Something about the river

Great White Dispatch
Notes From Damn Near Canada
No. 17
2/10/09
10:00



For the first time in three months, I can see Minnesota ground. It's Tuesday and I'm in my office, watching a driving rain shine up the world. It's 45 degrees and very gray outside. A nice switch from -10 and very white.

From my office window, I can see Main Street, wet and new. People are hunkered down, shoulders hunched against the moist and the windy. Beyond the main drag, I see the train tracks and then the river. The Mississippi, finally, is nothing but open water. Right now a flock of ducks are fighting a heavy, snowmelt-fueled current. My building's windows are rattling with the wind. Everywhere, dirty piles of snow drool filthy water. This would be a typically miserable Ohio day, even in February. And truth be told, it's not the nicest of February days in Minnesota.

I haven't been this happy since I ran over that cat.

That was a joke, by the way. The cat, not the happy.

Being out from under winter's frostbitten thumb, even for just a little while, has nothing to do with my mood. I like the snow and looked forward to the wonders of a Minnesota winter. Hell, I hope we get a little more Arctic blast before all is said and done. No, our temporary truce with winter isn't what has me down with the warm and fuzzies. I'm not exactly sure WHAT has me in this state.

But I think it's the river.

We've been here nearly six months now,and I've kinda grown to love everything about the mighty Mississipi. I love the thousands of sailboat that speckled the surface in the waning days of summer, the packs of tourists zipping alongside it in their classic cars , the eagles perpetually soaring above, scoping the surface for a kill. I love the big-ass riverboats, those relics from another time. I love the constant presence of long-legged water birds along the shore.

There's just something liberating about this goddamn river, how it can't be stopped. Even under two feet of ice, you know the river is still chugging along, sustaining life. You can spit off a bridge, and that little bit of your DNA just might make it to the Gulf of Mexico. Makes you seem larger than life and totally insignificant all at the same time.

For over half the time we've been here, the river's been solid ice. But today, for the first time in forever, I can see it moving, alive. It might be frothy, filthy and temporary, but today, I can see the river. My river. And that will make me smile any day, especially a warm day in the winter.