We are not what we know but what we are willing to learn.” –– Mary Catherine Bateson
When Clare returned the kayak she borrowed to take her brother out for a morning of paddling, I did not notice the busted window in her van until she pointed it out. She said after she and her brother got off the water, they found her van had been broken into. She told me how the police officer who responded to her call told her no woman should ever come to that area alone. Clare said she was telling me for my own safety because she knew I went there alone. I was sorry she told me.
MY BIT OF PARADISE
Of all the creeks I have explored in my section of the Ohio River Valley, the creek where my friend’s car was broken into is my favorite. It is in a rural area in the next county over from the one I live in. Blue herons feed along the shorelines or keep a dispassionate eye out while roosting in tree branches overhead. Turtles sun on trees that have given up root, lying now along the water’s edge. Occasionally, a fish jumps out of the water, or a groundhog slips between the tall plants along the water’s edge. During the fall of the year, bare branches are resting spots for double-crested cormorants heading south for the winter. Kingfishers and dragonflies hold their own place in the sky during the warmer months.
In the waters themselves, I see the reflection of all that surrounds me so that I too have a place in the sky, finding myself skimming the clouds. I can paddle quite a distance in that enchanted sky.
Now here was a woman saying that this bit of paradise was not safe for me to traverse alone. Her words rang false to my experience, but was I being foolish? Yes, I go to this creek alone, but rare are the times when I am there alone. Along the shores I regularly find two or three fishermen in their own small boats. I recall one young fisherman walking along the shore, fishing rod in one hand, tackle box in the other, looking for just the right spot from which to cast his line, trailed by a girlfriend carrying a camp chair and holding a book.
I exchange greetings with those I pass by –– or just a smile and nod. I know we all are seeking our own dreams, our own respite. I do not feel threatened by them.
PADDLING AWAY
I was a bit nervous the first time I returned to the creek after Clare’s warning. As I pulled into the parking lot, I was tempted to just circle around and head back. But a lone green SUV gave me courage. It was a family car. The rack on top could carry kayaks. I headed down the ramp and unloaded my own blue boat.
Once in the water, I paddled up stream until creek stone and rippling water stopped me. I wedged my kayak between some rocks and just sat there, gazing at the waters, the trees, the sky. Often at a place like this, I mumble a prayer, often seeking some resolution or asking for peace. In recent years, I added that I be open, that I see.
I pushed off from the rocks and headed downstream, nodding to a fisherman casting from the shore, careful to swing wide around his line. I headed toward a small island where I once found a cluster of broken turtle eggs along the sandy shore –– like small ping pong balls cracked in two. I passed a family with little ones setting up camp. I hear the voices of men walking in the wooded growth along the water’s edge and caught the words “God’s country.” I spied some teens gathering along the opposite side. The fire pit told me this was a common gathering spot for the local kids on summer evenings. Circling the island, I saw two kayakers, probably the owners of the green SUV back in the parking lot.
Facing upstream once more, I headed back to the boat ramp.
WHAT MAMA SAID
As I was getting ready to load my kayak back onto the top of the car, two men walked out of the woods –– I think they were the men I heard earlier speaking of God’s country.
The one in a red Ohio State University shirt spoke up. “Do you need help, ma’am?”
“I can load myself, but I sure would appreciate the help,” I said.
“Well, my mama always said if a lady needs help, I need to help,” he said as he and the other man walked toward me. They quickly had my kayak on top of my car and began strapping the boat down.
“Tim,” said the other man when I called him sir, his long dark pigtails swinging across his chest as he stretched bungee cords from the kayak to the car’s front and back ends. “This is Mike. We grew up around here.”
My boat secure, I thanked Tim and Mike, wished them a good evening. They headed toward their truck now parked with other vehicles near the green SUV and climbed in.
I knew the sky would darken soon, but at that moment there was still plenty of light. I followed the men out of the lot and headed home. And I knew I’d be coming back –– alone –– having seen that experience, rather than fear, serves as the better guide.
FOR REFLECTION: Think of a time you faced your fear. What was the result? What did you learn?
*A version of this dispatch was originally published under the title of “Creek Waters” in Tributaria (Loveland, OH: Dos Madres, 2025).
Top image: Pixabay/Roberto Lee Cortes
Midtext image: Pixabay/Michelle Maria
Side image: Pixabay/Avelino Calvar Martinez
