The River



In my youth I rented a cabin on the Ogeechee River at an old fish camp. Compared to where I grew up it was light-years away and a hundred years back in time. But I was young and waited to be on my own and this offered me a place to spread my winds and drink a beer and smoke one without condemnation. When I first moved in I had a two-room cabin with a kitchen and a bedroom and nothing else. The bathroom as it were was across the yard and had two seats and a shovel. The shower if I remember right had no hot water, no roof and if I’m not mistaken was the shell of an old freezer. Although it was interesting to see helicopters from the nearby Army base fly overhead when the girls were showering or sunbathing.

Despite the limitations of my accommodations there was a sense of freedom and community. It wasn’t nothing for me to walk over in the morning and visit the sage of the bluff, Aunt Bessie who in her 80’s would be busy sweeping the sand with a broom made of straw. I never really knew why she was sweeping the sand, but it did give her a wise elder look in her long skirt and bonnet. She’d see me coming over and would invite me into her small camper and cut me a piece of thin-layered cake and pour me a hot cup of perked coffee from the stove. She would tell me stories of the past of her adventures as a young woman, of her love and respect for Uncle Shed her husband, and her thoughts on our “modern world”. 

The river was a nearly mystical place we’d spend weekends sitting on the bluff just watching the river flow by. Then as young people do we’d get dressed and head to town sometimes having dinner and having drinks. Or maybe go to the club to dance or catch a show. For the fairly few years I lived there the bulk of my youth was lived hanging around that place, but that was a long time ago. And as the years rolled the responsibilities of growing up took over so too did the consuming of time that was once spent daydreaming by the water.

So here I sit making a living doing something I never dreamed of some 30 years ago; pecking away at a keyboard putting my thoughts on the screen for the whole world to read. As I turn for a moment and share out the window at our quiet little country street; I can’t help but be reminded of the river, Aunt Bessie, and the good times I had being young and dumb, just allowing life to happen.          

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