River: Center of Life

The end of August was hot. It was true, midwestern, humid, summer kind of hot. This made my first week after arriving at Kenyon’s campus look something like this: Most of my friends hadn’t seen each other in months, there were covid rules restricting how we saw each other, we had almost nothing to do, and it was really hot. It did not take much convincing to get everyone down to the river for a socially distanced reunion.

We trekked down to the best river spot we knew. All the way down the hill, past the tennis courts, past the frisbee fields, past the rugby pitches, then through the woods. It wasn’t a short walk, but it was well worth it. When it came time for me to choose a spot to observe, this little bend of the river was an easy selection. It was one of those days that was just beyond beautiful. The trees and plants seemed to glow green and the river was bright and reflective under the sun. It looked almost like you turned up the vibrancy on a photo. We trudged through the shallowest part of the river onto the island. It felt a little awkward at first. We all stood far apart and masked. But the feeling was quickly overshadowed by the fact that we were back in each other’s company. We played music, swam, and tossed a frisbee around. It was quintessentially summer. And felt, as loaded as the word is these days, normal.

After that, I started returning to the river every Sunday to make observations. The little rock beach across from the island I observed on was a happy place to be. But just ten feet to my right was a steep cliff. When it comes to bending rivers and meandering streams, there are two forces at work: erosion and deposition. The river is removing earth, but it is also depositing it. A cut bank is the part of the river experiencing erosion, such as the cliff that lay to my right. A point bar is the part that is experiencing deposition, like the beach I was standing on. As erosion and deposition continue, the bends in the river becomes more defined. (U.S. National Parks Service, 2020)

In addition to the beach that I would observe from, the island was a location of deposition. It was covered in pebbles and stones, many of which were perfect for skipping. It was a well-known fact among my friends that I was taking geology and environmental studies. And as a few of us all living on the West Coast drove out to school mid-August, we encountered countless awe-inspiring geologic features. It became a little bit to ask me about any feature or rock we came across, despite the fact that I had not started either of my classes yet and knew absolutely nothing. This bit continued all the way to the Kokosing River. As we sat on the island, my friends began handing me interesting rocks they found and asking me what they were. I, of course, still could not tell them. But I pocketed some rocks and other interesting finds, hoping to be able to give concrete answers in the future. Unfortunately, even after a semester’s worth of knowledge, identifying rocks isn’t a simple task especially when you don’t have fancy tools at your disposal. But still determined, I used my limited knowledge and a lot of googling. Here are my best guesses. (Marshak, 2018; Picard, 1971)

We had a couple more of those beyond beautiful days at the river and a few summer night walks. But as the weather cooled and the leaves started to change, my river trips were limited to Sunday afternoons to observe. College during covid presented a whole new set of challenges and stress. Fall break was canceled, making midterms feel eternal. And when my housemate came down with a fever due to a simple cold, she was taken away to isolation. The rest of my house was put into quarantine until her covid test came back negative. It was a long five days being stuck in our house. That Sunday, I took my dinner down to the river to escape. The river was no longer a social place for me, but the tranquility it offered was equally as welcomed. The separation from the rest of my world was a small but helpful change of pace every week.

Rain! It had poured the whole day, but I wasn’t expecting too much change. I thought maybe the water level would rise. I was in for quite a shock when I got to my spot. The river rose so much that I couldn’t even get down to the shore I usually observed from. The logs that I had frequently walked across were moved tens of feet from their original location and one had been broken in half. It looked completely different. Change had happened right before my eyes and it happened fast. I had wrongly assumed the river was a somewhat stagnant system. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. With the help of Google Earth Pro, I was able to visit this bend in the river in the recent past. This illustrated not only the seasonal changes I had just observed, but greater trends of changes as well as consistency. I found the island I had often visited had remained fairly constant, but one slightly downstream from me had experienced extreme change.

As quickly as fall came, it began to leave. This meant it started to get actually cold. That of course did not stop my friends from bundling up in as many layers as we could before jumping in the river one Saturday night. It was weird returning to the river with my friends. They hadn’t been in nearly two months, but I had been visiting every week. The water was, as expected, absolutely frigid. After I dunked my head under I felt more awake than ever. Even in the pitch-black of night, the observer switch inside my head was on. It was surprising how much you could see, even just with moonlight. The sounds were different. It was quieter, very different from a summer night where bugs make it louder than the day. But this late autumn night was much more peaceful. The only dominating sound was the river. That was definitely the most constant thing about the system I had been observing. The animals and plants all changed quite visibly. And while the river’s level and even its path may have varied, it was always moving. Everything was shaped around it.

After our final Saturday frisbee scrimmage, a handful of us walked over to the river again for one last plunge. We all chickened out this time around. My friends were kind enough to wait with me as I made my final observations. It was nice to share this space with them again after occupying it by myself for so long. We sat on the cliff as it got dark and remarked on how much it had changed since our first trip that semester. The next day there was a real storm. Like a power out all over campus, trees came down, kind of storm. The first time I change my routine and make my observations on a Saturday instead of Sunday and I miss this! I couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a missed opportunity…

I ended up returning to my spot one last time before leaving campus on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I was flying home later that day, but I had woken up at five to see some friends off. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I opted to visit the river one last time. It was raining and grey and cold. The trees were all bare. The sky was overcast so there was no impressive sunrise to be seen. It was quite possibly the polar opposite of the glowing radiance of my first trip. But it was still oddly beautiful in spite of it all. The sound of the rain and the river was really peaceful. I was sad to go. Two days later, it snowed, which I suppose would also have been a nice bookend to my observations. A reason to return again. Although I do not have to look hard for many of those.