The Arrival of Water in Dry River

Click Click Crunch Crunch

Click Click Crunch Crunch

We picked our way carefully down the trail, my darling sister, crutches in tow, and I. We took our time-stopping to watch the clouds float past. We exclaimed over the colorful leaves and noticed the green moss growing on an old stump. We propelled-carefully-up a bank that was steep enough to give Mother a heart attack (had she been on hand to witnessed the feat). And we set up camp.

Aunt Kathy had called the night before and sounded the alarm that “the river’s coming down”.

All of my life I’ve lived within 5 miles of Dry River. Boasting of “containing the greatest fall per foot east of the Mississippi.” (Any idea what that scientific term is?) The river has provided countless hours of entertainment-learning to skip rocks, swimming, catching minnows… When my dad was much younger and more confident in his swimming ability (or less aware that he couldn’t swim) he went tubing with some friends down Dry River during flood stage. *editors note: not advised

But the most unique feature of this river is that it lives up to its name and goes completely dry.

The locals tell me how the control dams up in the mountains have changed the ways of the river, and the wall of water that races downward among the rocks, rushing to join its comrades and head for the sea.

But regardless, though subdued, it still happen. And after the weekend rain, the waters arrived again.

We met it Monday night pushing a wall of brown leaves ahead of it. Seeping along filling in all the fishing holes and crevices as it came. But it was way up stream from where Emily could watch it.

Deborah reported that it crossed the slab at 11:00 that evening and was “amazing” but some of us have a self inflicted 10:30 curfew. 🙈

Tuesday evening was Attempt Two. After Em got settled, I hiked up to meet it and timed it as moving forward approx a foot per 30 seconds.

I returned to report to Em and we sat on lawn chairs and watched a lively game of squirrel tag on the far shore. We enjoyed the music of Muddy Creek beside us and imagined how neat it would be to watch the two river collide. And although we had all evening, the sun sank below the ridge before the river made its way past Em’s lawn chair. 😔

So we will try again.

As I witnessed the transformation of the riverbed-I was enamored. The initial water slipped in silently, under the river rocks, changing them from dry and dusty to dark rich color. And soon swallowing each rock completely. Within moments that dry riverbed was alive with singing as the water rushed along.

I couldn’t help but compare this to tendencies I admire in people dear to me. 💞

Isaiah 44:3 ‘For I will pour out water on the thirsty land And streams on the dry ground; I will pour out My Spirit on your offspring And My blessing on your descendants;’

Praise to the Creator who can take the dry riverbed of our lives filled with boulders of pain and crevices of disappointments and send water of grace to create the most beautiful song..

May my life be filled with this!



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