Tonight was metaphysical kayaking perfection. Well, perhaps that is a bit overstated, but still the evening was warm, the wind calm, the sunset beautiful. Enough for me to seriously muse on why I have resisted moving my family to River House.
The answer came floating by me.
A power boat, with three occupants floated by, a dad, his som, perhaps twelve or thirteen, and a younger daughter, four or five. The ‘men’ had their lines in the water, the dad drinking his beer, his ‘muscle shirt’, (what they actually call a ‘wife beater’ in these parts) hanging loose over his gut. The little girl in the bow of the boat was not fishing, and was obviously bored. She dropped something which resounded with a loud bang. The dad, in the stern of the boat shouts out, “you’re scaring the damn fish”! And turns to his son: “hit your damn sister for me”. Which the son did, The girl was still crying as they went past me, and around a bend in the river.
Of course this could happen anywhere. But the odds are much greater here. The gifts nature bestows, are more than balanced by what the presence of man diminishes.
River House 