The Water is Wide

Cloquet River, May 31, 2012

I can hear the strains of that lovely old Scottish melody as I stand next to the rising waters of the river that defines my life. If I am very still, I can hear the water gurgling, trying to tell me a story. Blue jays flit and caw. Mallards zip down the avenue of slowly flowing black water, hell bent on finding a place to safely nest away from the diluvian hand that the spring rain has opened. A solitary doe stands on the bank across from me sipping greedily and eyeing me with nervous caution.

It’s been at least six or seven years since the Cloquet River has been this high. Where we live, when the rains come and Island Lake is full and the dam is open, the river does not cascade past our home in a mad rush to join the St. Louis River on its plummet to Lake Superior. Where we live, the flow of the river is strong and steady but not hurried. Being country folk, my family measures the depth of the river in front of our home, not with a stick or a ruler, but by how high the water has climbed on “the Big Rock”. This rock, really a boulder, sits in the middle of the river, downstream from the stairs that lead from our lawn to the water’s edge. You could see the Big Rock in the photo above during the summer. But right now, it’s about four feet under water. After all the dry summers we’ve had, those of us who rely on wells in the country for our drinking water think it’s a very good thing that God has chosen to replenish our water supply with spring rain. City folk don’t think about such things. They turn on their taps and fill their glasses with chemically purified water. Out here, under the big blue sky of northeastern Minnesota, we don’t have water softeners or purifiers or any other fancy intrusions between the water that rests in the ground and the water that passes our lips. And every time I see the level of the river dip to a new low, every time I watch my lawn turn brown under the July sun because the summer rains have stayed away, I worry about our well. I shouldn’t: It’s over ninety feet down into gravel and sand and will likely, unless my piece of heaven falls victim to desertification, always be able to provide for us. But you worry about these things when you live next to a wild and scenic river even when the water is wide.

The Water is Wide

When I think of that old tune and I consider the river, I hear the voices of the millions around our world who don’t have the benefit of such a magnificent sight, such a beneficent resource right outside their back door. We who live in Minnesota, a land filled with lakes, rivers, streams, and creeks, shouldn’t forget how blessed we are. For us, the water is indeed wide, clear, and ever flowing. Let’s keep it that way.

To listen to a wonderful rendition of the song, go to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvbEgPlvgGE

Peace.

Mark