James River

In past journal entries I have mentioned my grandfather’s house and the James River, in Richmond, Virginia. Some of my most memorable interactions with nature occurred in or on this river, looking up the hill towards the house, waving and hoping my dad or sister could see me through the telescope or binoculars.

We used to drive down to the river and park in a little lot. The James River in Richmond is right on the “Fall Line”, which is a geographic lines running up and down the east coast, the line that meant ships could go no further up the river, as it ceased to run in ways advantageous to shipping and trade. Usually at the fall line are the deposits of great rainstorms, namely giant boulders which trap dirt and allow some plants to grow in the middle of the river, creating habitats of rivergrasses and small islands, often inhabited by Canada geese in the summer. The James River is full of these giant boulders, and as the river can be quite quick the way I played on them was by jumping from one to the other, trying my hardest not to fall in or lose my footing or slip, as that was a sure path to a skinned knee, and possibly a broken bone. In this manner I would be able to traverse almost the width of the James river to a long island in the center that bisected the waterway near the house. There was one long stretch usually that involved me and my companions having to swim or walk, often against the current, but this never stopped us from making out to the island, and, having made landfall, we always found ourselves immediately in a place so brambly and thorny we could barely step out of the water, and usually promptly returned to our smaller, but infinitely more comfortable, boulder outposts in the river.

The more dangerous things about the river lay beneath the surface. Each year the rains would kick the boulders in the river around a bit, resettling them in new places, creating eddies and whirlpools that had not been their last season. This made the river somewhat dangerous, but in a way that only made it more fun. There were not many summers we visited that grandpa did not warn us of some unfortunate boy or girl who had drowned only a month before we came because they had not been cautious, had not obeyed warning signs about rapids, or had underestimated the strength of the river. This didn’t stop us, but perhaps did slow us down a bit. However, as soon as we got enough courage we would be doing stupid things again, the dumbest of which usually involved finding a rock that had a hole through it, so one could swim through a tunnel all the way through or under a massive boulder, the ground beneath you, unforgiving rock above you, and the current pushing you from behind, or, if you were daring, driving you back as you swam against the current and fought your desire to breath before coming safely back to the surface. Thinking back on this now, we could have found a hole that was too small though well lit, gotten stuck and been unable to turn around, or been kept under by the current or a tricky waterflow we had yet to encounter. I am thankful neither I nor one of my friends was one of the unfortunate individuals from whom my grandfather always took his examples.

Richmond VA in general is an amazing place. If the first colonists came to Virginia and had a hard time establishing themselves, it was certainly because of their ignorance of their new surroundings rather than the abundance provided them by their terrain. The climate, the location of the river, and the weather of the place make it ideal for deciduous growth of all kinds; it seems that if you planted anything there you could come back in a week and have a full-fledged farm. The variety of flora and fauna there is astounding; I used to sit and watch the birds and squirrels attack the birdfeeders, see the bees humming around the flowers in the back, all the while really just waiting for the hummingbirds to come check out the sugar water I had just laid out.