night and took the scenic route home.
We'd passed by this sign many times before but I'd never seen the spring nor asked about it, and it was a surprise when B said while he was growing up, his family would stop and have a drink there.
The spring is tiny, (a trickle, really) and runs through a pipe at the edge of the road. It tastes of cold, and dark deep places where ancient things move slowly.
I'd never seen anything like it before.
Another of the many differences between our upbringings is water. He's always lived near the river, the constant rushing coloring his memories and experiences - while I grew up near Lake Michigan, where the hiss of the waves on pebbles almost echoes your heart.
The first year we were here I missed the sound of the Bay more intensely than I thought possible. It was a great deal of my home-sickness, I believe, realizing that this new place hadn't the rhythms I was used to. The air itself was different - and where I was used to the smell of the fresh water, this atmosphere had sudden unexpected hints of the sea. Tantalizing, yes, but different and alien in ways I mourned.
We'd passed by this sign many times before but I'd never seen the spring nor asked about it, and it was a surprise when B said while he was growing up, his family would stop and have a drink there.
The spring is tiny, (a trickle, really) and runs through a pipe at the edge of the road. It tastes of cold, and dark deep places where ancient things move slowly.
I'd never seen anything like it before.
Another of the many differences between our upbringings is water. He's always lived near the river, the constant rushing coloring his memories and experiences - while I grew up near Lake Michigan, where the hiss of the waves on pebbles almost echoes your heart.
The first year we were here I missed the sound of the Bay more intensely than I thought possible. It was a great deal of my home-sickness, I believe, realizing that this new place hadn't the rhythms I was used to. The air itself was different - and where I was used to the smell of the fresh water, this atmosphere had sudden unexpected hints of the sea. Tantalizing, yes, but different and alien in ways I mourned.
This makes me wonder for Cass and Rosey - if we moved*, would they miss the sound of the river as well? What would that do to a child, to take something so basic away?
How deep does the water run?
The funny pokey thing in the stream? A rock with three cormorants on it, sunning themselves.
*and this is not an announcement that we are
6 comments:
I see it! I looks like a crown resting on the surface of the water. I've tasted spring water like the kind you're talking about. It's a really ancient taste...but good...as long as it's cold.
Children are like plants. You can pull them up and transplant them, but it causes wilting, and upsets the rhythm of their growing, and it takes them time to adjust to the new pot you put them in, and lots of people have no choice and must move, but if I had it to do again I'd pick a place and hunker down, and listen to the stream ....or the ocean.....and let them grow and belong, in one place.
Enjoyed this post. I love water in all its forms but a river is the most interesting..... you never know what's beyond the next bend.
I believe in living near water.
and my blogreading time is up...
What a lovely post. It is hard to say about the children. We moved quite a bit, but always not too far from ocean or river, & even lake.
When I was very small, we lived beside a river. I have never forgotten the sound of the water over the rocks.
I always love your blogs.
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