In The Good Old Summertime....

A portion of the actual river

A fairly long time ago, in a place not so far from where I sit writing this, lived a young boy who had far too much curiosity, energy, bravado, and spare time on occasion for his own well being. To complicate matters more, he was pretty much a loner with the exception of about four other lads who shared the same traits and who would join together in a loose knit group at times to pursue adventures that were often not well advised, planned, or executed.

On those days (or nights) that they all found themselves restless and lacking any real plans for their rare 'free time', they seemed to possess a hunger for adventures that were usually not 'really' forbidden, either by lack of rules prohibiting the behavior, or a tacit understanding that their efforts at having fun would not be well received should the activities in question 'come to the attention of ' certain people, namely adults. While never really harming themselves (too badly) or destroying anything (beyond repair), the group nevertheless garnered the oft-employed name 'usual culprits' when their actions came to be discovered, which was more often the case than not. Let us say they were not masterminds at 'covert operations'. They'd have been caught more often had there not existed at that time a sole Town Constable who worked evening weekdays only. His time was generally spent snoozing in his Chevy, which substituted for a real patrol vehicle.

Having known these boys in passing, their shenanigans were not unfamiliar to me, especially the ones involving the local 'spur' line of the railroad which ran to their town from the neighboring country which is very fond of maple leaf emblems. At the upper edge of the log booms feeding the local mill on the river was situated an iron railroad bridge which crossed into the other country without benefit of customs inspectors or regular (or irregular) border guards on either side. This was well prior to the modern era of border security attempts. Being just up-river of the booms meant that during most of the warmer days of the short summer the water beneath the iron bridge was clear for diving and swimming, sort of. It was also very irksome to the train crews who came through at regularly scheduled times to have those young scofflaws wave happily at the passing trains while leaning on the railroad company's 'No Trespassing Under Full Penalty of The Law' signs.

They weren't usually too happy about kids climbing their bridge either. Something about 'getting sued', a term most were pretty unfamiliar with in those days, other than knowing the guy who lost his leg in the wood room of the mill sued and didn't work, yet drove a new car to his nice house.

As for the actual danger involved, that's true if you count the 'deadheads', logs saturated with water on one end and partially sunken like an underwater picket fence. Needless to say, these were rather hazardous to divers descending from the top girders of the bridge to the dark waters below. For this reason, if swimming was the agenda, twine and small plastic bottles, usually old bleach bottles, were deployed in and around the diving area like so many fishing bobbers to mark the positions of the deadheads. One flaw in this system was that the current was rather strong, the water rather deep, and the 'de-barking' plant only a short way up-river and out of sight of the bridge. The de-barker and bark piles leached a continual flow of tannin-like bark juices into the river and greatly hindered visibility and the ability to find all the deadheads in the area. This also doesn't take into account the fact that additional partially sunken logs continued to drift a few feet below the water surface toward the mill's chutes downriver. This meant that the de-barking plant missed a great many of these which then passed under the rail bridge. Add the lack of EMS, an ambulance, or phone service near the bridge, and you can see why the ever unreasonable adults attempted to discourage any swimming in the very waters and conditions which they themselves had enjoyed at those ages. Plus, now there were white plastic bottles, which they did not have, relying instead on pieces of rags attached to sticks by twine as buoys. The 'new' system was obviously far superior to theirs. There was always the warning that you'll 'break your necks' falling from the upper girders with your wet, slippery feet. All of which the kids were well aware and blissfully dismissed as so much 'grown-ups not wanting them to do anything fun'.

I just recalled this as I was watching the local train cross over the iron bridge here in our present 'hometown'. It also stirred up some old memories I hope to share in the future for any who are interested. Until next time, take care and be well.

I Can See Clearly Now

Hi folks, it's GREAT to be back, especially as this is the first time in several years I can actually see things as well as I could in the past. When the other eye is finished the vision should be as good, if not better, than I enjoyed as a youth.
This is just a short account of how it feels to be able to see all the beauty we all take for granted in our busy lives. Yesterday was the first time my brain really figured out the new focus signals to the extent that driving was once again possible, and ENJOYABLE!! As we had cause to be on the road to the University town just to our north, I chose to make the return trip into a "rediscovery" of some of the many sights that had been so diminished for so long. As fate would have it (more habit of neglect really) the camera was left on the computer table at home, an occurrence more and more common as the sight waned. I'll have to retrain myself to always take it as in the past. Fortunately, my wife had taken some photos of some of my favorite local places (within five miles of home),and four are shown above.
The first is the west dam in the river, as viewed from the little island where we often go for easy access to outdoor solitude. The next is a view of the lower part of our hill, which also shows the Town Ski Slope across the river from us. Then a rest area beside one of the numerous local lakes. And lastly, a view of the lake our friends live on, taken from their driveway, looking through the trees where he's cleared away the undergrowth. These places, and many more, are the reason I returned here to such a harsh climate and remote location when I retired.
The little island by the dam is where I decided to stop first, and reintroduce the view to my eyes, and it was nearly like experiencing it for the first time years ago. We live on the eastern slope of the river valley created by one of Maine's largest and longest rivers. Although grossly polluted in years past, and some purist environmentalists would say still polluted, the water is actually now safe to swim in and even drink. This is the result of the 1970s environmental laws pushed through by Senator Ed Muskie, who grew up in Rumford along the river, and was alarmed and saddened by what the river had become as a result of wanton waste disposal by towns and the paper mills along its length. Following the enactment of the Federal Statutes, the State enacted even more stringent laws, and then many mill towns, the one we now call home among them, enacted even stricter laws and created Environmental Monitor positions within the town government.
The island is about one and a half miles downstream from the larger of the town paper mills, and was made into a public park, canoe portage, and picnic area, before opening it up to the people. The dam in the photo is the western part, then the island is about one hundred fifty feet wide before the eastern dam extends across a wider stretch of the river and ends at an old hydro-electric station. The station is inaccessible, and I've always meant to ask how often the thing is online, if ever. If it's working, it's damned quiet! The little island has a small dirt road leading from the mill road and across the bridge below the dam, ending in a postage stamp of a dirt parking lot. Even though there's a sign at the access road, few people other than locals ever wander down it, as it doesn't look especially interesting. There's a nice landing on both the upstream and downstream banks of the island, with a well maintained trail between for the use of the many canoe and kayak enthusiasts, who paddle the river from the source in New Hampshire to the sea.
The joy of the place is in finding it deserted, as we did yesterday, and simply shutting off the car and sitting quietly, listening to the water rushing over the dam. As a couple, we have many things in common, one being the ability and desire to sit quietly for long stretches of time, just enjoying our surroundings. After an hour or so of watching the birds, the fish jumping, the water flowing, and the leaves rustling from the almost constant valley wind, I find it hard to return to the reality that calls us back to the things humans create to vex themselves. Human things done in a seemingly fruitless attempt to make life easier. How much easier can it get than living in the midst of a gift from nature, and marvelling peacefully at all the wonders therein? Until next time, take care.